Doing The Hard Things

The first month of the new year is winding down, friends. It was my birthday month as well. Last Saturday I turned 37 and it has me reflecting on some things, as my birthday usually does these days.

There are a few characteristics that I've never felt like I've really been able to claim. Can you relate? For example, I've never felt super independent. I'm a younger sister who was always very close to her older sister. We shared most things, including a bedroom (and a bed!), until she left for college. Two years later, I followed her to the same university where we were roommates for a year before she got married. The next year, my Sophomore year of college, is the only year of my entire life that I've ever lived alone. During that year I had a private dorm room on campus (which was like being alone, yet not). The year after that, I lived in the home of a dear family who treated me like one of their own. And by the time my senior year arrived, I was married to my husband. We've now been married for 15 years.

I know that being independent doesn't entirely mean living alone, but it's just not a way I would describe myself. I'm most comfortable with someone close to me, looking out for me in a way. I admire those who can get out there and make a new path all on their own. But I feel much safer and happier walking a well-trodden one with someone I love and trust walking with me. Okay, in front of me... so I'll know where to go.

And I guess that's part of the reason that I have, at times, felt weak. Certain events in my life, though, have served to toughen me up and ultimately made me realize that I was stronger than I thought. Coming from a broken home where we didn't have a whole lot of money, and the kinds of issues my sister and I had to face from a very young age is one of those events.

The other big one that stands out in my mind is infertility.

It feels like I've had to fight hard for the life that I have today. I know, nobody ever promised it would be easy. I realize that, and it's okay. I'm not bitter about it. But I'm not ashamed to say this:
I'm proud of the fact that I've learned how to do some hard things.

You should know that I have a hard time complimenting myself. I don't mean that I normally have a lot of self-pity or low self-esteem, but that I am my own harshest critic. I have difficulty acknowledging when I've done well, as well as forgiving myself when I make stupid mistakes, and I replay the dumb things I say and do every night in my mind before I go to sleep. Let's just say, sometimes it takes me a really long time to go to sleep! I realize this about myself -- I worry and I regret much more than I should.

My point is, I've learned that I CAN do the hard things. There's something about that statement that I find empowering. This baby sister, follower, scrawny little child from a tiny town in southern Louisiana, whose childhood was tough and who learned how to do without, who is more comfortable reading about adventure than experiencing it, who always felt awkward and who never knew what a happy, healthy marriage looked like, who was told she'd never realize her dream of having children, somehow (by the grace of God)... grew up, left home, went to college, got married to an amazing, godly man, survived nearly nine years of infertility and recurrent miscarriage, and had two beautiful daughters. That was me! I actually DID THAT. I haven't done anything that would be earth-shattering to most people, but they've been huge accomplishments to me.

Do I sometimes wish it hadn't been so dang hard? YES. I often wish that, even though I know that it taught me a whole lot -- so much more than I could have learned without having experienced it firsthand. (Allow me to say here that I'm fully aware of the many, many people who have had a way harder time than I could ever imagine. I'm not trying to make comparisons or dwell on which hardships are "worse," but only to reflect on my own experiences and how far the Lord has brought me personally.) I've realized that having things like this in my past that I've overcome have made me feel stronger. They've made me feel like I can accept and face a challenge head-on, knowing that I've made it through some tough things already.

I love this quote from William Barclay and I think I've shared it on this blog before, but it's worth repeating: The effect of testing rightly borne is strength to bear still more and to conquer in still harder battles. 
So, so true!

I don't write this to say that now I've entered into an easy time. No, in fact, I feel challenged more and more every single day because this parenting thing is HARD. More than ever before, I feel like daily I have to surrender and cry out to God for strength and wisdom and patience. I love my kids so much and I fought so hard to have them! I wouldn't change a thing and I'm forever grateful for these two lives entrusted to me, but that doesn't mean it's an easy job to wake up and do every day. I so badly want to do this job well, and I think that's partly what makes it such a challenge. I put pressure on myself to give it my best and I beat myself up when I fail. But, guess what? I know now that I can do the hard things.

One of my big challenges after I had Lily was breastfeeding. I won't give you all the gory details, but it started out rough. I knew, though, that it was something I really wanted to do. If it ultimately didn't work out, I knew it would be fine both for her and for me. I know that not everyone can or even wants to do it, and I pass no judgement on what anyone else decides to do, but I knew that I wanted to try. I had to set small goals for myself in the beginning, and it felt like a miracle every time they were reached and surpassed. I nursed Lily for 12 months, which was the highest goal I had set (in the beginning, not really believing I would ever get there). Just about two weeks ago I wrapped up 13 months of breastfeeding Anna. It was much easier for me the second time around (thank the Lord), but that's not to say it didn't have its own challenges. I bring this up as an example, though, because it was one of those events during which I had to keep reminding myself that I Can Do The Hard Things. Nursing a baby while running after, caring for, giving attention to, potty training, and generally keeping alive a toddler is a hard thing, and one I was admittedly not fully prepared for! But it was something I really wanted to do, and reminding myself that I had done hard things before truly did help me make it through.

Another reason I bring up breastfeeding is because weaning what I know will be my last baby is also a hard thing. While I'm secure and satisfied with my family, it's bittersweet to watch my youngest grow out of the baby stage. She's officially a toddler now, walking all over the house like she owns the place. :)
I know that watching my kids grow up is going to be extremely satisfying and extremely hard. Sometimes I think that those of us who had to fight extra hard to get our children find it so very difficult to watch them grow up. We try for so long and we wait so much, we suffer loss, we struggle while everyone around us has babies and more babies, and we pray our hearts out for our turn to have a baby -- and then they're not babies for long at all, are they? But I often remind myself that each new stage is sweet and beautiful, just as the last one was.

So here's to a new year, 2014.
Here's to turning one year older.
Here's to facing it all knowing that we can do the hard things, and knowing that it'll be worth it.

Beauty For Ashes

Writing about the babies we lost helps me to deal with the continued grief that is always there. There are things, like the passing of time, lessons learned, and the births of my daughters, that have helped to ease the burden of those losses, but nothing can ever take the pain or the memories away. And I've come to terms with that. Remembering them is important to me, and the process of giving each of them names has been part of my healing process as well.

Revisiting those experiences, one by one, felt like something I needed to do. Recurrent pregnancy loss has been a huge part of my life. I've been married to my husband for 15 years, more than half of which were nearly consumed by miscarriage and infertility. There was a lot of pain there, but we've come a long way. For that, I am thankful. And I'm constantly amazed and grateful that, by the grace of God, our story didn't end there.

After we lost little Aaron Joseph, our sixth baby, we experienced a new form of anguish: unexplained infertility. The weeks and months and, eventually, three years went by with no changes. After six pregnancies in six years, it seemed there might be no more chances. While we had some renewed hope and a new doctor, we still didn't know exactly why the first six pregnancies had ended too early. I wanted another chance. I hoped and prayed for another chance. But I was also terrified. Those three quiet years gave me some perspective. The fog had cleared a little bit and enough time had passed for me to realize that I never wanted to go back to that horror again. I knew, however, that it was a risk we'd have to take if we were ever going to see that dream realized and that longing fulfilled.

Above all I always trusted that my God was in control, even when my circumstances felt totally out of control. He's in the miracle business. That's what He does! Beauty for ashes; joy instead of mourning; praise instead of despair. (Isaiah 61:3)

He had something wonderful in store, and it was just around the corner. I'm just thankful that I held on for it.

Twelve years after we were married, nine years after we started trying to conceive, and eight years after the first positive pregnancy test, we finally looked upon the face of our daughter.

Two years and two months later, we held another daughter in our arms.

I don't know why it all happened the way that it did. I don't know why there was so much pain before the beauty, but I suppose that's what makes it all the more beautiful.

All In A Weekend

It's the Monday after one of those weekends that seems to encompass just about everything: highs and lows, storms and sunshine, and joy and sorrow.

Friday afternoon I wasn't expecting a storm, but the skies darkened and suddenly we were under a severe thunderstorm with lots of lightning and rain. I'm sure I noticed it a bit more because it hit just as we were leaving the house to go have Lily's picture taken at a photo studio. The storm blew through fairly quickly, though, and left us with much cooler temperatures (a blessing where I live, even in April!) and a near perfect forecast for the rest of the weekend.

We came up with the idea of spending our gorgeous Saturday at the downtown zoo. It would be Lily's first trip ever, and it was a perfect way to celebrate that our girl was turning 19 months old that same day. We called her aunt (my sister-in-law), who lives in town, and she was excited to meet us there for a fun morning. We arrived around 9:30 and just in time to watch the elephants eating breakfast and getting their morning baths. We saw lions, giraffes, bears, monkeys, and all sorts of animals, and Lily had a fantastic time running and playing as we wound our way through the zoo until just after noon. We had snacks right next door to the giraffes as they had their lunch, and Lily tried (and loved!) cotton candy for the first time. It was a perfect day and one we'll remember as a family for years to come.

Lily was fast asleep before we even left the parking lot. She had played hard and was exhausted, so I was glad she'd have nearly an hour to nap in the car as we drove home. She was still out when we decided to stop and pick up food as we got closer to home. Chuck went inside to order while I waited in the car with Lily. I pulled out my phone to check messages and facebook and such, when I saw some devastating news. A precious couple we know from the town where we used to live were involved in a serious car accident just hours earlier. He was in critical condition; she did not survive. I sat there stunned in the car. My poor husband had no idea what was going on when he came back to the car and found me sobbing. We made some calls to friends and family to see if we could find out more, and bits and pieces of information came in about the wreck.

I'm so sad for this dear family. What a beautiful person she was, and I was blessed to call her my friend. Chuck and I had gone to see them when we were last in town, at Christmas. We had a great visit and were so happy to introduce Lily to them for the first time. I'm thankful for that last time I saw her smiling face this side of heaven. They are in their sixties and have two grown sons and several young grandchildren. My heart aches for them right now, as I pray continually for God to comfort them.

We spent the rest of our Saturday in a bit of a fog, wondering why things like this happen and praying for the healing of our friend's body and his heart. We carried on with the necessary tasks -- getting Lily fed and changed, and starting on plans for supper. A few hours later I was cooking while Chuck took Lily in the back yard to play. They came in, we ate, and started getting ready for bed. Before her bath, Chuck mentioned that a mosquito had bitten Lily on the side of her face, next to her eye. Mosquitoes are rampant here, and of course she's been bitten before despite our best efforts to keep them away. The last bite she had recently near her elbow, though, made her arm swell up quite a bit. I hoped she wouldn't have the same reaction this time... but by morning it was clear that she would. Her eye was extremely puffy, and by the end of the day it was swollen completely shut. We'd called her pediatrician's office and talked to the nurse, who told us the correct dosage of Benadryl to give her. After a few hours the swelling hadn't gone down so we took her to the weekend clinic near our house. The doctor there examined the eye itself and said it did not look red and she had no fever. We felt better about it and were given medicine to make sure it doesn't get infected. She's still getting Benadryl, too. I had hoped that it would look much better when I got her out of bed this morning but the eye was still swollen shut. I know she's fine, but it sure looks pitiful! Poor baby girl.

It was one of those weekends, full of the good, the bad, and the unimaginable. Losing a friend so suddenly certainly puts everything into perspective and shifts your focus to the things that really matter. I hugged my family a few extra times this weekend, thanking God for each minute that I have with them.

Brief pregnancy update: I'm 8w1d today, and as far as I know things are okay. Hoping for a good report at the next ultrasound on Thursday.
Thanks, friends, for the supportive comments on my last post. I'm glad you guys understand that, even after you have a baby, life is full of ups and downs. I'll keep writing about them here. And I'll always thank God and give Him the glory for the blessings in my life, and keep praising Him through the storms as well.

Treasures

I think it's pretty safe to say that when you're going through infertility it's hard to find the bright spots most days. Life still has its joys, of course, but I mean it's difficult sometimes to recognize any good that could possibly come out of a trial when you're still so deeply submerged in it. I know that, personally, I spent day after day and year after year trudging along with my shoulders hunched and head down, bracing myself for another disappointment and just trying to make it one day at a time. It was hard to keep picking myself up after another loss... and another... and another. It felt (and still feels) like a burden, a struggle, and an uphill climb.

Thankfully, in the midst of all that, my husband and I worked to make some happy memories. We wanted to someday look back on our waiting years and see that there was still joy to be found -- but it took a few years for us to get there and actually put it into practice. That doesn't mean there weren't still a lot of hard days. It just meant that we tried to make the best of it. We spent lots of time with our families, we spoiled our nephews, we tried to be more spontaneous and do more fun things together, and we traveled. We went to Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine, San Francisco, Florida, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, Washington, D.C., and New York City. We saved our money for vacations and seized every opportunity to turn work trips into new adventures. We used money we'd been saving for baby furniture to buy a new camera and I documented our new memories in scrapbooks. And now, years later, while I don't view my battle with infertility as over and done (although I pray it is), I can look back on portions of that time fondly. Those memories are some of the treasures that have come out of that trial.

That's what this post is about. Treasures. And by far the most amazing treasures that I've found over the past decade have been people. Our family members and some of our oldest and dearest friends stuck by us during that time and prayed their hearts out for us. That's a treasure. It means more to me than I could ever express. Sometimes people I didn't even know that well sent a card or told me how they were touched by our situation and our faith. That always encouraged me to keep going, and it helped me to learn to be more open about sharing our struggle because I knew that others were hurting too.

Suddenly there were lots of new people in my life who had also been through miscarriage or infertility. There were others who understood all the devastation and disappointment, the guilt and the grief that we'd been going through. All at once I could use this blog to sort out my emotions and fears, and read about other people who were facing similar circumstances. And it all came at a time when I needed it the most. That was a treasure.

Soon I began to feel such a kinship with my blog friends. Over the years it has worked out (not coincidentally, I believe) for me to meet a few of them in person. It has been one of my favorite things about blogging and one of the biggest and best treasures to come from this trial. Even now that I don't blog as much as I used to, I've been able to keep up with several friends and get to know them a little bit better on pretty much a day-to-day basis through facebook and email. Oh, how I wish I could meet all of them in real life!

What really amazes me now is to be able to see all of our paths in hindsight. None of our experiences were exactly the same. Some were more similar than others, but all of them were about longing and loss in one way or another. I always felt an extra special bond with those who shared not only my fight but also my faith. It's just one of those common denominators that often makes an instant connection.

My first in-real-life blog friend experience was in February of 2009 when I met Tammy. (I originally wrote about it here.) I didn't really "know" Tammy that well when it worked out for us to meet, but we didn't want to pass up the opportunity and I'm so glad we didn't. Our friendship has blossomed ever since that day. Thinking back to where we both were in 2009 and all that has happened since is pretty incredible. Tammy and her husband are such a precious couple, and it was a joy to watch as they brought home their beautiful daughter, Hannah, at Christmas just a couple of months ago! I am still over-the-moon excited for them.

Just a few months later, in May 2009, I found myself on vacation with my whole family in a cozy and beautiful cabin in Tennessee. While we were planning the trip, I realized that we wouldn't be very far away from a dear blog friend in North Carolina, Beth. It was settled: we were going to set up a meeting! (Read more about our meeting here.) Beth and I had been communicating frequently through email ever since I'd first discovered her blog the previous year. I felt an instant connection with her and we'd formed a fast friendship. She and I shared so many griefs and fears together, and amazingly, we've celebrated with these dear friends as they've welcomed not one, not two, but THREE gorgeous boys into their family since then! It still gives me goosebumps just thinking about it.

Fast forward to just a little over a year later, in July 2010. I had discovered a while before that one of my sweet blog friends lived not too far from my hometown in Louisiana. I knew then that I was destined to meet Crystal during one of my trips back home, and I was so touched that our first meeting happened at my baby shower. (I wrote more about it here.) We were expecting Lily in September, and it was very sweet to share that time together as Crystal was also expecting her miracle baby boy that December. Our meeting is a very special memory of an amazing, almost ethereal time for me -- for us both, I'm sure, as we found ourselves in the middle of our long-awaited and much prayed for healthy pregnancies. It has been a special treat to be able to visit with Crystal and her adorable son twice more since then, at Christmas of 2010 when our babies were tiny and again last Christmas as they toddled around and played together. This friendship has been such a sweet gift!

That brings me to 2012, and the addition of a fourth friend to this special list of treasures. At the end of last month on our way back from visiting family in Oklahoma, we were able to stop by the home of my blog friend, Jessica. Our trip would take us within just a few miles of their house, not far from the interstate, and it was the perfect opportunity for our families to meet. Jessica and I had an amazing moment not long after she found my blog when we realized that we'd attended the same college. We never knew each other there, but before long we also made the connection that she and my husband had both grown up right there in that small college town and had -- brace yourselves -- graduated from high school together! Oh, I just love the way God works things out. We had a wonderful visit with Jessica and her husband, and we were thrilled to be able to meet their precious new miracle girl, just 7 weeks old. It was the kind of meeting where everything just clicked and it was as natural and easy as being with old friends. We are so thankful that we got to meet these friends face-to-face after sharing in the struggle, and it touched my heart to watch our daughter play in their daughter's room. What a blessing it was!


To each and every one of the special friends we've "met" along the way, I hope you know what a treasure YOU are.

Thankful

This year it's easy for me to say that I'm thankful. I have an amazing baby girl who is healthy and happy and here to stay, and that's something that I wasn't sure could ever happen. That is certainly reason to give thanks to the Lord! My heart is full of joy for this holiday season.

For many years it was hard for me to say what I was thankful for. Don't get me wrong; it's not that I wasn't thankful or didn't appreciate my loving family and precious friends. I have a husband who loves and supports me no matter what, and I loved the life and the home that we'd made together. All of that was true, but at the same time my heart was hurting. I knew that, if asked at Thanksgiving what I was thankful for, I wouldn't be able to speak without breaking down. For a long time I allowed the wonderful things in my life to be overshadowed by my grief and heartache.

It was around the time that I began to blog and really open up about my feelings about recurrent pregnancy loss that my heart started to change. I felt like there might be some meaning in all of this and some way of reaching out by sharing my experience. I had no idea how large the community of IF bloggers was when I started, but finding it really helped to give me a sense of purpose through that trial. To know that there were others out there who understood was also a huge help for me. Before long I was once again able to feel thankfulness -- even though I was still in the midst of a painful struggle.

Soon I realized that I could be thankful not just in spite of what I'd been through, but because of it. Let me be clear about this, though. I'm NOT thankful for miscarriage. I wish I had never gone through that horror in the first place and I wish that no one else ever had to experience it either.

But I AM thankful for...

• Learning to lean on my Heavenly Father, and knowing from experience that He will never leave my side, even when I'm full of fear, doubt, and anger.
• Learning that with God, nothing is impossible.
• Seeing firsthand that I was much stronger than I ever thought I could be.
• Reassurance that I married the most caring and loving man who would stick by me through thick and thin.
• Renewed faith in the love and support of family and friends who prayed for us so faithfully.
• An entire online community of new friends who encouraged me along the way and helped me find some good in a bad situation.

I could really go on and on! All of this came out of some pretty dreadful years when I felt like I was struggling just to keep my head above water. Those are the reasons why I can look back on that time and be thankful for what came out of it. I can now be so grateful for where I am today, Thanksgiving 2010.

Thank you for contributing to that, for sharing in my joy now and for holding me up when I needed support then. Wishing you all a very Happy Thanksgiving!

A Different Path?

I love the way that pictures have a way of telling stories. They capture a moment in time and later are there to remind you of people and places and events.

Here are two pictures of my husband and me, taken two and a half years apart. When we had the more recent one taken, I couldn't help but remember the older one and where we were then. There are a lot of similarities between the two images. They were taken by the same person at the very same park. Of course, they both feature the same two people, walking hand-in-hand down a sidewalk.




But they are also very different. The people are the same, but the view is different. You can't really tell this from the pictures, but they're walking on a different path of the very same sidewalk. Perhaps the most obvious change, though, is the season.

It is winter in the first one. While the picture itself doesn't make me feel sad at all, the landscape is a bit dreary. The trees and grass don't look very vibrant. As the subjects, my husband and I seem far away, like we're walking down a quite a long path. There is as much sidewalk in front of us as there is behind us. Besides that, there's a curve and a tree up ahead and you can't quite see beyond that. You can't see our faces or expressions, but it's clear that we are looking at each other as we're walking along together.

This picture was taken as part of a photo shoot for our Christmas cards that year. It was December of 2007 and it was a fairly happy time for us, yet we were certainly still in the midst of a long trial. We were getting ready to take a trip to Florida and then return home and get ready for the holidays. It had been eleven months since my last miscarriage (number six), and the following month I would be having surgery with my new RE to look for scar tissue and any other new problems. It was the only thing we knew to do next but at least we had a plan. We had no idea what might be up ahead. We had covered a lot of ground on our infertility journey but we were still walking, still moving forward. Together.

The second picture is quite different. The first thing I notice are the colors. Everything is bright and green and alive. It was summertime, and take my word for it, it was hot outside. You can see our expressions in this picture and can tell that we are happy. We are still walking together even though the scenery and the seasons aren't the same. The path even looks much shorter...

Of course, that's a matter of perspective. As I mentioned before, it's the same park and the same sidewalk, just a different view and a different angle. That's the point I'm trying to make here. This pregnancy, this place where we are now, is not an entirely new path; it's just a different part of the same road we've been walking for many years. It is the sum of everything we went through to get here. Oh, I do wish sometimes that we could have been simply placed right here! If we could have just by-passed all the years of hurt and loss and taken a much easier way, surely it would have been so much better. But that's not the path we were meant to take, I guess. And frankly, if it had been, I know it would look and feel entirely different and not nearly as meaningful to us as it does now.

I want to say thank you. I'm so grateful for those of you who haven't written me off as just another pregnant woman. Thank you for considering our path -- the whole thing, every step -- to getting this far and for continuing to offer your support, prayers, and friendship. I realize that you could stumble upon this blog and see the pregnancy ticker at the top and decide that you're not interested in sticking around. But many of you do, and many of you send me messages and tell me that my story gives you hope. Thank you for encouraging me to keep writing about it, as I've learned that having a successful pregnancy doesn't erase everything else I've experienced. While it certainly brings joy and some sense of victory and healing, it doesn't entirely take away the pain of miscarriage. That will always be part of my story now. Just like any time you lose a loved one, you don't want to erase their existence! You keep their memory alive and are thankful that you had the time with them that you did, even though their absence leaves an ache. It will always be there when I look back, and really, that's okay. My babies are part of me and always will be in my heart. Fortunately there are and will be good memories as we continue on this path, especially as we finally bring our baby home.

Next week at this time, she'll be here. Finally, one of the tiny seeds of hope that was planted along this path will get to bloom.


I can't wait to share it with you. Thank you for your constant prayers for us and for baby Lily!

Thankfulness and Mercy

I sure do find myself saying "thank you" a lot lately. I love that. Every day it seems there is someone to thank for something, whether it is a sweet gift for Lily, an encouraging word, or a reminder that someone is praying for us.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I always have the desire to thank YOU as well, those of you who still read these words that I write and who have shared in our joy as we prepare for this baby. I want you to know that I don't take this blogging community lightly. Once I've spent weeks, months, and years reading your blogs and praying my heart out for you in your specific situations and struggles, I no longer just think of you as acquaintances. Sure, it's different; there are some of you whose faces I've never even seen in pictures and whose real names I don't know. But I still feel a connection and a shared bond with many of you.

More than a year ago I started keeping a list. It's just a simple Word document on my computer that I began when the list of blogs that I follow kept growing. I've admitted to you before that I like lists. Okay, not only do I like them, but I'm a bit obsessed with them. They help me keep things in order, which is always a good thing! This list of names and blog titles served to help me remember who went with what blog and what the specific situation was. It also became a way of keeping up with my prayer requests for you. I was able to easily look it over and see who might be struggling with a loss, who was heartbroken over infertility, who was celebrating a pregnancy, who was waiting to adopt, and so on.

That list has grown to about 80 individual names and situations. I keep them updated with new information, or when a baby that I've been praying for is born or adopted, listing the baby's name (if given) and birth date in orange. I don't know why I picked orange, but that's what it is. Having the list brings me a lot of joy, partly because there is a lot more orange on it than there used to be! Each one is an answered prayer. Unfortunately, I know that not everyone's story will end with bringing home a baby. The purpose of the list is not to ultimately put down a baby's name by each one. Instead, it reminds me how many friends I've met along the way and how many different people's lives have in some way been connected with mine as we've shared our stories. I'm thankful for this list and each name that it represents. I'm thankful for the support and prayers we've received over the past couple of years from people who started out as strangers, as well as from my sweet real-life friends who follow along with my blog (I pray for you guys, too, of course!).

So, that's the long way of telling you how much I appreciate you for reading and responding to this little blog. It is sweet to be able to share some good experiences with you lately, after enduring what felt like a lifetime of disappointment and loss. I know that it's not always easy to follow someone when you are struggling. I'm always moved when I receive a comment from someone who I know is having a bad day (or year), and I'm very touched to get e-mails from new readers who are in the beginning or the middle of their own battles with infertility or recurrent miscarriage, who tell me that reading my story has given them hope. That alone is what keeps me writing about this experience I've been through. It wasn't easy, but with the Lord's help I've survived through multiple miscarriages and many years of heartbreak and despair. Thank you for finding hope in my story and encouraging me to keep sharing it!

There is a whole lot of thankfulness to go around! And now I've come to the part about mercy. I'm going to share with you very briefly but honestly that there have been some times that have stung in recent months. While I recognize the hurt and the struggle, it is still a sobering thought when you realize that your answered prayer, your miracle baby who finally survived in your womb, is the very thing that will cause some to stop following your story. That is the only thing I will say about it, and I don't plan on revisiting the subject in the future. I've felt some sadness over it and I've spent some time dwelling on it. Then I was at church this past Sunday and we had a guest speaker who talked about showing mercy, and the message went right to my core. I've made up my mind to let go of whatever hurt feelings I may have had and just continue to handle it with love and with mercy. I'll continue to follow and I'll continue to pray even if the sentiments are not returned.

I have for a long time resisted the tendency to lean towards an "us versus them" mentality, both when I was waiting to have a baby and especially now. A woman with a heart that aches over the sadness of infertility and the despair of pregnancy loss is not someone I used to be. It's someone I still am and will always be. A successful pregnancy hasn't caused me to "change sides." I'm the same woman... whose heart is also thankful to God for the grace and mercy that He has shown by giving us this child after we've entrusted six others to His eternal care. That wasn't a small sacrifice, but through it all we've learned to trust Him. This experience continues to teach me new things and grow me in ways that I never imagined. Sometimes the growing pains are not easy, but I'm grateful for the lessons learned.

Let me say again, thank you for walking with me and for sticking around for as long as you have, through the bad times and the good ones. It means so much to me!

Blogging Future?

I love blogging. I really do. Blogging has reawakened my passion for writing. It has given me a place to share and explore some really tough feelings. The beauty of blogging as opposed to journaling is the feedback. It helped me find a community of people who understood and offered support. And it has even gone above and beyond that by helping me to heal from some hurts, and by bringing new friends into my life and helping me to communicate more openly with my existing friends who follow along. I really do believe that blogging has enriched my life for the past two years. For that I am very thankful.

Some people, I know, are of the opinion that one shouldn't continue to write a blog about infertility once they are pregnant or have had a baby. Maybe you think this too, and that's okay. This is just my opinion, as always. I don't know exactly which direction my blog will take in the months and years ahead. I would love to keep blogging and I'm pretty sure that I will do that in some way. But what I can't do is stop writing about infertility and miscarriage. It may not be the topic of every single post, but it will always be part of my life. It is a huge part of my story and my personal testimony. Like it or not, it has had a large role in forming who I am today (for better or worse).

You see, I don't look at having a baby as the end of my struggle. Oh, I can definitely see how in some ways it is. It is without a doubt what I've been working for and trying for, and I know that the day our daughter is born will feel like a completion, or a culmination, in a way.

But here is something that I think a lot of people don't quite grasp: Having a baby does not replace a baby or babies that you've lost. It doesn't magically wipe away years of grief and hurt over the loss of those lives. And I suppose that this is debatable, but I don't believe that having a baby makes a person no longer infertile. Maybe that seems like an oxymoron, but I was "fertile" for six years and pregnant six times, yet still didn't have a child to raise. Conquering pregnancy loss or infertility one time and bringing home a baby doesn't mean your reproductive problems are all "cured."

That's why I don't see my journey as over. This is not a resolution to this problem for me. For as long as I live and as long as I write, my history and my experience with infertility and loss is bound to come out. It's part of who I am. My daughter will know that it's part of her story, too. I don't by any means think that it defines who I am, but it is certainly part of me.

It's also true that my experience with infertility and miscarriage has changed the way I look at things. I think we all have our filters -- the things in our past that make us see things the way we do. It's unique to each and every one of us and that's kind of what makes the world go round. And frankly, that's what I find interesting about people and about blogs. No one has the exact same story and I love to hear different perspectives.

This blog hasn't been so much about my quest to get pregnant and bring home a baby. That's not why I started writing it in the first place. It was more about how it felt to live with recurrent pregnancy loss and how I personally tried to find my way through that valley. That's why I don't think that the topic will die when I have this baby. I'm still finding my way. I'm still trying to live with what I've been through. My wounds are still healing from this battle. I know that our miracle baby will add a lot of joy to this journey and I'm so happy about that! It is long past time for us to feel some joy after so many losses and it hasn't come a moment too soon. I welcome a new chapter to this story, but I won't erase the old chapters. Besides, if they weren't there my story would look entirely different. Just like so many times before, it doesn't all end with a positive pregnancy test.

So, I'm planning to continue blogging and to keep writing what's in my heart. I still think I have a story to tell. I hope that it will be one that, even though it started out with much sadness, hurt, and waiting, will continue to become a story of perseverance, hope, and second chances.

Regrets

(I hate to start a post with a disclaimer, but wanted to make it clear that this is not meant in any way to point a finger at anyone. It comes only from things I have thought and felt as part of my own personal journey. And now I hope it doesn't come out as one big jumbled mess...)

Regrets. I've had a few. And I've been thinking about them a lot lately as my perspective begins to shift.

When I think about how going through recurrent pregnancy loss changed me as a person over the years, I can't help but think about the bad things every now and then. And while I know that the way I interacted with and responded to people around me came from a place of deep, deep hurt and grief, I do sometimes feel badly about things I didn't do. There were times when I wasn't capable of attending baby showers. There were times when I couldn't go visit a family in the hospital after the birth of a child. There were days when seeing a positive pregnancy test on someone's blog felt like more than I could handle. And there were times when even looking at a pregnant woman was just so hard.

Yet somehow I know that that's really okay. I encourage others that it's okay and I honestly believe that. Only you know how much you can handle at any given time when you are the one who's hurting. While it may sound selfish, sometimes you really do have to think about your fragile emotional state and do what's necessary to protect yourself. Sometimes your heart needs time to heal.

I remember times when I pushed myself to do things even though I knew in my heart I wasn't ready. I was once persuaded to begin attending a new small group Bible study many years back, too soon after one of my miscarriages. It was in the home of a person I barely knew, but I went. As the conversation grew more personal during the meeting, I felt exposed and vulnerable and it wasn't long before the tears were flowing and I wanted to hide under the table. I was so uncomfortable and I knew that I'd made a mistake. It was just too early.

The last baby shower I attended more than three years ago was equally painful. Again, I knew deep down that I wasn't ready. Thankfully, that time when I felt my emotions rising up, I was able to make a swift exit before they began to overflow. Truthfully, the last thing I wanted to do was ruin the event for the happy mother-to-be. And it wasn't just being there around an expectant mother that was tough; it was the nature of the shower itself. We had to go around the room and share personal motherhood stories (Is this anyone else's worst nightmare? Did it occur to them that not everyone in the room had children?), and I was not prepared to be in the spotlight and have my grief on display in front of so many onlookers.

I think I realized that I had to take things on a case-by-case basis. There were other times when I felt truly safe in a situation and knew that I could handle it and wanted to be there. While the baby shower remained too unpredictable for me, I began to feel excitement again about visiting new babies in the hospital. I found great joy in being able to be there with my friends and celebrate the miracle of life with them! I know that it's by the grace of God, but in those small hospital rooms surrounded by such precious friends, I began to feel safe again. Even though I might have a knot in my throat the size of Texas when I held those brand new babies and remembered what I'd lost, I no longer let it take over and have control over me. And if it happened that later, in the privacy of my home and in the arms of my understanding husband, that I needed to have a good cry, then I let that happen, too. It had never really been about wishing other people harm or not being happy for them. It wasn't even so much about jealousy or bitterness. It was simply my own sadness and emptiness because of my inability to be a mother and my grief over having lost our babies over and over again.

While I was seeing progress and changes in my own heart eventually, it had taken a long time. I still feel some regret because I wasn't more supportive for certain friends during their pregnancies. There are dear, precious friends who have held us up and prayed their hearts out for my own pregnancy, and when I remember how distant I must have been during their joyful times, I am so ashamed. I've made a few tearful apologies about that and have so far been met with such grace and understanding by friends who truly sought to understand where I was coming from. Even so, I felt the apology was necessary and it has done my heart good to go through with it.

I think I realized that, as often as I complained about friends who wanted to be there in my joys and not my sorrows, it was hypocritical of me that I couldn't be there in their times of celebration! I had begun to only identify with others who were hurting like I was because somehow that was easier. And while I do think that we are given the ability to encourage others who share in our specific trials, I know that I was separating myself from those who had what I wanted. And I know that it wasn't fair.

Just as it hurts when friends abandon you in your times of need, when you're hurt and grieving and struggling, it also hurts when friends can't love you enough to be happy when you finally make it through and survive that horrible trial. I didn't want to be that kind of friend to others. It was a hard transition, but God began to change my heart. He showed me how sad it was that I found it difficult to celebrate when He created a new life. After all, if I couldn't celebrate when others had successful pregnancies, what did that say about me? I always said I wouldn't wish infertility or miscarriage on my worst enemy. If that was really true, then I knew the right thing to do was to be genuinely joyful when a new baby was born and to celebrate with my friends who became new parents. The alternative, while it was familiar to me after losing six babies, would have been so hard to watch my friends struggle through. Of course that is not what I wanted.

And now, of course, as this pregnancy progresses, I can't believe that I am here. My perspective is changing once again. My goal will always be to make my blog a safe place for those who visit. But just as I shared my hurt and longing during the waiting, I must also share the joy that comes from being able to see the end of a long and painful struggle finally coming into focus. I know that some won't follow. And even though it stings a bit, I understand. I understand that so many times the person who is hurting has more urgent needs, whether it be support or prayers or space or time. I know, because that's where I was for eight long years.

I hope this blog will always be a place where others can come and find friendship and understanding, and especially a testimony to God's faithfulness. I've promised that I will never, could never, forget where I've been and how painful it was. The memories of the children we didn't get to hold and the years we spent waiting and the agony of not knowing what our future would hold are forever in my heart.

I hope you know that it means the world to me that so many of you still choose to walk with us, even now in our joy over this answered prayer. I know that's not easy when your heart longs to have your prayer answered. But I thank you for caring and loving enough to appreciate how much this baby means to us and how much we went through to get her here. It is truly a treasure to have friends who are there when you mourn and when you celebrate, and we're honored to share each part of our journey with you! We can't wait to one day celebrate your victories with you, dear friends.

Family of Two

That's what we've been for almost 12 years. A family of two. As much as we've wanted children and as hard as we've struggled to have them, I love my family of two.

I wish it could be that we'd chosen to spend 12 years of married life together, just the two of us, before deciding to have a child. I would much prefer looking back on those years without seeing the pain and loss we went through, but I know that having been through that, together, is part of what makes me so grateful for my husband and partner in all of the ups and downs of this life.

In all the years that we've tried to have children, I never liked to say that we were "trying to start a family." I'm not offended when others use those words to describe it, but I always preferred to say that we were hoping to add to our family. We already have a family! We have a family of two that began on June 6, 1998.

It has been a long journey together, and one full of waiting. Before my husband and I met, I'd never had a serious boyfriend. I grew up in a small town and spent my free time hanging out with my sister and my friends. My high school years were sometimes a bit lonely when I realized that most of my friends were dating or had steady boyfriends, but I was pretty content with waiting. Although I had a few crushes along the way, I somehow knew that I hadn't met my someone just yet. I prayed about it often, and I waited.

I met "Chuck" my freshman year of college. We started casually dating in January of 1996, and even though the relationship had become far more serious by the end of March, we knew that we would be spending the entire summer apart. He worked in Florida on a summer missions project and I went home to work as a camp counselor at a local Christian camp. It was a summer of waiting -- waiting to see if our relationship really had legs and was going somewhere. We wrote letters all summer, and on my last day of camp he sent me flowers with a note that read, "Anxiously waiting to see you again." I returned to school a little bit early before the fall quarter began so we could have some time to spend together before classes resumed. The end of that summer was when we kissed for the first time, a full six months after we'd started dating. (Talk about waiting!)

It wasn't long before we started talking about our future together. I waited another year before he proposed in August of 1997. We waited until he finished school and had been working for a few months before our wedding day in June of the following year. And yes, the whole time we dated and were engaged, we waited to be married before starting a sexual relationship. We were committed to that decision from the start and we have never regretted it.

That sounds like a lot of waiting already, but it was nothing compared to our next adventure. After three years of getting settled in as newlyweds, we waited nine long years for a baby. As you know, ours was also a journey through recurrent pregnancy loss. The wait was excruciating and the loss was great, but we made it through together. All these years later, I have never felt more sure that I made the right decision by marrying this man. The years have brought us closer together and made our love for each other so much stronger than I could have imagined.

I love this family that we've made. Scratch that. I love this family that GOD made. I plan to enjoy and make the best of these next four and a half months of being a family of two! It is the end of a chapter that, while it had many hard and heartbreaking times, taught us so much about who we are and who we want to be. We are both at a place where we are happy when we look back on our life together. We're even happier about putting an end to this particular season of waiting and moving forward with all the lessons we've learned and becoming a family of three.

We're walking into this next adventure hand in hand, having learned a lot about life and loss, and most of all, love.

For Friends Who Are Hurting

Sometimes our circumstances are hard. Sometimes they're beyond hard and it seems like more than we can bear.

During my most difficult times I needed to be reminded that God was still good. It didn't help much (or at all) to hear that my baby wasn't meant to be or that I was still young and it would happen one day. It didn't help when people tried to comfort me by saying that at least I knew I could get pregnant. What I needed was someone to listen and try to understand instead of trying to put a tiny bandaid on my gaping wound. I struggled with my faith. My faith had never, ever been tested as it was during my years of one loss after another. I had never learned how hard it would be to trust God when my circumstances were terrible and I was at rock bottom.

I know what it's like to be angry, even at God. I know how it feels when you can't find the words to pray. While I have blogged through some pretty tough times, I didn't have this blog during my hardest times. I never wrote out my feelings of utter despair while going through a miscarriage. I don't know why it happened this way, because I'm sure I could have used the support during those times. For some reason I didn't think to start a blog until I could write about most of my pain in retrospect. Maybe that was a good thing in a way. I'm telling you this because I want you to know that you haven't seen me at my worst. You haven't seen me when I doubted that God actually cared about me and my barrenness, when I wanted to give up, and when I felt like my life was completely meaningless.

Fortunately it has been a long time since I've felt many of those things. While waiting three years for another pregnancy was far from easy, I did have a long break from experiencing miscarriage. For six years the losses had come back to back, one every year. That was an incredibly hard time for us, and even though we were trying again for another pregnancy, we were grateful for the break from losing babies. No, our problems were not solved. Our journey had not come to an end. We still didn't have children to love here on earth, but it did give us time to reflect and time to process some things.

One of my biggest struggles had been letting my circumstances and emotions determine whether or not I was happy. When times were good, God was good, and I was blessed and happy. When times were bad... well, you get the picture. It took a long time for me to put into practice what Paul taught in the Bible. Rejoice in the Lord always. How could he say that? How could God expect me to rejoice when my babies were dying? The truth was that I could be sad and angry and full of grief and yet still rejoice in the Lord. Joyful doesn't always mean happy-go-lucky, and my happiness has little to do with whether or not I am blessed. I had to learn that He was still good even when my circumstances were not good. When I rejoice in the Lord, I cannot lose that joy because He is always good. (For another post about this topic, click here.)

I have some friends who are going through really hard times right now. It's difficult to see friends going through trials, and when they are blog friends it's hard because I can't be there in person to sit with them, cry with them, and just be beside them. What I can do is pray and offer as much support as possible, and that's what I try to do. I would never claim to understand how everyone feels about loss. I know what I've been through and what I've felt, but I also know that everyone is different. People feel different things and grieve in different ways.

I know that in the middle of a trial there are very few words that help. I'm not writing this post to try to fix anyone's pain. These are things that I'm still working out myself. I have no idea exactly how I might handle another loss at this point and I hate to even think about it. I'd love to say that the lessons I've been learning and storing up in my heart would be what would come out. That's what I hope would happen even through my pain, but it's hard to say.

I do know this, friend: If your faith is weak right now, you can count on the fact that others are praying for you when you can't find the words or the strength. I pray that you'll hold onto the Lord even when He seems far away, and I pray that you'll hold onto hope.

Christmas Past

Each year when December comes around and it's time to decorate for Christmas, one of my very favorite things is getting out some of the old ornaments that have been around since my childhood. After I got married and had a home of my own, my mom let me have a few special things from Christmases past. They are not valuable in the sense that they cost very much money, but to me they are worth so much. These ornaments were on or under our tree or placed somewhere in the house every Christmas for as long as I can remember. I consider it a joy to give them a place of honor in my home today. They serve as a reminder to me for many things.

Here is the old nativity scene that Mom always placed at the foot of our small tree:


And here is one of our favorite old ornaments that my sis and I always called "the mouse in the chimney":


You see, we didn't have much when I was growing up. The things that are special to me and have a special place in my memory and in my heart are not fancy. Times were very, very hard for a very long time. When my sister and I were little, our mom would put up a small tree. Most of the decorations on it were ones that we had made at school or church, because it's all we could afford and because those meant the most to her anyway.

I don't really remember Christmas of 1978. It was one month shy of my second birthday. It stands out in my mind, however, because of a few old Polaroid photographs and because of the stories that have been told about it. Christmas was certainly unique that year. It was the year my dad won $200 playing pool, and he and my mom decided to spend it all on Christmas! Here's what our biggest childhood Christmas Day looked like:


Wow! It was a really big deal to us. Although I was too young to remember the day, I do remember playing with that basketball goal and that baby carriage for years to come.

We only have pictures from two of those early Christmases because they were the only ones during which we owned a camera. After only a couple of years, the Polaroid stopped working right and my dad tossed it into a field in Kansas during a road trip. I've always wondered if anyone ever found it!

The next couple of photos come from the following Christmas, 1979. It was thirty years ago this year, and one month before my third birthday. This is more like what a typical Christmas would have looked like at our house. There wasn't any bonus from any barroom activity that year, but I'm quite sure my sis and I were just as excited about Christmas Day!


If you look very carefully, you can see the little nativity under the tree. I even think I see the mouse in the chimney toward the top of the tree.


(That's me in yellow and my sis in green.)

Later I know there were many years when we had no tree and knew there would be few or no gifts. Fortunately, Mom knew better than to invent stories about Santa Claus. How would you explain to poor kids that even though they'd been good, Santa wasn't coming? I have always appreciated the fact that our mom made the decision to tell us that Santa was just a story that people tell for fun, but it wasn't real. We didn't burst anyone's bubble with the news, either; we just felt like we were in on a grown-up secret.

Mom knew that one day we wouldn't care that we didn't have mall photos with the man in the red suit and white beard, because she knew she had tucked the true meaning of Christmas away in our hearts. Her gift was that we knew that Christmas was about Jesus: Emmanuel, God with us. She taught two little girls that God loved us whether we were bad or good, and He blessed us with the greatest gift of all even though we were poor. That was something that we could believe in and hold on to.

So, that's what I focus on when I remember Christmas past. Sure, it was hard to see others with their new toys and games and clothes year after year. The true lesson and meaning of things is difficult to recognize when you're a child, but it is one that I hope will stick with me forever.

Sometimes I still need a reminder that Christmas isn't about things. It's about a Savior, it's about love, and it's about family. It's a great lesson for Christmas: past, present, and future.

Castles in the Air

"In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps." Proverbs 16:9

I'm the kind of person who likes to look before I leap, so to speak. I like to know what I'm getting into. I don't really like doing something if I haven't investigated it first and if I don't have a general idea how it's going to go.

Even in the case of something fairly small, like trying a new restaurant, I feel pretty overwhelmed if I don't know what to do ahead of time. If I know someone else has been to that restaurant before, I usually call them and ask very specific questions about the place. I want to know what the atmosphere is like so I'll be dressed appropriately, what kind of food will be served, and whether I'll have to order up front at the counter or at the table with a menu. For me, one of the most stressful situations in the world is being somewhere and not knowing what to do or what will happen next.

You can imagine how helpless this life with infertility makes me feel. Talk about not knowing what will happen! There are a lot of unexpected twists and turns, and there is an enormous amount of uncertainty. Will I get pregnant this month? Next month? If I do, what will happen next? Another miscarriage? How would I handle another loss? Will we have a baby a year from now? Five years from now? Never? Will we adopt? Unfortunately, I can't call anyone ahead of time and find out exactly what will happen step by step!

One of my biggest challenges is making plans, and letting go of them is even harder. I married my husband at a young age. Sure, we had ideas and plans about the future -- what we thought would happen and what we hoped would happen. I had dreams of building our family while I was young, and having my children in my twenties. I envisioned my children growing up with my sister's children. I imagined family portraits of all of my mom's grandchildren together, separated in age by only a few years. After we bought our first home, I pictured our children growing up under this roof and all the memories we would make here as a young family. But infertility has changed all of that.

Even now as I write those words, I know that in my heart I haven't let go of all of those plans just yet. Some of them have been put on hold for a long time while others have been put to rest. I still dream of watching my children grow up in our home, but I know that I'll never be a twenty-something-year-old mom. And I know that if we do have children someday, my sister's boys will be much older than their cousins.

I certainly realize that these may someday seem like small sacrifices in the grand scheme of things. We would be thrilled to become parents even under different circumstances than the ones we'd imagined. Adapting to changes and making new plans are simply a part of life. Still, it's hard letting go of them, my "castles in the air," even though I know that life rarely turns out exactly how anyone plans.

Several weeks ago I finished reading the classic Louisa May Alcott novel, Little Women. I absolutely loved every second of it. It was my first time reading the book, although the movie has long been one of my favorites. In one of the many memorable scenes early in the book, the March sisters and their dear friend and neighbor Laurie spend an afternoon daydreaming about the future. In the chapter titled "Castles in the Air," the characters (who are teenagers at the time) reveal their loftiest lifelong dreams. Each one has a plan for where they'd like to be in the future. Besides Beth, who is humble and meek and wise beyond her years, everyone dreams of being rich and famous: Laurie a famous musician, Meg the mistress of a luxurious home, Jo a successful writer, and Amy a world-renowned artist.

"'Wouldn't it be fun if all the castles in the air which we make could come true, and we could live in them?' said Jo, after a little pause."

The great thing about being the reader is that we get to see exactly what the future holds in just a few hundred pages. Even in the book, no one's life goes exactly according to his or her plan, although some get closer than others.

I don't think that it's a bad idea to have big dreams, goals, and plans. And I don't think it's bad at all to pursue them and to hope that they'll come true. But I do think it's important to not get carried away with our "castles." Many times I feel totally crushed by the weight of all of the unknowns in my future. I've felt like I'm just spinning my wheels, staying in one place while others move forward. Sometimes it's overwhelming to think that people around me are seeing their plans and dreams fulfilled with each passing year. Sometimes I begin to panic. I get so focused on the big picture that I forget to enjoy what is happening around me today.

When I let myself, I realize that there are little detours along the way that I don't want to miss. Sometimes when we have to wait a very long time or accept a change of plans, we might just get to do things we never thought we'd ever be able to do. And we might find ourselves very thankful for that.

I'm planning to keep my castles in the air. But I reserve the right to rebuild them as I go, because sometimes God may have other plans.

Endurance

There is no shortage of good analogies for the infertility journey. Infertility can certainly be compared to a roller coaster, with all the ups and downs and twists and turns. I've compared it to running a race, of course much more like a marathon than a sprint for many of us.

The only hang-up I have over the race analogy is the finish line and the idea of winning or losing. The goal of having a baby may not be realized by everyone. That's a hard truth, I know, but it is true. But the infertility race can have other endings, other finish lines. Although it may not result in a pregnancy and the birth of a biological child, the end prize may be parenting by adoption. For others, the finish line may come in the form of acceptance, coming to terms with a child-free future. I guess any way you look at it, there will be an ending to it. This journey I'm on will eventually come to an end one way or another. In my heart I feel that our personal goal is parenthood, whichever way we may arrive there.

This month I've been trying to turn over a new leaf and make better, healthier choices. I'm not technically on a diet; I'm just trying to be more active and be better about what I eat. While working out today, I decided to revise my analogy a little bit. Yes, I'm still "running." I'm still putting one foot in front of the other and moving forward. Sometimes the race is harder than other times. To me, it's more like running on a treadmill.

You see, I've also had times where I felt like I was stuck in one place. When you're on a treadmill the scenery doesn't change. You are at the same time moving and, well, not moving. Your legs are going, your heart is pumping, and you're sweating your butt off, but you can look up at any moment and see that your surroundings are the very same as when you started. Infertility and recurrent pregnancy loss are like that. Day in and day out you are doing the work, but when you look around it seems you haven't gotten very far. You think, "How is it that so much time has gone by and I'm still right here?" As frustrating as that seems, it's not, however, that you haven't made progress! After all, you are hopefully in better shape when you step off of that treadmill than you were when you began.

That's the way I'm choosing to look at it. Instead of running a race or running toward a very specific goal, maybe I'm running for endurance and for strength. Maybe I'm running to encourage someone else that they can do it too. Sure, I know that it's important to run (or walk, in my case!) with your eye on the prize, but I think that we can still run with purpose for the sake of finishing strong and not necessarily "winning." We know when we get on a treadmill that we won't be running across a literal finish line. But we get on anyway because we know that it will have its advantages. We'll burn those calories and we'll be closer to maintaining a healthy body.

If I can finish my infertility journey with a sense of purpose and even with a sense of pride for the accomplishment of feeling stronger, wiser, and more compassionate, then that, too, is progress. That, too, is winning.

Obstacles

Obstacle:
One that opposes, stands in the way of, or holds up progress;
A person or thing that opposes or hinders something;
Something immaterial that stands in the way and must be circumvented or surmounted.

What are the things that have kept you from realizing your dreams? Sometimes I think about the people or things or circumstances in my life, past and present, that have either made it harder or impossible to get where I want to be. I don't mean placing blame upon or harboring bitterness toward other people. Although it can be a person, I think most of the time (for me anyway) the obstacle is something that is largely out of our control.

Last weekend when we were at our college homecoming, we were walking through the student center when two older couples came up to us and asked us to take their picture. As it turned out, they were part of the class of '59 and were being honored for the 50th anniversary of their graduation. We stopped for a few minutes to chat with them, with the usual questions like what was your major, where do you live now, and what do you do. When one of the ladies heard that my husband works at NASA, she shared with us that she had always wanted to be an astronaut ever since she was a little girl. It was her dream to be the first woman in space! 50 years ago, however, when she entered college as a young woman with the desire to major in engineering, she faced an obstacle. She was asked, "Do you want to get married someday?" She hesitantly replied that she wasn't quite sure at that point, and was then told that her only options were to study to become a secretary, a teacher, or a nurse. They wouldn't allow a woman to major in engineering.

I wish I could tell you that the story ended with that nice lady overcoming that obstacle and fulfilling her dream. I wish I could say that she had changed the system and accomplished more than she had ever imagined. But we could tell by the disappointment in her voice that it hadn't turned out that way. Don't get me wrong; she didn't seem miserable or look like a woman who had never accomplished a thing. I want to believe that she found happiness and success in her life in other areas. I wish that we had gotten the rest of her story that day. I have thought about her many times since last weekend. I've found myself wondering what other avenues she might have pursued when that door was closed on her dream.

Sometimes having those obstacles and figuring out ways around them can be a good thing in the long run. Growing up poor, for example, was an obstacle in my life. Additionally, I was from a broken home with a father who didn't pay child support. As a child, I couldn't do anything to change that circumstance. As I got older I knew that I would have to work very hard to overcome it. I needed a way out and I pursued it with education. I wanted to go to college, but there would be no college fund or savings account provided for me. I needed scholarships and I needed grants, so I set out to achieve that. Trust me, there were still obstacles. Huge ones, in fact. People and circumstances got in the way. Some of them seemed impossible to get through at the time, but looking back now I appreciate it so much more because of the struggle and in spite of it. I never want to take for granted where I've been.

At this time in my life, my obstacles are infertility and recurrent pregnancy loss. I guess more specifically, the obstacle is my own body. It's terribly frustrating when something gets in the way of your dream. When that something is yourself, it can almost make you crazy. We don't want our big, life-changing decisions made for us! We don't want somebody or something to tell us we can't achieve our dreams. It's infuriating when it is out of our control, when all we want to do is have a baby, but our own bodies keep getting in the way.

Sometimes we can make it around those obstacles, and sometimes I think it's also great when we realize that we can choose another path (in this case, parenting through adoption or living childless and happy).

Right now I'm trying to overcome infertility, knowing that if it works, I'll have to face the possibility of another miscarriage. Those are my obstacles. I've been face-to-face with them before. I'm determined to find a way around, over, or through them.

All The Time

Last year at this time I said goodbye to my home and nearly everything I own.

I remember that moment before I closed the door and got into the car to drive away. I just stood there for a few minutes, looking around, and I thought Okay, Lord. I don't want to do this, but I have to. If you decide to take it all away, then so be it.

It's so much easier to write that a year later, after many people have put their lives and homes back together after the devastation of Hurricane Ike. This weekend is the first anniversary of that terrible storm. We are extremely comfortable right now, by comparison. This has been a quiet hurricane season for those of us who live near the Gulf coast.
Thankfully, we didn't lose our home, although many did -- and not just people we saw on the local news. People we know.

I don't want to make it sound as though I think losing material possessions is the worst thing in the world. I don't, but I still don't want to go through that terrible trial if I don't have to! I remember during the days of our evacuation how we watched The Weather Channel sometimes with panic and sometimes with resignation. We desperately hoped everything would be alright. Coming to a place, however, where you must say that it will be okay if you come home to nothing is quite a struggle. As a homemaker, it goes against every ounce of my being that loves keeping house and making a home for my family. The idea of a strong wind, or flood waters, or a storm surge carrying it all away is unsettling to say the least.

But I know people who have lived through it. They've picked up the pieces that were left and they've carried on. What's even more inspiring, though, is that they've found joy through the storm.

It is so, so hard to be joyful inside and to give God praise when things aren't going our way. It's easy to say that He is good when our circumstances are good -- and we should! But oh, the challenge is to say that and believe it when they are not.

But God is still good.
Even through hurricanes and infertility, He's good.
All the time.

True Words

This weekend I came across a great quote that I want to share with you. I'll keep this post brief because I don't want to detract from the quotation itself. I agree wholeheartedly with these words. I hope that in life we can all encounter far more of the second kind of people than the first:

"There are two kinds of people - you know them.
As you journey along on life's track -
The people who take your strength from you,
And others who put it all back." -- Ralph Spaulding Cushman

I'm grateful for those in my life who consistently put it all back!

Still Running

I'm not a runner. Honestly, I hate to run.

When I was in college, one of my friends suggested that I start running with her. She'd been running for years. I thought I'd give it a try and told her that I would have to start pretty slowly. Let me tell you, to put it nicely, it kicked my butt. I was able to keep up with my friend, but I noticed that I had to focus nearly all my energy on breathing in and out. I found it amusing that, while we would run, my friend would chat. Finally one day I told her that I absolutely didn't mind listening, but I would be a terrible conversationalist during our runs! I found it impossible to keep up my end of the conversation while gasping for air.

If any of you are runners out there, please don't be hard on me! I did my best to try to hang with my friend who obviously had more experience than I did. She knew what she was doing! I didn't, and I never quite caught on. We eventually quit running together (probably due to our schedules more than my dislike for it), and besides the occasional game of chase with my nephews, I haven't run for the sake of running since. I admire those who do it, but it's really not my thing. Truthfully, I've never been much of an athlete by any stretch of the imagination.

Figuratively speaking, however, I'm a runner alright. I'm a veritable track star.

Many times I run to escape my problems. Right now I'm running from seeing my fertility specialist. I haven't set foot in his office in a year and a half. We're supposed to be "trying again." But after all these months have passed with no change, I have become more and more afraid. So, I'm running. Every day I think about picking up the phone to make an appointment, but every day I find a reason not to. Maybe this will be the month that it happens again -- that we get pregnant and it actually sticks. You see, up until now we haven't sought a doctor's help to get to that point. My problem is with miscarriage. But now that pregnancy won't come, for whatever reason, I feel stuck. I feel afraid. I don't know what to do, which direction to go. So I've been avoiding it. Even worse, I'm afraid of someday hearing that we may never overcome this. This is a hard thing for me to admit to you today, but it's true.

I'm also running a race of endurance. I recently read something that compared infertility to a marathon. It is long and it is challenging. It feels like it may never end. I would almost prefer a sprint, I think, which is more intense but far shorter. This is my eighth year of running, and yes, I've been lapped many, many times. Sometimes I want to quit because it seems so hard and I wonder if I'll ever reach the finish line or achieve the goal.

Sometimes I feel less like a runner and more like a spectator. Others around me are running while I'm standing still. And some days I take on the role of a cheerleader, encouraging others who are pursuing their goal and rejoicing with them when they reach it. While I'm honored to be in that position whenever possible, there's no denying that it's hard and it's painful. It hurts to be the one left behind, the one still waiting and still running.

While I think the race analogy is a pretty accurate one in many ways, I'm not entirely comfortable with using it in terms of winning and losing. I certainly don't view my life as one big race to have a baby, while competing with my peers for one ultimate prize. In fact, I don't consider it my one and only goal in life to have children. While it may be my desire, my passion, and my dream, it is not all that I live for. If I never get there, I don't consider myself a loser or my life a waste. If I never become a parent, I am still a wife, a daughter, a sister, and a friend. Above and beyond all of that, I'm a child of God.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.

Hebrews 12:1-3

The Love of God

I've heard it said many times that a person can't fully understand the love of God until they've become a parent.

Many people have stated that it wasn't until they saw, held, raised, loved, and cared for their own children that they truly realized how much God loves them and what the sacrifice of His own Son on the cross of Calvary really was.

I hope you know me well enough by now to hear my heart here if you're a regular reader of this blog. If you are not, please understand that I don't know what having and raising my own children is like. I may never know. And I would certainly never, ever take away from a person's own experience of parenting. I don't doubt at all that so many have better understood God's love through parenting. If having children is the way that our Heavenly Father has helped you to truly realize and grasp His amazing love for you, then I think that is a wonderful thing.

What bothers me, however, is the idea that NO ONE can understand it unless they've become a parent. It is one of those statements that I hear that, as a barren woman, cuts so deeply.

I wonder if anyone who has thought or said this has ever realized how much an infertile Christian woman relies upon the love of her Lord. In fact, I would even say that I may not have realized the greatness of it until I experienced infertility! And perhaps that is just the point I'm trying to make here. We all have different paths, different trials and afflictions that we will face in life. We will even have different joys and different blessings. And we all will decide how to accept and live with all of the combined circumstances that make up our lives. I believe that God is big enough and strong enough to reveal His deep and relentless love to His children no matter where they are in life, whether they will ever experience the joys of childbirth and parenthood or not.

It is unfair to suggest to someone that she may never understand God's love and sacrifice until she has a child. Many of us can identify with a portion (however small) of what He may have felt when He sacrificed His only Son. Although I've never held any of my children in my arms or looked upon their faces or even called them by name, I knew them and loved them while they were a part of my body and after they were no longer. Many have had to continue to live after having lost a child inside or outside of the womb. Furthermore, many have had to face the fact that they may never have any children. This too, friends, is sacrifice.

For me, it is the very love of my Lord that gets me through that pain every single day.

I understand sacrifice. I understand love. I don't know if any of us can ever truly grasp the depth of God's love until we see Him face to face. Until then, if the Lord has used giving you a child to reveal His love to you, what a wonderful and special gift! If instead He has used infertility to reveal how much He loves you with an undying love, what a wonderful and special gift that can be as well.

Your Love is Deep (song lyrics by Jami Smith)

Your love is deep
Your love is high
Your love is long
Your love is wide

Deeper than my view of grace
Higher than this worldly place
Longer than this road I travel
Wider than the gap You filled

Who shall separate us?
Who shall separate us from Your love?
Nothing can separate us
Nothing can separate us from Your love

(Ephesians 3:17-21 NIV)
I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.
Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.

Another Goodbye

As always, thank you for your condolences, support, and prayers for my family after the death of my uncle. You guys are amazing and I am so, so thankful for you.

When I left home two Saturdays ago for Louisiana after we received the news of my uncle's fatal car accident, I thought I would be returning home about 3 days later. After a few years of some really hard times in his life, my uncle had made his wishes known to certain family members. He wanted his remains to be cremated and he did not want a funeral service. We thought the process would happen fairly quickly, but not long after we got on the road to make the trip, we got word that it would be nearly a week before all of the appropriate papers were signed and arrangements could be made. Although I hadn't quite packed for it, I decided to stay the whole week with my mom. My husband returned home without me to go to work for the week, with plans to come again the next weekend. I was incredibly glad to be able to spend the week with my mom. I knew it would be hard for her as she mourned the loss of her older brother, and I'm thankful that I was able to be there to keep her company.

Of the 5 children born to my grandparents, my mom is in the middle. She grew up with an older sister and brother as well as a younger sister and brother. My aunt, the eldest sibling, passed away 7 years ago from cancer. Watching my mom grieve after losing another sibling was most certainly difficult.

You can't help but notice how life changes people as time goes on. Since news of the accident, I know that my mother's thoughts have returned to her childhood memories of growing up with her brother. Theirs was not an easy childhood. They had strict parents, much hard work, and many chores and responsibilities. The highlights were always summers spent with their grandparents, but Mom's favorite memory was when her brother took his two younger sisters and a friend to see the King himself, Elvis Presley, in concert in Houston. I've listened to her tell that story (with almost as much joy as the day it happened) and many others my whole life.

But people grow up and circumstances happen, and sometimes they get the best of us. Sometimes we survive them, but we come out on the other side damaged and broken. Recounting the last few years of my uncle's life here would get too long, too involved, too complicated to even make much sense. I know that he was a very private person, mostly keeping to himself in later years. After a set of pretty wacky circumstances that included a final, complicated divorce, my uncle just wasn't the same person anymore. I'm sure that somewhere inside he may have been, but he was at the very least changed. His life was less like living and more like surviving from day to day. When I look at all that unfolded over the years, I can see why he had been so affected by all of it. And although he had made some really bad choices, I still feel very sad about how his life turned out.

Instead of dwelling on that, I'm remembering the uncle I knew who always had a big, silly grin on his face and encouraged us to have fun. My uncle was a Cajun who loved to cook and loved to dance. He was the uncle who handed the keys to his brand new truck to my preteen sister and told her to take it for a ride down my grandparents' little dirt road. And when we returned a little while later after putting that brand new truck in the ditch (of course, after he made sure that my sis and I and our cousins were okay), he laughed and said, "It's just a truck. You had fun though, right?" Admittedly, that wasn't the smartest thing a man could ever do, but I remember how cool it felt that he trusted us, and that he cared more about us having a fun story to tell than he did about having a few scratches on that truck!

This is what we do. We remember the good things about our loved ones. We draw on happier times even if we have to reach back over a few decades and a lot of mistakes to get to them. And so, even though my uncle wanted no funeral service, my mom and her sister went forward with a small private service attended by immediate family only. My uncle didn't need it, but his family needed an opportunity to say goodbye. It was very simple and brief.

At the service, my aunt told the Elvis story and my sister told the truck story, and everyone remembered him in their own way.
And I think he would have liked that.