As a school librarian, I’m really into story telling. Sharing our stories is important for making connections and helping others through their tough stuff. If my story can help a few others along their way, then my ravines were worth walking through regardless of the end results.
My story starts in a little church in rural Alabama. Every Sunday morning I sat next to my grandparents, sharing one stick of green spearmint gum and playing endless games of tic-tac-toe with my cousin, while my parents were in the choir loft and my aunt made the piano sing. When Granddaddy sang “Oh, how I love Jesus!” there was no doubt he meant it with his whole heart, even if he was a little off-key. I wore the white robes to light the alter candles, sang in children’s choir for Homecoming year after year, and once battled strep throat to performed as Candy Cane Jane for our Christmas program. Most importantly, I knelt at the alter and accepted Jesus as my savior in this small, love-filled church.
Church has always been a part of my family’s culture. Church was the expectation, part of the routine. After my dad’s job dragged us to this frigid place filled with endless corn fields called “Iowa”, we found a new church. Even though it looked nothing like our little church back home, it was a safe, loving place full of friends who felt like family as I grew into a teenager, then a young adult. I felt good going to church, I prayed every now and then, I enjoyed the music and the friendships there. Life was good, and I was fine with God sitting in a box to be opened on Sunday.
Our first summer as Mr. & Mrs. was a busy one. We both graduated from college in May, were in three different weddings in June (including our own!), and in July we left our tiny apartment in small town Iowa to move across the country to San Antonio to start our first grown-up jobs.
For the first few years we happily settled into life as a couple. We bought our first home, made some incredible friends, enjoyed our jobs, and explored a beautiful city. We took a trip to Europe. We spent weekends at the beach. We indulged in lazy Saturdays watching college football and reruns of The Office.
After a while we found a church to call home, feeling very adult-ish choosing to go without our parents’ reminders. Church still felt good. I prayed a little more often, I really enjoyed the music, and we even tried a few Bible study groups trying to make some “church friends”. Life was good, and I was fine with God sitting in a box to be opened on Sunday. And maybe on Tuesday nights if we went to Bible study that week.
Then we decided we wanted to have a baby.
Do you remember that moment in your life? One day I clung to my freedom to be selfishly lazy, going where I wanted and on my own time. Then, a switch flipped and I not only wanted a baby, I wanted a baby NOW. So we entered this phase of “let’s just try and see what happens!”. Which is supposed to be fun, right?
Well, it WAS fun…for the first six months.
My best friend told me she was pregnant. I was overjoyed for her, and excitedly shared that we were trying too! And now our kids will be the same age! They will grow up to be best friends, or maybe even get married!
Nine months later her beautiful baby girl was born, and I was not pregnant.
My knowledge of the delicate process of how a baby is created was pretty basic, so, being a questioner I started doing some research. Thus we entered the world of ovulation predictor kits, basal temperature checks, and cycle charting. The type A, control-loving side of me took great pleasure in all these charts and measurements: at least I was DOING something, and I was really good at data tracking!
After several emotional months filled with charts and home remedies and “trying” (which, thanks to the stress of infertility, wasn’t as fun anymore), we began to suspect that something might be wrong. I went to my gynecologist, and without any exams or tests she told me not to worry because I was young (I was 26 at the time), just stop worrying and give it more time. I was disheartened, discouraged, and angry at this doctor for dismissing my frustrations and fears.
But I was also determined! I would research infertility, read all the books, and take matters into my own hands. I could make this happen!
I couldn't make it happen. And I still had God sitting in a box.
After two and a half years with no baby, I made our first appointment with a fertility specialist. I was terrified. Seeing a medical “specialist” is never a comforting idea because it means something out of the ordinary is wrong with you. In my mind, going to a specialist was especially unsettling because it meant admitting there was something wrong and it was out of my control. Talk about scary.
Our first meeting with a fertility specialist was an emotional one. After an exam and ultrasound, our doctor told me she was sure I had stage four endometriosis and would need surgery to treat it. I felt more relief at having a diagnosis than I felt anxiety about surgery. Finally there was an explanation for everything we’d been going through! And we had a plan! I was back in the driver’s seat!
Soon after, my brother and sister-in-law shared the wonderful news they were expecting. Awesome! We had a game plan, so any day we’d be pregnant too! The cousins will be the same age!
When I met my sweet nephew for the first time, I was still not pregnant.
For nearly three years, we would undergo countless tests, medications, and attempts at conceiving all under the umbrella of “fertility treatments”. We went through stages of hope, frustration, depression, anger, disappointment, fear, acceptance…sometimes all in one week. The most overwhelming was a feeling of WHY. Why is this happening to me? Why didn’t this work? Why can’t I fix it? I was doing everything right, but it still wasn’t working.
I ached for a baby. It was such a lonely time, because until you’ve gone through infertility you cannot truly understand how it feels. Well-intentioned people who love us dearly would say things like, “Just go on vacation and relax, and you’ll get pregnant!” “Stop worrying, you’re so young!” And, my personal favorite, “I heard about So & So who got pregnant as soon as they brought their adopted baby home, so you should just adopt!” As if China was running a BOGO sale on babies…
I was bitter, and lonely, and angry. Life was not so good anymore. I still enjoyed church, except for all the babies around. The words of the music sometimes had more meaning for me now. For too long I left God sitting in a box, to be opened only on Sundays (by this time we’d given up on Bible studies). I prayed a little more, but it was mostly to tell God I was angry (as if He didn’t already know). Or to beg, Oh, by the way God, I’m planning to try this this next thing so could you please make my way work?
God didn't make my way work. It turns out, God doesn't work that way, an on-demand wish fulfiller. And God certainly can't work when you've got Him trapped in a box.
One of the many books I read during this time was called Hannah’s Hope by Jennifer Saake. Through this text I spent a lot of time with Hannah, whose story of longing to be a mother is told in 1 Samuel. What I learned most from Hannah is that God wants us to be vulnerable with Him. I was so busy trying to fix everything on my own that I didn’t stop to seek wisdom and comfort from the One who loves me most. It is only when we develop an intimate relationship with God that we can open our hearts as Hannah did. Just look at how scripture in 1 Samuel describes Hannah’s prayer: verse 10 says Deeply hurt, Hannah prayed to the Lord and wept with many tears, and in verse 16 she tells the priest Eli, “I’ve been praying from the depth of my anguish and resentment”.
This is how God wants us to come to Him. Hannah was hurting; when she took her pain to God, He listened and He helped. This is where the work and reshaping is done. It wasn’t until I turned it over to God and admitted I can’t do this without you, when I finally stopped trying to control the next step, when I stopped trying to leave God sitting in a box, that I began to experience God’s peace and love and comfort.
As I’m working on being fearless in 2020, a verse I often return to is Philippians 4:6-7. It is a promise of help, but it doesn’t say “bring your cares to God and He will give you everything you ask for”.
God promises that if we trust Him, He will guard our hearts with peace and love while He writes our story, more exciting and beautiful than we could imagine.
The only thing that kept us moving from one step to the next was the growing faith that God had a plan for us that was bigger than we could understand. Through travelling this ravine of infertility, we learned to pray together for our family. He showed us that marriage isn’t designed to be about me and you, but about WE. God led me to other women who were going through the same thing so I didn’t feel so lonely. He sent me friends who were more mature Christians than I was, who taught me for the first time how to learn meaningful lessons from studying the Bible myself. I still made sure I was doing all the right things as my doctors ordered, but somewhere along the way I learned that checklists and charts don’t make things happen: God does. I could do everything “right,” but if it wasn’t in God’s timing it didn’t matter.
Sharing our story has provided opportunities to connect with other women who are also dealing with infertility. I am confident that part of the reason we went through this is to help others along the way. I have answered questions, made doctor referrals, shared parts of our story, and most often just listened and prayed over women who long to become mothers. Without my own struggles with infertility, I wouldn’t be able to relate to the heartache waiting brings.
We were very fortunate to conceive with our first IVF treatment: a perfect baby girl who is truly a gift from God. Before she was two years old, her baby brother joined us through a second round of IVF. She is an incredible big sister, and he is the definition of a silly little brother!
My children make my heart so happy,
and are a daily reminder of the incredible things that can happen when we have faith while we wait.
