How to tell it- Side One

Their eyes would find me. They’d stop what they were doing to come close.

Voices dropped, nearly whispered,

“How are you do-ing?”

You know the scene.  You were probably in it.

The first few weeks after John left, I started to dread this scene because it happened all the time. Several times a day, sometimes, when I was in a group.

In a group of friends. Who love me. Who were there for me. Who were there for me when I cried.

Which is what I did every time someone asked me that.

(Can I just tell you, I hate crying in front of people!)

It wasn’t that I was doing so horrible at that moment that tears just burst out. It was that talking about it, making the words come out--which made it even more real than just living it--was hard.

Hell, (can I say that here?) living it was hard. Trying to express myself in a soundbite was hard enough to make me cry.

“I’m ok. I miss him,” I’d choke out.

And then quickly laughing to break the sadness of the moment, adding “But we’re good. We’re so blessed.”

I get about here in telling this story and I vacillate. There are two parts of the story to tell. It’s a well-worn coin twisted round and round between my fingers, dropped on the floor, lost in pockets, but always there, each side as real as the other.

On one side is an image of me with empty arms. Well, one arm is actually full of a baby girl who probably has some piece of me or her in her mouth. 

(But, see, even there I am showing you part of the other side already.)

It’s important to tell this, though. I doubt I’ll ever forget it, but this, as hard and not-awesome as it is, is part of the fabric. Like the tearful-but-beautiful years of infertility, this time isn’t something to be rushed through or just “hung in there.”

I do miss my John. Severely. I do feel quite empty without him.

My life is supposed to have him in it, he’s supposed to be here in this house, with me. He’s supposed to come home at the end of the day and kiss me. He’s supposed to help me unload the groceries from the car. He’s supposed to be standing by me at church and slip his arm around me and squeeze my shoulder and in that, tell me everything.

I clench and flex my fists, trying to work the pain of emptiness away. I squeeze my eyes shut tight, because maybe when I open them this will be over. I try to mute that track that plays over and over, screaming in my mind,

“I don’t like this! I want him here! This isn’t right!”

I hold our daughter and ache for him not being able to do the same.  

You can’t look at Ayla for very long without smiling, though, and as my mouth turns up, that coin starts its rotation again.

(Tune in tomorrow for Side Two)

Blue Friday

[Spoiler Alert- The blog below contains honest emotions. If you're one of my work colleagues or someone who would feel uncomfortable seeing this side of me, please feel free to click away to one of my funnier blogs now. :-)]

[and it's really long]


It's a good thing I didn't get my makeup on before leaving for work, because it would've been all over my face by the time I got there. I'm not a crier. Well, that's not true. But I used to not be. Then, when I started dating John, I started crying all the time.


Oh, it wasn't him. It was the fact that our relationship was long-distance bi-country (him:US, me:Honduras) until 2 months before we got married, so I missed him alot.


I digress. 

Today (Friday) started out really early. I had a presentation to give in the Instructor Training Course I'm taking at the Defense Information School. It was just a demonstration, so I didn't spend as much time prepping for it as I should've. I got up at 4:30 to work on it, but never quite got my head in the game.


On the drive up to Ft. Meade (35 miles away), the song All My Praise by Selah, came on the radio. One of the singers in Selah is Todd Smith. I came across a blog by his wife, Angie, several months ago. Eighteen weeks into their 3rd pregnancy, they learned that their unborn (4th) daughter, Audrey, had no kidney function, an enlarged heart, undeveloped lungs and no amniotic fluid. Angie's blog about their journey was one of the most read blogs of 2008.


The short version of the story is that they were told they should have an abortion because Angie would probably miscarry, and even if Audrey survived delivery, she would take one gasping breath and die. Plus, carrying a live baby with no amniotic fluid is very painful for the mother. They decided that God gave Audrey to them and they'd hold on to her as long as they could. She was delivered via c-section at 32 weeks and lived for a peaceful two and a half hours. (I highly recommend you read her version of the story, just keep a tissue close.)


The song was recorded 3 years before their ordeal with Audrey started, but the blog was fresh on my mind. The lyrics--


And even in the shadow of death
I will praise You
And even in the valley I will say
Holy, My God
You are worthy of all my praise
Holy, My God
You are worthy of all my praise


--just seemed really poignant. I wonder if even as Todd sang this song, God was preparing his heart for what he would actually have to walk through in the future. And I wonder what God is preparing my heart for.


I can't hear a song by Selah without thinking about their story, so of course my heart got sad for them. --Tears start. -- And then sadder still for anyone who loses a baby. And sad for me because I want a baby. And happy-sad for my friend who just had a healthy baby 3 weeks early, before her husband got home from his Navy trip. And sad for all the daddies who can't be there for their babies' births. And hoping John is there for ours (because we WILL have them).


By this point, I'm not even bothering to dry my cheeks off.


And then I cried for our future foster children, for their parents who will make bad choices that will lead to us taking care of their babies. And for all the children in the world who don't have loving homes to live in. And then some more for myself for wanting a baby, and for all my friends who want babies, and for missing John, who is only gone for 2 weeks, but it seems so much longer.


Do you see why I was a mess when I got to work this morning? My mind was a million miles away from my demonstration on how to make a trifle. 


I made it through today, but I feel like I've been in a daze. I write this not to be all "woe is me" but just to let you know that it's okay to feel the blues every once in a while. I try to keep what I write very encouraging and full of joy. But today, I knew I had to tell you about this.


Because joy tastes so much sweeter when you know the bitterness of sorrow. Our character can be developed more in our times of 'weakness' because our hearts are softer to the Potter's hands. 

I don't dwell on these things every day, but today I was able to offer all of it up as a prayer, knowing my God is big enough to hold it all.


I'll be glad to see this day tucked into history and look forward to His new mercies tomorrow.

If you care, to know.

I want you to know that I’m ok. I’m actually better than ok, I’m doing great. My life overflows with blessings, my future is bright, though mostly unknown. I think one of those future unknowns gives many people cause to pity me or project something on me that I do not feel. So, I wanted to gently place here what I do feel.

This October will mark three years since John and I decided to start trying for children. Three years seems like a long time, and it has felt like a long time, but in perspective, it’s just a breath in the life God has given us. In that time, countless babies have been born to our friends and families, and we have rejoiced in them all. Also in that time, countless people have prayed for us, prophesied over us and confirmed in us the promise of God, and we have been thankful for them all.

I think there’s an inherent tendency for empathy to take form in words more kin to the heart of the giver than the receiver. There is nothing but good intent here, but maybe some understanding will enlighten those who try to speak words of comfort and hope to me and other TTCs (Trying to conceive). Of course, I can’t speak for them, just for me. This is where I am after three years of a winding journey down a narrow road. I’m not at the end yet and thank God, I’m not where I started.

First, know that I am content with what God has given me. I can’t list it all here, but you’ve seen in previous blogs my delight in my friends, my family, my husband and my Savior. God has turned what was mourning in a ‘have not’ to joy in all I have. When I think of His goodness to me, I can’t think of one reason to complain or one more thing to beg for. Even if I never hold a baby of my own in my arms, I will ever lift them in praise to God. This was not an easy statement to come by, but it is the truth.

Next, know that in this season God is making me who He wants me to be. He is changing and shaping my character, and I know when I finally am an awesome Mom, I will be so only because of who God is making me into now. God is also using me just as I am, to be a blessing by serving those around me in ways not possible if I had my own kids. My eyes have been trained to look for these opportunities and my desire is to use time wisely. A lot of well-meaning people say “It’s just a matter of time,” or “it’s all in God’s timing,” which kindof turns Time into a master of sorts and even the bad guy when one is waiting. I say Time in our hands is nothing but the space where we can either choose to let God change and use us, or we can choose to sit passively, or even worse, act out of resentment and ingratitude.

Finally, and I’ll only close here because I don’t want this to be too long, we believe the promises of God. John and I have both had vivid dreams of our children, so real that we know these are just previews from our loving Father. We do not make the mistake of putting our hope in the dreams, only in the Giver of the dreams. Some loving friends have also told us that we just need to “let it go” or “lay it down.” Please believe me when I say we have done both to the deepest extent we can. Some dreams do not go away as urgently as we demand they do. With those stubborn dreams, we can only offer them continually to the Giver. We don’t know how we’ll get the children, whether they’ll have our DNA or simply our last name, but we know God has given us the heart of parents and that heart is too precious to be unused.

Tears may fall from our eyes when people pray over us to have children. These are not tears of sorrow or lack. They are not Hannah’s tears, though we know the taste of those. They are tears of strong desire and faith. More like Jacob’s tears when he kissed Rachel.

From this place, we stand confident and happy. We are so excited when we find out about others having babies, whether they were trying or not! People who really know us should know better than to withhold that good news in order to spare any negative feelings we might have. People who really know us are always welcome to speak into our lives, I just wanted to give you a better picture of where we are.

Thank you for reading this, for trying to understand and for your continued prayers on our behalf. One thing our children will know, as well they know their own names, is that a world-wide community of people prayed over them before they were born. And I think they will be amazing world-changing people because of it!