Not Normal

My friend recently gave me a book to read called Anything by Jennie Allen. I’m only a few chapters in, since it is one of those books where you take your time to think about each new idea. It’s good. Really good. The chapter I read this morning was about abandoning entitlement. I didn’t expect the conviction I’m feeling now when I went into reading this chapter.

For most of our marriage, I’ve told people and Zane that I’m okay with being average. I don’t need to go out and be well known for all these different accomplishments (though if I got an award for being the best nanny ever, I probably wouldn’t say no), or to be a “big shot” in any way. Living in a small town, doing the little things well and intentionally…that’s what I intended to do. Have kids, raise them to love Jesus, be a wife to Zane, help out at church, invest in teens and children and friends…

The author pointed out, as we continue to get closer to “normal” (house, kids, good schools, good church..), sometimes God gets pushed out of the picture. We learn to rely on the things instead of the giver of the things. Sometimes, the more we become like everyone else, we hold tightly to the things of this earth, the things that make us the same, and we aren’t willing to let go.

Then there was the paragraph about her friend who was trying to get pregnant for a long time (sound familiar?) and she was in a lot of emotional pain because of that. But in addition to the not getting pregnant part, she was also feeling alone because everyone around her was having babies and being parents and she felt left out. And when I read those words, I knew that is part of my sadness too. I feel left out. I feel like I’m not good enough because this desire I have hasn’t happened for us and everyone else seems to be cashing in. I feel alone, and I don’t like that.

I do feel entitled. I live like I deserve whatever I want and that’s not true. When I’m not grateful for the many gifts God has already bestowed upon me (like my hot husband), I get cranky and irritable and then nothing ever seems like it is enough. I’m also scared of being different and being left behind.

“Normal” isn’t bad, especially when you are living in it with surrender (as I’m learning), but when it is held to this idol-like standard, that’s when God gets squished out. I don’t want to squish God out of my life. Maybe the way my life has taken a different turn from what I expected was a good thing. Perhaps I’m learning to hold blessings loosely in my hands. Perhaps I need to truly say to God that I’ll follow him, even if it means never being normal or average. What if I’m supposed to be more?

I have a lot to think about. Thank goodness I’m on vacation and surrounded by mountains. I feel smaller, in a good way, and I think that’s a good place to be in.

Life Anew.

This week I did something new. I’ve been helping out with the middle school VBS thing at my church, and it has been a blast. Actually, I’m really sore because I don’t normally sprint everywhere and these games have brought out my competitive streak. Originally, I meant to only help with music. Then I was persuaded to be involved in more with the mention of game time. Before I knew it, I was all in. Thinking these three days would be an act of service, you can imagine my surprise when I discovered the gift I’ve been given in return.

I feel alive again.

Interacting with youth, playing games, having discussions, praying, being around friends…all of these things have weaseled that little bit of true life that was hidden deep inside me out to the surface where it was finally given a chance to grow.

This past year of trying to make a baby has been full of doubts, sadness, soul-weariness, and I have been brought to the brink of hopelessness again and again. A year of this. Over and over I wonder when it will all end. Will I be this broken forever? I’m so messy in this season of life. I’m inconsistent, unpredictable, and all over the place emotionally. I try not to let it overwhelm me in public. Sometimes I feel like there is a limit to how many times a person can claim being a mess before they are disowned from a group. And honestly, I don’t want to be the person to ruin a perfectly great time with a morose attitude. That’s why I keep busy. It forces the happier thoughts to the front of my mind and I’m able to forget myself for a bit. But that isn’t true life. It isn’t awful, but fun, busy activities don’t make for abundant life.

As we interacted with the lesson of eternity with the middle schoolers last night, I was smacked in the face with my own short-sightedness. I yearn for a child, but oh, how much more is the prize of Jesus Christ?

Like I said, I’ve been short-sighted. Because along with the year of heaviness and heartbreak, there have been many blessings. Zane and I are experiencing one of the sweetest seasons in our relationship. His unwavering care and presence has spoken of love more strongly than all the chocolate in the world. In my crazy, all-over-the-place life, he has been constant and strong and gentle. What a gift.

More than that, I think I finally believe that God is a good father. I have been learning to believe that He is not unkind to deny me something that my heart is longing for. I’m learning to treasure the fact that I have Jesus. He died for my sins, and yours. He became a human. He is in Heaven preparing for us to be returned to himself to live forever and ever. I’m going to be praising his glorious name for eternity.

That’s what brought me to tears last night. Yes, I’m sad, and it isn’t “fixed,” but it won’t be for forever. Someday, and maybe soon, we will see his face and we will shout his name. We will bow our knees and cry, “Holy is the Lord!” And that is so much greater than anything I could hope for here.

It is well.

This week has been one up and down after another.

To get down to the point: I’m not pregnant, and I thought I was.

I mean, I really could have been. Everything was timed well, certain were symptoms showing up that seemed promising (ones not in the usual PMS category for me), and, this probably doesn’t count, but I felt pregnant.

I was a day late and my hopes were creeping higher and higher. I kept wondering if it was really happening, that maybe this time the Lord was answering my prayers. But no, not this time. I felt betrayed by my own body. How DARE you mislead me into thinking I was pregnant??

Somehow I decided that going to the library was a good idea. I needed to do something other than just sitting and hoping that this was some sort of accident and that this kind of thing happened to other women who got pregnant too. I found myself pulling into the parking lot just begging the Lord to see me, to see my pain and sadness, and to love me even though I was fighting to trust Him.

I got home and walked the dog, mentally preparing myself for the physical pain that was about to come, all the while hoping that it wouldn’t. Then it all kicked in, as if it were mocking me, and I spent hours folded over in pain, just begging for the meds to kick in and relieve my misery. There was too much happening physically and emotionally, that I couldn’t process any of it. I was numb.

When the pain subsided enough that I could actually move, I pulled out one of the books I got and was immediately wrapped up in the story. The story (nothing like mine, AT ALL) brought me to a sanctuary where I could process my feelings safely in the back of my mind. It helped me end my day on a good and high(ish) note.

Today I’m sad. Little Cora girl made me happy, and was a good enough distraction for the first part of the day, leading me to think that I was doing great. Not so. In the middle of my swim workout I started crying….kind of. It’s difficult to cry underwater. I ended up holding my sad thoughts and thinking them, and then crying in the showers in the locker room because there was no way they would be contained.

What are my sad thoughts? Good question. I think about how crushing it is to experience disappointment on this level on a consistent basis. I think about how empty my womb feels, especially since I actually thought I was pregnant. I wonder if I’m broken and maybe I can’t have children. And if I can’t have children, how do I let go of the desire to carry one? Then it progresses into the thoughts of maybe God doesn’t want us to have children and can I give that up? Not that I find my identity in rearing children, but I was kind of hoping to do that…and I have to think about the fact that maybe that isn’t what we are supposed to do, because we don’t know. It sucks. It super super sucks.

And I’m sad.

Somehow, though, I’m okay. Being sad isn’t bad. I should be thinking about who I am, especially if children aren’t in the future (though I believe God will change desires and it won’t be a drudgery if that is what ends up happening) and what gifts I have in this beautiful time that Zane and I have just the two of us. Thinking about Zane makes me happy, and I would love to give him children and bear this weirdo mixture of the two of us…but even if not, I have him. And Zane is more precious to me than anyone in this world. So that’s a good thing. And once I start thinking of the beautiful gifts and opportunities that God has given us because we don’t have children, my heart becomes more thankful.

It is a strange thing to feel great joy and great sadness at the same time. I wonder if Jesus felt that way when he was going to the cross. I believe that the two go together, and that hard things that we are called to endure for whatever amount of time are there to teach us of this dynamic of seemingly opposite feelings. As much as I hate to admit this, I have learned a lot in the past 10 months of struggling to conceive.

I’m not in control. Seriously. We have timed our sex perfectly for 10 months…and nothing. So if we ever do conceive, it will be a miracle and only God can get the glory from it, because we know that we hardly have anything to do with it at all.

I hate being sad. It’s so dreary and it can take me to really unhealthy places. Impulse decisions when wrecked with grief are not usually among the greatest, and I have to have to let people in, to let them share the burden. For the record, I’m not in a safety-threatened state of mind. I suppose it could get that far, but I am also waaaaay too honest to try and hide things for long, so I wouldn’t be in danger from myself….in case anyone was wondering.

I’m not angry at God anymore. I’ve tried recently, but I can’t. I trust Him. And even though I can’t feel Him sometimes when I’m numb, if I ask and look for Him, He usually shows himself in creative ways…like a book and storm. And His peace is so gooey. That’s a funny way to describe something that is supposed to pass all understanding…but it just kind of sticks. Think of a toddler who eats peanut butter. No matter how hard you try to wipe it off their face, somehow there is still a teeny, tiny bit that sticks in a crevice and then manages to get everywhere you just wiped. That’s what I mean by gooey. No matter how hard I try to wipe off his peace with anger, that little crevice bit sneaks back over what I’ve wiped and I’m reminded again of Who I’m with.

I’m going to figure out who I am…what good is a nurturer who isn’t a mother? That was one of my arguments to the Lord a few months back. I do feel worthless, but I know that isn’t true. I must be here for SOME reason, right? I need to look at my Father, see myself through his eyes and then maybe some things will make a little more sense……… maybe. Who knows?

I’ve been going back to this for almost a month now:

“When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,

When sorrows like sea billows roll;

Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,

It is well, it is well, with my soul.”

And so it is.

 

Choosing Joy

It seems like maybe it is time I finally write something about the struggle I find myself in these days. Perhaps you are one of the ones who know this already, but Zane and I have been in the process of trying to have a baby. It has been a little over a year since getting off birth control, and almost eight months since first attempting to create a child.

When we first started, it seemed like a fun secret and adventure. It was something special and I was excited for it to happen and then surprise everyone with the news. But months passed and nothing happened. It hadn’t gotten to the point where I was discouraged about everything, but it definitely wasn’t as easy to get pregnant as I thought it would be. Tracking my cycles was helpful in that we were able to time everything, and it was fun to know what my body was doing. (Because seriously, God created women’s bodies to be super awesome) Then sometime in September/October my temps were high past the point of my expected period, which means pregnancy, but then I started bleeding. And it wasn’t the same as other times. It was a miscarriage.

Depending on who you are, this might not seem like a big deal. It was only a life for only a few days, if that. I don’t know if I can properly explain the sort of pain that I experienced. It isn’t the same as knowing someone and experiencing life with them before they die. I know that. But when you are trying and trying to get pregnant while experiencing failure after failure, the small spark of hope that is carried every month seems to wane with each disappointment. So imagine the immense joy when realizing the tiny, unformed life is there, but then the soul crushing pain as it leaves your body. How do you pick up the pieces? To have what you had been praying and dreaming of, gone in the blink of an eye.

So I stopped.

I finished the year not tracking my temperatures, though obviously I still knew what was going on with my body. I needed the time to learn to be thankful again. God’s in control. I believed that, and I still believe it, but I forgot what it means to trust Him when my heart is aching and so raw. It gave me time and space to love the life I have been given. I have a wonderful husband, two weirdo pets, and a home that makes me want to nap all the time because it is so cozy. I grew in thankfulness and found contentment.

I’m back to it now. And it’s harder than ever. It seems like with the new year that everyone is getting pregnant with the ease I had once believed in. I’m jealous. I’m sad. I’m happy for them. I’m so full of emotions that I’m exhausted. The Lord’s timing is perfect. That’s what everyone keeps telling me. I hate it when people tell me that. I hate it. It seems like the most unthoughtful thing to say to someone who is fighting to control their emotions so that they can be a good friend. But it’s true. My story is not the story of those I know who are pregnant. I don’t want their story. And I have to remind myself that no one is better than me because I am not pregnant. I am not broken, but made for a specific purpose. I have been created with such care and tenderness and it isn’t for nothing.

The Lord isn’t calling me to follow Him when I get whatever my heart longs for, but all the time. And would I follow Him if He said no to those heart-wants? Yes. I choose my Saviour. Though I believe we will have a baby at some point, that isn’t now. There is much to be learned when called to wait. I have to choose to look at His face when my circumstances cause me to weep. He is steadfast. He is good. He is in control. I will believe it, even when my crazy emotions are begging me to doubt.

So I rejoice. Sometimes it may be with tears streaming down my face, but I rejoice. Because I love my friends, and I love their wee ones not yet born, I will choose joy even when I’m sad. I imagine the joy they must have experienced when first learning of their new life and my heart sings for them. I picture the excitement (and maybe slight fear?) as they prepare for a new one and I pray for them. 

There is peace in our Father. I’m finding it, slowly but surely. He draws me near, and lets me feel so deeply, and then calls me to remember Him. I hope that whatever stage you are at in life: single, married, parents or not…that you hope in Him, and not in your circumstances. He is steady and sure and won’t let you go.