Part I: That Little Insignificant Fear

Where once there were thorns, cypress trees will grow. Where nettles grew, myrtles will sprout up. These events will bring great honor to the Lord’s name; they will be an everlasting sign of his power and love.”

Isaiah 55:13

Ok, I don’t know even where to begin. But I need to write. God has made that clear. And I am finally being obedient. Finally responding to His ask. His prompt. It’s scary because infertility is such a private battle, such an emotional battle. It hits such deep cords. 

And I don’t want to offend. 

This is in no way to impose judgement on anyone else’s journey. It’s not to say that our’s is right and anyone else’s is wrong. Not at all. 

Please hear me in that. 

Please understand this is an act of obedience, in the hope and prayer that it will glorify God, that it will help someone else on the journey of life, help someone else in their pain. 

And so God has told me to write. I can only write our journey. That is what I will do, as messy and raw as it is. 

Please receive it in kindness. 

God has reminded me of His sweet love and goodness on the way here to Boulder Creek, this sweet coffee shop. He revealed the above Scripture to me in June, right before we went to NTS camp with our students. There were several myrtles on campus. His love. That’s about the time He began to speak about sharing our infertility journey. On the way here today, I saw so many of those trees! I wouldn’t be surprised if He moved them all along my path so I would see them and be reminded. I took one little step in obedience - going to the coffee shop to write. No distractions of home. Just writing our story. And here He showered me with reminders of His promises. 

Thank You, Lord. 

I’ll start at the beginning. I’m not sure where else to start, really. But it goes way back. Like waaaay back. 

When I was a little girl, dolls and playing house were my life. I had a water baby named Gabrielle. She was my girl. I remember holding her on the way to church one time (church was about a 40 minute drive), and my arm was getting tired - water babies are heavy! - and I thought, I can’t put her down, this is good practice...I’m building my muscle for when I have kids of my own. If only muscle tone hung around that long, ha. Every dime I earned went towards baby blankets or tiny little socks. I remember vividly the Christmas I got a little doll bunk bed set. My babies had a sweet place to lay their heads! I would hold and rock and swaddle and change their clothes until my little heart was content. And all the while, I’d do this with a little orange and white basketball we had tucked up under my shirt. Oh yes, I was “with child.” 

All. The. Time. 

It’s funny to think about now, but it was real life back then. All I ever wanted to do was be a mommy and make a home. It was innocent enough. No one forced me to, it was just my heart all free and young and bursting with dreams. 

And then one day, that innocence found a crack. I was seven or eight years old, in my room playing with a little friend of mine. Her name was Bethany. I remember wondering why she was an only child. That afternoon when she left, I asked my mom, as little children do, with no regard to sensitive topics such as how many kids a woman has and why. So I asked. And her reply would open the door to a fear I never could’ve imagined would grow so deep, so wide, without me even knowing. 

My mom’s response? 

“She’s an only child because her parents couldn’t have children. They adopted her.” 

She couldn’t have children...

I couldn’t get that phrase out of my head. She couldn’t have children? Why? Why would someone not be able to have children? Would I not be able to have children? 

These thoughts rocked my happy little play world. But as time went on and life flew by, I tucked the little thought away, moving forward into middle school, a family move, learning to play an instrument, wearing make up...all the things that occupy a teenager’s mind. 

But that thought would bubble up every once in awhile. When I met someone with only one child. Or no children. Or I heard about a pregnancy that didn’t end as planned.

And somewhere in my growing up world, that little basketball up my shirt turned into a love for pregnancy and delivery. High School would bring about a career choice as a nurse...labor and delivery, of course. 11 years into that career (which was only chosen as an “until”...I’ll do this until I get to be a wife and mom and stay home with my kiddos), I have been a part of hundreds of births. Some joyful and some not. Some prayed for and some not. Some wanted and some not so much. 

That little thought of not being able to have children somewhere deep inside all the while. But I paid little mind to it. After all, a single girl waiting for her husband isn’t exactly concerned with children at the moment.

Until he comes. And sweeps her off her feet. He’s the pony she’s waited so long for. The one she’s prayed for. One that holds a deep desire to be a father, just as she does to be a mother. 

And that thought, that fear, would wiggle it’s way in a little more often. There was no reason for it. It was completely unfounded. I’ve been healthy all my life. Had annual (well, close to it anyway) checkups since I was 18. No problems. 

Ever.

But still I wondered. It was after all, the thing I wanted most in life. The thing I felt I was made for. What if it couldn’t be?

That’s where it would end- I could never come up with an answer for that question, so I’d push the thought down hard, shake my head, and move on. 

And shortly after that little {grown} girl walked down the aisle, fear crashed into reality. 

Two months into our marriage we began trying. 

And trying.

And trying.

Month after month. A negative test. A red flow so unwelcomed it hurt. It ached deep. 

And we learned little lessons along the way. Like how to share hard news with each other. How to be sensitive to what each other was feeling about something so deep. 

We focused on these verses:

We have this hope as an anchor for our souls, firm and secure. Hebrews 6:14

Let us hold unswervingly for the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful. Hebrews 10:23

I learned that pregnancy was a gift, a blessing, I couldn’t make happen. As women, with multiple ways to prevent having children, multiple ways to manage that little monthly visitor, we are led to believe it’s all within our power. I knew how to take my temps every morning, read the signs. I can prevent a pregnancy and when I stop preventing, pregnancy will will happen. I can make this happen.

Or can I? 

It’s not mine to make happen. It’s the Lord’s. That was a painful, but sweet lesson. 

I’d research online, find every tip and hint and suggestion. 

I need to eat healthier, work out more, sleep more, do more yoga, stop drinking caffeine, stop eating sweets...

Maybe if I lay here longer, stand on my head...am I running too hard?...not running hard enough?...work is so stressful, I need to be less stressed...oy, when did I get so fragile?...

But God...You are in control. I am not. I cannot control this into happening. The blessing of children is not mine to give to my husband, but Yours to give to both of us. 

So why aren’t You? 

That became the next question. And this is about the time that people would ask when we were going to start a family. It was a hard question to answer. I wondered what people would think. But every time the question was asked, that fear, which had turned into a pit in my stomach, would throb and grow bigger. 

And then people would guess. (I’m not a good liar.) And they would give well-meaning advice. 

“Just have fun, don’t worry about it! It’ll happen in time.”

Time...yeah, I was married at 32...and that reminder every month told me exactly how much time this was taking.

“Just stop trying, it’ll happen.”

Um. Have you ever stopped trying to get something you’re dying to have? It’s darn near impossible. But thanks.

“Have you tried...?”

I’m an OB nurse. I’ve heard of it, I’ve tried it. Trust me.

“But you’re so young! You have plenty of time!”

Do you know how old I am? “Plenty” left awhile ago. And either way, when you feel it’s time and it’s not happening, it doesn’t matter how young you are.

“Take your time, just enjoy each other...life will never be the same...you have no idea how exhausting kids are!”

Um. I do enjoy my husband. Every day. I would love to enjoy seeing him in the role of father too. Exhausted or not. 

“You can have mine for the weekend, that might change your mind.”

Clearly you have never struggled trying to have kids. We’ll just leave it at that. And you can keep your children.

The list goes on and on. 

Well-meaning words of encouragement. Or at least I tell myself they were well-meaning. Because I wanted to give people the benefit of the doubt.

Here’s the phrase that maybe could just be one that trumps all:

“I’m so sorry, I’m sure that must be really hard.”

It is. 

Thank you. Very much. 

(Check back soon...in the next installment of our journey I share more about that fear, what I had to do about it, and how God began to speak into our hearts.)