A New Thing

October 14, 2012 By 9 Comments

For I am about to do something new. See, I have already begun! Do you not see it? I will make a pathway through the wilderness. I will create rivers in the dry wasteland. (Isaiah 43:19)

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She is starting to become more real to me, this baby girl we are all waiting for.

We first heard of her months ago, before we knew she was a she. Back then she was a phone call, a story waiting to unfold, a mama’s hand who needed holding.

We fell in step beside her, committed to walking with her for as long as she needed or wanted us. We have learned her stories, started the process of making her family our family. A new kind of in-law relationship. We have broken bread at our table and stood together in worship. She has taken my hand in her hand and held it against her stomach to feel this girl, this daughter, kicking her hellos.

The day we found out the baby growing in her womb was a sweet girl, I wound my way through St. Paul area neighborhoods and looked over to see the sun sparkling off Lake Josephine. A bright blue sky Minnesota July day.

He has been so present, ever present, in this wait.

He makes water stream in the desert. He makes a way where there seems to be no way. For her. For us. For all of us.

Do you not see it?

 
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Rachel’s Story: Yuck Removal (Guest Post)

July 30, 2012 By 7 Comments

By Rachel

As a 12-year-old girl I remember watching one of those sappy commercials where a family played joyfully in front of their cute little house with a white picket fence.  I turned to my friend and said, “I cannot wait for the day when I have a husband and children.”

My friend nearly spit out her drink.  She said, “WHAT??! I am not getting married until I am at least 30!”  She couldn’t fathom why I didn’t look forward to high school, or my college years, or my 20s.

But all I wanted was to be a wife and mother.

Eleven years later I was married to the man of my dreams and we were eager to start a family.  I was finally in that place, with the husband and the house.   I just needed the baby in my belly. My sister had five, my brother four, and I wanted at least that many.  I talked about the desire to adopt, but really I planned to just pop out babies.

Until they didn’t come.

Year after year, test after test, try after try, they didn’t come.

My heart turned bitter and angry and cold.

You know how infertile people say of their pregnant friends how they are “so happy for them” but sad for themselves?

Not me.

I was wretched.

I loathed them; I despised them. I simply wanted to stop being their friend.

I hated myself for that.

I hated those around me for being pregnant.

I hated that stupid little dream that didn’t seem like it would ever come true.

Not so pretty.  My poor family, they didn’t know what to do with me.

But God did.

He had a plan for me.  It was to wring me out until the yuck came to the surface and left for good.  His plan included teaching me to rely on HIM and HIS timing and HIS plan.  To stop needing to be so in control. To run to HIM to meet my needs.  Plain and simple, God wouldn’t give me a baby until I gave him my heart.  All of it.

God has a different plan for all whom he allows to go through infertility, I am sure of it.  But for me, this was His plan.

I was turned inside out and upside down.

I reached an all time low in February 2008 when my sister gave birth and, in the same week, we lost a baby who was “supposed” to be ours through adoption.

But this time the low was different.  I could see the transformation that God had been doing in me, because this time, I didn’t hate the world.  I grieved, yes, and I suffered, for sure, but this time I CLUNG to my Savior.  I learned a new way of trusting HIM with my life.

And from that day forward my family was HIS.

No matter what it looked like, no matter how it came.  I was tired of trying things my way, and I submitted to Him.

We eventually got pregnant with our son Brighton though IVF.  What pure joy.  I adored being a mom, every single second of it.  It was every thing I’d imagined it and much more.

My heart was full.

When we first married, my husband told me he wanted to foster parent some day.  Simply put, it sounded like the worst job ever.  I couldn’t fathom why you would want to take care of other people’s kids… and possibly broken ones at that.

I knew we would have to get on the same page, so I started praying right then.  Five years later we were finally parents and God started pressing on my heart the desire to take care of more children, whichever ones He had in mind for us.

So while we were living in Chicago, we started fostering through a volunteer organization.  We had eight kids over the next two years.  What a process that was on my heart! So much growth; more yuck wrung out.

I was being stretched and strengthened in all sorts of ways.  On the one hand, I loved being a foster mom. On the other hand it brought new selfishness to light that I never knew I had!  I had to learn to love children who weren’t my own (and wouldn’t stay with me) as my own.

It was hard.

More clinging.  More growth.  More yuck out.

When our son was 10 months old we started tying to adopt baby #2, but slowly and surely our hearts were broken over and over again.  Four failed matches and no hope on the horizon.  God was once again teaching me how to rely on him at entirely new depths. It was painful and devastating at times, but I knew my God would never fail me, as long as I clung to him.

Finally the day came and our baby girl was born.  It came out of nowhere and within a day and a half she was born and in our arms. Two weeks later, we almost lost her. It was tragic and horrendous, but this time, no matter how painful, I released her.  I was starting to realize that no matter how bad things seem God’s plan is ALWAYS better than our own.  We can’t always see it, or even understand it, but I was truly beginning to understand.  So, spiritually, I released her.

Two days later we found out she would be ours forever.  She is my miracle.

We moved to Wisconsin a month later, and when we did, we left behind a family very special to us.

A woman whose daughter we loved and for four months was finally starting to make it on her own.  We gave her half our furniture for her first place and we moved away.

Seven months after we moved, we found out she was struggling to make it and was going to have to go back to a shelter.  I had never seen her so low.

When she told me she had a month to get out of her apartment, I hung up the phone and sobbed.  My heart was broken.

We had so much, and she had so little.

I told my husband I thought she should move in with us.  He immediately agreed.  (I love that man.)

We called her back and told her if she wanted the offer stood.

After much persuasion (she couldn’t fathom we actually wanted her), we loaded up a U-haul and brought her north to live with us.

We have been living as a family for eight months.  It has its trying moments, but it works.  We feel blessed to have a house to share, food to feed people, and the desire to say yes when the Lord asks.

So much growth; more yuck out.

Four months after “Mama I” and her kids moved in, we were foster care licensed in our new home state.

Our house was under construction to add bedrooms, so I could barely hear the social worker over the roar as she asked, “Can you take a newborn?”  My husband and I looked at each other and in a split second both said, “Yes!”  We had plenty of room.

So into our lives came Baby A.  At 10 days old I picked her up from the hospital.  She won’t stay forever, but we will love her like she will.

My house is full. VERY full.  Three adults, a newborn, a 1 year old, a 2 year old, two 3 year olds and an annoying dog.

And I would add more in a second.

Only through God’s strength would I stay sane, but I would if it’s what He wanted.

My family doesn’t look one bit like I imagined. You can’t line us up nice and pretty in order of age or identify who belongs together by race.  I have a brown daughter, a white daughter who won’t stay forever, and I have two brown children who aren’t mine, but whom I answer when they call me mommy.  I have a sister in Christ who works along side of me, and a husband who works so hard to support us all.  I have my miracle boy who came from my body, but I often forget he is the only one, as I reminisce about the birth of my daughter. (Forgetting I wasn’t the one doing the pushing!)

God has changed my heart 180 degrees, but I am a work in progress.  He removes more yuck daily and growth continues.

There are days I wish I didn’t share my house and days I wish I only had to love children who got to stay forever.  There are days I wish no heart ache occurred for our children to come to us (on our end and for their birth moms).  Those are the days I cling even more.  Those are the days I see how far I still have to go.

And slowly God continues to wring out the yuck.

Five years ago had you shown me a photo of the children in my house, I wouldn’t have believed you.  My arms were empty and my heart was aching.  Now my arms are aching (because I have heavy babies!) and my heart is full.

I wouldn’t trade this house full of ridiculously young children for the world.  They won’t all stay forever, and more will come and go.  But this is the family God designed for us.  A mish-mashed family.  Had I never gone through so much pain and suffering, which resulted in so much growth and yuck removal, I would have failed Him miserably when he assigned me this task. I never would have known how to open up my heart and home to love so freely.

He is a good and faithful God.  And His plans are ALWAYS best.

 (Baby girl, who is being fostered, has her face covered for privacy.)

 
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Our Romans 8:28 Day

June 5, 2012 By 6 Comments

I laid on a gurney, in just a thin hospital gown and big huge socks that were to ward off blood clots, the scariest part of surgery it seemed, waiting to be taken back. Waiting for the surgery that we hoped and prayed would restore my fertility. The memories of that day, now three years old, are fuzzy. The rounded corners soft. But I remember my husband standing beside me, and I remember the nurse’s kind eyes. How she held my hand when she told me that something came back in my blood work. The way the words sounded when she formed them—“You’re pregnant.”

I got up off that gurney and walked out of that hospital with life beating in the very place they were planning to invade.

That afternoon, when I should have been recovering in a downtown hospital bed, we waded in the lake while our dogs splashed about and I said to my husband, again and again the words I thought I’d never get to say, “I’m pregnant.”

It was over as quickly as it began, but those days taste sweet to me now. Oh what a gift to have it, for even just a moment.

Those June days in 2009 are marked on a map in my memory.

That weekend, after the end began, we walked to a local festival, and on the way there, I saw one perfect blooming pink peony. I snapped a picture of it, and I knew even then, as I lost our one and only pregnancy that He was at work. That He had to be.

164: A Peony

In that flower, in its pink unfolding life, I was reminded that my God is a good God. He’s a mighty God. He’s promised that He works all things for good for those who are called according to His purposes.

And He did.

This weekend we’ll attend that festival again, only this time I’ll carry an 18-month-old toddler on my back. We’ll wave at the parade goers and we’ll share cheese curds and our sweet boy will pet baby animals.

Trusting God to build our family; having to rely completely on Him, because I am physically unable to do it any other way, has been hard. My womb is very literally shut; sealed up by scar tissue. But better my womb than my heart.

A few weeks ago, one perfect deep red peony bloomed in our front yard.

Keep trusting Me, He whispers. I am still working.

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And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose, Romans 8:28. (NIV)

 
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Motherhood Is Not The Cure

January 24, 2012 By 10 Comments

One of the things that surprised me after becoming a mother was that I thought that all of the pain and longing that I experienced during our wait and during our struggle with infertility would vanish overnight. And I was unpleasantly surprised to discover that’s not the case.

Don’t get me wrong, a lot of pain was smoothed over once I crossed that invisible line between woman and mother.

But sometimes it takes me by a little bit of a shock.

It’s little things. Like when I’m on what I think is a message board for moms about parenting and the questions revolve around birth or conception.

It’s little moments when I see women who have children the same age as Harry and they’re expecting their next baby and that little green monster comes back up and I think “Why is it so hard for us? Why is this disease so unfair?”

And I think again and again of the tornado. It does not seek you out maliciously or purposefully. It strikes at random. And you don’t know what that’s like and you can never know what it’s like until the tornado comes for you.

There are things that have softened in me though. I used to not understand why women who suffered from secondary infertility couldn’t at least satsified with the child that they did have.

But I know now when you have a longing in you for children—whether it’s for your first child or your third child or your fifth child—when that longing is placed in you, nothing can placate it.

There is no fix for it. No cure for it. Your other children’s purpose in your life or your love for them is not in any way reflected in that longing.

You can still long for children even when you have them.

That is something i only learned on this side of that line.

And as we start to plan for extending our family, a lot of the pains I had to go through before Harry came home, I’m having to address again. Things like jealously. And bitterness. Things that if I don’t keep them in check, I’ll allow to grow in me.

And the thing about jealously and bitterness is they’ll choke the joy right out of your life. I don’t ever want the joy that I feel every day over being Harry’s mom to be choked out by bitterness over what I didn’t get to experience.

I’ll never know first hand the miracle of birth. For someone like me who watches home birth videos for fun; who is captivated and amazed by birth, it’s hard.

And when Harry was small those things were easier, but now that we are here again—getting ready to wait, getting ready to wonder when it will be our turn—it’s hard again.

The reprieve that I had in that first year of his life was lifted and it was lifted in almost what feels like a second.

When Harry came home I made myself a silent promise that I was not going to even think about or ponder or consider growing our family until he was a year old. Because I knew, from knowing myself for 34 years at that point, that I simply could not entertain those thoughts or I would miss it. I would miss the joy and the wonder of his first year. And I waited so long to be his mom that I wasn’t going to allow that to happen.

And there it was, mid-November, he was a  year old and—zoom—all of it back. Suddenly. When were we going to have another baby? When was our family going to grow? What were we going to do?

And being infertile is life long. It’s always there. It’s always on my mind. I’m always thinking about it. But it’s in the same way that I am always aware that I’m female. I’m always aware of my height. Of my age. It’s just part of who I am. It’s not something that plagues me, it’s just something that I am. And I think that makes people uncomfortable sometimes. But you know, that’s okay.

The only thing that can comfort me—the only thing that can save me—is Jesus.

There is no cure for this other than Christ. He won’t suddenly make me fertile and He won’t suddenly give me more children just because I want them. But what He will do is He’ll fill the cracks in my heart. And He’ll fill the empty spaces in my life and He’ll fill the empty longing in my arms.

And if I trust Him to do those things— if I allow Him to do those things —He will do them. And not only will He do them, He will do them with great joy and with great joy that I’ve asked, because that’s what He wants to do for us. He wants to invade the cracks in our lives and fill them with His love, His comfort, His presence and His strength.

If you’re hurting and lonely, if your arms are heavy with emptiness, I have to promise you that if you will just call on Him, He will fill them. He will comfort you, and you will be able to stand in the middle of the tornado, winds swirling around you, and your feet will remain firmly planted on the ground.

 
Filed Under: Making a Family Tagged With: , ,

Onesies and Promises

May 31, 2011 By 9 Comments

Two years ago, when we were still trying to get pregnant, I had to run into a Walgreen’s on my lunch break to buy a box of ovulation predictor kits. (Which can we talk about how criminally expensive those things are? I shudder to think of the amount of money I spent on things I ultimately peed on.)

While I was there, they had a stack of “clever sayings” onesies by the registers. I guess because we were still not even a year in, I was feeling optimistic, so I picked one up and bought it.

A few months later, when we found out that we were (briefly) pregnant, I folded it up and laid it on Aaron’s pillow. A little red onesie that read “My Dad Rocks.”

It seemed impossibly tiny to me at the time; what kind of little creature could even fit in it?

And though that sweet baby wasn’t meant for the here and now, another sweet baby found his way to us.

And it fits him perfectly.

 
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