Tag: peace

When Did I Say That?

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CaptureWhen the cancer returns, when that long-awaited promotion slips through your fingers,  when this month’s bills go unpaid, when you wake up to another failed attempt at getting pregnant, it seems all people respond with the same four words: God has a plan.

You don’t even have to believe it to say it. I too, am guilty of tossing this one-liner out there in an effort to cool the disappointment. People sorrowfully stitch this phrase between “I’m so sorry” and “I love you,” in hopes that it somehow softens the blow of pain. And sadly, it doesn’t.

Because all I can think is when did I ever say, “God doesn’t have a plan?” The thought never entered my mind and the words never exited my mouth. I have spent years talking to God about His plan, trying to uncover it, trying to rid myself of it, and then trying to accept it. But never once, did I doubt it existed. Perhaps, it is so heavenly and I am so earthly that I fail to grasp even the most minuscule piece of His ways on this side of eternity. But my frail understanding of His plan does not negate its existence. I believe scripture – that includes every written prophecy, every recorded miracle, every mountain moved, every wave stilled, every story of a dead man walking. I believe it. I also believe that in each case there was a plan – a foreshadowing of the King, a crowd of witnesses, a problem so great, a storm so powerful, so that His story could overflow with redemption. I believe these things.

If you look at scripture, you will know that God’s perfect plan isn’t always enjoyable.

Ask Job. There’s 42 chapters full of a plan and the first 41 of them were excruciatingly painful. He lost every child he ever named, his land burned away, his crops, his servants, his entire flock ruined. And He felt God was silenced, that the Lord abandoned him.

I go east, but he is not there. I go west, but I cannot find him. I do not see him in the north, for he is hidden. I look to the south, but he is concealed. -Job 23:8-9

Look at the lepers. Exiled. Covered in seeping spots. No one could look at them for they were too disgusting for eyes to bear. But Jesus came to them in Luke 17. There was a plan of God. But no clean person stood on the other side of the fence shouting, “It’s okay, leper, God has a plan!” No leper would find hope in those words.

Take Jesus. God had a plan for him since the beginning; for He was born to die. God’s plan involved betrayal, denial, mockery, chains, and death. The cruelest death that has ever existed. The wages of sin could be paid no other way. And God knew that.

So to say that my suffering is a part of God’s plan, well, that can be equally painful and comforting to hear. How cruel it can seem that the God you love scripted this plan? How different our plan is from yours? How fallen our world is that Satan swings from the limbs of earth as a playground?  How you beg for the testimony of Job 42 while living in chapter 1?

Please understand what I am saying: Every good and perfect thing is from God. Satan tries to rewrite our lives laced with pain and sometimes God allows it because it will make us good in His sight. But there is always healing, for Job is was double. For the lepers, it was a process. For Jesus, it was three days later. And for some, like Paul, healing waits for us, on a date, that God prescribed long before we were born.

I am willing to suffer in God’s plan, but please don’t correct my crying with empty phrases. Don’t tell me to have more faith, pray harder, or try again. No person has spent more time kneeling, praying and listening to God than my husband and me about His plan for our life. And the idea that this particular plan might not include children of our own can seem awfully cruel because the only One with the ability to provide them is the same One we choose to serve. And that makes belief in Him terribly difficult, but our hearts will sing no other name.

So Lord, whatever plan You have for us, we’ll claim it. And forgive us on the days when our hearts ache for what our flesh wants most. I know, that right now, You are grooming us, preparing us, for the road ahead. Thank You for having a plan when our plans fall short. 

When God Says No

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nope

I imagined an entry titled, “When God Says Yes,” but today had other plans.

Today, we received confirmation that our last treatment was unsuccessful. Another no in the long list of negatives.

Twenty-seven months of asking and twenty-seven months of hearing no. A series of tests, five vials of blood, three times I’ve fasted, twice my husband has been exposed by testing, and then a no. Three times the hormone levels, two diagnoses, and then a no. Ovulation kit, month after month, and then a no. Then four no’s. A gynecologist, then another, then a referral, then paperwork, and then a no.  One surgery to undo, unblock, untangle, and then a no. Forty day cycles, waiting more than most, and then a no. A thousand times I’ve changed the subject, sixty pills swallowed, horrible breakouts, unwanted weight, and then a no. Nearly fifty ultrasounds in less than a year, add mood swings with hot flashes, then a no. Thousands of dollars swiped away, and then a no. A beautifully cruel Sunday when I saw two lines and thought, yes, but then a no. Five more times and then a no. One-hundred seventy-eight blog entries, then a break in treatment to find solid footing, then a no. Then six no’s. Four-hundred milligrams of injections, ten more pills to swallow, more prayers than one could bear to imagine, and then a no. Perhaps the most intimate conversations my human heart has ever known with the Creator of the Universe, and then a no.

Simply, no.

There’s a critic somewhere reading this who probably thinks I’m irreversibly ignorant. Some bystander who thinks I have a skull too thick to train or a faith that is too dense to move mountains. And without boastfulness, I pray that one day you get to experience what it is like to feel this way – to wholly depend on the Lord. To abandon yourself and walk through the shadows of wherever God calls you.

And that if He chooses to still say no – that you could experience Him anyway.

When God says no- our fists tend to shake, our voices raise, and our prayers are left unattended because pain resides where peace used to live. But that is not what I am feeling.

Because when there’s a suffering so great, there’s a comfort that’s even greater. When there’s a brokenness in your heart, there’s a binding in your spirit. When your knees can’t bend, there’s a few dozen friends bending God’s ear on your behalf. When your eyes swell with tears, there’s a few promises that still can’t be blurred. When you mumble broken pieces, there’s somehow clarity when God speaks back.

I pray that, against this pain, you can experience something as pure as God’s grace as I have experienced it over the last twenty-seven months. To know God that closely and worship Him even when He says no.

God’s way is perfect. All the LORD’s promises prove true. He is a shield for all who look to him for protection. – Proverbs 18:30

Day 12 Scan

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Let everything that has breath praise the LORD. – Psalm 150:6

My ultrasound was at 8:00 this morning. There were three count-worthy follicles on the right side and about two on the left ovary. I’ve never seen five countable follicles ever. The most mature in size is bigger than any other Day 12 scan I have ever had. Clomid + Follistim are doing their part. The nurse seemed really pleased with the new growth. My lining was thinner than usual (a first) and the most mature follicle only measured 12.2mm. Other good news is today is only CD12 and there is time left to grow.

I go back Saturday morning for a CD14 scan. I would really like to see a thick lining and 2 perfectly mature follicles remaining ready to release. In the past, my earliest recorded ovulation date was CD18. I know what I am wanting is a difficult task for my body. But what I want and what I am praying for are two different things.

My prayer sounds much different. My prayer is asking God to finish what He started, to do whatever He wants in me. I asked for His perfect amount – whether that be two healthy follicles or only one. And the boldest thing I can pray – Lord, if you want none. I want none too. If God wants me to walk through all this just so I can know that He walks with me, then so be it.

I know that He is invested in this. I know that He called me to do this. And every morning, I have fallen to my knees, laid my face on our hardwood floors, and wept in prayer. I’ve whispered His promises and shouted His praises. I am walking so closely to the will of God that I am bold enough now to ask Him to do whatever He wants. I couldn’t do that two months ago. I couldn’t ask Him to take me to a place beyond my heart’s desire. And now I have surrendered; my want is His want.

To those who have prayed for us – thank you and don’t stop. I know His hand is in this! I know it.

The Start

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The earnest prayer of a righteous person has great power and produces wonderful results. – James 5:16

How can a two-year journey that felt paved with dead-ends and stale disappointment seem so incredibly new and exciting? Easy answer.

My God raises the dead.

He takes old bones and breathes them back to life. He takes the thirsty and satisfies them. He takes the hungry and feeds them. He takes the widowed and cares for them. He takes the fatherless and guides them. He takes the blind and makes them see. He takes the lepers and makes them spotless. He takes the sinful and forgives them. He takes old things and makes them new.

And that’s what He is doing for me right now. Even after all we have endured, I read this scripture and see that He is still unfinished with us.

But forget all that— it is nothing compared to what I am going to do. 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 43:18-19

My heart is in such a state of worship for all that God is doing, but even more so, for the things I believe He will do.

Yesterday morning, my email dinged with a notification from the adoption agency. We have paperwork waiting for our signatures. I do understand that this journey, while new, can become lengthy and paved with its own heartache. However, I am reminded, not of how strong I am, but of how strong my Savior is. My husband and I, for the first time in a long time, feel the sovereign hand of God guiding us.

O Lord, let me never forget that You are writing this story.

Where I Am

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Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary, the devil, prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. – 1 Peter 5:8

We have had almost one week pass us by since our earth-shattering realization that we have quickly reached a fork in the road. Two options, both high in cost and low in success, greeted us, as well as many emotions.

The first would probably be shock; the utter collapse of our plans. Next came anger, like it usually does. Angry that no other couple, our age, seems to have to stop life in order to start a family. Anger that the God I love would give me this body. And then, silence; a time to thoroughly digest dollar signs, success rates, and the will of God. And finally, an overwhelming flood of peace. Almost happiness.

In one week, my marriage has gone from conversations about ovulation to which showtime of a movie we prefer, from “what will we ever do” to “what do you want to do?” There’s a new, but genuine, appreciation for my husband and our marriage. Infertility is a thief and  I didn’t even see what she was so quietly taking away from us over the last two years. We have grown enormously in our ability to withstand the weight of loss. But the other bones in our marriage have deteriorated because we were so focused on breathing and ripping another month from the calendar.

But God is faithful. And He knows our wounds and how to bandage them. 

And while the medical aspect of our journey has been postponed, I believe that the Lord, our God, is still treating me. I have felt more restoration – physically, mentally, and emotionally – over the last 12 days in comparison to the last six months.

Physically, I’m working on being healthy. Since the new year, I have ran a mile almost everyday and ended with some type of focused strength-training. I’m tired of gluten-free and whole 30 menus for the sake of a baby. Now, it’s for the sake of me. I am enough reason to be healthier.

Mentally, I like my own skin again. I’m not picking fights with my husband over trivial things. I can’t tell you my cycle day, the start of my fertile window, or even when she will make her rounds again. I’m starting my Ed.S. and for the first time in months, feel successful again.

Emotionally, there’s pieces of me that hurt; longing for what I wanted. But those pieces are small and the Lord can heal those parts of me too. I am fasting and praying for His direction. B and I are doing a devotional together that is truly life-changing. We are seeking Him daily for renewal of our hearts, our marriage, and the plans He has for us.

We do not know where God is leading us.

All we know is that we will follow Him.

More Questions, More Answers

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Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect. – Romans 12:2

MORE Q&A

Yesterday, we sat down with our reproductive endocrinologist (RE) for an hour-long re-evaluation of our plan. A single dose of clomid brought hot flashes and failure, a few double doses added to the hysteria plus a chemical pregnancy, and the final triple dose brought us closer, but overall still unsuccessful. I knew our days with this particular treatment were numbered, but it’s staggering to realize that all of our efforts have fallen short.

My husband and I sat expectantly; waiting to hear that we had only scratched the surface of possible treatments remaining. And that hope, for us, was immeasurable. Instead, two plans unfolded before us.

Only two.

  1. The first, IVF. The acronym slid off her mouth and time stood still. We always knew in-vitro lurked in a far away corner, but we failed to calculate how close we stood to that not-so-far away corner. It’s staring us in the face and we had no idea. She explained that it is very invasive, very expensive, and well, I forgot the rest after hearing, the phrase, “upwards of $25,000.” I zoned back into the conversation when she announced that we carried a 60% success rate with IVF.
  2. The second, injectables. We were prepared for the word to arrive in conversation, but I had not done my research. We were astounded to discover the length of monitoring and the cost associated with shots, ultrasounds, and lab work. While it interferes less in comparison to IVF, the success rate is also lacking. Given our situation, she believes that we stand a 33% chance of success and are welcome to try three cycles before IVF returns to the table as our only medical solution. One cycle is predicted to cost nearly $4000. We were unprepared, dumbfounded even, at the financial and physical intensity of the meager options laid before us.

Despite the overwhelming amount of information, rationale defeated emotions, and we were able to digest many pieces of this puzzle. Currently, we are taking a break from all treatment and enjoying the parts of our marriage and life that we have lost the last six months. But one day, we plan to return to medicine. Neither of us expected to only find two roads, both with very big price tags.

We are at a loss.

We are trying to make lines in the sand; attempting to create some physical, financial, and emotional boundaries, but it’s all so tough. As of current, and unless God changes our heart, we have decided to not pursue IVF. We have also made a commitment to be radical in our monetary efforts. We have chosen not to refinance our house, or go into our 401K, borrow from others, or even charge a single ounce of treatment. While a baby is worth thousands of dollars for us, a “maybe” is not. And our fear, is that years down the road, in a financially wrecked marriage, we will be owing a monthly payment for a baby that never arrived. A fear that we couldn’t move on in efforts to have children because we were so indebted to the previous failures.

With those conditions in place, it will not make treatment easier. Our return to medicine will be costly and time-sensitive. We cannot generate a wealth of money in twenty-eight days. There were be cycles without treatment. And I’m not sure how many we can, or will, endure before we stop. If we stop.

But, I will sing,

My God is able. And my God is free. And my God is Healer. My God can do all things.

I’m about to be really bold here.

But my God might be sitting in heaven, right now, drawing up plans of my little boy. He might be searching the seas to find the perfect shade of blue for his eyes to see me. My God, right now, might be listening to heaven’s orchestra while He intently crafts his every talent. My God might be staring at blades of grass, trying to determine which side to part my child’s hair. My God might be praised at this very moment while calculating how much of me and how much of him goes inside of this incredible gift. My God. Mine. He works in the detail. He works in the waiting. He works, even in the pain. Right now.

Or maybe, my God, in heaven, already made a wonderful, flawless, beautiful little girl. And she lives and breathes in another place and He’s waiting for me to find her. God, I pray that I would hear You if You called me to that place. I will go.

Or even maybe, my God, in heaven, sees the one-hundred forty students that pile in and walk out of my classroom everyday. And maybe, God gave me them. Maybe those are my God-crafted children.

Maybe.

But for now, I will pray and wait on Him to show me.

Dead of Winter

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My times are in Your hand. – Psalm 31:151 dead of winter

Our triple clomid cycle failed. I found out this morning.

I haven’t cried though. Maybe because I have no more tears in reserve or maybe because it can’t possible hurt my heart any more than it has. I’m not sure the true reason.

Yesterday, I uncovered an old sermon and gave it a listen. It’s message was so timely. The intention of the preaching was to parallel the seasons of the year with the seasons of life. God invented them both so it shouldn’t be a surprise how much they compare, but it was! How winter can seem so cold and bare, but spring comes bursting forth, and summer brings long days and hard work, but in the fall, oh, we reap the harvest. And I found myself knowing exactly the season of my life;

Winter. The dead of winter.

No growth. No new life. The last blessings of harvest and the hope of a new spring seem equidistant from this current place. Everything around me seems to have a shade of brown. And it looks like things will never rise up again.

But, God has promised me that a spring is coming. 

This particular speaker also talked about “season rushers,” those of us who are placed in a particular situation only to yearn for the next one’s arrival. I took away these strong points:

  • Society convinces me that I ought to be “married, educated, and working on baby #2,” and while that may be well and good, nothing should trump what God says about where I ought to be.
  • I don’t want my life’s regret to be that I spent less time glorifying God and more time cursing the darkness. [ouch!]
  • Some people will want to jump from the idealistic spring to the benefits of autumn without the labors of summer. But the harvest is only as plentiful as your work is hard.
  • If not careful, we attempt to shortcut a divinely-sanctioned process. Do I want so desperately to get out of this season, perhaps, even before God has the opportunity to teach me all that I need to learn in it?

I jotted two pages worth of notes, but these four points resonated the most with me (and I assumed you too).  This sermon, a conversation with a dear friend, and my pending cycle brought on a blizzard in the midst of this winter. Mood swings were at an all-time high and the most rational parts of me needed to make decisions.

  1. Do I go to school? I thought it’s what I wanted, but now I’m not sure what God wants for me. I have a weekend to figure out what to do.
  2. Do I stop fertility treatments? Every twenty-eight days I find hope to go once more, and on a different set of days, I find enough agony to let the train derail. I have a weekend to figure out what to do.

My heart felt so much conflict and my poor mind was hijacked by emotions. One thing you should know about me. I’m not indecisive. I know what I want and I know what I don’t want. No one has ever convinced me of anything. I stand alone and I’m never swayed, not by hair salons, not by used car salesmen, not even by WebMd. Very seldom to take my problems to the feet of anyone except Christ. But yesterday I did. I took my overwhelming load of worries labeled ‘education and baby’ and laid them at my husband’s feet. And instead of brushing my tears away, he brushed my problems to the side. He didn’t see the urgency or the struggle to create a plan. The things I had spent weeks searching myself over and seeking God for were still undecided. And he causally threw out answers, hoping I’d find one I would like. I couldn’t understand why he couldn’t help me. But today, I do.

I’ve never laid my problems at his feet. I’ve never looked at him with wet eyes, and said, “What next?” I’ve always known. I have always known. And in some ways, it was probably difficult for him to see his well put-together woman crumbling inside. He’s never had to handle this. Not in infertility, not in loss, never. I’ve always known where to go and what to do. Until now.

In the spring, I can plant and pray. In the summer, I can work and sweat. In the fall, I can harvest and count. But in the winter, I can do nothing. And I needed him so desperately to engulf me in a hug and lull this stress to a minimum. But he couldn’t whip up a recipe he’s never used. So I did what I could to fashion him a script and help him to see that I needed a husband that afternoon. It was difficult to have an unmet need and I’m sure it was difficult also to be needed. But we survived.

And this morning brought (hopefully lasting) peace about our decisions. I am going to school on January 6th. And if God interrupts our plan with His plan, then so be it. And I am also stopping treatment for January. Maybe even February. However, we will keep our appointment next week to discuss the next step even though we don’t have a timeline. Both of these are bold moves; to start an educational commitment knowing that I might have to quit and to stop the medical madness that I once believed was our only hope at a baby.

Both are tough pills to swallow.

Tearing Down the Walls

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For He Himself is our peace. – Ephesians 2:14

I recently wrote about my Grandmother’s house in this entry. It’s been so tough riding down this daily road and seeing a little less of what use to be. I stopped yesterday to take more photos of something so sacred to me. I merged the little blue house with its remains in these pictures.

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It breaks my heart to see her walls caving in. She’s such a precious place to me. With Thanksgiving here, I dive deep inside and relive so many meals and games. Thankfully, I was able to snag some hardwood floor from my Granny’s bedroom. My dad helped me to glue the wooden planks back together. I attached some small clips and hung these photos.

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And while pieces of her home will never stand another day, there are some remains that will stand forever in my home. Treasured by me.

His Crown

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A wife of noble character is her husband’s crown, but a disgraceful wife is like decay in his bones. – Proverbs 12:4

This scripture makes me think of my Granny and how her life was a crown upon my Papa’s head. Lord, won’t you make me into a crown too? Please.

My husband never got the honor of meeting them. He never shook my Papa’s hand or tasted one of my Granny’s cakes. I am certain my life is a tad bit brighter for having such experiences with them. My grandfather, my whole life, had been a deep voice. He prayed before every meal and that’s really the only time I can think of him speaking. But Granny, she made up for it. She spoke, but more than a mouth, she had hands that were constantly preparing, redoing, creating, writing, and praying. She sewed and baked. She labored her life. And the Voice and the Hands lived right here for nearly fifty years.

99999 She seems like nothing now. A shell; broken and condemned. But about fifteen years ago, she was lit and overflowing with people. Easter to Halloween, we would fellowship as a family. The Voice would speak and the Hands would prepare.

But one day, the Voice stopped speaking. Six months later, all the Hands had done was finished. I was a freshman in college when they died. Eight years have passed since those days. In that time, I graduated college, got my Masters, married my husband, built our own little home. And during all those special days, this home was rotting beneath and letting the weeds consume it. I can’t remember the last time I went inside. Before they died. Before they went to the nursing home. Many, many years. But their wish was to sell the many acres and divide the profits between the four siblings.

After almost one hundred months on the market, the property was sold. This past Wednesday, my dad signed over the property. The new owner plans to build a home here with his family. But first, this old one must be torn down. I know he doesn’t understand what’s underneath the weeds, what’s beyond the blue paint, but I do. And it hurts to think of it not sitting high on the cliff of their property. I walked inside the house on Sunday, to take pictures, for the first time in a decade probably. The hardwood floor covered in dust. The ceiling is stained with water damage and criminals have broken in many times to steal wire and furniture. There’s not much left. Broken remains of what used to be. In the absence of everything, it still smelt like them. In this odd way, you could sense that it still was a home. I took hundreds of pictures that will forever stand etched in my memory.

Wanting more than two-dimensional images, wanting a tangible memory before it all goes away. I ripped the a pair of the sun-aged shutters from the back window. You can see the houses’ tan lines in their absence. I plan to turn them into shelves. I went back Monday night and took a few panels of the hardwood from her bedroom. I’m going to make it into a picture frame. It’s all so precious to me.

An aunt gave me some of her belongings. The most personal of things – her diaries. Years and years of entries from the weather to her breakfast meal. From her failing eyesight to watching my her husband go to the home. It broke her heart. I was young then and saw everything as third person, but reading her words I get to experience her life from the first-person perspective. In a bittersweet way, I know how the story ends. One day in February, the entries stop.

I find comfort in reading some of her intimate prayers to God; asking for healing. She truly looked forward to the joy of serving the Lord in heaven. She has taught me so much, even in death.

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To read more about my Granny’s impact on my life, go here for an incredible story.

We Might Have A Baby

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I am giving you a gift – peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift that the world cannot give. So don’t be troubled or afraid. – John 14:27

Fact: Nearly 68% of women conceive in the first 3 months following laparoscopic surgery.

I will never forget two June’s ago, when we first agreed to start, what we called, “playing with fire;” no prevention and no effort. I remember thinking, “I could be pregnant. Right now.” The never-knowing was the best part.

And just like that, we got burnt.

And the never-knowing became the worst part.

I knew something was terribly wrong when the calendar grew thick and I remained thin. There is a sadness in infertility that I haven’t seen in any other realm of life. A haunting sadness; the only loss that grows in anguish as time goes on. Giggling moments thinking of maybe’s with splashes of color have faded into dull conversations about statistics and maybe not’s. 

Now, I stare at that fact.

And my heart leaps. And tears take up residence in my eyelashes. In one year, I could be someone’s “Mama.” The old list of baby names seems new again. And I see a crib where the treadmill stands. I see a navy blue rug on hardwood floor. I see every shade of pink. Prenatal vitamins seem less like a habit and more like a taste of victory. And then, it hits me.

Don’t be trapped in an illusion. You remembered what happened, right? Don’t go back. Don’t let yourself explore those precious things. Don’t.

But I stare again at that fact.

And even the most logical part of me rejects the number. I have two degrees in mathematics, but my heart shouts, “My hope comes from Him.” Yes, those old, precious feelings are stirring up again within me, but I pray to God that He holds me through this journey. I can’t worry about the upset, the letdown, the aftermath, but I can’t bring myself to focus on a pregnancy, or the announcement, or anything that could dance on that black and gray screen. I’m back to the never-knowing. I’m back to it being the fun part. But I can’t enjoy it for fear or getting burnt again.

Tomorrow is my post-op RE appointment. And I have no idea what words my ears will hear. But I am praying for a peace that surpasses all understanding; a peace only the Father can give.