Here I sit on my blog porch at 10:30 at night feeling the need to pour out my heart. I'm wondering where to start. It’s been a long time since we’ve visited hasn’t it? I’ve missed you all.
I guess I’ll start with a quick update to let you know that the surgery went super smoothly. I've been resting at home, I am healing and I am feeling better and better every day. I'm so blessed to have had such an outpouring of love and support. Thank you from the bottom of my ♥ for all of your thoughts, prayers, and kind words. You all mean so very, very much to me. The Lord has blessed us with THE. MOST. AMAZING. Family and supportive friends EVER. Everyone has been very compassionate and understanding. For that I am thankful.
As many of you know, we have struggled with infertility for most of our 13 years of marriage. And for the last 3 years I’ve been literally fighting the inevitable hysterectomy because I HATE feeling like a failure and a hysterectomy just seemed to have failure written all over it. No matter how irrational that may sound, even to me at times, I fought failure. Failure of not being able to do the job that I was created to do. Looking back through Genesis, Eve was created as a help mate for man and to have babies. I couldn’t do that. So, usually I felt like less of a woman because my parts didn't work right. Tonight was one of those bitter sweet moments when that word…failure…was heavy on our hearts (more on that in a minute…or two...or three…)
I compare the pain of infertility as similar to the grief over losing a loved one, yet it is unique because it is a recurring grief. We grieve the loss of the baby that we will never know. We grieve the loss of that baby who could have had mommy's freckled nose and daddy's green eyes. But, each month, there was the hope that maybe that baby would be conceived after all. No matter how hard we tried to prepare ourselves for bad news, there was still an unspoken hope that “this month” would be different. Then, the bad news came again, and the silent grief washed over us anew. This process happened month after month, year after year. It is like having a deep cut that keeps getting opened right when it starts to heal.
Tonight my family and I attended a benefit concert for our local Community Pregnancy Center. Crisis Pregnancy Centers across the country are near and dear to our hearts. You see, our babies would have been another abortion statistic had it not been for the precious vessels God chose to use during our birthmother’s difficult journey. We praise God daily that she chose life.
During the concert Jamie Slocum shared a song with us about the joys of being a father to his son and how he realized how difficult it must have been for God to allow His Son to take our place and die on the cross for our sins. My sweet husband turned to me with tears in his eyes and said to me in astonishment. “We’re never going to have a son.” And we both wept as we cradled our sweet, oh so feminine, gifts from God in our arms. I felt that punched-in-the-gut feeling of failure to my husband once again.
Funny how certain thoughts hit each of us differently as it seems like Matt just realized this fact yet it feels like it’s all I have thought about since the doctor gave me the news.
These days my Bible remains closed more often than not. I feel so far from God. My mind is a cluttered mess of fears and worries and complaints, and when I try to pray, I can't even form a coherent thought. Most of the time I just sit with my head in my hands. Sometimes I implore, "What is WRONG with me!" which is not so much a prayer, but a cry of frustration. Have you ever been so wound up that you couldn't even pray?
I remember a message our pastor at Calvary Chapel taught about the soul being like a door. We can keep it firmly shut and not let the Holy Spirit in at all, or we can fling it open and allow Him to fill us completely. Or, we can open the inner door, but leave the screen door shut. This lets the Spirit filter in, but we can still keep a part of our soul closed to Him. Right now, it feels like I'm talking to God through a screen door. I can see Him, but His face is blurry. He's right there on the other side, and I want so much to talk to Him, but I just don't know what to say. I know that He is what I need, and all I have to do is open the door and let Him in, but I feel numb, and my hands are frozen at my sides.
During times of weakness, the Bible tells us that the Holy Spirit can guide, inspire, and strengthen us. If need be, he can even pray through us, “In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God's will.” Romans 8:26-27
Whenever I read this passage, I think of the Aaron Shust song, "Give Me Words to Speak"
I'm praying that the Holy Spirit will give me words to speak, because I can't think of anything worth saying.
I'm at a loss for words. Me. I bet you never thought that would happen!