I spent over a year of my life living without a breath of life in me: crying, tormented by thoughts about my inadequacy to conceive and be “a real woman”, not able to see or speak to those who were expecting a child of their own. I hit absolute rock bottom twice, I believe. I kept being told that giving it all up to God was what would heal me. I even began to get annoyed at the number of times I heard the same thing. But I finally reached a point where I, quite literally, could not stand my inability to do anything about my infertility; after all, I’m usually one to think, “Okay, this is the situation. What can I do about it?”, and soon after my mind has carefully crafted a plan to resolve the issue. But not this time. I became so sick of my own helplessness that I wanted to crawl out of my body and forget about the pain. And yet I was stuck. I wonder if this is the place where many people decide to do drugs, cut themselves, or even take their own lives; I don’t know. What I do know is that I finally said, “Okay… I’m done fighting. I’m so tired… God… take it. Do with it whatever you like. I’m done.” Around this time, Sam and I also began studying the Bible together. It was right around this time when I began to see light in my life again.
We began to study the Beatitudes. “Blessed are the poor in spirit; for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven.”
I never truly understood this passage until a few weeks ago; poor in spirit… who IS poor in spirit? Well… it’s someone who has been broken by this earthly life; someone who acknowledges and accepts his or her own inability to do anything without Him. Someone who is poor in spirit is begging, spiritually speaking, for relief and rest. When I heard this explanation, I realized that this Beatitude was entirely about me. After all, I could not find a more perfect word to describe the state of my soul.
You would think that this realization (that little ol’ headstrong and independent me was broken) would've brought me profound grief. I had been denying the bad shape I was in since June of 2011; but, along with the admission of my brokenness, I also concluded that I NEEDED to be broken. Just like a wild horse needs to be tamed into gentle submission, my impetuous and often stubborn heart HAD to be subdued to His will. Nothing else could have broken me as much as the shattering of my pride. Infertility took me on a rollercoaster that went from needless pride to quiet humility. While on that bumpy ride, I often asked God, “why??”, and “when will you listen to my pleas?”. *sigh*. Little did I know, I needed to be WILLING to accept His will; I had to let go of my own reins.
So, here I am. I’m lucky to feel alive again. I’m sure that our adoption journey has brought me new hope, but I also know that if we would've started the adoption process six months ago, I would not be able to freely talk about our infertility, and see our loved ones who are waiting to meet their babies soon.
Praise be to He who has breathed new life into me.