Sunday, March 24, 2013

The Waiting Blues

Last Summer, as I struggled to deal with my anger toward God due to our infertility, I remember being further angered by other women who had gone through a fertility-related heartbreak (failed fertility treatments, miscarriage, etc.) who didn't share their own feelings as they struggled to cope with their personal tragedies. All I read was the words that came from the calm after the storm, and at that point I felt so unique in my barrenness that I needed to see other women be angry, frustrated, etc., imploring God to help them, as much as I was. I wanted to see their weak human nature, to help me feel less inadequate and in true company of others. Well, I'm going to share my struggles.

Today was a rough day. A group of us were discussing man's struggle to choose between the kingdom of God and the kingdom of man; I began to explain that my personal struggle has been to give up what "I wanted" (to get pregnant) and to begin asking God to use me as His instrument of peace, through whatever experiences I may need to go through. And I broke down. Half of what I said came out in broken words, with a quivering voice. I barely managed to finish my thought, and proceeded to let the tears flow. In public.

I was initially upset with myself; how could I embarrass myself by crying in such a pitiful way in front of our friends? The worst part was that I couldn't stop crying; while Sam went into the grocery store to pick up things that we needed, I stayed in the car having my emotional moment. Letting the tears fall, and praying. It's been a rough month or so actually, since we've been waiting for baby for nearly four months now. The waiting period of adoption does get tough.

I eventually realized something that brought me great comfort: my sadness about being barren no longer comes with anger toward God. Where anger and frustration once lived, quiet prayer and trust, albeit weak, now dwell. My sadness has not left me, and I really doubt that it ever will. I will always struggle to see other women with full, fruitful bellies and their little ones. I will always have to fight the urge to resent. But I trust that He leads our lives, and that He is using us to teach others about His love and infinite mercy.

When you read books about adoption, writers tend to say that a barren couple should be finished mourning their infertility before they consider adoption. I only agree with this statement somewhat, as I truly believe that the sadness never leaves. I think the difference comes when instead of asking, "why me??", you begin thinking, "well... I'm very sad that we can't do this... but I also see hope."  My hope dwells in God, and I am in awe at how much He loves us all.

I dare say that if we would've been able to have children with no problems, Sam and I may not have come to study His word more closely, and may not have started searching to be closer to Him. I may have not begun to learn what true, undefiled, pure trust in Him can look like. We would've kept on living our lives in a whirlwind (I probably would've earned my Master's in Architecture), not bothering to pause and truly meditate on Him. After the darkest part of our storm, I love Him more than I thought I ever would, because He not once abandoned us. I once thought that He was not here, and at that time I was doing all the talking; I was angry, proud, frustrated, envious of others. I was in such a dark place. Once I let go of what I so intently wanted to hold on to, I began to feel free, and peaceful.

Mark this as a blue day for me. I am still sad, I will always be. But God holds us together. I can feel it.

This is one of my "life changing" songs, Laura Story's "Blessings":

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