The Beginning of Hope
When I was a little girl, I dreamed of growing up to be many things. An actress (okay, really it was Vanna White), a journalist, a teacher, a world-wide traveler, a small coffee shop/bookstore owner, and even a chiropractor. But always, always there was never any doubt that I would be a mom first and foremost.
For the first four years of marriage, I didn’t give pregnancy much thought. J and I were settling into life together and we were quite content with our adventures as a couple. We enjoyed our time together traveling, and doing all sorts of wonderful things young couples without children seem to do. But then, when we celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary childless, I started to think something was wrong.
And now, two years later I’ve stopped answering the “Are you guys going to have kids?” question with a cheerful, confident, “Yep. Someday,” to “I’m not sure I can have kids.”
That was so hard at first. Hearing my own voice struggle to whisper those honest, but sacredly vulnerable words. You don’t want to make people feel uncomfortable. But more than that, you don’t want to believe it yourself and to say it out loud calls that string of letters and syllables into being. Materializing it from nagging doubts and whispers into something so heavy and tangible it breaks your heart. Facing the truth is hard. Facing unanswered questions is even harder.
But I know I am not alone. I’ll be honest though, sometimes, I feel that way. Despite the fact so many women struggle with fertility, it can be very isolating at times. There are occasions when all I want to do is talk about it and let my heart spill over with everything it’s been trying to keep hidden. But then, there are other times when I find discussing it to be a huge trespass into the deepest sense of who I am. It’s easy to not go there with people. It would be easier not to write this blog and keep my vulnerability protected with a fake smile and nonchalant, ambivalent projection of “everything is alright, all the time.”
And yet I hear Jesus calling me to tell my story. To share my HOPE alongside my hurt so that I can share in the lives of others. To rejoice with others, to cry with others, to simply be honest and present amidst circumstances that threaten to destroy or at least unravel us.
You see, I cling to Hope. But I’m not talking about a Hope that is limited to “hoping” that I will have children one day. It is so much bigger than that. I have Hope that what is going on here is so.much.bigger. than answering this question of infertility. I want this road I am walking on to encourage others and let them know they are not alone. Good will come out of this. In fact, I think good is ALREADY coming out this. And it has nothing to do with me and my own spirit of gumption and positive outlook on life. It has everything to do with knowing that God is walking through this with me. He makes all things beautiful.
And that means me too. Barren womb and all.