I have this friend, whom I’ve never met, but I feel such a strong connection to her through her words. She’s become an advocate in this road of infertility, and she does such a beautiful job using her thoughts and typed emotion to convey her heart. Her post today was absolutely beautiful, in the raw and open manner that we battle our fears, our doubts and our deepest desires and strongest wishes. She is a blessing in my life, and this past week, I’ve needed blessings.
I wrote on Friday about my need to run, and the therapy that it brought me that day. It seems as the days roll by and the minutes tick on I find myself wrapped in the web of altered thought and stress. My mind is pulled from where it needs to be-focused and centered-to where it is functioning on borrowed fumes and second hand thoughts. I am focused in a way that is only disparaging, and tears me down. But there is a reason for this. Twice this week, in my typically quiet little world, I’ve been called to emergency situations. Twice my heals have carried me to potential tragedy, and twice I’ve prayed my way there. Dear God, let them live. Dear God, let them be ok. Surround them in your love and peace, comfort them with your hand. I did not think initially that those prayers would be answered in the way that I had hoped. Praise God, they were. (And I no longer wear those shoes to work-two for two in those bad boys, they can take a break!)
I also find myself in a place I had long since given up on, a situation I had not pictured to be. A place where my joy and fear collide to the point that I’m not sure which is true emotion and which is the afterglow of a former memory. I find myself wondering if this is indeed by work of the Creator, or a situation I have comprised on my own-one that I pushed into fruition. Though by the nature of how it’s fallen into my lap, I can only think that this is the ultimate path for my life, the one chosen for me before my dreams had ever began. I cannot go into this at much detail now, though I hope to fill you in in detail soon. Please just keep us in your thoughts and prayers.
As I have struggled this week, I have also faithfully risen each morning (not a small feat-mamma isn’t a morning girl) and participated in an on-line bible study. We’re working through the book of John, and today’s section focused on the miraculous healing of the man at the pools of Bethesda. Jesus approached this man, a cripple for many years, and simply asked if he would like to walk. The man replied as we would think he would, and Jesus told him “Pick up your mat, and walk”. Now this is pretty miraculous stuff-really the things of dreams-but Jesus was not praised by his fellow man, he was instead ridiculed for “working” on the Sabbath. I have to admit, I haven’t been a huge fan of the book of John so far, I’ve had trouble really relating it to my life, probably because I’ve been so focused on other things right now and having a little issue really narrowing in on where I need to be. But I digress, I haven’t really been digging John, but I read something pretty cool today.
As Jesus was being bullied by those around him, he simply stated that he was working for his father, and his father doesn’t take a day off. Done. Sabbath rule, take that. God doesn’t take a break, so bite me. Well, he probably didn’t say that, but it makes me smile to think that maybe he thought it. It’s true though, the father doesn’t take a day off. He doesn’t look down and say, “Well, sorry girl, you’re on your own with that CPR, it’s 5 o’clock somewhere and daddy’s takin’ a break.” Thank God, he doesn’t say that. But it puts things into perspective a bit, doesn’t it? When he says he clothes the lilies of the valleys, so surely he’ll meet my needs-that doesn’t mean he’ll only do it during business hours. When he says his mercies renew each day, he doesn’t mean every day but Sunday. And when he sees my faith wavering, my fingers causing ripples in the pool as I turn away in anger that my prayers haven’t been answered as I see fit, he doesn’t walk on by, he asks if I want to get up and walk. When he sees that I’ve given up, he doesn’t give up on me.
I haven’t totally learned this yet. Though I know I’ve let go of so much of myself, so much that I’ve held tight because it was so deeply, so intimately mine, I know I haven’t given it all. It’s like walking on these stairs that seem to go on for miles with no end. And that’s the thing with infertility, with loss, with pain and disappointment of any kind. We hold it so close, it is precious to us in the power that it holds over us, like Gollum and the ring. It is our focus, and more important than breath itself. And it is so, so hard to let go of. And even though I know that I need to, and even though I know that I’ve given so much of it up, the memories still linger. And the thing with memories is that they’re easy to get lost in.
But I’m getting there. Weeks like this remind me of the lengths I still must walk. A walk that, thankfully, will not end until I see those golden streets. Thankfully because as I go, I grow, and as I grow, I understand the beauty of the grace that I receive daily.