A story.

I've had this post tumbling around inside my head for a while, but just haven't been able to write it. Or write much of anything, for that matter. The last several months have been some of the hardest I've had.

I was convicted recently, reading some Buechner, about how we should tell our stories, stories that can call us like a beacon to the safe harbor that is life in Christ. And reminded that our stories are reminiscent of his story - the one great story of redemption. But I haven't wanted to tell my story. I guess I feel a little ashamed, and sad, and just can't bring myself to write words that I wish were not true. But I've been feeling a little dishonest here, and realize more and more that I need all the prayers I can get. Burdens become harder and harder to carry, the more alone you feel.

Over the last 15 months, we have been trying to get pregnant. Unsuccessfully. At first it didn't seem like a big deal. The average time it takes a couple to get pregnant is 6-8 months, or so my doctor told me, and so I tried to remind myself. But as the months have worn on, it just has gotten harder. I've decided struggling with fertility is a week of sadness and disappointment, followed by 3 weeks of anxiety, then maybe two days of hope, only to have the sadness and disappointment start all over again. I wish I could somehow make myself not care as much, not hope as much every single month. Even though every month I try to convince myself that I'm certain I am not pregnant this time, my cycle begins, and again I'm heartbroken. I hate what it does to me. While I'm excited for all my friends who are expecting, at the same time part of me just aches every time I hear someone else's exciting news. How do you tell a friend, "Congratulations! When is the baby due? So...Did you know I can't seem to get pregnant?" Every pregnant 15 or 17 or unmarried 21 year old I see at work just makes me question why God does things the way he does.

Of course I realize that 15 months is not a long time. The Israelites wandered in the desert for 40 years. Sarah waited until she was 90 to have her son. Jeff even waited almost 5 years to find the church job he wanted. And many, many women struggle for years and years to get pregnant, or have miscarriage after miscarriage, or even have to bury their own children. If we were playing a game of sorrows, I know that mine do not even come close to winning. And I can look around and know just how many blessings he has poured over me: a wonderful husband, great jobs for both me and Jeff, a beautiful home, a family that loves me and loves the Lord, a sweet church family, my health, and the biggest wonder of all - that he made me alive in him when when I was dead in the dark prison of my sin.

I think part of why going to Honduras was so good for me was that it gave me a whole week free from all the worry and stress of temperatures and ovulation and LH surge and all those medical terms that often consume me these days. I needed to be reminded that Christ is enough.
Enough to fill the emptiness I sometimes feel.
Enough to soothe the hurts and aches that threaten to overcome me.
Enough to quiet the questions and jealousy that come against my bidding.

So that is my story. An unfinished one, but one that is daily being written by Christ, as he moves in me and makes all things new.

Psalm 27:13-14 "I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living!
Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!"