Grace and Flowers

Well folks...I hope this post finds you warm and well in the last days of the Advent season. After an unplanned, five month break from life as I knew it, I figured now would be a fine time to return to the blog-o-sphere. I've been wanting to put up a post to catch you up on everything that has happened and not happened, but I cannot figure out how. It's just too much. So it is my hope that you will be able to patch things together in your mind as I offer snippets of the last five months throughout my upcoming posts.

For now, I will at least tell you this: the last five months have been the ultimate roller coaster ride. August through October were extreme highs for me. I attended a workshop in Boulder, CO at the beginning of August, which turned out to be quite possibly the best eight days of my life. After a year and a half (at that time) of struggling with all the feelings of failure and worthlessness that are inherent to infertility, this workshop stretched me, opened me up to new ideas, possibilities and friendships, deprived me of sleep, and replaced it with laughter (and maybe some dancing and karaoke). It was...well, it was like summer camp all over again. The friendships that were forged on that trip are life-long ones. The impacts it had on my self-esteem and career are immense. And I am so grateful. Crazy stuff for being a "work trip" right?

As November ushered in cooler temperatures and longer nights, I felt the nose of my roller coaster car inching to the top of the hill and beginning to peer over into the familiar darkness that promised to come speeding toward me at any minute. I struggled against it, pretended like it wasn't coming. Then in rapid succession, a number of unexpected events set everything in motion. And here I am...somewhere in between the top and the bottom, in a free fall...not sure when I'll feel the forces of gravity again. I realize that sounds incredibly melodramatic. And it is. Did I tell you I began dancing and acting at the age of three?

But as always, I am grateful for the darkness speeding towards me. It forces me to hold onto something, someone. I have been so SO distant from God in the latter half of 2010. I am ashamed and guilty of this. I have become complacent. I am frustrated and bruised. Hurt. I have built walls. Between me and God. Between me and friends. Even between me and my husband. If I'm going to get through this season without irreparable damage, the walls must come down. I need to clear the air between me and God. Allow myself to believe He loves me despite my bad attitude and poor performances on this stage called life. Despite my neglect. Like my new friends Mumford & Sons taught me: I need to get over this hill and be open to what is there, beyond the darkness. In the midst of the darkness. And I pray I can do this with grace in my heart. And flowers in my hair...

And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.
- Excerpt from "After the Storm" by Mumford & Sons

The Abba Cry

While there's nothing "official" to report on the adoption front, I did want to take a moment to pass along a wonderful article from July's issue of Christianity Today. It is titled, "Abba Changes Everything: Why every Christian is called to rescue orphans." The article was written by Dr. Russell Moore, the author of Adopted for Life, a beautiful book that should be read by anyone with even the slightest desire to adopt.

The article seems long at first, but is a quick read that gave me goosebumps and misty eyes at many points. Even if you're someone who in no way feels called to adopt, this article remains a poignant reminder of the gorgeous truth behind our own adoptions into God's family and the subsequent call to care for the orphans and widows among us [James 1:27].

"Adoption is, on one hand, gospel. Our identity and inheritance are grounded in our adoption in Christ. Adoption is also mission. In this, our adoption spurs us to join Christ in advocating for the poor, the marginalized, the abandoned, and the fatherless...

In saying that orphan care is missional, I do not mean that every Christian is called to adopt or foster a child. But every Christian is called to care for orphans. As with every aspect of Christ's mission, a diversity of gifts abounds. Some have room at their table and in their hearts for another stocking on the mantle by this coming Christmas. Others are gifted financially to help families who would like to adopt but cannot figure out how to make ends meet. Others can babysit while families with children make their court dates and complete home-study papers. Still others can lead mission trips to rock and hug and sing to orphans who may never be adopted. Pastors can simply ask whether anyone in their congregation might be called to adopt or foster parent, or to empower someone who is. And all of us can pray—specifically and urgently—for orphans the world over."

I encourage you to read the full article this week! Just click on the title here: "Abba Changes Everything: Why every Christian is called to rescue orphans"

In closing, it is with a grateful heart that I thank you all for your continuing prayers and support of Joel and me as we listen for God's voice.

Because you are sons, God sent the Spirit of His Son into our hearts, the Spirit who calls out, "Abba, Father." So you are no longer a slave, but a son; and since you are a son, God has made you also an heir.
-Galatians 4:6-7

The Adoption Option

After several months of being unsure of what path to take, followed by a two-month break, Joel and I are officially taking this week to pray specifically about adoption. The notion of adopting has begun to weigh heavier and heavier on my heart. So many seemingly small things have happened...things I've seen, things I've read, things people have said to me, things I've remembered...that collectively are pulling me closer and closer toward adoption. But that is me. This decision can only be made in partnership with my husband, who is profoundly rational and intelligent (much needed qualities when you're married to someone like me). And it can only be made after a strong pursuit of God's will. Only He knows if we're meant to have kids. And only He knows from where.

There are so many unknowns. So many decisions. So many dollar signs, involved in the adoption process. It's enough to make you a perpetual procrastinator. But now's the time to get serious. And so we're seriously praying. It would mean so much if you could support us this week by lifting us up in prayer, as we navigate this huge life decision. Rest assured, details will soon follow once a decision is made...

Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.
-James 1:27

Gratitude

Well hello, friends. It's been a while! When Joel and I decided to take a "break" from all things baby, I never really intended to also take a break from blogging. But alas, that is what happened. Thanks to a dear friend, I am officially back in the blogosphere. It is always nice to know when one is missed. Thanks, Steph.

So much has happened since my last post, and yet I'm having trouble finding something to write about. Part of it is that I am exhausted just thinking about the last six weeks. I don't want to relive most of them, even in writing. I just want to gloss over them and move forward because for the most part they were dirty, messy, unorganized, stressful, and I'm quite certain they shaved days, if not weeks, off my life. Having just written those last lines, I am starkly reminded of how God has been shedding His light in some of the darkest corners of my soul throughout our home renovation. There's something about tearing your house apart and finding what's really inside that forces you to do the same with your soul. So here goes...a confession of sorts.

I am impatient.

I am far too concerned with outward appearances.

I am afraid of what others may think of me.

I don't like confrontation.

I have tendencies to push things under the rug and pretend like they never happened.

I hate messes.

I hate disorganization.

I worry too much, stress too much, clean too much.

I strive for perfection and dwell on flaws.

I allow my priorities to shift when life gets busy...and it's not a good shift.

I am lacking grace. Grace for myself. Grace for others.

I have a long way to go.

I love and appreciate my husband and need to show him that more often...especially in crazy times like these.

I am starting to sound like a freak.

The fact of the matter is that God sees this list and loves me all the more. I see this list and feel unlovable. Like I need to run home and make sure my husband is real, and that his love for me isn't just the result of an 8-year fever. And then I just become grateful. Grateful that despite my flaws, I am still loved. Loved by the God who made me. Loved by the family that raised me. Loved by the husband who is committed to me. Loved by the friends who have supported me. It seems that every day brings a new realization, a new challenge, and a new lesson on this road of life. If it weren't for the love that I am so undeserving of, I absolutely do not know where I would be.

I am also grateful for our new abode, despite not wanting to relive the last six weeks within its walls. In the end, it's the last six weeks that turned those walls into a home. It's the blood, sweat and tears of our friends and family helping us along the way. It's the marriage growing stronger as two very different minds try to communicate and find ways to agree on something...anything.

So I'm learning that just as we've allowed our friends and family inside to rebuild the walls of our home and paint them with vibrant new colors, I need to open the door to Christ so he can rebuild me and color my life with renewed vibrancy.

This is love: not that we loved God, but the he loved us and sent His Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.
-1 John 4:10

Fetch

While on this roller coaster of a thing called my life, I am always in search of things that remain constant. Things that I can look to as a reminder that life, while completely and utterly perplexing and chaotic at times, will be OK. Things that make me reflect, smile, appreciate.

Yesterday, while playing with my dog during the lunch hour, I found myself smiling, laughing, loving life. Such a simple thing...playing with my dog. She is a constant joy. She's the one who cannot contain her excitement when she sees my eyes open in the morning. She's the one who, by some miracle, makes me laugh at 6:00am as we set out for our morning jog. And although my body wants to be back in bed, I count myself blessed to be the witness of such glee and exuberance...at such an ungodly hour.

I also realized something important while playing with Taylor yesterday. An analogy. Or perhaps an epiphany of sorts. In watching her run full-tilt after a tennis ball, pouncing on it with everything she has, and ecstatically running back to obediently drop it at my feet (over and over and over again), I realized how this can serve as a parallel to what my relationship with God should be like. Repeatedly in life, God throws me something...a lemon, a curve ball, you name it. Do I joyfully run after it? Do I tackle it? And most importantly, do I bring it back to God and lay it at His feet? Sometimes. But not all the time. Too often I'm like one of those dogs who frustrates their owner by making a half-ass effort toward the ball. I stop when I get there, hover over it, glance back at the owner just to see if he's paying attention. Then I grab the ball, run the other way, and decide to lay in the shade and do as I please. Sometimes I gnaw on the ball. Sometimes I try to bury it. If the owner tries to come near or persuade me to come back, I often hop to my feet and start a game of keep-away. I want the control. I think I know how the game should be played. But that's not what the owner intended when he threw the ball, is it? No, no.

With every lemon and every curve ball, God intends to teach me, shape me. He intends to exercise my muscles of faith. He desires for me to trust Him enough that I'll actually come back, lay my slobbery mess at His feet, and allow Him to throw another. And another. And He hopes that I will even find joy in it. Joy through the lessons, through the overcoming, through the people I pass on may way to and from.

Praise God for simple and constant truths. Praise Him for His constant truth...and constant pursuit of me.

And now for a visual representation of my epiphany. I hope these photos make you smile...




"...This day is sacred to our Lord. Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength."
-Nehemiah 8:10

Oui, s'il vous plaît

I would like to take this moment to thank God for the French. Specifically for their mad pastry skills. Pastries, especially those made with fruit, are my weakness. They are more enticing than chocolate. More tempting than shoes. And cheaper, too!

The heavenly berry tart you see in this photo was my lunch today. My entire lunch. While standing in line at a French cafe yesterday, waiting for a loaf of bread and a cup of soup, a fresh platter full of these berry tarts came out of the kitchen and into my life. Sadly, I couldn't justify buying one at the time. And by the grace of God I was able to walk away. Only to have this life-changing, tart-justifying idea...

Every time Aunt Flo comes to town (ladies, you know what I mean), I will drive straight to my little French cafe and order a berry tart. I am so excited about my genius plan that I am actually looking forward to her next visit.

It's the little things in life...

Celebrating Moms

Today, I think fondly of my mom. My mommy, my madre, my mamacita...or just my ma. She goes by many names. I love her for who she is and for all that she's done in my life and continues to do. She's my friend and cheerleader. She gives the best hugs. She gets more beautiful with age. She's had her share of heartaches in life, but that's made her stronger, wiser, more compassionate. I admire her immensely. It's an honor to be her daughter. I am so grateful...I love you, ma!

While my heart brims with thankfulness today for the amazing women in my life, it must also endure a few twinges of pain. When I wasn't pregnant last Mother's Day, I thought to myself...no biggie, surely by next Mother's Day I will be celebrating. I'll be part of the club. I'll be one of the many gals being applauded at church. And here I sit. Wondering if I should even attend a church service today. While I'm grateful for a pastoral team who is sensitive to those of us suffering through infertility on Mother's Day, I just don't know if I can sit in a room full of beaming mothers and growing bellies. Sometimes you just have to sit one out for the sake of your sanity. Today might be one of those times.

It's often difficult to articulate the feelings that come with Mother's Day. On the one hand you celebrate, on the other you grieve. So here is a blog post from a fellow woman who understands the grieving part. Thank you dear Katie, for sending this along to me: For Those With Empty Arms on Mother's Day

And for all you mom's out there, squeeze your little ones extra tight today. Say an extra 'thank you' for the miraculous blessing of their lives.

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
-Psalm 34:18

Just Say 'No'

Well, it appears as though Joel and I are going to camp out at the intersection of our crossroads for a while. Several things happened over the last week that ultimately led to an emotional meltdown this morning (yep, another one). It's officially time to say 'no' to something. Time to clear the plate and focus on one thing at a time. Being only three weeks away from moving into our new abode and beginning our remodeling project, we are choosing to focus on the house. We are both tired, frazzled and cross-eyed. One minute we're discussing hard wood floors and kitchen cabinetry, the next minute we're trying to decide which of the 15 different paths we should take to figure out what the heck is wrong with me (reproductively speaking...although many would argue differently). Then the next minute we're sifting through adoption agencies and filling out pre-application forms. Mentally, emotionally, and financially it's just time to step back. Take a deep breath. Focus on the house. ENJOY the house. Enjoy each other's company.

In choosing the house, Joel and I have chosen to take a couple months off from all things baby. Alas, I am packing up the thermometer and ovulation predictor strips. As for the pregnancy tests, if I hadn't paid good money for them I'd just as soon throw them away...or maybe burn them. Yes, burning them would be glorious. Die HPT's! Die!! But no, those will be packed up, too. Maybe someday they will decide to play nice. Until then...onward we go. Finally on the same page. Finally pointed in the same direction. Finally with the time and space to think. To process. To pray. And to once again lean fully on a mysterious, yet mighty God.

Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy.
-Psalm 126:5

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight.
-Proverbs 3:5-6

Crossroads

I just googled the word "crossroads" hoping to find a cool picture for this post. What I found was blog after blog of folks chronicling their thoughts as they stood on the precipice of life's next chapter. The overwhelming majority were Christians. Hmm. One post in particular was profoundly encouraging, written by a blogger named Ben Liles. He begins his post like this...

Crossroads. We all have them. Some if not all of us do not like them. They scare us because we think one choice is right and one is wrong. I embrace them. When I come to a crossroad, I know that it is because God has brought me to this point because He has something for me. It is a place in life where we are forced to think, not about the moment or about the past, but about the future. It is a place of life-change.

Today, I feel like I am at a crossroad. I met with a Reproductive Endocrinologist (ain't that a mouthful?!) this afternoon, who officially gave us the branding of "unexplained infertility." I can't say I didn't see it coming. Every test we've had up to this point has come back normal. Every cycle I've ever had since the age of 14 has been more or less normal. So we're just a normal couple who apparently can't conceive a child the normal, old-fashioned way. Which brings me to my next point...

Like every other doctor I've seen, the Endocrinologist also suggested I begin with a regimen of Clomid or Letrozole. For those of you unfamiliar with these drugs, they are designed to help women produce viable eggs for ovulation. For women who have irregular cycles, or who have trouble ovulating at all, I am a huge proponent of these drugs. However, I take issue with these doctors trying to sell me on this idea when we all know that I am ovulating just fine. For me, these drugs would only put my ovaries into over-drive...it's like they'd be on steroids. I like my ovaries. And that just seems like a mean thing to do, when they're already doing their job. Plus, I'm a worrier by nature, and I don't trust easily. I don't trust doctor's motives and I don't trust the drugs they're trying to push on me. I worry about cancer...breast cancer, ovarian cancer. I worry about any ill effects these drugs may have on a child.

So here's my crossroad: Previous discussions between Joel and myself had led us to conclude that we would not force nature. In other words, no drugs...no artificial insemination...and no IVF. With so many precious kids in the world needing a good home, we'd just as soon spend our money and energy on adoption. But today I find myself conflicted. The reason? Statistics. During my chat with the doc, he broke out the digits (which I can appreciate, being a geeky science gal). For us (because every couple's scenario is different), our chances of conceiving without any intervention is 2-4% every month. Ouch. If I tried Clomid or Letrozole, this jumps up to 15%. With artificial insemination, 20%. And with IVF, 50%. We still feel very committed to our decision of not pursuing IVF. But what about the other options? There's something very sobering about 2-4%. The thought of it ruined my afternoon. And it forced Joel and I to call our previous decisions into question.

If we stick with our original plan and only pursue adoption, will we someday regret never pursuing pregnancy further? Will we always deflate at the thought of never having a biological child? Am I being too stubborn and paranoid? And on the flip side, should we even have a child at all?! We could be like my Aunt and Uncle who blissfully travel the world and exclaim, "Oops!! We forgot to have kids!" whenever anyone in the family complains about a grievous child. That path seems pretty nice when I'm at the grocery store next to a screaming little girl who's not getting her way. [NOTE: Mom and Dad, I do see the irony in this...I'm sure I was that little girl many times!]

I realize that this decision is ultimately between God, Joel and myself. I also realize, like Ben, that there may not be one right path. And I wholeheartedly believe that no matter what path we choose, the Lord will provide ways for us to glorify Him through it. That said, I would love to hear words of wisdom from anyone reading this. Seeking wise counsel is always, well...wise.

Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path.
-Psalm 119:105

To Grandma's House We Go...

A week ago Tuesday, I wrote a blog post in which I told you about how much I liked the distraction of looking for a new home. Little did I know that that distraction would soon end and give way to a brand new one 24 hours later. Earlier that day, Joel and I had looked at a home in a great neighborhood. It was built with quality as a Parade Home 25 years ago...and hadn't been updated since. I kid you not, this place was decked out to the hilt in grandma's pink carpet and floral wall paper from the 80's. It had a plethora of fun little oddities, as well...like the washer and dryer in the kitchen, floor to ceiling mirrors, and a FULL kitchen in the basement...just to name a few. Joel was smitten with the place. He had this crazy look in his eye. I was NOT amused, as I was sure I knew where this was going. And I was right. Twenty-four hours and several renovation promises later, we had a house.

When I think about how it all came to be, I just laugh and shake my head a little. It is exactly the way God works in my life. He always takes something that I either (a) am afraid of, (b) swore I would never do, or (c) had completely written off from the start, and uses it to challenge my plans, ideas and misconceptions. Africa scared me. Infectious diseases scared me. So He sent me to Kenya to hold the hands of women and children infected with HIV/AIDS. Three times I've been there now. And I know I'll continue to go back. In grad school I swore I would never take a job in atmospheric computer modeling, believing I just didn't have the brains or patience for it. He sent me someone who believed I did. Almost a year and a half later, I surprise myself everyday with how much I love my job. So it makes sense that I am now knee-deep in color swatches and flooring samples, dreaming of how to make a home that I initially hated into something great...on a tight budget. I'm thrilled, I'm scared, I'm hoping to win the lottery. This house is nothing like what I thought we'd end up with. It has very few things that we actually set out looking for. But it's fabulous...and funky. It's potential is vast. And for some reason it just feels a little serendipitous, like it did when we bought our first house. Perhaps it's just because the four digits making up the street number of the new house are the same as our current house, just in a different order. Simply a coincidence? Probably. But I'm choosing to see it as an added assurance from above that this is the place we're to rest our heads and, Lord-willing, raise our family for years to come.

This is yet another page in the story of Joel and Holly. Another reminder that things rarely turn out the way you think they will. Another lessen in being open to what can happen when they don't. It's my prayer that this house will become a home, a place of refuge, warmth and love. Not only for Joel and myself, but for all who enter. And may we always be mindful of the One who has blessed us with it, so as never to take it for granted or cease to use it in ways that glorify His awesomeness. That's a very theological way of saying..."Please come visit! We will take good care of you!"

By wisdom a house is built, and through understanding it is established; through knowledge its rooms are filled with rare and beautiful treasures.
-Proverbs 24:3-4

Welcome Distractions

Spring has officially sprung. While I do love snow and festive winter holidays, I am glad the grey haze of winter has left us, leaving sunshine and the occasional thunderstorm in its place. The peonies and rhubarb plants are starting to break ground in our back yard now, and I have a vase full of daffodils on my kitchen table. The windows are open. The furnace is off. After a winter of being poked and prodded by doctors, and feeling sorry for myself as I watched my girlfriends' bellies grow, my life is starting to feel refreshed, renewed. I feel like a bear finally emerging from its den. I'm shaking off the hurts and failures like a bear would shake off dirt and twigs from its fur. I'm stretching my legs. I'm running again.

It also helps that we've had a plethora of distractions this spring to take our minds off the baby business. As you know from a couple posts ago, we sold our house and will be closing on May 28th. We've been searching for a new home ever since. I actually enjoy the search. I enjoy walking into a home and dreaming with Joel on ways we could improve it and make it ours. Some are total doozies...like a house full of cats...and others we have loved and lost in what we're realizing is a very competitive market. But we're still finding joy in the process. And now that Easter is over, we are picking up momentum in our adoption journey. On Thursday, we'll be traveling to Milwaukee for an informational meeting. I have so many questions for the adoption agency...I'm afraid I might become "that girl" to everyone else in the meeting. But what can I say? I'm just really eager to learn! Plus, we're both looking forward to moving on, and not being chewed up and spit out by my monthly cycle anymore.

Another hilariously cute distraction is the 2010 Doggy Daze contest. Our dog, Taylor, was one of 25 dogs to get their own photo shoot as part of this annual fundraiser for the Dane County Humane Society. Her photo made it to the top twelve (the Doggy Dozen) and now she is a finalist in the top 8. The winner will be on the cover of the 2011 Doggy Daze calendar. Totally silly...completely indulgent...incredibly amusing. We're proud parents. [And here comes the shameless plug...] If you'd like to vote for her, just follow this link! 2010 Doggy Daze Voting. She may not be your personal favorite, but she does have the best life story (in our humble opinion), and would make an excellent representative of what Humane Societies around the nation are all about.

Well, that's all from me...for now! I hope you are all enjoying the warmth of spring temperatures and all the pizazz severe weather season brings. I like that word, "pizazz"...I need to use it more often.

"I will make rivers flow on barren heights, and springs within the valleys. I will turn the desert into pools of water, and the parched ground into springs."
-Isaiah 41:18

Galway Girl

I love March 17th. The only thing that could make it better is if I had inherited red hair. I did, however, inherit pasty white skin...and today I am proud of it. Today I think fondly (well, more so than I do every other day) of one of the most beautiful and mystical countries in the world. And of my ancestors who were born there so long ago. One in particular, Ann Waters, was born near the coast not far from the city of Galway. Unfortunately, I discovered this only a month before Joel and I visited Ireland, leaving little time or room in our itinerary to make the trip to her tiny birth town. Someday. But as I looked out across the sea from Galway Bay, I could imagine Ann just two hours north, doing the same. I felt close to my roots. Connected.

I love learning about my heritage. I'm proud of the Irish, Italian, Polish and French-Canadian blood that courses through my veins. I'm proud of my great-grandparents who bravely boarded a ship and crossed the Atlantic in search of a better life for their children, and their children's children. But above all, I'm proud to have been adopted through the blood of a Jewish carpenter. I'm proud to call believers of all nationalities and races my brothers and sisters. So today I celebrate those that came before me. I honor my ancestors for the sacrifices they made to give me the life I have. But I remember that my true identity is in Christ, in whom my roots are firmly planted.

Christ with me
Christ before me
Christ behind me
Christ within me
Christ beneath me
Christ above me
Christ at my right
Christ at my left
Christ where I sit
Christ where I arise
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me
Christ in every eye that sees me
Christ in every ear that hears me
Salvation is of the Lord
-From the breastplate of St. Patrick

Back in the Saddle Again...

My last post was wrought with tension and angst, sparking an array of emotions from those of you who read it. I appreciate all of your responses and am both humbled and encouraged by the conversations and exchanges that have unfolded since I last wrote. Thank you to everyone who reached out in the aftermath of my words. You are God's love made real.

That said, I want today's post to be positive. I want it to be full of light, like the glorious Spring weather we've been experiencing here in Wisconsin. The snow has left us and the birds have returned. While picking up dog poo in the post-winter "mine field" of our backyard, I even noticed subtle signs of life springing forth from our flower beds. I couldn't help but smile. Welcome back, joy and optimism.

Since I last wrote, much has happened. My faith in prayer has been renewed, my inner artist has been revived, and my soul has found quiet. As many of you know, our house has been on the market since early October. For those of you who have ever been through this process, you know what a roller coaster it can be! In the last couple months we have almost felt like visitors in our own home. Afraid to relax, be messy, let our hair down, LIVE. Showings were often, which was fantastic. But offers were non-existent and negative feedback was mounting...not so fantastic. It didn't take long for us to realize that what we really needed was a young, single guy to walk through our house. Someone who wouldn't care about a small kitchen, lack of closet space or a master suite in the basement. And someone who would giggle like a little girl at the thought of having a home theater with surround sound. So we began to pray for this person. And pray. On Wednesday, Joel allowed a dear friend and coworker of his to pray over him. She, too, prayed for a young lad to walk through our door. An hour later that is exactly what happened. And three hours after that he was writing us an offer. By Friday afternoon it was a done deal. Hallelujah! God is good. For the first time in a long time we felt heard. A gentle reminder that God is indeed listening.

The weekend ushered us into 'Pulse,' the annual arts conference held at our church. The weeks leading up to this event are insanely busy for my husband and his oh-so-talented team of artists. But it's always amazing to see how quickly the stress seems to fall off their shoulders as they join a whole community of believing artists, doing what they do best...creating. As someone who lives in between the left and right sides of my brain, this conference is one of the few places I get to explore and expand on the artistry God has infused in me. Last year I performed a dance with two amazingly beautiful dancers. This year I made a mess with paint, charcoal and sand. And it turned into something rather lovely. This experience again confirmed what I've always known...creative outlets are essential for a balanced life.

For those of you who really know me, you know that I am an animal lover. I am especially fond of horses, despite being a city girl. I learned to ride and care for them as a young girl, and since then it's been a dream of mine to own one...and a killer pair of cowboy boots. Unfortunately, I continue to live in the city. And last I checked, Mayor Dave would probably frown upon a horse trotting down Whitney Way. This is where a woman named, Joan, enters the picture. Joan has two horses and 5 acres just outside of Madison. Joan also has some very sexually-charged roosters...but that's a story for another time. Our church likes to form groups of people with common interests who can get together and share in their hobby. A women's horse-lovers group tried to get off the ground, but too few of the women actually owned their own horses. However, Joan took this opportunity to reach out to us horseless gals. Every once in a while she'll send an email telling us that she plans on grooming and riding on a certain day and would love company. After passing on the first few, I decided to take her up on her latest offer. With snow turning into muck, she had two very muddy horses to tend to. Being someone who loves the smell of horse sweat and manure, I happily obliged to get my hands dirty with some curry combs and mud-tangled manes. Being in the presence of horses quiets my soul like nothing else. It was a long-overdue therapy session. You see, with horses you have to quiet yourself. You have to quiet any anxiety or fears that you carry. Quiet any tension, anger or bitterness. Quiet the voices in your head. Quiet your soul. Because they know. They sense your negativity and react. And no one wants a hoof to the face. Scrubbing and combing their giant muscular bodies to the quiet, steady rhythm of hay-chomping is something I've always loved and could have done for hours. There's just something about standing in the powerful presence of these beasts that brings me nearer to God. When the horses were shiny and new again, we saddled 'em up and took them out on a beautiful leisurely walk. It felt good to be riding again. It felt good to feel like myself again. Amazing how nature has a way of centering us and giving us a quiet place to rest our souls in this crazy, chaotic and often painful world we live in.

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls."
-Matthew 11:28-29

Enough?

I've been a ball of emotions for the last five days...most of them anxious, angry and bitter. Sometimes I have no idea what provokes them. They just seem to resurface from time to time like the Loch Ness monster...shocking everyone, including myself. [Yes, I give you permission to call me Nessie].

Up until now, I have been priding myself on how well Joel and I have been handling everything...how it's only made us stronger. I still believe that. But I'm also starting to realize how the stressors around us are starting to force their way into the small cracks of our marriage. We're quick to anger and slow to forgive. Easily offended by even the slightest remarks.

Joel gave me permission to punch him on Saturday. And I did...hard.

On Sunday the sermon was about being bold in prayer, as we are taught in Luke 11:

"So I say to you: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened." -Luke 11:9-10

I can honestly say I felt hatred toward this passage. I felt like standing up and calling Jesus a liar. How many times have I knocked boldly on the door of my Father, asking and pleading for a child? How many times has this desire been granted? And then our pastor dropped the bombshell. He acknowledged that there were many of us who are probably sitting in our chairs, scoffing, not wanting a lecture on prayer. [Guilty as charged]. He acknowledged that many of us have been praying boldly, but with seemingly no response or release from our troubles. [Yep, that would be me]. But then he said this: Jesus knew how to pray. And He prayed often. But in the chapters after Luke 11 we see that His life didn't go so well. He was cast out, betrayed, and ultimately ended up on a Roman execution rack. In Luke 11, the promise isn't necessarily that my prayer requests will all be granted. But rather, that God will give me Himself. He will give me the Holy Spirit. This is His promise because He knows He is enough. But do I know that? Do I actually believe it and live it out? If all I've been blessed with...health, wealth, shelter, unconditional love...were all taken from me and all that was left was God, would He be enough? Could I be content? These are the same questions I ask myself every time I walk the sewage-filled paths of the Nairobi slums. How easily I forget the lessons I've learned from my Kenyan brothers and sisters who literally have nothing. And yet they live joyfully for God. [Convicted].

It became all too apparent in that moment that I don't believe God is enough. I don't trust Him fully. I continue to think my plan is better and therefore I'm continually dissatisfied and disappointed with His. Dark, is the state of my human heart. Broken, is the human condition.

On Monday, a friend pierced the gloom hanging over my head with this simple truth: That when Jesus instructed Peter to walk toward Him across the water, He did not first calm the raging storm. Instead, He encouraged Peter to focus His eyes on Him and take that first step in faith. A perfect storm is brewing in my life, composed of infertility, doubt, unanswered questions, a brother I can't trust, and a house that just won't sell. Everyday I wait for God to take even one of these things and make it right. Everyday I'm disappointed. But what other choice did I leave myself? What did I expect? My energies have been focused on dissipating the storm, not on the One who can keep me, and teach me, as I walk through it.

"Lord, if it's you," Peter replied, "tell me to come to you on the water."
"Come," He said.
Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus.
-Matthew 14:28-29

Finding the positives when all you get are negatives

Well, there goes month 13. I took a pregnancy test on Tuesday, and as usual, it came back negative. And Thursday that negative was confirmed, if you get my drift. We were quite hopeful this month, seeing as that I had recently undergone a procedure to verify that my reproductive organs were all normal and open. It was a downright awful experience. I was thankful for Joel sitting next to me in his sparkly purple lead vest that protected him from the x-rays. He provided much-needed comic relief and a hand to hold...or crush, as it were. Without going into detail, some good did come of it...and we hoped we had found a possible answer to our troubles. On top of this, we were told that many couples experience increased fertility after the procedure, simply by having it done. Well, we are not one of those couples...at least not this month.

Seeing only one line on that pregnancy test is getting really old. I might as well be flushing dollars down the toilet. And frankly, I feel like I'm paying someone to tell me that I'm a failure of a woman and I suck at life...every single month. Who knew one little line could say so much?! After the first several months of wallowing in self-pity like this for days after my period, I decided I needed an attitude adjustment. Don't get me wrong. I still wallow. I've just cut it down to a day or two, instead of 14. Now, one of the ways I cope with the month-after-month disappointment is by reminding myself of all the things I can still do sans baby-bump. And then I do them...all the while reveling in the freedom of not being pregnant. Here is my list:

Stay up past 9pm
Sleep on my stomach
Sleep through the night without getting up to pee
Make it through my day without barfing or feeling like I have to barf
Make it through my day without a nap
Make it through my day at all
Hold in my gas while in public
Fly in airplanes anytime I please
Walk without waddling
Run without waddling
Wrestle with the dog
Touch my toes
Have conversations that don't revolve around babies
Not stress if I miss a week of my prenatal vitamins
Not have to buy a new wardrobe
Wear skinny jeans
Wear stilettos
Wear skinny jeans AND stilettos...now we're talkin'
Eat unpasteurized cheese
Eat lunch meats
Eat trans-fats
Drink caffeine
Drink wine
Drink beer
Drink champagne
Drink just about anything I want, when I want it...in fact, I think I'll pour myself a glass of wine right now! [NOTE: I am not a lush]

On top of all this, Joel and I have been guaranteed at least one more month of relative peace, quiet, sleep, flexibility, and quality time together. And Taylor has been guaranteed at least one more month of unabated and uninterrupted love, attention and sleeping on our bed. Life's not so bad.

And although it is becoming increasingly hard to keep our chins up as we watch the months go by, we will cling to the promises made to people like Abraham, Rachel, Hannah and Zechariah. We'll remember that the Lord is good, and that His utmost desire for us is LIFE.

Against all hope, Abraham in hope believed and so became the father of many nations, just as it had been said to him, "So shall your offspring be." ...he did not waver through unbelief regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God, being fully persuaded that God had power to do what he had promised.
-Romans 4:18; 20-21

The Bright Sadness

Last March I had the privilege of hanging out with the members of a great Christian band (one of the few perks that comes along with being married to a Director of Worship Arts). They were in town as the guest artists for the annual arts conference we hold at our church. Their new album, The Bright Sadness, had recently been released and so they kicked us off with a stellar concert on the eve of the conference. I didn't know much about them before attending this concert...well, let's be honest...I didn't know anything about them. Not surprising since I rarely listen to Christian music outside of church. Something about it being my husband's job makes me way too critical. But every so often there comes a song that touches my soul in some profound way, and closes the gap between my hand and God's.

I had almost forgotten about one such song by the Charlie Hall Band, when it resurfaced yesterday afternoon on our way back from Boulder, CO. As I stared out the window of our car, so much was going on in my brain. I was sad to leave the majestic mountains, yet thankful for the time spent there, connecting with my great husband. Questions floated through my head of whether I might be pregnant this month...and if not, how I'll respond. In between questions, I was sifting through memories and conversations that took place while in Boulder. Conversations about our infertility, adoption, our house that is for sale, where we want to be in 10 years, where we think God wants us to be in 10 years, etc, etc. So much is up in the air in our lives right now. So many unanswered questions. So many ways this could all play out. I was getting dizzy thinking about it. [I'm dizzy right now as I write this.] And then Charlie Hall's voice came through the speakers and sang these beautiful words...

Sweet Jesus Christ my sanity
Sweet Jesus Christ my clarity
Bread of heaven, broken for me
Cup of salvation held up to drink
Jesus the Mystery

Christ has died and
Christ is risen,
and Christ will come again...

[Listen here: Mystery by Charlie Hall]

Almost a year has passed since Charlie Hall led us with this song through one of the most memorable times of communion I have ever experienced. At that time, there's no way I could have fully grasped what Charlie meant when he titled his album The Bright Sadness. Today I know...at least better than I did a year ago. I know the hurt. I know the bitterness. I know the fear and loneliness that often accompany them. But I also know hope, love, friendship, and strength like never before. I know God's love and compassion on a deeper level. I know myself better. There's a bright side to every one of our sad stories. And more importantly, there's a comfort in knowing that a bigger story is at work. It's bigger than me, bigger than Joel, and certainly bigger than our inability to produce a child. We just need clarity to see it...the clarity that can only come from a man who died to ultimately free this broken world from the sadness that binds it.

I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies.
-John 11:25

At Eternity's Gate

Thanks to the Apostle, Paul, Vincent Van Gogh, and the gifted Tim Mackie, I had a blog-worthy morning...the epiphany sort. And lucky for you, this is coming just before the progesterone side of my monthly cycle kicks in and rains on my parade of estrogen and optimism. If you're a woman trying to conceive, you know exactly what I'm talking about. (My apologies if that was TMI for some of you!)

Today's sermon was about the Holy Spirit's role in our suffering. It was titled "Pain-Filled Prayer." I don't always enjoy sermons on pain. Mostly because I cry easily these days...and that just becomes a neon sign above my head saying "something's wrong with this girl...she must be in pain." It makes me uncomfortable. I don't often enjoy sermons about the Holy Spirit, either. I feel a little bit guilty about that. But I think it's because I just can't get my mind around this part of the trinity. The Father created me. Jesus walked this earth and died for me. My simple human brain can understand that...just barely, but enough. The Spirit is something altogether different. Invisible. Body-less. Mysterious. My head knows that these three "persons" are all God and somehow one entity. That they are all equally important and intrinsically linked. Yet they are also separate, each with a divine purpose. I tend to focus so much of my faith and prayer life on God the Father and God the Son, that the work of God the Spirit all too often goes unrecognized.

In my last post, I mentioned how there are times when I'm so pissed and crushed in spirit that I cannot pray. In those times, I rely on my prayer warriors...friends and family members who know of our suffering and are willing to plead, question, and petition God on our behalf. I am forever thankful for these beautiful souls who willingly walk alongside us. But until today, I did not realize that mingled in amongst the prayers of our friends and family are the deep groans of the Spirit. When there is no order left and it feels as though God has turned His back, when we sit with our head in our hands overwhelmed with the exhaustion of doubt, when we are jaded and cynical, helpless and hopeless...the Spirit intercedes in sounds that only God can understand. It's as if the Spirit is acting as a direct link to God, channeling and translating the despair that leaves our words silent and our prayers empty.

Now, instead of feeling guilty for those heartbreaking times in which I have nothing left to say to God, I will sit in silence and know that the Spirit is working.

In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. And He who searches our hearts, knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God's will.
-Romans 8:26-27

The Glass Boot

Today is my birthday. Twenty-eight years ago, my Grandma was hyperventilating because she thought she was going to have to deliver me in her home. (I come from a long line of feisty and resourceful women and I have no doubt she could have done it). But thankfully, my dad saved the day with a plow attached to his pick-up truck. Turns out construction jobs come in handy when your wife is in labor during an epic MN blizzard.

Twenty-eight. I've accomplished a lot in my 28 years on Earth...most of it I'm proud of. But this was a somewhat difficult birthday for me. Turning 28 means I'm no longer 27. And 27 was the age I always thought I'd be when I had my first child. Don't ask me why I chose 27...I just did. As my husband has learned, not everything that happens in my brain is rational. Now, I know that by the world's standards, I am still a wee youngin'. Trust me, I know. I'd fit in perfectly with a group of 8th graders. But every time I hear a doctor say, "well, the good news is, you're still young and have plenty of time to have babies," there's a naive little planner inside me who wants to bust out and throw a tantrum because 27 has come and gone. Because the three pregnancy tests Joel bought for me on my 27th birthday...and every other one since then...have only made me cry. Because everyone around me is blissfully expecting their first or second child and taking all the baby names we've ever agreed upon. But mostly because I feel like my world has come to a screaming halt just in time to watch all of my friends pass me by on the road of life. I so desperately want to catch up. To be a part of their club and be able to relate to such novelties as pregnancy hemorrhoids and acid reflux. And yes, I just asked my husband how to spell 'hemorrhoids'...now there's a certain horrified curiosity on his face. I can't imagine why.

So today I begin life after 27. It's a new day. A new year. I'm a new Holly. While my 27th year did not produce a child growing in my belly, it did produce growth of many different kinds. My soul, my heart, my faith, my marriage...they are all so much stronger today than they were a year ago. We all go through times of discipline and refinement by God. I just never thought mine would come by way of infertility. But I am thankful for it. Hardship has a way of bringing about vulnerability, which opens the door to truth and honest reflection. I just hope that when the day comes where I'm presented with the gift of a child, these lessons will not be forgotten like the beautiful wrapping paper and bows that keep gifts hidden until just the right time.

And while my friends may be moving on to their great adventures in parenting, they have not left me. They still love me and care for me. They still pray for me...especially when I'm so pissed I can't pray for myself. They are patient with me as I navigate this unfamiliar territory. And they know that when I feel like Cinderella, racing against the clock, they can always make me smile by presenting me with something far better than my lost glass slipper...how 'bout a ginormous glass boot filled with beer. Now that's friendship. Happy Birthday to me!!

No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.
-Hebrews 12:11

Heavy

As I begin to write this, news is breaking of a 5.6 earthquake in Venezuela. This, of course, comes after the 6.5 quake in northern CA on the 9th and the devastating 7.0 quake in Haiti on the 12th. The earth is moving. As I await news of any destruction in Venezuela, my heart is heavy for Haiti. I look at the photos and hear the first-hand accounts and I feel helpless. I wonder how a nation already so afflicted can ever recover from such utter devastation.

I want to help...to go beyond my pocketbook and comfort zone. But how? After watching Matt Lauer interview the director of a large orphanage in Haiti, I thought I had my answer. Recently, we have been researching the adoption process and now our heads are swirling with agency names, programs, legal jargon and dollar signs. There's also the big question of where to adopt from. Domestic? International? We don't feel particularly called in one direction over the other, seeing as that it's next to impossible for US citizens to currently adopt from the one country we are bonded to, Kenya. It was in this gray area where I thought I felt God move within my soul and tell me that we could make a difference for a Haitian child. However, upon researching the Haitian adoption requirements, we found that one parent must be at least 35 years old and we need to be married for at least 7 (in some cases 10) years. Joel is 31, and we've only been married for 5 years. Once again we find ourselves frustrated with the fact that the adoption system is just not designed for young couples wanting to be parents. If it's not the extreme financial burden, it's an age restriction...or both. In addition, Haitian adoptions take an incredibly long time in comparison to other international adoptions. Not surprising, given their poor infrastructure. Now, in the wake of this natural disaster, it's utterly ridiculous to think this would be a good idea.

So how do you know? How you do you separate the whisper of God from the voice of your own human desires? I'm realizing that in my frenzy to learn as much about adoption as possible, I have seldom paused to listen to God. I think I'm afraid of what He will say or where He will point me. It's those fears that send me into type-A overdrive. The planning, list-making, control-freak side of me takes over and I end up forcefully trying this, then that, then this again. My husband tells me I'm "all over the map." Comments like this are usually my cue to stop, comb my hair, and breathe. So that's what I'm going to do. If it's truly God's desire that we adopt a precious orphan from Haiti, then He will make it happen...in His timing. And if His plans for us are far different, I pray we will be quiet enough amidst the noise to truly hear Him calling to us.

In the meantime...we will pray fervently. We will find other ways to help. And we will remember the numerous U.S. families who were in the middle of their Haitian adoption process when the earthquake hit. It's my own personal prayer that their children are found alive and will come home soon.

Most importantly, we will take comfort in the fact that when the earth moves, God moves too...

But those who suffer he delivers in their suffering; he speaks to them in their affliction.
-Job 36:15

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
-Psalm 34:18

Nothing by Chance

It's nothing new to those of us who are dog lovers, that there is much to be learned from our four-legged friends. Unconditional love, loyalty, friendship, joy, humor, compassion, simplicity. The list could go on and on. Now, I know that everyone is biased when it comes to their own dog (or cat). But my husband and I may take this to the extreme with our dog, Taylor...there are days when we truly feel that she is perfection wrapped in black fur. There are days when she rolls in dead things, too, but I will leave that for a different discussion. In any case, she is perfect for us. Taylor is quite possibly the sweetest, cuddliest, funniest creature we've ever met. She's an Aquarius, like me, and therefore loves beaches, shoes and chocolate (for which we have had to induce vomiting on multiple occasions...but that's beside the point). But the best thing about Taylor? She gets us. She was made for us. I first realized this the year I lost both my grandpas. The day I lost the second one, I sat on the bathroom floor, sobbing. This was the first time Taylor had ever seen me like that. I could literally see the pain and concern in her eyes. She was still a rambunctious adolescent at the time, and yet she sat next to me and gently licked my tears until I was ready to stand up. She understood the heaviness of that moment and was ready to sit on the bathroom floor with me for as long as I needed. A year or so later, she was at Joel's side after he found out his dad had cancer. In May, when I got a positive result on a pregnancy test, she jumped up and down with me like a crazy woman. When the tests all of a sudden went negative the following day, it was Taylor who kept me warm on the couch for 5 straight hours while I slept, cried, slept, cried. On top of this, she has broken up countless arguments with her hilarious antics...funny how laughter always seems to bring perspective.

I tell you all of this, not to simply boast about what a fabulous dog we have. Rather, to remind you that God can use the unexpected in our lives for His purpose, if we only say 'yes'. You see, Taylor is special because of the way she entered our lives. We did not pick her out as a puppy, still cuddled up to her mom with her brothers and sisters. We did not pay hundreds of dollars for her. To be honest, we were not ready for her. As a newly married couple, we had just decided to wait a year or two before committing ourselves to caring for a dog. God clearly had a different plan. We were in MI, visiting Joel's family. It was a beautiful Saturday in September. We wanted to get out of the house, and since there's not much to do in rural MI, we set out looking for rummage sales. We stumbled upon one down an old country road. As we pulled up, we saw a black lab tied to the garage and a sign that read "Free Black Lab Puppy." Now 'puppy' was perhaps not the best term for her. She was about 7 months old, almost full-grown, and covered in dirt. As we approached her, her legs turned into tightly coiled springs that lifted her so high off the ground she could look you straight in the eyes with each bounce. The sign should have read "Free Adolescent Spaz-Case." We doted on her for a little while, then jumped back in the car. Her bouncing stopped and she just stared at us as we pulled away. Joel was the first to break the silence and say "you want her don't you..."

I wish I could say I did. I honestly didn't. I had in my mind the perfect timing, the perfect litter, the perfect itty bitty puppy that we could train and love from a perfectly early age. Taylor, on the other hand, was 7-months old and full of dirt...and Lord knows what else. She had shown up on the door-step of the house holding the garage sale only a month prior. We had no idea where she was from, or what had happened during the first several months of her life. Had she been abused? Had she been abandoned? Did she simply run off and get lost? We'll never know. After much debate, Joel and I came to a literal T in the road. We could go one way to pick up a dog, or the other way to continue on home to Madison. We decided to take one last look at her. As we pulled up to the house, the bouncing set in. We let her off the leash to play, and she ended up jumping straight into our hearts...and then into our tightly packed VW Golf for the next 6 hours.

I look back on that day, fondly, and think...what if we hadn't said 'yes' to her? What if our ideals of what the plan was supposed to be had won over what it could be. My heart hurts to think we were so close to missing out on all that she has brought to our little family. Now, as we watch our idealistic plans for a child slowly crumble, I find myself pondering Taylor's story again and again. There is a significance in it that wasn't there before. A new hope and a reminder that God works in mysterious ways...in amazing ways...if we just lay our plans aside and trust Him. So while this is Taylor's story, it's our story, too. It's your story. When we were dirty, disheveled and lost, God threw us into the back of His car and welcomed us into His family.

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.
- Romans 8:28

Maybe, baby

I have to admit, I struggled with the thought of beginning a blog to chronicle the journey we find ourselves on. After a year of trying to conceive a child, the bitter, cynical part of me was saying "this is gonna continue to be a long and bumpy road, honey, so buckle up." This can also be translated: "God hears your prayers day after day and His answer will continue to be 'NO'...except it will be 'yes' for approximately 99% of the female population around you, including your nearest, dearest friends." So by starting this blog, does it mean that deep down I have bought into this pessimism and self-pity? I mean, maybe I am pregnant right now and I don't know it. And then this blog would be finished before it ever really started. But then maybe I'm not. Maybe God never intended for us to experience the miracle of looking into the eyes of our own biological children. Maybe instead there is a woman out there right now carrying a baby that will someday become ours through the miracle of adoption. And maybe...just maybe...God is not leading us down the road of infertility just to be mean. Maybe His desire is to show us what kind of people we can become when we're forced to loosen our grip and give up control. When we feel so helpless that our choices are either to walk away, resentful, or re-learn the meaning of trust. And if that is what this journey is all about, then you better believe I'm gonna need this blog.

In the end, I chose to begin writing because I'm tired. I'm tired of living in the what-if's of the future. I'm tired of covering up my sadness with fake smiles and cute haircuts (although I am really diggin' the new 'do). I needed a place to put my thoughts in the hopes that maybe they won't be so darned distracting anymore. I also know that we are not the first couple to experience the pain of infertility, nor are we the last. Hopefully as I piece our story together, my words will reach the eyes of someone who needs to read them. After all, what good are these trials if nothing is learned and nothing is shared?

So here I am...and here you are...at the lemonade stand. Where I will try to make the very best lemonade you've ever tasted, with some of the tartest lemons God has ever given me.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."
- Jeremiah 29:11