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