Sit With Me And Listen
Sitting across the cluttered kitchen table from my oldest daughter, 5-year-old Gemma, as she paints and hums “Go Tell It on a Mountain,” I am struck at the sheer magic of her. Of the magic that all children bring into the lives of their parents and those around them. And also the absolute agony they can bring by not being there... yet. Or ever.
I’m at once excited and nervous to write this post.
My first post, My Sunday Worst, was about being truly vulnerable. So here I am again, being inspired to share an old part of my story that is ugly. A part that I may mention to others casually on occasion, as though it was not perhaps the very hardest season in my life so far. But that’s what we do, right? When trying to mask our former sorrows? Down-play so as not to make others uncomfortable, or so we don’t have to “get into that,” right then. Because it’s messy, or embarrassing, or just too personal.
But I know, as I sit here, that there are people all around me that need these words, so it’s selfish to keep them all for myself.
A journal entry, from 7/13/2012
God,
Do you think you might have a baby up there for me? It’s okay if it isn’t the most perfect baby. I would still love it. I would try my hardest to be a good mom. I think I could be a good mom, even though I feel sort of like a scared child right now.
Scared that my body is broken.
Did I break it?
Has it always been broken?
Andrew would be a good dad, too. The best. This little baby would be so loved. I already love him or her. I’m just waiting to meet them.
Love, Jackie
Andrew and I had been married for a few days shy of 7 years at this point, and had been trying to conceive since the previous October, 9 months. Coming from a large family (8 children), and being much like my mother in appearance and temperament, I was under the false impression that, as it was for her, conceiving would be a cinch. In fact, the notion that I may be unable had never occurred to me at all. But month after month of negative pregnancy tests was beginning to change me. I had a deep ache that never went away, no matter how busy I kept myself. To make matters worse, some months previous, at a family Christmas gathering, my sister and two sister-in-laws had confided that they, too, were trying for babies. They, plus a few other friends, all became pregnant before the end of that year. I did not.
A journal entry, from 9/4/2012
Baby blues. Baby sadness. Just babies.
God, be with Jeanne & Megan. Their babies mean a lot to me, even if it’s not my turn yet.
But God, could it be my turn soonish? It’s driving me insane.
I go to my new doctor on Thursday. In two days. God, put some answers in her head. Tell her what’s wrong with my body.
I’m so tired, God. Just so tired.
The exhausting and embarrassing business of explaining your medical history to a new doctor. What you see as your deficiencies, laid bare yet again. But I was so desperate for answers, and my old doctor didn’t seem to have room in her schedule for me when I needed her most.
A journal entry, from 9/6/2012
God,
Hope.
It’s a small word. Small. But also big. It stretches and somehow touches everything. Colors it all a slightly brighter hue.
Tomorrow, I’ll start fertility drugs. Somehow, I thought I wouldn’t want this. I rebelled at the idea early on, unwilling to pump more chemicals into my body. But eleven months of not feeling like a woman changes your mind. Maybe I’m desperate, I’m not sure. But I definitely have hope. Hope.
Jackie
One of the worst parts of trying to conceive is the constant rollercoaster of emotions. The thin wisp of hope that we grasp at so ecstatically and frantically that when it amounts to nothing, we are let down so, so hard. The endless parade of pregnancy tests. Your whole life somehow squeezed into that three minutes of waiting for the “plus” sign to appear.
I wish I could say the drugs worked right away and my life as a mother began there. It didn’t. But despite that, life moved on. We tried the drugs for a couple months, but when Andrew was accepted to Duke Divinity School in North Carolina for the following fall, we had to focus on the next chapter of our lives, even if it was not the one we thought it would be. It felt like the “baby chapter” had been ripped out and I’d never get to read it. So I buried myself in preparation for our cross-country move.
The months went by. We sold our house. I transferred with my company. I said goodbye to the only city I’d ever lived in. My family, friends, familiar buildings and sites, all in the rear view mirror, and looked forward to our next adventure.
Fast forward a couple of months and we are settling into our new roles: pastor and pastor’s wife, he a student, me the new manager at Barnes & Noble. One Sunday morning, I decide to take the first pregnancy test I’ve taken in many months. I know it will be negative. Know. But.
Positive. And just like that, my world is transformed and will never, never be the same.
Fast forward 6.5 years and there have now been three positive tests and my life barely resembles what it once was. There was a moment I can remember very vividly from my time at the Barnes & Noble in College Station where I worked for 7 years. We had been trying for several months at this point and I found myself, as I often did while on the clock, with an armload of books walking through the store. I suddenly had the very sad thought: will these arms ever be as used to holding a baby as they are to holding books?
Gratefully, the answer is yes. Many times yes.
But beyond the cathartic power of sharing one’s story, there is a bigger reason for this post. As someone who has spent her whole life in church (and the last 15 years heavily involved in church) I know that when someone is in the trenches of infertility, they frequently hear things like this:
All in God’s time!
I’m so blessed!
Everything happens for a reason!
But, unfortunately, as well-meaning as these pithy sayings are, this is what people like me often hear:
All in God’s time!... Why does God want me to suffer in the meantime?
I’m so blessed!... Why are you more favored by God than me?
Everything happens for a reason!... What horrible thing did I do to deserve this?
I’m not a theologian, or a pastor, or otherwise uniquely qualified to speak on God’s behalf. But I do know a few things to be true in my life, and, I believe, in everyone’s:
God is the old, bent gardener with kind eyes that you meet when you race from the dark stone school in tears. He doesn’t say much sometimes, oh but when he does… Listen up, because his words will be a balm to your wretched, come-apart soul. He didn’t cause your problems, but he will certainly sit with you on a crumbling stone bench, hold your hand and listen. And then, as your tears begin to ebb, he will point to some freshly-bloomed beauty that he coaxed to life with his bare hands exactly for you. You may not be ready to look at it, because it looks too different from your life at that moment. But that’s okay. Because God won’t stop there. He’ll continue to surround you with love and beauty and will wait quietly for you to see it. That’s the God I know.
Will every woman and man who want children have the opportunity to become parents? Sadly, no. I wish, pray, that they could. But I do know that blaming God or going through life thinking that God is against them will bring nothing but more pain and misunderstanding. Let God be your comfort, not your torment. Our world is filled with too much of the latter, and not enough of the former. And seek out those friends who will simply listen, rather than try to solve your pain, when you feel the need to talk.
I pray that everyone finds God to be their champion rather than their nemesis, through all the unbearably sad and painful times in their lives. I think that you’ll find that no matter how good or bad things are, God is with us. Always.
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