Describing the sky and breeze outside literally made me relocate from the living room to the shade of our maple tree; we only get June in Wisconsin once a year. We live across from a stunningly gorgeous park and cemetery and there are currently elderly veterans setting up formation for the burial of one of their own. It’s simultaneously beautiful and sobering. I can hear their choruses of laughter and indistinct chatter. There are little American flags surrounding them on all sides
Late last night I wrote a long winded blog… The kind of intensely painful, raw, vulnerable, and slightly ugly blog that I don’t let many see; the kind of journaling I do to process things, show it to my husband (if I’m feeling brave), and then bury in Google Drive forever. I’ll share little snippets here but today’s stories are the heavily edited version of what is raging in my mind & heart these days.
It requires supernatural strength, especially when physical illness and weakness magnifies and multiplies the intensity of pain and exhaustion. When pain runs rampant through my body and clinical anxiety reactivates, patience levels are reduced, hurt and confusion are intensified, and difficult news feels insurmountable.
It feels like drowning and suffocating and burning all at once.
The depths of my grief and overwhelm hit a new level of low last night, after a very difficult conversation with my gastroenterologist. After waiting months to speak with him (hello, COVID-19), I finally went through my list of questions and concerns with him.
And my greatest fears were realized. What I knew deep, deep inside was probably true, is actually true. Nothing can prepare us for the kind of grief when deep, personal fears are confirmed.
Tears flood my eyes as I write this and the words on the page blur together.
If you know me even a little, you likely know my incredible love for babies and children. If you know me a little better, you probably know my lifelong dream and goal has been to be a momma and have lots of babies.
And here I sit, stuck in a broken body that fails me over and over and over again, gasping for breath in my driveway, as the sobs overwhelm me yet again.
It’s hard when God says no and it’s really hard when He says no to good, biblical dreams and desires.
I experienced this previously for many years while I waited for marriage... and while I witnessed approximately 85% of my friends get married & have babies when they were practically babies themselves.
The pain is familiar yet different in this time of waiting and praying.
There is tremendous joy and gratitude in the reality of having the best husband on planet earth and the most beautiful, intelligent, and sassy curly haired, blue-eyed blonde two-year-old in all the land. These are gifts I don’t take for granted, after waiting years and years. There are not enough pages in the world to contain my depths of thankfulness to the Lord for these two humans.
I can burst with gratitude for the child God has given us and grieve for the children we ache for Him to give us.
I can enjoy a marriage beyond my imagination and work through the unmet expectations, the conflict, and fight for greater levels of intimacy.
I can praise the Lord for improvement in health here and there and groan & weep over the endless physical ailments.
I can grow in and seek the peace of Christ that passes all understanding and battle severe clinical anxiety.
I love living by a cemetery. Maybe that’s weird but it’s the most gorgeous cemetery with a beautiful park, pond, and river. I walk through it all the time and again, it’s sobering and beautiful. It gives perspective and renews my eternal focus. It reminds me to live each day focusing on what matters.
It increases my gratitude to my God, amidst the pain and disappointment this earthly life holds.
It switches my mindset from lack to abundance.
We have a beautiful, loving marriage, no matter how difficult it can be and how hard we have to work at it.
We have the most amazing daughter who brings abundant joy, no matter how much she may test our patience.
We have absolutely incredible families who love, support, and care for us in ways many only dream of.
We have friends who love us and forgive us and speak truth to us, who share books and Bible studies and wine and roasted marshmallows.
We have our cozy little home, in all it’s imperfection and endless projects and lack of basement & backyard. It’s beautiful and homey and ours.
We have money in our bank account, a vehicle (and a half) that runs, good health insurance, and food in the pantry.
We enjoy countless yummy dinners around our beautiful kitchen table, everything from homemade pizza with its golden chewy crust… to charred lime chicken tacos in the cast iron skillet, with salty sweet margaritas… to scrambled eggs with goat cheese and a side of crispy bacon… to leftover grilled chicken made into a fresh tangy lemon pasta dish.
We dance to our favorite artists, have bonfires in the driveway, wave to all our neighbors, splash in the kiddie pool, go for walks, read a million books, watch the thunderstorm out the living room picture window, make blueberry crisp just because, and watch episodes of The Office on Netflix.
We cry together late at night and offer up simple prayers to our Father. We laugh about the dumbest things, overtired after long, full (often difficult) days. We make fart jokes (because Crohn’s) and wiggle our toes next to each other. We sleepily crawl out of bed to calm toddler cries. We hold each other in our grief.
And while we long to share this fullness of life and love with another child (or two or three), we gratefully choose to live in these moments together. We seek to serve & glorify God with what He has given us. We invest our days into discipling the precious child that He has already entrusted into our care.
And all the while, we pray and dream and hope about the future souls He might give us.