What to do with all this longing? All of us are longing for something. We’re longing for a husband, we’re aching to have children, we’re aching for the ones we lost, we’re longing to be seen and known by our friends, to feel successful, we’re longing to feel like we’ve finally “made it.” (Whatever that means.) We’re longing for justice. There’s a man in Syria in an IDP camp who is longing to feed his family, who is longing for his homeland. When I think about him, my problems pale in comparison. He convicts me with his hope. But still. Pain
This year is six years, six years since we lost our first baby, six years since the toilet clotted blood. Last week was National Infertility Awareness Week and it pulls me back to the memories like my eyes to the scene of a car crash. I can see myself on the floor. Praying. Begging. Being willing to do anything not to lose him. What kinds of bargains we try and make with God in those moments. I don’t know if it was a him, but I imagine it so. So many times I blamed myself. Shouldn’t have been working so hard.
I was standing in the shower, my head pressed cool against the smooth fiberglass, the hot water pounding my back, when I heard the words spiral up inside me….. I’m sharing over at InCourage blog for women today about why I stopped “trying” to have a baby. Join me over there.
“Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.” ― Jack Kerouac, On the Road Sometimes it’s hard to live in the present. Life with its busyness seems to suck at our joy of living in the moment. Then there are trauma’s that pile high which we try so hard to ignore and disconnection that subtly crawls into the corners of our relationship with God, our spouses, and each other. But if you want to live a life of adventure, of growth, you have to be willing to shake things up a bit. So two
Sometimes in between the kitchen and the washing machine, doing the same acts over again with seemingly little result, I wonder if my life has purpose. I used to love my job. I used to love what I did with a kind of maniacal passion. I used to stay up late writing blog posts and used to look forward to going into the office in Uganda every day to hug each of my beautiful staff each morning. I used to love to sit under a mango tree and counsel a struggling woman. I was someone people looked to for answers, I was
“Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching, and has taught me to understand what your heart used to be. I have been bent and broken, but – I hope – into a better shape.” –Charles Dickens- I was in Target, a cart full of disheveled clothes, baggy shirts and cardigans, waiting to be tried on. I was going to use them to haphazardly hide my growing belly. The phone call came and I already knew something was wrong. I almost didn’t want to answer it. I could feel the head begin to pound and the knees weak
Most days I don’t know how to let go of fear. It presses heavy on my chest and claws up my throat threatening to stifle my breath with all the things that can go wrong and do go wrong. And breath is the only thing I have. In and out. Infilling and surrender. Sometimes the mountains don’t keep the grey Marine layer out and the fog rolls in obscuring my view of the sloped horizon. Days like this I have to fight hard to remember what I’m thankful for when the myriad of test results don’t come back the way
“We seek our identities in the wake of painful experiences. We can endure great pain if we believe it is purposeful.” -Andrew Solomon- When we don’t get what we want, it throws our life into a certain amount of chaos. There is a deep desire to control, to force the world to bend to my will. But what if there is meaning in this suffering and like peeking over into a walled garden, perhaps I can discover a secret? I’ve been trying to get pregnant for over 11 months now. There are a myriad of reasons why this
Most days I am fine. I get up, walk RosieTheChippin, my breath exhaling in puffs in the cool morning air as the horizon blushes pink. I wait for her to go number two. I pick it up like a good neighbor. I come back, boil water for tea and make the omelet with spinach and goat cheese. I go to the gym and burn as many calories as I can on the elliptical while mouthing Katy Perry. I lift a few weights and wonder in the mirror if I’m doing it right. I come back and sit and stare at
Writer. Missionary Coach. Recovering perfectionist. I want you to know that you are loved and already good enough. I am about helping people move from brokenness into wholeness. Together, we'll make a more beautiful world.
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