Play

In less than a month we get to play with little kids that are family…Rylee, Kaylie, Blazer, Dash, Connor, Ethan, Caleb, Sam, Lucy…and maybe more (Grace? Lydia?)! We just love being surrounded by nieces, nephews, cousins kids and dear friends kids! It is another source of therapy for us. Playing is one of our favorite pastimes. After all, I do have a Master's degree in play, we did meet at a camp where we played day after day. Just last week we went to the new playground in Williston, someone put up big bucks to make this Williston-themed park...and though we were kidless when we went, we still played. In less than a month we'll play in the water, dirt, sand, at the beach, in the mountains, in the ocean , at camp and maybe even in a river. Play is one of the things we do best. Throw in some kids and it's even better. It's a joy we much anticipate. We can even begin to imagine playing with the unborn nieces and nephews....and today, in this moment, we imagine that someday, maybe, just maybe, please God, let us have our own kids to add to the mix. It's sadness mixed with laughter completed with a dash of hope. It's hard, yet fulfilling, it's painful yet joy filled, it's heart-wrenching and tear filled yet grace filled…free-flowing, over the top, grace…pouring into us.

Just this one thing....

A couple of nights ago, in the middle of the night, I wrote two blog posts in my head, then had mostly forgotten them by morning! Joel's advice the next morning was to just get up and write them while they were in my head. Maybe next time. I do remember that they were about sadness and our role as the giant elephant in the room. We sometimes hear people tell us that friends are trying to get pregnant, and we even hear people tell us they are pregnant. And then there is us. We try, but we don't get. It's like one giant marathon that won't end. And with it comes the pain that I imagine comes with running 26 miles in a row. Physical hurt in our hearts, emotional hurt, mental hurt. It's a lot of hurt. Hurt that goes deeper than we ever hoped it would. Sometimes we think back to two years ago when this pain hurt so much. But back then we had the hope that it wouldn't last this long. Now it hurts more. Now the hope it less. Now the journey is longer. It's not a journey we want. It's not a journey we share much of, unless it is here on this page. Which makes us even more of a giant elephant in the room. Everybody wants to be careful what they say around us, everybody wants to talk about their joy and happiness. Our pain is silent. You will rarely see or hear us talking or crying about it in public. That comes in the secret. It's not fair we say, then we regret having those horrible thoughts. But if it is between us and God isn't it ok to think that? Say that? Shout that? Isn't God there to bear our pain, to hear it, take it and hold us through it? For now, the pain hurts so much and stays with us into the depths. For now, we don't know what to do with the pain but lay it down here and lay it at the feet of Jesus. Please Jesus, take our pain, our suffering, and please bring us the joy we long for but can't find, the joy we want but can no longer see the path to. "Oh Lord I beg of you....just this one thing..."

One sunny day

Today is usually my day off, but we're getting near the end of our internship, so I'm doing visits. I feel pretty bad that I have to be gone for most of the day, when Melissa and I usually spend time exercising, drinking coffee, walking downtown and enjoying the weather. This loss of infertility remains a difficult part of our journey. I dream of "one sunny day" when we see our daughter/son held in our arms, looking at us, lovingly, crying, or whatever the emotion might be. This type of loss is not easy to explain and at times I've been farther away emotionally from the situation than Melissa. I keep my head down and do my intern thing and go one day, one week at a time, but the pain and sorrow is still there. When I stop and think and wait in that sadness, it leads to the reality of our situation, for today. I hold out hope that our heart's desire for children will be realized sooner rather than later, but understand that it's okay to cry, okay to be angry, okay to ask why, knowing that we might not get a straight answer, but that God will walk with us through this journey. It's a journey that I share with my wife and friend, Melissa, as we think and pray of that day.

Why, why, why?

Days like today, when the pain hurts so bad, it is hard to not put the box o' hope away and pretend it doesn't exist, or to imagine a "back when" ever happening for us. Over and over again the tears come until they are dry, then they fill back up and fall again and again. It's a cycle we don't want to bear. And as we do, as we cry, we wonder if Jesus is just as heart broken about this as we are, if he is crying with us. And then we wonder why? Why can't he do something about this, why can't we be mommy and daddy? Why the pain, the sorrow, the hurt? Why, why, why? When will this be over? Days like today it is hard to see the happy ending. We weep and our hearts and minds are clouded with tears. We won't say never, but we have a hard time imagining it any other way. Today, we write because we can't talk about it, we have pain that can't be voiced. We know Jesus is there and as much as we don't understand, we hope and plead that he is carrying us, because without him, the creator of life, this journey would be unbearable. Which is ironic because today we ask him why he can't just fix it, why we can't see the point of all of this pain. But that's ok, because even in the midst of our confusion and heartbreak he is there.

Back when....

Will we ever have a "back when..."? Will we ever say "back when we were walking the journey of infertility...."? To be able to say this means our painful journey is in the past...to be able to say this means we know the joy of parenthood, it means we dance not only in our pain, but in our celebration! Maybe that's one of the reasons we have this blog. We desire, we yearn to be able to say "back when" yet we don't want to forget how this journey has and is shaping our lives. You see, the moment we can say "back when" is the moment that we stop knowing the pain. We want the pain gone, vanished, a distant past. But we will not forget. Why will we not forget? Because we want to be able to share this with people walking a similar journey. We want to walk along side of them and share that we lived and breathed the heart wrenching pain. Do we wish for this journey so it can be part of our ministry? Absolutely not, this kind of pain is too hard, too deep, too heart achingly hurtful for us to wish this or want this. Because it is, we will walk, we will cry, we will go into the depths when we have to, but we will always pray that God can use this. That someday we can cry with others, hold others and share with them the only hope we have which is Jesus. Maybe someday we will have a sweet chocolate blue bunny ministry as we give and as we share our "back when..."

box o' hope

We have a box in our closet and it is filled with hope. It sits on the top shelf and we hardly ever get it out and we look inside even less. Sometimes we lift the top up just to put some more hope inside. Our box o' hope is filled with things...blankets, outfits, booties, stuffed animals, rattles, books...all for our future children. You see, as Joel helped me understand, this is a symbol or rather an act of our hope. We aren't the only ones who have put things in it either. Our children have a grandma who has put things in it and has never given up hope for us to be mommy and daddy. Our box filled to the top and almost over brimming with hope is not an act of pain or desire as we once thought of it...but it is a reminder to us that maybe, just maybe, someday we will have someone who is part Joel and part me, adopted or biological, to play, snuggle, dance, laugh, roll and tumble in the contents of our hope.

We cling

We cling to Jesus right now. We don't always know what that looks like and we don't always have hope but the one thing we have not let go of on this journey of infertility is Jesus. Sure, we've been mad at him, confused, hurt, and angered. But despite all that pain and all of those emotions we cling to him. He's all we have because he is the one who can make us mommy and daddy, he is the creator of life, the life we so badly yearn for. He is the only one who can fill our empty aching arms. He can make a way for adoption when we see no way, he can create life when we can't wrap our minds around the dream anymore. We cling to each other and as we cling we remember that our love is an example of just a piece of the depth of love Jesus has for us. In the midst of today, this step in the journey, we cling just a little tighter so we can know that the hold won't end, that the cling will stay. Our clinging brings comfort of arms around us, comfort of love, comfort never ending, comfort we need.

not a grocery store....

It is hard to want something so bad that you can't just go out and get. We don't know when we will be parents. We can't decide that because if we could we would already have little ones to call us mommy and daddy. We can go to the store and buy milk, fruit, meat, cheese, blankets, towels, clothes, etc. whenever we need them or want them. Right now we want babies, we want to be parents, we need to be parents. The tears come thinking about it. We've reached the point where to talk about it means to cry about it. We've even reached the point where people who get to be parents don't want to talk about it at all with us, we may not hear from a friend for a long time and we wonder if it is because they are pregnant and we are not and they don't know how to tell us. Those kinds of thoughts are of course making it all about us which we should not do. That's where us embracing new life comes in...of course we embrace it. That doesn't mean it fills our void, but it is a joyous thing! In this moment we feel like we are treading water....which we're good at. We will keep on going, we're getting good at persevering. But it is so hard. It's not something we asked for. But it is something we do. Just like dancing to us or breathing, we do because it's necessary.