infertility {week of thanks}

Every year I wonder if it will be the last. There is always that stirring hope, that longing. Perhaps this will be my last year of childlessness. Perhaps by next Christmas I will have a baby. Perhaps… 

And yet, Thanksgiving is here and this “thorn”, as the Apostle Paul would say, is still in my side. My breath is still stolen away in sorrow and the blood of dead dreams still stains the path behind me. Infertility is no matter how much I wish that it was not. 

I shared quite a bit in my book about things that I have learned while journeying through infertility. But today I want to share a glimpse into the raw truth of how I have changed from walking this road.

At seventeen I was adventurous and full of excitement for life. I really wanted to serve God. I thought that I really loved Him. Yet, I can remember whispering to my best friend one night, “I want Jesus to come back but I kind of hope that He waits until after I get married…” 

I knew that heaven would be better than anything I had ever dreamed but… well, there isn’t marriage in heaven. Not like here on earth. And I really wanted to experience marriage here on earth. 

I did. I got married to a wonderful man. And then dipped forward into a deeper, darker trial than I had ever experienced before. And something began to change in me. I saw life for what it is: fallen. 

This world is full of darkness and pain. It is. People die. Dreams crumble. Hope withers. Sorrows build and crest and even though I long to hold a baby of my own– I can’t. 

Suddenly, heaven takes on a different meaning. The return of Christ is not the end of the good things in this world but the end of the sorrow. And I ache for the end of sorrows. I long for Him to return.  I am desperate for the absolution of my pain. I want to see Him and touch Him and have my tears wiped away.

I don’t care about experiencing life anymore. I’d like to. I’d like to carry a child or to walk through a successful adoption. I’d like to travel more or publish the novel that I’ve been working on for years.  There are lots of things that I would like.

But there is only one thing I long for.

And I would gladly sacrifice all the experiences in the world for the glory of being safe in my Father’s arms. I thought that I was in-love with my Savior before but my love was shallow, filled with self-pleasing hopes and dreams.

I’ve changed. My desires are no longer for the things of this world. They stretch beyond and I am thankful. I’m thankful for this harsh, blistering word infertility and for the awakening in my heart of  “a greater thirst this world can’t satisfy”. 

Sorrow bites deep but it also transforms. And I’m thankful for its transformation. 

How is God transforming you through your pain? Can you thank Him for that? Perhaps your sorrow is still too raw. I understand. But I encourage you to draw closer and cry harder and seek deeper. He’s there. 

This year I'm giving thanks for the hard things:
limited finances
failed adoptions
farming