Belief in Prayer

A few days ago, as I chatted with my sister-in-law about a new job that she was applying for, one of her regular patrons at her current place of employment came forward and proceeded to discuss with her that he would pray for her and that the situation, which she was torn about, would resolve itself exactly as it should.

He asked her if she believed that by praying for God to help with the new job, that she would indeed get the new job. She bumbled around, because she's torn about leaving one job for another. Yet his words struck something inside my head.

How often do I believe that what I'm praying for will happen?

Like how often I pray for something to happen, or for some guidance and I don't exactly get the response I was hoping for. If I even get a response. Apparently I'm giving up before I've even asked for what it that I want. Sucks to be a pessimist. Yet, I keep praying, but while I'm praying and hoping, there is a part of me that is telling myself that the odds of whatever it is that I'm asking for, aren't going to happen.

I've thought about it a lot the last few days, and I know that while my husband and I were trying to desperately to get pregnant and I was praying and bartering and begging with God, that a part of me believed that it just wasn't going to happen. Yet, while my friend Andrea has battled cancer the last year, as her health took a left turn and she ran into some complications, I stopped praying for a miracle, but instead that God's will be done. I prayed for peace for her and her family, I prayed for comfort for those that needed it, but never once did I ask that she not die. Simply because she would have been totally pissed at me for asking for that. Every time that I would pray for her, I could hear her voice asking me what I was doing when I would pray for a miracle. She wasn't praying for one, why should I be. I think that's why I've had...(searching for the right word here)...peace, comfort, even joy at the situation. Simply because she was okay with this alternative too. She's not in pain, she's not feeling guilty about missing out on her children's Halloween parties, and soccer games. I know that she'd rather have stuck around to watched her children grow up, she would be perfectly content with this alternative too as long as she knew it was what God's plan was.

I've had enough faith for things to work out for her and her family just like God would have wanted, just like she would have wanted, but I can't have the same amount of faith for my own life. Thanks to the misery of the last few months with my gallbladder, I had lost some weight, mostly because I wasn't eating. Thankfully (well not so much), I've managed to hold steady, and even gained a few pounds back. Yet the last few days, I've struggled. I don't like that number on the scale, and I've asked for strength. I need to get to a healthy weight, I want to get to a healthy weight, so I can be around and annoy my husband as long as possible. Yet, while I'm asking for strength to stick with it, part of me doubts that I'll ever do it. Which is probably the reason that I can't get the scale to move, unless I'm literally starving.

Part of me doubts that college will ever be more than a hassle again; that I'll never actually enjoy it again. School starts back next month, and for the first time since I started back, I dread it. Even with the lack of stuff to do at work, I just don't want to go back. I still want the degree, it's just lost its charm. Thus the crappy grades, lack of motivation to do homework, and general hate of it all in general.

Then there is the ever present infertility issues. Part of me wants to believe that if I lose enough weight I'll miraculously get pregnant. Yet, as I'm praying for strength to stick with going to the gym and eating better, part of me believes that it will never happen, and thus getting pregnant will never happen.

It's a vicious cycle, but someone has to stick with it. Although, for my sanity, I'd just as soon as it not be me.

So I've found myself wondering if by not having more faith that it will work out the way it was meant to, that in turn it's not working out the way it should.

If I don't believe that God can do it, then why should he prove to me that he can?

So, that's going to be my resolution for today, for tomorrow, and for everyday for the rest of my life; is to trust that God has my best interests at heart. I know he does, but I've got to learn to remove all doubts that between the two of us, I'm capable. Everyone else thinks I am, so I should too. I'm also going to have to believe his voice when he tells me to be patient; to believe that what I'm praying for will happen. That the child I so desperately want will come, that the weight loss will happen and the pounds will melt away, and that college will not steal my happiness, but add to it again. I'll resolve to have more faith in God and in my abilities and less doubt, because the only person who is being cheated and missing out is me.

Well, and my sanity.

Suppose I Do....

Note: I wrote this post last September. So ignore the back to school references, and just pretend that I haven't had this sitting in my drafts for 6 months.


All across West Texas this morning, thousands of alarms were heard, thousands of cries of cranky children, and glorious shouts of joy were heard as everyone got up and headed back to school. (You know, back in August when I actually wrote this, so please allow for a small time delay, you've been warned.)

Unfortunately I wasn't immune. Not because I'm a teacher, or because I have children, but because I'm crazy and decided to continue to finish my degree. I keep hoping someone will invent a cure for crazy. I'd do it, but I'm an accounting major, not chemistry.

Sitting in church yesterday morning, after our pastor made a comment, that at the moment I can't remember. I'm blaming it on sleep deprivation and all the info that has been thrown my way today. My mind wandered a little.

More on that later. Simply because you need info for this to make sense. You know, in case you are just tuning in. And because I want to confuse you totally before you get to the good stuff.

My husband and I spent a couple of years (a lot of years ago) doing infertility treatments. We made the choice to continue on child-free, at least for the time being. Yet, there was some part of both of us that won't let go of that hope that someday, somehow, someway we will have that child that we both so want.

So as our pastor was discussing how they were rebuilding and how they were doing it together, and next to, and beside each other, and how all of these people were doing what they needed to do to get the job done, he said something that I just couldn't stop hearing over and over in my head.

And I'm not really sure if he actually said it, or if it was just how I took it. Maybe both. Because I seriously didn't know how my husband would feel about me scrambling to write down exactly how it came across, which by the way honey, no more not doing that, I'll regret it later. Especially since the frenzy would be so I could write a post for you to read.

Pastor B said something about trusting that they were doing what they were always meant to do. That they were following God's plan. That they were trusting God's plan, and that in the middle of the horrible, unbelievable, most horrific moment, God was right there.

It's so easy to tell someone else that, but it's much harder, especially for a control freak like myself, to believe it. I've given lots of situations over to God. I've given him my grandfather's life, I've given him my husband's, my marriage, I've handed over job loss and the unknown when there is no income coming in, I've even given him parts of my life. Not all of it, just parts of it. Because there's this one area that I just can't seem to let go of. I want to, but just about the time that I reach out to hand it over, my heart wants to cling to it.

Yet yesterday morning, sitting in that chair, in that freezing worship center, I heard God tell me to be patient. To have faith. To let it go. Trust. I've got some fabulous plans, ones that even you won't argue with.

Yep, apparently God is sarcastic. He knows what gets my attention.

It's not the first time, I've heard those words either.

Obviously you can see a pattern here too. And here. And here.

I still haven't obeyed. I still haven't managed to let her go.

Yes, I said her.

I've never doubted that I would have a little girl. There is nothing wrong with little boys, and the more time I spend with a certain 4 year old, I'd take one of them too. But I always known that there would be a little girl in there too. No matter what, I would have a girl. I've seen her face, I've dreamed about her. I've smelled her. I've held her. No, not in my arms, but I've dreamed about her for so long, that she's as real to me as my nieces and nephews. She's beautiful, she's perfect, she's everything that I always imagined she would be, but that's made her so much harder to give up. That's what's made it so much harder to walk away from.

Saturday I thought that my dogs might not live to see another day. Every behavioral issue with them was magnified about a bajillion times. They whined, they barked, they escaped, they got in the trash, they got mud in my car because they felt the need to escape. Everything that they did that annoyed me, they did it twice, and way worse than usual. So I lost my patience, I might have grabbed one, and held their sweet little face in my hands and told them that if they didn't quit, I would send them to the other side of town to the burrito place with questionable ingredients. I think they knew I was serious, because they backed off. Yet, if it had came down to it, I couldn't have walked up to some random stranger and given them away. I'm not sure I could even hand them over to my parents.

Insert smoke, and the Jeopardy theme song. You know, while the wheels are turning.

No, I wouldn't want to do it, but yeah, I could.

Well, crap. This wasn't the direction that this was supposed to be going.

Maybe that's why this issue keeps coming up. Because I refuse to have faith that God has my best interests at heart. I've seen to many close calls that should have ended differently to not believe that God is way more brilliant and has a better plan in mind. I keep going back to January when John lost his job. I love his job now, and if I had pushed him to take the job that he was offered making $9 an hour, we would be barely getting by. I'd be so stressed and so worried about how we were going to pay this bills while I went to school and only got a part time paycheck instead of a full time paycheck. But because I trusted John that this company was going to offer him the job. I believed that God would take care of us. I took a big leap of faith. Big. And 6 months later, we are fine. Because I let go.

Too bad there isn't a class that teaches letting go. Of course, I'd probably fail it. Several times.

Letting go is hard for me. I analyze everything. Every.thing. And then, I try and predict how each possible outcome will actually work out, so that I can try and predict the future. I try to manipulate everything to what I could have said different or done different or...anything different. I know that until I learn to let it go, it's going to do nothing but cause me undue heartache and headaches. It's going to be an area of my life that I second guess, and that will continue to break my heart.

"Some people think it's holding on that makes you strong. Sometimes it's letting go." ~Sylvia Robinson

"When God takes something from your grasp, He's not punishing you, but merely opening your hands to receive something better." ~Author Unknown

I Just Hope

Read this first. Infertility: 3 things to ask God for

This was typed to the very, very wonderful friend in response to this link. I just couldn't not share it. Don't worry, I won't share her response.

I love you so very, very much. So I'll forgive you for making me cry. : )


I'd stopped thinking about having a baby. In fact I didn't cry the last facebook friend who announced their pregnancy. I was having one of those rare moments of joy at our life.
Then stupid concert Saturday. It's all their fault. One of their sponsors for the tour is World Vision. They are a group that allows you to sponsor a child in a 3rd world country. I ended up having to actually go to their website, because about halfway through the video I was thinking about how different my life would be if I had a child. I get to play full time college student and worker bee, and I couldn't do that with a baby. Then again, there are days that I think about the baby we lost. He would have turned 8 in February. The 12th to be exact. That was my due date. I asked Brad a few years ago, if he knew what that date was. He didn't. I was heart broken for weeks. Now, it just seems to sneak up on me. I was getting ready to go to bed this year when the thought hit me.
I never made it to my first doctor's appointment. I had a miscarriage the night before. That was the hardest phone call I think I've ever had to make.
We have talked about adoption. We have talked about doing a round of in-vitro. I don't know what to do. So I pray. I pray that I'll pay attention and not let fear, or the timing stop me from following through. I pray that I won't be so self absorbed that I'll do what God wants. I pray for hope. Hope that my marriage survives. Hope that my heart doesn't break. Hope that I don't say the wrong thing to a friend who is pregnant, or to a friend that whines about her morning sickness, or her swollen ankles, or the sleepless nights. I hope that I don't avoid them so much that I hurt them, because I can't get over it. I hope that I can avoid the baby dedication and mother's day services at church. Because it's just another reminder. I want to hate mother's day and father's day, because infertiles are forgotten. We still have to celebrate with our own mothers, grandmothers, sisters, friends. I didn't cry last year, for the first time in 8 years. I didn't go to church either, but I didn't cry.

You want to be hopeful, but at the same time you have to be realistic because month after month, after month of disappointment gets old. You want to fit in, because suddenly you feel like the kid who always got pick last in gym class. The kid that no one wanted to eat lunch with because they were a little different. Sunday school classes don't know what to do with you. Apparently neither do pastors.

The drugs made me crazy. Hot flashes, cramps, mood swings, tender breasts, and morning sickness. I was miserable, and the cruelty of all of the symptoms of pregnancy without the baby was just... cruel. Add that to the stress of planned sex, which sounds like every guys fantasy, but after following doctors orders, and you have to preform on certain dates, it becomes a chore. Then, watching your bank account vomit out money so fast that it makes your head spin. It's just so overwhelming and so..alienating.

Then add the jealousy. The why can that 400 pound lady have 15 kids that she can't afford and I can't have just one. Your jealous of pregnant women, of women with children, of women without children, simply because it's still their choice. It doesn't feel like it's been taken away from them yet. It's unfair, you cry, you rant, you apparently sit down on a pallet of dog food in the middle of Walmart and cry about the injustice of it all. Not that I've ever done that.

Then you realize at that moment, surrounded by dog food, that this isn't the answer either. Of course, you then realize that the dog food aisle has a distinct smell, and the you hope you can find somewhere inconspicuous to throw up. Not that I've done that either. : )

You lose yourself, and find yourself all at the same time. Which had nothing to do with how this started, but I got a little carried away. : ) Apparently there is the blog post I've been looking for.

Back to Saturday. I'm wondering. If I'm not being pushed in another direction. That little voice in my head keeps telling me that there are different ways to have a child. I don't know if that means that I should sponsor a child. I don't know if that means that I should call this friend that works at Bruckners as a social worker, who lucky for me, has faced infertility and won. She has a 4 year old, and 8 month old twin girls. She did treatments to get them all. She told me, whenever I was ready to call her and she would tell me what my options were. I don't know if I should call an adoption agency. I don't know. Lost is an understatement.

It's a call I'm not ready to make, just yet. Not because I can't see myself loving a child that isn't mine. Just because I don't want to give up on having my own just yet. I'm trying so hard to not hang on to that and miss an opportunity. I'm trying to let that baby go.

I'm also, probably much to Brad's great disgust, attempting to lose weight again. I've kickboxed, this week, which I haven't done in months. I'm trying to pay more attention to what I'm eating. I think that part of me hopes that the doctors might be right and my weight is an issue, and that the other part hopes not, because I don't want the reason that we couldn't have a baby was because I wouldn't starve myself to lose weight. I think he is afraid to find out the truth too.

When the whole situation gets me down, I pray for peace. I pray for contentment. So that I can stop the fighting between my head and my heart, and that I can be thankful and find contentment in the friends and family that let me spoil their children and crash their t-ball games and love their kids.

I also pray for understanding so I don't choke my mother when she tells me the latest cure all that she found on the internet. And I just pray I don't snap where my in-laws are concerned, because their issues are way to many to list in a single request.

I like guided prayer too. I also like answers. I'm not patient. However, once I stopped being so stubborn, the only thing I hear when I ask when is it going to be my turn is "Be patient. Not yet." I just hope I will be ready. I just hope I won't hold on so tightly that I miss my chance.

I just hope.

A Lesson In Patience

It's hard to believe that my husband will have been unemployed one month to the day on Saturday. It's hard to believe that for all of the jobs that he has applied for nothing, has made it official yet, that is until today.

And now he has two job offers. Two. Which sounds all kinds of awesome, except for the wife who worries. And if you want to meet her, well, she is the one who's going to write this post today.

She's the one who worries that everything won't work out and that the rent will be due and that will mean money pulled out of the savings account that she doesn't want to touch, for fear that we will need that money later. Even though technically we need it now. So she's the freak who is writing this post today.

Amazingly so I, er she, hasn't been as freaked out about this unemployment period as she should have been, as she typically would have been. She has tried to remain calm and not panic. Yet as the days continue to pass, and with two offers on the table (one of which has no been turned down), she feels the need to panic. Because what if...

-something goes wrong and they change their mind
-he doesn't pass the physical
-he doesn't really like the job
-I don't really like his job

And the list goes on and on. She's trying to be patient. She's trying to trust God for a change instead of pushing her husband into taking the safe route. She's trying.

This job, well, it's kinda the job that dreams are made of. It's making more money than the job he lost. It's for a good, solid company, with some excellant benefits. It offers the possibility of promotions and a career instead of just a job, and let's face it, I'm (so is she) a find a career job, not just a paycheck. Because every job that I've had, I've loved. Could be why I've had so few jobs in my life, I've been lucky, very lucky. They like him enough, that they are already thinking of promotions for him, based on his experience and him.

I...er she talked, via text message to a good friend last week, and her response was "God is good!"

Yes, yes he is. The job is amazing. He has orientation on Monday at 10am. So the job is basically his. Just one more hurdle to overcome. One that I'm hoping will open his eyes to some other areas of his life that need some attention and some work as well.

Heck, it's some areas that my her life chould use as well.

It's funny, I've felt God's presence in my life more in the last month than I think I have my entire life. Sure, I've felt his precense in the weeks after my grandfather died, and the weeks that Papa laid in the hospital, waiting. But instead of comfort, it was peace and a lack of worry that I was given. I'm pretty sure that last Friday I heard laughter and the voice that had an "I told you so" quality about it telling me "See what happens when you let go of things and let me take care of it."

Point taken.

Then for half a moment I wondered just how different my life would be, if I could give my infertility away like that. I've wondered a dozen or more times if that little girl that I've dreamed about might be a reality by now, if I had just been patient, and had more faith in God's timing instead of my desire for right this minute.

I've also learned that it's ok that I haven't given up on her. That voice reassured me that "I'm not supposed too" give up on her just yet.

*Note to the family reading this - no, I'm not pregnant. No, I'm not going to be attempting to get pregnant. But I know that I'm not holding on to that little girl so tightly that I'm missing out on the child I could have if I would fill out the adoption paperwork. I believe with all my heart that isn't what we are supposed to do. So I'm not giving up, I'm just going to keep going. Like I've done every single day for that last 6 years. I'm going to hope, that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

Expectations

*If you haven't done so, please read yesterday's post Puzzling, in order to fully grasp the story behind today's post.

Have I lowered my expectations of God?

I tell people that God can do anything. And I believe that he can. In their lives. I've witnessed miracles in other people's lives, and even in my own. I've witnessed my grandfather, whom doctor's told us wouldn't make it through the night, live another 11 years. I've witnessed a good friend's daughter, born very, very early not only survive the first few weeks of her life, but thrive as a happy 5 year old. I've witnessed a wreck that changed my husband's life, not completely destroy him.

Yet I'm not 100% sure that I haven't "given up". I didn't get the results that I wanted, so I just assumed that it wasn't meant to be. That it wasn't the way that things were planned to go. That the grand design of my life, just meant I wasn't supposed to have a child of my own.

Instead, today, I'm questioning whether I gave up. If I simply got tired of the drugs, the emotions, the everything and gave up.

After debating about it, I know that I was the one who lowered their expectations. I know that after the 3rd round of drugs (and the craziness that went with that) that I was tired. I was beaten, I wasn't sure how much longer I could stand to do the treatments. They had taken a toll emotionally, physically, mentally and financially. I was tired. I was tired of hoping for a miracle, praying that this month would be "the" month. I was tired.

To be honest, I'm not even sure my marriage would have survived. We were both so tired of performing and we were so drained financially that it wasn't even funny. I think that my head knew that my heart needed a break. That I needed to figure out what Plan B was going to be. Because let's face it. There wasn't ever an option for Plan A to not go as planned. We were going to get pregnant. There simply hadn't been any other alternative. Then when Plan A wasn't going the way I envisioned it, I just didn't know what to do or where to go anymore. I didn't even know who I was anymore.

So for months I wallowed in self pity. I had gained weight, I couldn't give my husband the child that he wanted, I was useless. It took months to crawl out from under that. It took months for me to realize that I had more to offer than my ability to get knocked up.

Did I quit believing that God could perform miracles? No. I just didn't believe that He was going to hand one out in our case. I didn't believe that I was going to get pregnant.

Did I lower my expectations? Maybe. I honestly don't know. I know that in the weeks and months, and even as I type this, I wonder if I gave up too easily. I wonder if I quit fighting. I'll always have that to wonder about though. Would one more treatment have done it? Would something different have done it? I don't know. I probably won't ever know the answers to those questions.

I know I stopped hoping. That I gave up. But unless you've been there done that, you can't begin to imagine the hope that you put out while you wait on hold for the results of a blood pregnancy test. I held my breath. I gripped the phone, I prayed. I begged, I tried not to cry. I tried to imagine getting the good news. Instead of the apologetic voice on the other end of the phone telling you that your results were negative that they would transfer to scheduling to set up your next appointment. Now, I can imagine how much those people who scheduled those appointments hated their job. Because I know that I can't be the only one who choked back tears while they were on the phone.

My expectations weren't met, but they certainly don't feel like they have been lowered.  Instead I feel like they are higher now than they were then.

I had to come up with Plan B. I had to figure out how I was going to spend the rest of my life now that I wasn't going to have a child's needs to deal with.

My expectations today, are high. I expect a lot out of myself. I expect to get good grades in school. I expect to study hard. I expect to help cook dinner. I expect my husband to be there to cheer me on. If any of that doesn't happen, I will certainly be disappointed, but at the same time, most of those, the fault is with me. I don't expect God to drop a baby on my doorstep (a million dollars yes, a baby, no(kidding)). I don't expect to ever get pregnant. If I do it will be a miracle. And I'm pretty sure that if it's going to happen, it will be a miracle.

The only thing I think I lowered is hope. I have forgotten how to fully hope and believe that something will work out the way I want it too. I just can't find it in myself to hope. At least for a baby.

Even though my hope is definitely lower, my expectations of getting pregnant are too. However, I do know, that if by some miracle I were to get pregnant, God would be the only one who had anything to do with it.

Puzzling

Have you ever put together a puzzle? You have all these pieces of various shapes and you are trying to make them fit together to make one glorious picture. And the bragging rights that come with having the patience to see it through until the end.

My husband and I have recently started attending church on a regular basis again.

I know, I know. This is something that we should have been doing anyway, but sometimes, we needed the rest more often than we needed to get up early on a Sunday morning. Selfish - absolutely. Did we miss going? More than you can imagine.

Apparently going to church is good blogging material. *Note to self - go to church more = less writer's block.

Got it!

Yet, sometimes church is a painful reminder of what is missing in our life. They talked yesterday, often of raising children. And as I squirmed in my seat and looked around the room, I wondered if there was someone else in the room who could relate. Or if we were the only ones there. I imagined their discomfort. I watched the young, unmarried guy sitting to our left, and the young unmarried girl sitting next to me, and I wondered, as they both set there listening intently if they had any idea how life could be so cruel. You could see them both mentally making notes about their future children. And all I could think about was "if you only knew".

Neither one of them have any guarantees that they will have a child. One of them might just find themselves in our boat.

See we are that one piece of the puzzle that you are sure fits right "there", and you turn it and turn it and try to make it fit, but nothing lines up like it should, there are gaps, there are pegs where holes are supposed to be. We can't relate, and instead of actually listening to everything that our pastor said this morning, I only half way paid attention. Because all I could think about what how I would never fit.

We can't won't go to Sunday School, because the college class is too old for both of us, the newly married - well, we will be married 12 years this year, so I'm pretty sure we are past that stage. Well, the next stage - young families. Then parents of students. Then the golden oldies. They discuss parenting and raising children. It's hard enough to walk into Tar.get and see the tiny Halloween costumes and not remember what I'm missing out on, let alone sit through and participate in a class that I can't relate too.

So all the while I'm sitting there, thinking about what great parents we would make, and how I wish that the pastor would understand that not every single person in his congregation can relate. Some of us will never have to raise a child to obey Jesus. Some will never have that opportunity.

The bad thing is that, me, being me, wants to fit. I want the puzzle piece to just magically fall into place. I want to be able to not sit there and think about how I can't relate and how much that sucks. I want to be able to follow through and look into adoption. I want to have a child of my own. I don't want to be that one piece of the puzzle that feels like an "outsider" or that I'm some how flawed.

Yes, I realize that I'm not "flawed", that it's just all part of the grand scheme of things, but at the same time, it would be nice to not feel like an outsider, because I can't relate. I realize that it's not intentional, it's just a fact of life.

Thankfully, at some point, my attention focused back in on what the pastor was saying. If my husband wasn't "busy" with something else that the pastor was doing, I probably would have walked out. Because it's a profound thought. He was using an analogy about how we have lower expectations for ourselves, for our children and he questioned whether or not we had the same issue with God.

Have I lowered my expectations of God?



Read tomorrow's post for that answer. Bring tissues. It's a tear jerker.

Where I'm supposed to be?

Most of the time life just chugs along with no hiccups or bumps in the road. Most of the time things go, mostly, according to plan. But every now and then those bumps that you detoured around 100 miles ago are back, and you wonder if you are just driving around in circles.

Some days my infertility doesn't bother me. Some days it doesn't define who I am. Some days I can picture our lives in 10 years without children. I can imagine our friends becoming grandparents and not feel jealousy or sadness. I can see statuses on Facebook proclaiming the newest bundle of joy and not want to strangle myself with my computer mouse. Today isn't one of those days.

Yet there are other days that I think I have a giant I painted on my shirt for the whole world to see. I think that every person I meet and who I have to explain that I don't have any kids just sees me as an outsider or an oddity. It's almost like because I don't have kids I don't have any credibility. My opinions and my expertise in areas related to kids and even not related to kids goes way down. My opinion only matters when there are no other more credible people around. That's probably not an accurate rendition, but it's most certainly feels like the truth.

Take this past weekend. I had a good friend who was "home" visiting friends and family for a grandparents birthday. She came over to my parents with her two nieces, who are 3 and 2 years old. The baby isn't potty trained yet, but her big sister is. So the baby came up to her Aunt and told her she needed to go potty. And she wanted to go use the big girl's potty. My friend freaked. She told her she had a diaper on, to just go it was ok, but the baby insisted. So I told her, take her to the bathroom, take her diaper off, sit her on the potty and give her some time to do her thing. She balked. She just kept saying that she didn't know what to do. Until my mother reaffirmed what I had told her, she didn't budge. Once someone with experience spoke up, she wasn't willing to go ahead with what I had originally said. She wasn't 100% sure that my opinion could be trusted. Now, if we were talking about breastfeeding or labor, yes, then ignore my thoughts, because I haven't been there done that. But we have both babysat enough kids as well as been around nieces and nephews to have picked up a few things.

Then Monday when I was walking around the mall after getting 10 inches cut off my hair, I saw an ad for adoption. And it made me wonder if that's something that I'll ever be ready for. All the books, all the experts, all the doctors, all the social workers tell you that you have to grieve for the biological child that you won't have before you are ready to move forward. Most of the time I think I've done this. Most of the time I think I've been there done that, and then other times I think that I haven't even begun. There are days that my life is perfect, and there are days, that I would give anything to experience that particular blessing. There are days that I can't imagine giving up on the little girl with my nose and John's eyes or the little boy with his feet and my cheekbones.

After listening to a friend talk about their infertility treatments and just beginning that road it's hard to imagine the hope that they have. It's hard to remember anything but negative pregnancy tests and tears. Our marriage almost didn't survive those years of heartache. I almost didn't survive those years of heartache.

I'm not sure where this is going, because this isn't certainly what I had in mind when I started writing this blog post. I simply wanted to vent, to think on paper. Instead I find myself with less questions and less answers. I don't know what the solution is. I don't know what the solution will be. I just hope that part of me isn't holding on so tightly that I miss out on grabbing at an opportunity that comes my way. I hope that I'm not holding on so much that when I need to have faith and step out of my comfort zone that I just cling tighter and miss out on something amazing. Because the thought that has kept me up at night here lately is what if - because of my stubbornness and refusal to let go I've already missed out. Then again, what if this is what the rest of my life looks like? Can I live with that choice too?


Tomorrow: back to my regularly snarky, sarcastic self. I just needed to get my head and my heart back on the same page, instead of in two completely different books.

Patience is a Virtue

The past week has been one of the longest weeks of my life. We have waited. We have prayed, we have cried, we have hoped, we have lived. We have survived on little sleep, poor diets and broken hearts. We have waited.

Today, we still wait. Today, we wonder. We hope. We hope for peace. Each day we watch him decline. We watch seziures that result in the brain damage. We pray for him to find peace. We pray for him to let go. We pray that whatever is keeping his body and spirit from moving on, comes soon. We pray for each other. We try to go to work and about our lives as best we can, knowing what the outcome is going to be. We know it's just a matter of time.

I don't believe that some miracle will occur and that Papa will wake up and be really made that we have sold his stuff to pay for his funeral expenses. I don't believe that he is going to wake up one day and be able to speak and talk to us. I believe that death is inevitable.

But what right do I have to not believe in anything? What right to I have to not believe in a miracle? What right to have not to believe in general?

I know when my husband has a severe wreck that I prayed that he was OK. I prayed that he would be ok. I prayed that the people in the other car would be ok. When my dad had a heart attack, I prayed. I hoped that he would be ok. I hoped that he would slow down, I hoped he would be around for a while longer.

Yet each sickness and each event that has occured within the last week, I have simply asked that God's will be done. His will. Not mine. His. It's not that I don't want Papa to be around for another 50 years, but each time I find myself praying, I start out asking for his comfort and his peace, and then I find myself telling God that his will be done. Not mine. His.

So for the past few days I have wondered how differently my thoughts, my faith, my marriage, and my life in general would have been if I had prayed for things differently. If I took the control out of my hands and put it back completely where it belongs. I'm a control freak by nature, I like to know what's going on, and offer my opinion on how to fix it. I like to know what's happening at 2pm tomorrow and the day after that. I like structure, routine, control. Then that gets me to questioning my infertility. I have always said that it was all up to God, but that's been one of many areas of my life that I just haven't been willing to turn over. That I haven't been willing to let go of. Sure, we go about our daily lives, but there is always a part of me that wants a baby, I grieve for the child that I have never had. After the past week, I have been led to wonder what would happen if I handed the control back over. If I let go.

The situation with Papa is definitely in someone else's hands now. We continue to pray, we continue to hope that his comfortable, and that he is at peace.

Still we wonder? What's God waiting for? What's the big plan? What are we missing?

National Infertility Awareness Week

Today begins National Infertility Awareness Week. 1 in 8 men and women will be diagnosed with infertility.

Those are some pretty staggering numbers. It affects so many people, and it's often the disease that's overlooked. Everyone understands the devastation and struggle of cancer, diabetes, and heart disease, but so many people don't view infertility as a real problem.

Often those who suffer are given advice and offered suggestions on how to get pregnant and make things work for them. This week, I'll be posting a few blogs about how many myths there are associated with infertility, as well as sharing my own personal story, which you have typically only gotten glimpses of.

It's going to be an emotional week around here. So because I'm about to bare my soul for the world to see, I have a couple of things to ask.

1. Please pray for the women and men who are talking to lawmakers this week about making it mandatory for insurance companies to cover infertility treatments.
2. Please pray for the millions of couples who do this everyday. For the failed treatments, the miscarriages, the failed pregnancies, for the every day struggle and heartache that they deal with.
3. Watch this video. It will give you amazing insight into what someone who struggles with infertility goes through on a daily basis.
4. Be patient with me. This week is going to bring up lots of emotions and memories of the years of treatments and the daily struggle that my husband and I still have with this issue.

Thoughts on Becoming a Mother

I found this today and thought I would share.

Thoughts on Becoming a Mother

There are women that become mothers without effort, without thought, without patience or loss and though they are good mothers and love their children, I know that I will be better.

I will be better not because of genetics, or money, or that I have read more books, but because I have struggled and toiled for this child.

I have longed and waited. I have cried and prayed.

I have endured and planned over and over again.

Like most things in life, the people who truly have appreciation are those that have struggled to attain their dreams.

I will notice everything about my child.

I will take time to watch my child sleep, explore and discover. I will marvel at this miracle every day for the rest of my life.

I will be happy when I wake in the middle of the night to the sound of my child, knowing that I can comfort, hold and feed him and that I am not waking to take another temperature, pop another pill, take another shot or cry tears of a broken dream. My dream will be crying for me.

I count myself lucky in this sense; that God has given me this insight, this special vision with which I will look upon my child that my friends will not see.

Whether I parent a child I actually give birth to or a child that God leads me to, I will not be careless with my love.

I will be a better mother for all that I have endured. I am a better wife, a better aunt, a better daughter, neighbor, friend and sister because I have known pain. I know disillusionment as I have been betrayed by my own body, I have been tried by fire and hell that many never face, yet given time, I stood tall.

I have prevailed.

I have succeeded.

I have won.

So now, when others hurt around me, I do not run from their pain in order to save myself discomfort. I see it, mourn it, and join them in theirs.

I listen.

And even though I cannot make it better, I can make it less lonely. I have learned the immerse power of another hand holding tight to mine, of other eyes that moisten as they learn to accept the harsh truth when life is beyond hard. I have learned a compassion that only comes with walking in those shoes.

I have learned to appreciate life.

Yes, I will be a wonderful mother.

Author Unknown

**I'll make a new post about this in a few days, finding this has brought up many old regrets, hurts, dreams, fears and emotions that I can't even begin to grasp today. They are all rolling around, not sure which feeling I want to experience at the moment. I'm not sure that anything that I could write could convey anything, other than crazy hormonal female. Which is really not the look I'm after. Apparently sarcasm is still there too.

Something else to give you perspective follow this link (or since blogger is being stupid, go to www.kelliecoffey.com/video.asp ), and scroll down to the video titled "I would die for that" Like I said, I'm not crazy, I'm not pregnant either, a good friend, whom I often talk to about babies, shared this with me today.