i've been thinking lately about prayer. i consider my "prayer life" a continuous one - perhaps not very disciplined in the traditional sense i have once experienced, but an easy and relatively comfortable one. even writing this, i think, maybe i need to do some studying about what prayer ought to be,... figuring i probably don't have it right. i have experienced how prayer changes me, changes my thinking, changes my spirit, my will... it's a place of surrender, of safety, of communion... being one with God.
for lent, i had willed to "give up infertility" - i talked to God about this... and He gave me new direction, new focus, new thoughts... i was able to surrender. He enabled that. somehow over the last couple of months, i feel that my perspective has changed. i still don't seem to have any answers, but i'm more content, more ok with the "now". more at peace.
but fear creaps in. i think at the root of this is the humanness in me that so wants to anticipate and know what will happen and why and have everything all figured out. for example, IF we're never going to have kids what will our life look like and what new purpose will we have and... i just want to know. but i'm slowly letting that rest, too, i think. i talk to God about it. i choose to trust and "let the story unfold"... i have to admit, sometimes i fear that if i keep talking to Him about it, he's going to keep easing me into the reality that kids are not in our future. and i get scared and try not to get angry and try to surrender. but i still ask "but what about "the desires of my heart"", and i hear this still small voice that says "i'm taking care of it", and even though i don't exactly know what that means (are you taking care of my desires aka changing them, or are you taking care of making my wishes come true), i TRY to listen, and rest, and "be one"... fumbling and stumbling, but submitting - God is God and i am not. i will trust. so i pray for open eyes and ears and an open spirit that tunes in to Him, that wants to be one with Him...
so thankful for the scriptures that surface in these moments - the words of promise for my heart... knowing that God words for the good of those who love him... that he will keep them in perfect peace whose mind is steadfast on Him... so that's where i long to be today.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
tears and hope
a friend sent me this link in an email today. she has walked where we have, the journey of infertility, and is "on the other side" now, with a sweet baby boy to cuddle and admire. if you take the time to open this link, and watch it all the way through, you might relate or catch a glimpse of some of the emotions and attempts to express them, as one might walk this path...
as with most things, i resist being put in a box, or having my feelings in one... and projects like this one make me want to reiterate my belief that we all walk this journey uniquely. BUT. i will also admit i "finished the sentences" several times as i watched. and i'm reminded i'm one of the one in six.
http://www.tearsandhope.com/
as with most things, i resist being put in a box, or having my feelings in one... and projects like this one make me want to reiterate my belief that we all walk this journey uniquely. BUT. i will also admit i "finished the sentences" several times as i watched. and i'm reminded i'm one of the one in six.
http://www.tearsandhope.com/
Monday, May 2, 2011
father goose
my husband is a wonderful man. he works hard. he cares about people. he is loyal. he looks out for others. he is patient. he takes care of things. he takes care of me. he "watches over" and "keeps" me, our home, our expenses and goals, our dreams. he reminds me of a father goose...
weeks ago i stopped by the post office near our home to mail a package to my sister. on my way in, i noticed a goose waddling by the door. he seemed out of place, so close to "the public", but i disregarded him and kept walking in. only when others kept mentioning his presence too, did i look around and see that his partner was nesting in the flower box, yards from the post office entrance. this father goose was on guard, hissing at anyone who got too close, protecting his partner and their eggs. on my way out, i snapped some pictures, and mother goose even stood up to show off her five or six large eggs. so exciting!
last week, on my walk with our dog, i decided to pass the post office again to see if the eggs had hatched yet and if the couple were still around. I stayed far back, because I didn't want to alarm them (or our dog who is quite "fond" of geese), but from the sidewalk I could see that father goose was still on patrol, and mother goose's lovely black and white neck was sticking up from the flower planter. weeks later (who knows how long that must seem in "geese time"), still waiting, sitting faithfully, with her partner still protecting... waiting for their next chapter to begin with their young. i got a little choked up, seeing this. it was lovely.
when i pause to take notice, i find that i am similarly cared for, with a partner who stands by me, waiting patiently, and faithfully tending to my needs. basic and complex. what a wonderful design, to walk through the challenges of life with a loyal friend.
weeks ago i stopped by the post office near our home to mail a package to my sister. on my way in, i noticed a goose waddling by the door. he seemed out of place, so close to "the public", but i disregarded him and kept walking in. only when others kept mentioning his presence too, did i look around and see that his partner was nesting in the flower box, yards from the post office entrance. this father goose was on guard, hissing at anyone who got too close, protecting his partner and their eggs. on my way out, i snapped some pictures, and mother goose even stood up to show off her five or six large eggs. so exciting!
last week, on my walk with our dog, i decided to pass the post office again to see if the eggs had hatched yet and if the couple were still around. I stayed far back, because I didn't want to alarm them (or our dog who is quite "fond" of geese), but from the sidewalk I could see that father goose was still on patrol, and mother goose's lovely black and white neck was sticking up from the flower planter. weeks later (who knows how long that must seem in "geese time"), still waiting, sitting faithfully, with her partner still protecting... waiting for their next chapter to begin with their young. i got a little choked up, seeing this. it was lovely.
when i pause to take notice, i find that i am similarly cared for, with a partner who stands by me, waiting patiently, and faithfully tending to my needs. basic and complex. what a wonderful design, to walk through the challenges of life with a loyal friend.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
expectant.
holding on to hope today, and the sense of expectancy has been very stirring over the last week or so. maybe in part it's just spring fever. we've had tastes of warm weather, hyacinths and daffodils are in bloom, tulips are making a valient effort to open up, and birds are nesting... so why not? it's in the air, i suppose.
a couple weeks ago, we bought a crib. got a great deal on it. basically, the nursery is fully furnished now. things we do, even though we say we never will. "i don't want to see an empty nursery every day...", i remember saying to somebody when we started the adoption process... and while the door stays mostly shut, i every once and a while feel the urge to sit in there for a few minutes, wonder, smile, and wonder some more. i remember reading love stories about pioneers traveling across the prairies, when i was a pre-teen. the girls all had "hope chests". they would knit little baby blankets and save dresses, and whatever else. it was tradition. of course they'd have babies one day. it was what you did. it was the next stage of life. i guess i am just one of those girls. we've gradually built up our supplies, and readied our home to welcome the next generation to our little home... we keep working away, trusting that at the right time, that next chapter will begin. the anticipation of flipping pages in those stories (where a birth was inevitable and ultimately my favorite part of the story) is similar to my feelings now. wishing i could turn ahead, but learning to relish the whole story, not try to read ahead, but take in all the text, and let the story unfold.
this Easter weekend, while i paint our "family room", walk my dog in the warm spring sunshine, and celebrate with friends and little ones the excitement and wonder of "up from the grave He arose" i celebrate that there is so much too wonderful for us to understand fully, and embrace the joy of God's all-knowing love for us.
a couple weeks ago, we bought a crib. got a great deal on it. basically, the nursery is fully furnished now. things we do, even though we say we never will. "i don't want to see an empty nursery every day...", i remember saying to somebody when we started the adoption process... and while the door stays mostly shut, i every once and a while feel the urge to sit in there for a few minutes, wonder, smile, and wonder some more. i remember reading love stories about pioneers traveling across the prairies, when i was a pre-teen. the girls all had "hope chests". they would knit little baby blankets and save dresses, and whatever else. it was tradition. of course they'd have babies one day. it was what you did. it was the next stage of life. i guess i am just one of those girls. we've gradually built up our supplies, and readied our home to welcome the next generation to our little home... we keep working away, trusting that at the right time, that next chapter will begin. the anticipation of flipping pages in those stories (where a birth was inevitable and ultimately my favorite part of the story) is similar to my feelings now. wishing i could turn ahead, but learning to relish the whole story, not try to read ahead, but take in all the text, and let the story unfold.
this Easter weekend, while i paint our "family room", walk my dog in the warm spring sunshine, and celebrate with friends and little ones the excitement and wonder of "up from the grave He arose" i celebrate that there is so much too wonderful for us to understand fully, and embrace the joy of God's all-knowing love for us.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
appointed
appointed
–adjective
1. by, through, or as a result of an appointment (often in contrast with elected ): an appointed official.
2. predetermined; arranged; set: They met at the appointed time in the appointed place.
3. provided with what is necessary; equipped; furnished: a beautifully appointed office.
it's a cold rainy spring afternoon. a wednesday. plump in the middle of another week. i'm cold and my body hurts and i am glad to by home at 2 in the afternoon and away from people. but i feel like writing. maybe it will help me understand "where i am" right now. i don't feel like i'm waiting, i don't feel like i'm down, i just am. i have been feeling content. not on the verge of something, or finished with something, but in the midst... i guess. i have enough work to do, but not so much that i can't be flexible with it, and not so much that i feel stressed by it. i am getting enough rest. i eat well, and probably a bit too much. i have time to bake and cook, and keep my house tidy. i exercise. i have time to read. i have time to pray. i have time to think about things. i have time to listen. and just recently i've had time to start writing down my questions again. what i want to understand better. these are mostly specific to my work. but good. directive.
these last several weeks took us on another rollercoaster of hopefulness resulting in grief, again. and not just us, but all the people who care so much. i think "they" really carried us through it and carried the burdens of expectant anxiety, impatience, frustration and sadness on our behalf. we nearly made it through unscathed. and here we are, in such a different reality from a few short weeks ago and you hardly remember what that was all like. but you know that "what could have been" isn't. and you wonder if it ever will be. you go through each stage of grief, denial (maybe they'll still change their mind), anger (towards the agency for setting up such a ridiculous situation that would ultimately end in disappointment for several people), bargaining (looking at other potential quick fixes to change our situation), sadness/depression (quiet tears, time away from "life" nestled in at home, together) and acceptance. this didn't kill us. we are together, feeling uniquely, but supporting each other and walking forward...
we're just in the midst, though. we know things are not in our hands. we are trying to be cautious about making any changes to our current plan, without a clear sense of direction. so we just keep living. and in that, i'm reminded of this idea of being transformed (2 Corinthians 3:18)... sometimes when i get particularly "heady" and lost in my thoughts i start questioning what our lives are really for. the typical milestones seem to give such structure to the lives of others. and yet they don't all happen for all of us. and it's tempting to allow that reality to try to rob meaning. by the same token, it's sometimes hard to cling to the idea that God is writing a story with your life, with it's unique twists and turns. we learn that it's for his glory. his glory revealed in our story. so all the hopes and dreams for our lives must be held onto loosely? or are we to push for them, when obstacles get in the way? or "be still", "wait"...
i suppose waiting would be easier if you knew you were waiting for something... so i cling to that verse in Isaiah that says: "those who hope in the Lord, will not be disappointed" (49:23). not sure what is coming, but hoping. and trusting we are "appointed" for some good thing.
–adjective
1. by, through, or as a result of an appointment (often in contrast with elected ): an appointed official.
2. predetermined; arranged; set: They met at the appointed time in the appointed place.
3. provided with what is necessary; equipped; furnished: a beautifully appointed office.
it's a cold rainy spring afternoon. a wednesday. plump in the middle of another week. i'm cold and my body hurts and i am glad to by home at 2 in the afternoon and away from people. but i feel like writing. maybe it will help me understand "where i am" right now. i don't feel like i'm waiting, i don't feel like i'm down, i just am. i have been feeling content. not on the verge of something, or finished with something, but in the midst... i guess. i have enough work to do, but not so much that i can't be flexible with it, and not so much that i feel stressed by it. i am getting enough rest. i eat well, and probably a bit too much. i have time to bake and cook, and keep my house tidy. i exercise. i have time to read. i have time to pray. i have time to think about things. i have time to listen. and just recently i've had time to start writing down my questions again. what i want to understand better. these are mostly specific to my work. but good. directive.
these last several weeks took us on another rollercoaster of hopefulness resulting in grief, again. and not just us, but all the people who care so much. i think "they" really carried us through it and carried the burdens of expectant anxiety, impatience, frustration and sadness on our behalf. we nearly made it through unscathed. and here we are, in such a different reality from a few short weeks ago and you hardly remember what that was all like. but you know that "what could have been" isn't. and you wonder if it ever will be. you go through each stage of grief, denial (maybe they'll still change their mind), anger (towards the agency for setting up such a ridiculous situation that would ultimately end in disappointment for several people), bargaining (looking at other potential quick fixes to change our situation), sadness/depression (quiet tears, time away from "life" nestled in at home, together) and acceptance. this didn't kill us. we are together, feeling uniquely, but supporting each other and walking forward...
we're just in the midst, though. we know things are not in our hands. we are trying to be cautious about making any changes to our current plan, without a clear sense of direction. so we just keep living. and in that, i'm reminded of this idea of being transformed (2 Corinthians 3:18)... sometimes when i get particularly "heady" and lost in my thoughts i start questioning what our lives are really for. the typical milestones seem to give such structure to the lives of others. and yet they don't all happen for all of us. and it's tempting to allow that reality to try to rob meaning. by the same token, it's sometimes hard to cling to the idea that God is writing a story with your life, with it's unique twists and turns. we learn that it's for his glory. his glory revealed in our story. so all the hopes and dreams for our lives must be held onto loosely? or are we to push for them, when obstacles get in the way? or "be still", "wait"...
i suppose waiting would be easier if you knew you were waiting for something... so i cling to that verse in Isaiah that says: "those who hope in the Lord, will not be disappointed" (49:23). not sure what is coming, but hoping. and trusting we are "appointed" for some good thing.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
can i give up infertility for lent?
years ago, when my now-almost-teenaged nieces were much younger the topic of "giving up things" for lent came up. i suppose they had been encouraged to "give up" something, as a way of focusing more on Jesus and what he "gave up" for us. their ideas give me a chuckle year after year when "lent" comes around. if i remember correctly, ideas such as giving up "lying", "bedtime", and "barbies" were discussed. haha... "i'm going to give up lying!" good idea. well, not that i have a lot of control over it, but if i did, i'd like to give up infertility this year, please.
in a way, though, i am going to "give it up" for the next 40. it's not going to be my focus. my empty womb/arms/nursery will not be given the same attention/focus during this time. i will realign (with God's help) my desires and pray for open eyes and ears to see and hear and experience the goodness God has for me. and i trust that this can be more lasting than the 40 days. but i'm reminded today of the intentionality of starting somewhere. I heard on Christian radio today this message: You wouldn't want God so much if He didn't want you so much first. He is capable of wooing us to Him and realigning our desires to look more like His. He does it because of LOVE. and He works for the GOOD of those who love Him. i'm choosing to trust that.
in a way, though, i am going to "give it up" for the next 40. it's not going to be my focus. my empty womb/arms/nursery will not be given the same attention/focus during this time. i will realign (with God's help) my desires and pray for open eyes and ears to see and hear and experience the goodness God has for me. and i trust that this can be more lasting than the 40 days. but i'm reminded today of the intentionality of starting somewhere. I heard on Christian radio today this message: You wouldn't want God so much if He didn't want you so much first. He is capable of wooing us to Him and realigning our desires to look more like His. He does it because of LOVE. and He works for the GOOD of those who love Him. i'm choosing to trust that.
Monday, February 28, 2011
waiting.
came across these words today, from "When the Heart Waits" by Sue Monk Kidd:
I had tended to view waiting as mere passivity. When I looked it up in my dictionary however, I found that the words passive and passion come from the same Latin root, pati, which means "to endure." Waiting is thus both passive and passionate. It's a vibrant, contemplative work. It means descending into self, into God, into the deeper labyrinths of prayer. It involves listening to disinherited voices within, facing the wounded holes in the soul, the denied and undiscovered, the places one lives falsely. It means struggling with the vision of who we really are in God and molding the courage to live that vision.
while a part of me wants to put up a fight ~ "haven't we waited long enough??", there is also something profound about this time. it feels very familiar, like the "two week waits" of this summer, so filled with hope and wonder, fingers crossed. and yet it feels different. we're waiting for a much more immediate reality. we've never been so close before. it's mind boggling. i can not put into words the dichotomy of feelings, of hope and dread for the phone call we await. if i think about it too much i feel a bit sick. or maybe that's the extra cup of coffee i drank on an empty stomach. and even in the midst of these unexplainable feelings, Sue's words resonate so well. waiting is not wasting. the wait time is preparatory. it is a gift. it provides us time to enter into the places that would otherwise be avoided or neglected.
My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken. Psalm 62: 1,2
not knowing is such a hard thing for me. i do recognize the beauty in it, and I have decided to try to embrace it this week, not spend all my time preparing for one decision or the other. i look forward to the potential of having to "sort it out" when the decision comes. (or dread. depending on the outcome.) but my flesh has always struggled with the desire to "figure it all out". only then would i feel in control. prepared. able to understand. able to explain.
i have learned (am learning) that not everything is explainable. not on this side of heaven. as much as i like to think of myself as a "big picture" thinker, still, i only see things through veiled eyes. i am just barely starting to appreciate that fact, vs. be frustrated by it. i'm starting to find peace in it. trusting that the One who sees the whole picture is at work, and is good.
Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will not be shaken. My salvation and my honor depend on God; he is my mighty rock, my refuge. Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge. "Selah". Psalm 62: 5-8
selah. pause. don't rush it.
take the time.
even as we are awaiting this current "life altering moment"... and as the same moment, the same decision alters not only OUR lives, but the lives of four other families, FOUR, and their respective extended families and communities. even in these most breath-holding, unnerving, and holy moments... what we see, feel, experience is not all that is going on. this is a piece of it. we are a piece of this extravagant story. so humbling. especially when confronted with our own desires, wishes, dreams. "can it just be our turn??" i am compelled to just be quiet.
be quiet and wait.
i don't deny that there are thoughts that can spin out of control, fears that want to cripple me. we've been here before, and it's practical to be aware that this could turn out as it has in the past. but there i go wanting to figure it all out again. preemptively deal with whatever. so, i ask for grace, to quiet those thoughts. to be still. to quiet my own thoughts, and listen to truth. the truth that is deep inside me.
One thing God has spoken, two things have I heard: that you, O God, are strong, and that you, O Lord, are loving. (vs. 11-12)
stronger than I.
full of love for us.
i will wait.
I had tended to view waiting as mere passivity. When I looked it up in my dictionary however, I found that the words passive and passion come from the same Latin root, pati, which means "to endure." Waiting is thus both passive and passionate. It's a vibrant, contemplative work. It means descending into self, into God, into the deeper labyrinths of prayer. It involves listening to disinherited voices within, facing the wounded holes in the soul, the denied and undiscovered, the places one lives falsely. It means struggling with the vision of who we really are in God and molding the courage to live that vision.
while a part of me wants to put up a fight ~ "haven't we waited long enough??", there is also something profound about this time. it feels very familiar, like the "two week waits" of this summer, so filled with hope and wonder, fingers crossed. and yet it feels different. we're waiting for a much more immediate reality. we've never been so close before. it's mind boggling. i can not put into words the dichotomy of feelings, of hope and dread for the phone call we await. if i think about it too much i feel a bit sick. or maybe that's the extra cup of coffee i drank on an empty stomach. and even in the midst of these unexplainable feelings, Sue's words resonate so well. waiting is not wasting. the wait time is preparatory. it is a gift. it provides us time to enter into the places that would otherwise be avoided or neglected.
My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken. Psalm 62: 1,2
not knowing is such a hard thing for me. i do recognize the beauty in it, and I have decided to try to embrace it this week, not spend all my time preparing for one decision or the other. i look forward to the potential of having to "sort it out" when the decision comes. (or dread. depending on the outcome.) but my flesh has always struggled with the desire to "figure it all out". only then would i feel in control. prepared. able to understand. able to explain.
i have learned (am learning) that not everything is explainable. not on this side of heaven. as much as i like to think of myself as a "big picture" thinker, still, i only see things through veiled eyes. i am just barely starting to appreciate that fact, vs. be frustrated by it. i'm starting to find peace in it. trusting that the One who sees the whole picture is at work, and is good.
Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will not be shaken. My salvation and my honor depend on God; he is my mighty rock, my refuge. Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge. "Selah". Psalm 62: 5-8
selah. pause. don't rush it.
take the time.
even as we are awaiting this current "life altering moment"... and as the same moment, the same decision alters not only OUR lives, but the lives of four other families, FOUR, and their respective extended families and communities. even in these most breath-holding, unnerving, and holy moments... what we see, feel, experience is not all that is going on. this is a piece of it. we are a piece of this extravagant story. so humbling. especially when confronted with our own desires, wishes, dreams. "can it just be our turn??" i am compelled to just be quiet.
be quiet and wait.
i don't deny that there are thoughts that can spin out of control, fears that want to cripple me. we've been here before, and it's practical to be aware that this could turn out as it has in the past. but there i go wanting to figure it all out again. preemptively deal with whatever. so, i ask for grace, to quiet those thoughts. to be still. to quiet my own thoughts, and listen to truth. the truth that is deep inside me.
One thing God has spoken, two things have I heard: that you, O God, are strong, and that you, O Lord, are loving. (vs. 11-12)
stronger than I.
full of love for us.
i will wait.
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