Saturday, April 30, 2016

Not Yet Fertile

I was thinking of laying low this Infertility Awareness Week. 

Because this is one of those ugly hard months. The ones where it doesn't feel okay that other women are pregnant, where I can barely manage a congratulatory "like" on yet another pregnancy announcement. Because why not me?  Why this cross?

I'm turning 35 in five weeks. Back when I was 22, engaged, and planning out my perfect life, this is the year I would have my final child, probably our fifth or sixth.  

Because surely I would be old and have a big family, so why risk anything less than perfection?

Man, that girl was not great. 

Instead, I'm watching my minimal fertility sputter out.  The cycles with signs of fertility are fewer. Every month, I watch the window slide a little further closed. 

My two girls will turn 11 and 4 this summer and I'm working hard to fully embrace this picture, without daydreaming of another. 

Every day, I pray for peace with my life just this moment as everything is. 

As I am. With the family size I have. I pray to dive down deep - not into accepting where I am, but actually reveling in where I am. 

I pray for joy, even as the crashing wave of another unsuccessful cycle swallows me whole. The cycle where all the things lined up perfectly....and 

I pray, as I ask you to stand with me just a moment and feel this crushing weight. Imagine with me a moment what it is to take a gift for granted, and then spend the next ten years begging for it. 

Like thirst for water in the desert, it burns. 

Some months, I find an oasis. In the midst of my desert, I find respite. I laugh and cheer those swimming in the ocean. 

I pray for them when the water is so deep it scares them. All the while, happily sitting next to my puddle. 

Other months, the sun has scorched the earth and I'm thirsty. I can see the water, but I can't have it. 

This is that month. Where I'm struggling to stay upright. Not because I'm depressed or unbalanced, but because this cross is heavy. This road is hard. 

Infertility is sad and hard and grief-stricken.  The desert can wither your soul, or that heat can become your refining crucible. 

It's who I take into the desert that matters. 

It changes who I will be when I emerge. 

To all my fellow desert wanderers, this week, praying for you is getting me through. 

To all my friends in the ocean, I'm loving you hard and praying you stay afloat. I'll find another oasis I'm sure. 

Tuesday, April 26, 2016

The Little Yellow House

We've been house hunting. Looking for something that meets the needs of our growing girls - like a second bathroom and a dining room for family gatherings. 

As we search, a little part of my heart grieves. 

You see, moving on to better things means parting with what we have here and now. 

It means washing away the crayon marks from the wall - the last tangible marks that Sweet Baby lived here - that she touched this space as much as she touched our hearts. 

It means leaving behind the home where I brought my babies home for the first time. One of those babies is no longer with me, and it's like losing her again to lose the place she crawled, walked, and laughed for the first time. 

LB said to me last week, "I just realized we're going to leave my childhood home. The next one will be the one Sweet Pea thinks of that way, but this one is mine."

Yes. We need more space. Yes. The new home will bring so many moments of happy life. Maybe there will be new babies. Definitely there will be new milestones. 

Still, a part of my heart grieves with every trace of our family I erase from this space. With every box I pack, and nail hole I fill. Every old crayon mark I erase, it stings a little. 

So many times in life, we have to say goodbye to something we love to grow. 

Leaving a home with parents and siblings to join our spouse in a new life. Leaving behind an old home to grow into a new one. Leaving our earthly bodies to embrace eternity. 

Every growing pain hurts. So, I'll cry sometimes while I pack. Not because I don't want to go, but because parting is such sweet sorrow. 

The crayon marks I need to erase. 

The ten years of memories wrapped up in this home we'll be leaving. 

Monday, April 4, 2016

Weight: A Milestone

Today is a day I've been working for. 

Today, when I stepped on the scale, I was down to the weight I was before we lost Sweet Baby. 

All week, I've been anticipating this milestone, tearing up at the thought of all I've been through and what I've done to get to this milestone. All the emotions have swirled around me all week. 

Then, this morning, I stepped on the scale, and I didn't feel this surge of great emotions. I felt grace. I felt peace. 

It was a moment of quiet celebration, and a resounding sense of peace. 

The number on the scale reflected an internal truth, and it all just felt happily, calmly, right. 

I've been diligent in my nutrition, working out, and feeling better every day.  

It's fitting that on this day, I finished a project that's been swirling around in my head. Inspiring head wear for working out. Reminders that I'm not punishing my body, I'm honoring it and my Creator in my workouts. 

This new health journey isn't about punishing who or where I've been, it's about remembering I was always worth it. Remembering that I am beloved and wonderfully made. 

For all that "Sparkle" running down my face while I work out :)

You can find your own inspiring gear at 

Blessings on your journey, whatever gear you go with ;)