Dear Maggie and Moses

Last summer I drove about two hours from home to a place of solitude. I needed solitude. Everyone does, and no one really has to go anywhere special for it, but I had felt a strong pull toward truly getting away to be with God for some time. I found a wonderful little place where I had my own tiny cottage for two nights, and Casey's full support made it possible for me to have this time away guilt-free.

While there, I spoke about twice each day with the lady who essentially ran the place. Clare is her name. I told her my very long story, going back to when Miles was born and getting to the place of grief I was currently in, the place where our dreams of more children had not been realized. I had been journaling during my solitude, and on the second day Clare suggested I write a letter in my journal to the children who had never come to be. I knew instantly that I didn't want to do that, and so it meant to me that I needed to do that. But it was going to be one of the hardest things I would write.

It just so happened that Casey and I, over the course of our four failed in vitro cycles, had each come up with a name we liked if we ever had a boy or a girl. He had a girl's name in mind, I had decided on a boy's name. We had talked about them through each cycle, dreaming that one or both of them might be ours one day. The names had come to mean so much that I decided to address my letter to these two specific children. Keep in mind that this was June of last year...we weren't even at a place of knowing if we would try in vitro ever again.

With all of that said, I feel as though tonight is the perfect time to share this letter, so here goes.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Dear Maggie and Moses,

     I find it so very difficult to begin this letter. My fear is that I will cling to the hope of you even more, and that hope has been discarded and trampled over and over again for more than three years.

     Instead of sitting here writing a letter to children who don't exist, I should be holding you in my arms. I should be listening to your laughter as your big brother Miles is his usual, funny self. I thought that one or both of you might be here by now. None of that has come about as I dreamed...it's only been one more heartache after another.

     How do I miss a child that never was? But I do -- have seen you in my dreams, have imagined you coming home, have wondered what you would look like.

     For so long, it has felt as if you were waiting for me at the end of this long journey; it was like I could see you as that light at the end of a torturous tunnel.

     But now...now something I was sure would happen in time might never happen at all. Will I never know you? I struggle mightily to let you go.

     If you are not to be, I need God to change the desires of my heart, because I cannot do it myself. This longing seems almost more than I can bear at times.

     But oh, how you would be loved! And every day that you are not a reality makes me want to hold Miles that much closer. As much as I hope for you...well, he is here and you are not. God gave me such an amazing, beautiful boy in Miles Kendrick. I am desperate for him not to suffer because of my own grief. He is loved, he is precious, he is pure -- HE IS HERE. My love and delight need to be reserved for him, and not for a child that isn't.

     I'm sorry, Maggie and Moses. Please come if you can. But if you can't, God will take care of us. I hate to say goodbye to you, but I need to lay the dream of you at Jesus' feet. He will know what to do.

     I still want you...I do. But if my holding to the idea of you is futile, I am only doing a disservice to Casey and Miles. They need me, my heart and my nurturing. They are my boys.

     If you come someday, you will know what I mean. The love you will find in our little family is precious. It is waiting here if God's will is for you to be.

Love forever,

Mama

_________________________________________________________________________________

Even now, that is a very hard letter for me to read. I don't feel the sadness as much, but I remember it. But my sorrow was turned to joy on January 19 this year when we found out our fifth cycle was a success. And then again a week later, the joy grew as we found out we were having twins! Then came April 9, the day we learned we were having a boy and a girl...our Maggie and Moses.

Tomorrow is the end of a long chapter and the beginning of another, because our sweet little ones will arrive in this world. We only just learned that this afternoon, since Moses' growth had dropped down a bit, so the safest and best thing to do is to get them outside my body as soon as possible so he doesn't lose any more nourishment. Having carried these two miracles for 36 weeks and 6 days by the time they're born, I am so relieved to be where we are. I am so blessed. Praise God for new beginnings!

The 'someday' questions

Tonight is the second night in less than a week that I've overheard Miles and Casey talking about heaven and/or the 'new heaven and new earth.' These conversations seem to bring about every question Miles can possibly ask in the least amount of time, with Casey just trying to keep up. It's heartwarming, and a bit heart-aching too. I love that Miles is still so unaware of the pain that comes with losing a loved one. He knows that after death we get to be with God, see God, live with God...he just hasn't connected the loss the rest feel on earth. I'm so glad his heart is still untouched by that pain.

Part of tonight's questioning had to do with what our bodies would be like, how old we would be and where we would live (last time it had to do with his toys and our cats and if they'd be with us in heaven too). Based on answers he was getting from his daddy tonight, I heard Miles blurt out at one point, "So we'll just be walking around with no house? Just walking-walking-walking?"

A New Name

Last week I downloaded a free app called 'Child's Prayer' in order to make bedtime traditions with Miles more special. What I like about this app is that it not only gives a Bible verse for that day, but you flip the card over and there is a question so that you and your child can engage in simple discussion as well.

Tuesday night's verse was Isaiah 9:6..."He will be called, 'Wonderful Counselor,' 'Mighty God,' 'Eternal Father,' 'Prince of Peace.'" Miles touched the screen to flip over the card and the question was, 'Which names would you call Jesus by?' My thinking was that Miles would choose one of the names he had just heard. But oh...that little boy surprises me so many times.

"King of the Life!" was his confident answer, and it almost took my breath away. I mean, how many names are there written for Jesus in the Bible? And yet this was one I had not heard. He wanted to know our answers too, and we gave them, although I personally could have been happy closing the evening with the answer Miles had given.

Thank you, King of the Life, for the unblemished heart of my sweet little boy.

Good. Grief.

When I used to hear the word 'grief,' my immediate thoughts were of someone having lost a person close to them. It meant someone had died, and it was not a word I wanted to know personally. There was also the 'Oh, good grief, Charlie Brown!' thing...but never before would I put 'good' and 'grief' together in a serious way. And I always assumed that grieving was something that happened to someone after something very bad had happened. I didn't see it as a process that one partakes in, that one must partake in at times in their life in order to move forward. I also used to assume that grief was linear, but no longer.

I was ignorant about grief years ago. My life wasn't easy, but it wasn't hard. And then in February 2001 I started going to the doctor for unexplained symptoms, and this went on until he diagnosed me with an auto-immune disorder more than a year later. Four days before my wedding. Casey and I thought, 'Well, if we can get through all of that hospital craziness (one week) and this diagnosis...we can get through anything!' I thought this was my grief. My valley.

Miles was born in April 2006. I was finally rid of the hospital on July 19. Celebration. Recovery. I thought I was moving on. It wasn't until September, when Miles was five months old, that I began to realize all that I had missed in his life. I remember breaking down in the shower one evening, sobbing uncontrollably because I hadn't been able to celebrate my first Mother's Day, hadn't carried him home for the first time, hadn't been able to breastfeed like I'd wanted, hadn't even taken one picture of him until he was four months old. I had dreamed of taking photos of him as a tiny, newborn baby. I had missed that.

Still ignorant about how my grief was working and how I had to be a part of it instead of just waiting for it to 'happen,' I thought that with full physical recovery would come full emotional healing. But the joy I felt after my final surgery in July 2007 was short-lived. Grief was upon me again, and I was just starting to get it. No one had warned me that the emotional pain can long outlive the physical pain. I thought that kind of pain only came with 'real' loss. I was still just beginning to grasp how much I'd lost, and I didn't even know the half of it until we started trying to have another baby in March 2008.

Fast forward to the present day. Grief is not linear. There can be ten steps forward and one hundred steps back. There can be two steps up and four steps down. There can be a valley after a valley -- it's not always valley-mountain-valley-mountain. Your pain is your pain, and it can be a lonely place if you let it -- sometimes even if you don't.

I have handled my grief in both good and bad ways. I don't know that anyone handles it perfectly. It frustrates me greatly sometimes that I can't press a pause button on life so I can have time to grieve and then be caught up with everyone else. I am almost always 'stuck' behind and I don't know that I will ever be able to catch up, but I am learning to accept that.

One thing I've learned, sometimes grudgingly, is that I will never be the exact same person I used to be. Life looks different to me now, but I believe that there are better parts of me that might not have been if I hadn't gone through what I did. And my joys...they are sweeter and dearer because of my sorrows. My pain is deep, but I hold the tiniest moments close to my heart. I don't think I would have done that had things been easier.

I write about all of this because of something that sounds extremely simple, but for me has been a thing of dread. And instead of continuing to avoid it, I decided to walk through my pain because I knew that there would be a bit of healing on the other side. Grief is not a friend of mine, but lately I'm seeing that I have to sit with it in order to heal. There is no other way. I could try to avoid it my entire life, but what kind of life would that be? I am tired of pain, and I know I will grieve certain things until I die, but the deep sadness is something I must be with so that I can move on.

Now, the simple thing I mentioned? I have recently decided to go through every bit of Miles' clothing since he was born in order to sell what I can at consignment next month. That's five years of my little boy's clothes. There were many pieces I set aside, unable to part with them either right now or ever. Ask me about that again next year. But that still left a lot of clothes that have to be washed, sorted, priced and tagged. Today I began washing the clothes and hanging them up until I can price them. But before washing them, I would inspect each piece of clothing to see if they had any kind of stain that needed treating.

I knew it would be tough. It had been emotional just going through them the first time. But today, holding up each onesie or tiny shirt or pair of pants, I felt my anxiety building. And building. And by the time I had started the first load of laundry, my heart was racing and I was finding it hard to breathe. There I stood in the laundry room, crying and asking God to be with me. When I recounted all of this to Casey later on, I cried even more, and as I sit here typing I am still not finished with washing those many tiny clothes.

But guess what? As painful as it has been, and as many memories as it has brought up (both good and bad), I have decided to let grief in my door today...and though I am not at the end of it, I have at least moved in a positive direction. Let's face it: when we're in the middle of it, grief is not where we want to be, right? But if we figure out that there is something good on the other side and we can walk through it, life doesn't seem as scary anymore. At least not to me.

That is good grief.

Dibs on Being Me

For the third night in a row, I'm having trouble going to sleep. I think it has something to do with a certain campus minister husband leaving the country with a team of students to visit and help orphans in Haiti. But I could be wrong.

I had originally pulled up my blog tonight after seeing a commercial about women who have just had a baby 'suffering from unsightly stretch marks' and was going to comment on it in a snarky way...something along the lines of, "Suffering? Really? Because I -- and I'm sure thousands of women living with infertility -- would take that kind of suffering in a heartbeat."

See? Snarky. I apologize...sort of. Just hard to hear things like that and not have a reaction.

Anyway, I got on the blog and became engrossed in many of my old posts. Some about my former wound, some about wanting another baby, and many about how much I adore my husband and son. And in some of those posts, I sound so strong and sure of myself. I sound happy. I want to go back and ask that woman to hold on to what she has, because there are days when it seems I've lost that forever.

No, I know I haven't. It's just that I'm...different than I was back then. I didn't know I was headed into this world of longing for another child and not seeing that dream realized. The experience has placed a shadow over my heart, and I fight for the sunlight but it's a battle I lose on many occasions. I know I need to work on my relationship with God. I love him, I trust him, I won't leave him...but are we super-close all the time? I have to say no. And part of me hates admitting that, but I've come to learn that I am human and I am weak, and God knows all of this. He knows me better than I know myself. Scary but true.

This is one post that I have to leave unresolved. I'm not living in a sitcom world (but oh, how I wish I could for just a day!) where, after about 20 minutes of silliness and conflicts, the music swells and all the pieces come together. There are things I wish were different, but I would never trade my life for another. This one, with all of its love and yes, broken pieces, is mine...dibs.

Solitude and Survivor

I'm sorry. For those friends or family to whom I have not given much of myself lately, those are the best words I can think to say at the moment. I am here, and yet I'm not. My brain, my heart...they are filled with noise and pain that I yearn to quiet and ease.

Back in March I posted this link after our fourth in vitro attempt failed. We got the negative test results on the 16th of that month, and at the moment of 'the phone call' with the IVF coordinator (whose job I do not envy) I remember my body going numb and cold. One week later I was having trouble remembering big and small details of the previous days. I knew I had bought some shirts, but had to ask Casey where we'd gone to get them. I knew we'd visited his parents for a weekend night, but didn't remember the drive there or much of the visit itself. I was actually shocked at how big the gaps were in my memory.

Turns out I was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. PTSD was no stranger to me, because the events of 2006 following Miles' birth had greatly affected me. But this time the symptoms were much more acute, and because I was in better health I noticed them more quickly. In my mind, there are so many worse things that can happen in life which might cause post-traumatic stress. I almost felt silly  thinking that this was what had taken place for me. Yes, the news for us was bad and came after three years of our struggles. Still...it seemed like a big reaction for me to experience.

I have thankfully had the opportunity to see a counselor who Casey and I trust greatly -- had sessions with him last year, and Casey has joined me for sessions this year. In counseling we are looking for tools in coping with my emotional 'stuck-ness' (for lack of a much better word), and tools that will help us listen to one another in the midst of grief. Our marriage is a strong one and we don't intend letting it go by the wayside. Casey and I have always agreed on being proactive in this.

And as much as I don't want to be tied to daily meds, I began taking anti-depressants almost immediately. I know that for me it is a tremendous help. Side effects? Yes...and I don't like them. But while I struggle to function in daily life, they are something I must endure for a while. I feel as though I must take them, not just for myself, but for my husband and my son. As much as my heart wants to skip those large looming clouds on the road of grieving, I would never choose to miss out on those small sparks of joy I still experience from day to day. Yes, sparks of joy, because with Casey to hold me and Miles to fill my heart with his laughter, there is no denying that joy is going to get through the cracks in my sadness.

I don't know how many of you watch the show Survivor, but this latest season included a twist where the person voted off doesn't immediately go home but instead goes to 'Redemption Island.' They stay there and wait (three days?) for the next eliminated player, and the two duel it out to see who stays on the island for a chance to get back in the game at some point, while the loser goes home for good. As of now, Matt -- self-proclaimed Christian -- has spent about three weeks on Redemption Island. Three weeks. That's more than half the game, and nearly all of that time alone.

I always find it interesting when a Christian is on these reality shows. Well, not so much that they're on the show, more when they start talking about it in terms of what God's will is for them on that show. Can they hear themselves talking? Recently I found myself so irritated with a statement like that I said to the TV, "He doesn't care that you're on the show!" I mean, of course God cares about the person and loves them. But is God really putting effort into the outcome of a reality show? Really? My guess is that he has more important issues on his mind.

But I digress. The aforementioned Matt now has my attention. Here he is, this nice, young Christian guy...I never found him disagreeable, just a bit unfocused on what he was saying. The intentions to 'honor his God' as he put it were definitely there, I only had trouble with believing that the best way for him to do so was in the run for one million dollars. On an island. Alone. I'm by no means this great Christian example, but even I know that there are better ways to honor God than trying to win a bunch of money in a game where most people excel by lying and backstabbing.

What the producers unwittingly did in creating this 'Redemption Island' twist, however, was to force a sincere Christian kid into more solitude than he ever wanted, and in last week's episode the effects of it were clearly showing. Up until then, Matt seemed strong and confident and was winning every single duel that came his way. He gave the glory to God, and I would scoff in my usual way that God didn't really care. Yeah, I liked the kid and was cheering him on...but I wanted there to be more. And now the solitude had all but broken Matt. He was crying on camera, saying that God had been carrying him for the past few days. But the best part? Now he said he was done with the game. That was it! That was what I'd been waiting for! Matt had used his time of forced solitude to be with his God, and he had had a breakthrough: the game didn't matter. At the next duel he faced, Matt looked broken and maybe a bit wiser. He somehow pulled out yet another win and said something like, "I guess God still wants me here." Well of course that bugged me, but not as much this time. And the woman who he beat in the duel mentioned before she left that because of Matt's example she was going home and getting involved in a church. That, in my mind, is the closest reason to God wanting Matt on that show.

I digress once again. Why, you might be asking, would I interrupt my talk of PTSD and depression to discuss an episode of Survivor? I promise it fits. When we were watching Matt breaking down and breaking through because of his solitude, all I could think was, "I wish I could do that!" And maybe that sounds like an unusual thing to wish, but I am in an unusual place in my life. Counseling and meds can help, no doubt -- but at this point I still need something more. And so Casey and I have decided that I will take a weekend in the next couple of months and spend it in solitude with God. There are ways I could find some moments of solitude where I am right now, but I believe what will truly help me grow is being in another place all alone for a good stretch of time. I've found one place online that is very appealing: it has little cabins specifically for spiritual meditation and solitude. And I know this is what my heart needs because I normally wouldn't want to do this, and yet I can't stop thinking about it.

Eleven years ago I was in search of solitude. I found a horse ranch two hours from my home and spent a night there in the bunkhouse. Sitting under the stars on the tiny balcony, reading my Bible and journaling about the experience, I could feel my soul being renewed. I remember how it felt and I long for that again. Just me and God, tending to the wounds in my heart.

23rd Psalm

The Lord is my shepherd;

I have everything I need.

He lets me rest in green meadows;

he leads me beside peaceful streams.

He renews my strength.

He guides me along right paths,

bringing honor to his name.

Even when I walk

through the dark valley of death,

I will not be afraid,

for you are close beside me.

You prepare a feast for me

in the presence of my enemies.

You welcome me as a guest,

anointing my head with oil.

My cup overflows with blessings.

Surely your goodness and unfailing love

will pursue me

all the days of my life,

and I will live in the house of the Lord

forever.

Who crushed a Red Nail and is now on the Roster? This guy!

When you're proud of a family member...you just gotta show it. Remember in my last post when you saw my brother Trevor crushing that Red Nail? He's on the official Red Nail Roster now -- first one in 2011!

IronMind, who made the certification, also posted a short article featuring Trevor. I love the picture of him -- he is standing in front of a Rhodesian flag. Too cool.

"What happens after dying?"

The other night Miles began talking with me about dying.

"What happens after dying?" was his out-of-left-field question.

"Who were you talking with about dying?" I asked, to which he told me Daddy (who was conveniently no where in sight).

Still, these are the conversations I love. I long to hear what is inside my little boy's mind, what he thinks about when he's not focused on Wii games, wrestling, Oz the kitten or -- the most important thing -- FOOD.

"What happens after dying? Do we come back?" A thought of reincarnation flashed through my mind.

"Well, if we love God and do what he says, we get to go and live with him forever," I answered as best I could.

"Do we get to see him?"

"Yes!"

"That's cool!"

I don't remember how the conversation went from there, but it seemed to be all Miles wanted to know for now. Left me with a warm feeling from the glimpse I had into my baby's heart.

Connect 2010 | breathe (But More Importantly, Dan Kimball Sent Me a Tweet!)

In case you missed it, I had a link on Facebook to our 2010 Connect Conference's YouTube video, which you can see here. I didn't get to be as involved as I would have liked, seeing as I was running back and forth getting the photos and putting the video together. But I do have to say how proud I am of Casey, first of all, and then of all the countless others who made this possible. What a great conference!

And it is pretty cool, but Dan Kimball, who was our awesome keynote speaker, messaged me back on Twitter today to let me know he saw the video: "It was a joy to serve with you! And thanks for showing me the video! Very fun!"

I would still really like to see what he looks like before that morning hair regimen begins.

That's him on the right, with Milton Jones, president of Christian Relief Fund.

Finding Our Way Home

Not long ago, Miles and I had been out running errands and were on the drive back to the house. We don't live in a very big place, and so he's taken notice of our surroundings and is already learning where we are and if we should turn left or right at certain intersections. But being a child, he still wants to be reassured that his guesses are correct. On this particular trip, however, the wording of his question went right to my heart and it felt like God was -- once again -- helping me to see the world through the eyes of my child.

Miles simply asked, "Mama, is this the way home?" but when he said the word 'home,' it sounded different somehow. It sounded beautiful, and it made me think of heaven.

I thought to myself, This is what God means when he says we should be like a child! I should be asking, "Father, is this the way Home? Should I go right or left? What should I do in this situation?" And it needs to be like this every day, every hour. I am supposed to look to Him for my needs, my direction.

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding."  ~ Proverbs 3:5

"What Do I Have to Say?"

If you've ever wanted to learn more about life and God's love, having a child is certainly one of the best ways to do so. I know that in this life I won't fully understand the way God works, but I do get glimpses of his relationship with me through my relationship with Miles.

I've had my desperate moments with God, most definitely. I've cried out to him, and I can remember at least two times when I was asking him for something (okay, a baby) that I regressed into childish questions like, "Is there something I need to do? Is there something I need to say? Just tell me and I'll do it!" You might have had these moments as well. They're very private, but I'm sharing mine because of a moment I had with my son recently.

Miles has learned, in the past few months, just how much he loves gum. He gets this from me, I know, because I have always been a big gum-chewer and Casey couldn't care less about gum. I got smart about it at some point in my life and realized that, if I was going to chew this much gum, it had better be of the sugar-free variety. And so, when I give Miles gum, it is sugar-free. Not going to start him off on the really good stuff like Super Bubble (yum). I'll let him think that Trident is the best there is for now.

Casey and I have tried to teach Miles to say 'please' and 'thank you' and he's doing a pretty good job. Of course he forgets sometimes and will say, "I want lunch!" and I'll tell him, "I don't know how to get it for you until you ask me nicely." He will immediately respond with, "Please can I have lunch?"

He does the same thing with gum, and most of the time I let him have the gum. Sometimes, though, he's had too much or it's almost mealtime or...he just plain doesn't need to have gum at that moment. So last week when Miles began by asking sweetly, "Please can I have gum?" he was surprised to hear me tell him no. There was whining and that pitiful stomping around, which I ignored. Then came his sad little question: "What do I have to say?"

Immediately I recognized myself in my little boy. Here he was, asking the way he'd been taught to ask for things, not understanding why the answer was coming back as no. But as his mother, I know what's best for my child, even down to little things like a piece of gum. And I know he doesn't understand my answer, although he will later on.

So why is it so hard for me, as a child of God, to accept his answer of 'no' or 'wait'? I feel like I'm doing the right things, being thankful, striving to be the Christian woman I should be...and yet there are times when he still won't give me good things that I ask him for. I know I'll understand later on, and that he indeed does know what's best for me, and I love that he gives me daily examples of his love in a blonde-headed three-year-old boy.

Connecting

Last year, from January to May, I took Miles to a little gymnastics class. This was basically to get him out of the house during the cold months and doing something active. He was still a bit shy back then, but he warmed up to it and pretty much spent every week running and jumping, running and jumping.

At the last minute, we decided to put him in the 3- to 5-year-old class this time. I had forgotten that means 'no moms allowed in the room' but I think he actually did better without me there. And since the class is only 45 minutes long, it's not like I can leave the building. So last week I sat and talked with another mom. While we sat out in the gym, we saw a senior citizens exercise class going on the other side. I feel like that's who I want to be when I'm older: getting out, being active. I love seeing older people taking care of themselves and staying active.

Yesterday morning, Miles and I got there a little early. After I left the gymnastics room, I went to sit at my usual table -- only this time I'd brought a book. The older folks who were already there before their instructor were walking laps around the gym. As one woman walked by I smiled and said to her, "That's what I should be doing, walking." She immediately said, "Well come on!" and waved me over. I couldn't resist. It was just one of those moments you feel is going to be special, or you're going to make some kind of connection with a stranger.

Within minutes, Amelia and I were talking about our lives and our experiences. We were laughing and sharing stories as if we had known each other for years. I'm not sure how many laps we took around that gym, but we had to have walked for at least 20 minutes. I learned that Amelia is a retired first-grade teacher. She had to retire a little early because of health issues, but you would never know she has issues with her energetic walking and her joyful spirit. I had such a feeling of joy the entire time we shared with one another. It was one of those moments that feels so blessed by God, even though I'm not sure why.

The instructor arrived and we had to say goodbye -- meaning that Amelia had to go and start other exercises and I had to go and sit back down at my table and wait for Miles. It had only been a short time, but this woman and I shared a hug and a smile and expressed how nice it had been to talk. Next week I'll make sure to wear my walking shoes again.

Wishing Everyone...

a very Merry Christmas and the happiest of New Years!

The LORD bless you and keep you;
the LORD make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you;
the LORD turn his face toward you and give you peace.
~ Numbers 6:24-26

Joy That Needs Sharing

Casey mentioned to me yesterday how much better I seem to be doing emotionally since 'the news'. I guess I had noticed as well, but if he's noticing then something really must be happening. It hasn't been a month yet and I feel I'm covering so much healing ground. Sure, at first I was taking one step forward and then five steps back...but slowly it was two steps forward and one step back, and so on.

After traveling down at least a couple different roads of grief this year regarding my infertility, and of course having had grief over several different things in the past few years stemming from one main source, I am finally learning that grief is neither seamless nor is it linear. It happens the way it happens, and it is different for all of us. And so I didn't know exactly how my grief over this would look, or how long it would last. Sometimes it looked...well, not very pretty. And as far as how long it will last? I still shed my tears over it, but those moments are much fewer and farther between.

But something...something has really happened inside me lately. And I hadn't looked at it closely until Casey's comment to me yesterday. I've not only had a sort of leveling out of my emotions, but I'm beginning to go beyond that and really do more. I'm getting back into exercising, which makes a huge difference in one's emotional state. I have more energy (that might partly be my hypothyroid medicine), and I have a real want to get out and live life instead of just being.

Today it really hit me. I took Miles to the park to pull his wagon around in the warm, gorgeous sunshine on this November day. We were both smiling, he was having his lunch and I was listening to my iPod...and I realized that God has not only brought me through something devastating, but he has worked in me to make me stronger than I have been and felt in a very long time. Tears of joy and gratitude welled up in my eyes, and I looked back at my sweet Miles and we laughed together over something silly. I begged God to let me hold on to that feeling, that glimpse of heaven and its pure perfection. Even as I share this now I can tell you that He has graciously filled my cup to overflowing.

Praise God for warm fall days, precious little boys, and brightness after a long, dark road.

Even Though

I read some verses in Habakkuk yesterday morning that I wanted to share. Especially in times like these, I want to absorb God's promises into my skin and let them flow all through me.

Even though the fig trees have no blossoms, and there are no grapes on the vine; even though the olive crop fails, and the fields lie empty and barren; even though the flocks die in the fields, and the cattle barns are empty, yet I will rejoice in the Lord! I will be joyful in the God of my salvation. The Sovereign Lord is my strength! He will make me as surefooted as a deer and bring me safely over the mountains. ~Habakkuk 3:17-19

The News

Yesterday afternoon, Casey and I got the phone call that could have changed our family in a big way. Instead we were left grieving, knowing that the two embryos that were transferred less than two weeks ago had not implanted as we'd hoped. The test was negative.

I won't lie, this is an extremely tough time for both of us. There is so much invested in IVF besides money...so much time, physical and emotional energy. It has taken so much out of us, and to be told at the end that there will be nothing to show for your efforts is seriously gut-wrenching.

I wanted to thank everyone who supported us, prayed for us, encouraged us...it meant so much more than you know. As of now, we don't know where exactly we'll go from here. But because of the emotional toll this has taken, I might choose to share much less or nothing at all until we have some positive news at last.

What I know for sure is this: even though we don't understand why some things happen the way they do, we are convinced of Romans 8:28 which says, "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him..."

Where is the good in this pain? It's very hard to see right now, but I am asking God to show us and to work in it for good, for his glory.

Hurting

It's something I've been preparing for, and have already met, along this road to IVF. It is called ignorance, and I have dealt with it in different ways so far. Today I'm addressing it on my blog, because today I received an anonymous comment that, although the person who left it may have thought they were being helpful, only left me hurting. I usually delete negative anonymous comments, but I wanted to share this one.

When I've shared my experiences and tried very hard to get across what Casey and I are dealing with emotionally in all of this, one of my priorities is to help others understand. And until I've gone through your exact trials and sufferings, I will never know exactly how you feel. The same is true the other way around. Now, there are certainly other women who have suffered infertility and can relate much better to my emotions. What I'm trying to do is help everyone else understand. I think that's a big part of all of our lives: we want to be understood.

But when someone comes along who only knows a portion of the information, mostly because the rest of it hasn't been shared, and makes assumptions on that information and then tells you what they think about that...well, that can hurt. And I wasn't going to share this, but the comment that was left anonymously today hurt me deeply. It actually had a physiological effect on me. My heart was racing, my hands were shaking. In fact, my heartbeat is still going a little too fast. I started typing a response and left the computer to cry on Casey's shoulder.

Please, please...before you leave a comment (especially an anonymous one), ask yourself something: "Do I really know everything this person has been through or is going through? Do I have all the facts?" And here's the most important one: "Do I know what is in their heart?"

I don't know for certain if the anonymous person really knows everything I've been through and am going through, but my guess is they don't. I do know that they don't have all the facts. There are people we see on a regular basis who don't even have all the facts, and that's simply because we don't share them. And I can tell by the comment -- and you should be able to tell by my reaction to the comment -- that the anonymous person does not know what is in my heart.

The comment reads:

I simply wonder why, with your overall health and the status of your reproductive system, you don't say "It is not in God's plan, nor is it good for my body, for me to have more children?" I would dare say that it costs less to adopt a child than to pay for IVF.

If you're wondering whether the comment made me angry, it did. I don't think I would be human if I didn't feel anger. But overwhelmingly the feeling was more of hurt than anger.

As far as my overall health goes, it is actually very good. In fact, a couple of weeks ago I played two straight games of ultimate frisbee while carrying my three-year-old on my back. Yes, running. Yes, catching and throwing and scoring goals. With people 15 years younger than me. I've had more than one doctor tell me that I am 'very healthy,' and this was even in the midst of some of my major abdominal surgeries in the past few years.

The status of my reproductive system...I've shared many, many times that both of my fallopian tubes were blocked. Besides that, everything works perfectly fine! That's one of the reasons it's so frustrating for us in having to go through IVF to have more children, because if that one minor thing was okay we'd be fine! After all, we had no trouble getting pregnant the first time before my tubes became blocked. And in fact, the reason thousands upon thousands of women use in vitro fertilization is because of 'tubal occlusion.' Contrary to popular belief, IVF is not the most sought-out way to get pregnant. It's what we avoided as long as we felt we could, even when we were told nearly a year ago that we should proceed with IVF. Also, I recently met with a high-risk doctor -- a maternal-fetal specialist -- and he told me that I was an excellent candidate for IVF because of my age and my health and other factors.

One of my points here is that Casey and I are not at all going into this process lightly. I would say that anyone who does must not realize what they're getting into. Also, with all of the many, many tests that are given beforehand, and the talks one must go through with the doctors must tell you that they do not let you go into this lightly. If my doctor thought my body couldn't handle this, he would tell me. He's had a woman with severe Crohn's Disease go through IVF successfully. The body is an amazing thing and can handle a lot (trust me!), but if anyone thought this wasn't a good idea they would let me know. And Casey would be the first to stand in my way if he thought the risk was too high.

As far as whether it is in God's plan for us to have more children, I don't know. Have I had a sense of what he wants in this? No. Have I been prayerful about it? Yes. I think a big part of God's plan for me -- for everyone -- is to love him with all my heart, mind, soul and strength and to love my neighbor as myself. That I know for sure. But try telling a woman who has no children that it might be in God's plan for her to never have a child. I certainly won't.

I think adoption is a beautiful thing. I know people who have adopted children, I have friends who have been adopted. It's beautiful. And it isn't something we've never talked about, it's just that for us it was a further-down-the-road topic, if one at all. And I could be wrong on this, but it's possible that adoption would cost more than twice what we're paying for IVF. Don't quote me on that, but I have seen some numbers.

If you could get inside my head, my heart, my emotions to search out why I long so much to have another child, I don't think you'd find the exact answer. God instilled that longing in me, and so I know it is a good thing. I strive to be a godly woman, and I found an amazing spiritual leader in the man I call my husband. He helps keep me grounded, helps set the tone for calm in our home. I may have -- like we all do in our youth -- some silly things without first thinking of the consequences. This path we have prayerfully chosen, this process called IVF, is not one of those things.

More from Holy Experience

I've pointed to this blog before, long ago, but Ann Voskamp at Holy Experience never ceases to draw me in with her words and ponderings on The Word and what it is doing in her heart. She always finds a way to motivate me, and sadly I haven't kept up with her blog for quite some time. I think the last time I was reading it on a daily basis was right before Miles was born.

I wanted to share one particular post, where Ann speaks of journaling as a spiritual discipline. Her suggestions are very simple but very helpful. I hope you are able to draw from this as well and use it to grow closer to God. Click here to read the post.

Love in Real Life

Last night's 20/20 episode focused on medical mysteries, and all were interesting stories. The one that touched me most, though, and brought tears to my eyes, was about a woman who had been struck with a debilitating disease which locked up her muscles just days before her wedding. That was three years ago, and she and her fiance are now finally beginning to get help since her recent diagnosis. Read more and watch the story here.

I didn't cry because this was such a sad story. I didn't cry because the woman fell ill right before her wedding. My tears came because of the love and steadfastness of the man who is still by her side, because that's what I have had for myself from the beginning. These were tears of knowing -- not that I have known suffering to the extent that she has, but I know what it's like to be very ill just days before my own wedding and the fear that comes with not knowing what is wrong.

Just eleven days before mine and Casey's wedding, I had a huge flare. Of course, at the time we didn't call it a 'flare' because we didn't know yet that I had Behcet's Disease. I'd had symptoms for over a year, and my doctor had been working on a diagnosis but he still had not been able to pinpoint anything for certain. What he needed was what happened: an all-out crazy flare that affected me head to toe. We're talking conjunctivitis, lesions (on my face), ulcers coating the inside of my mouth and throat, ulcers in my stomach, a rash covering my legs, and a fever of 105.2 (complete with hallucinations).

That was all well and good for the diagnosis, but I had just over a week until my wedding! Talk about throwing us for a loop. And it's not like Casey and I had been together very long. He had known me for less than two years, had been dating me for less than one year, and we'd been engaged for nearly four months. If you saw lesions on your fiance's face, isn't there a possibility you would want to turn and run?

But that wasn't Casey. He loved me despite all the scariness of the unknown, despite the fact that he didn't even know what might be wrong with me. He loved me..."for better or worse, in sickness and in health" weren't even words he had declared in the presence of God and our families, yet he was living it right there in that hospital room.

We've talked in the past few years about how easy that time seems compared to 2006, and I once asked Casey if he still would have stayed had he known how much harder it would get. His answer was a smile and an immediate "of course."

The best part? I already knew what his answer would be. He lives it every day.