When dreaming of teak pergolas...

The smell of this crisp northern Minnesota air is changing as the summer is progressing.  Today it's raining and I can smell the promise of Fall.  Big changes might be coming for us in the next few months, the biggest one obviously being a possible pregnancy.  We also might begin the transfer process to another part of the state. 

Though we don't even know if we'll be moving, I've already begun the list in my head of all the things I'll do differently in my life, my house, my garden.  The list actually began shortly after we moved into this house when we realized how much space around us we actually NEED.  I'm not talking, "Oh, we've got so much stuff that we need a bigger house."  It's more like I-can't-look-out-any-window-of-my-house-without-looking-directly-into-my-neighbor's-living-room, kind of need for space.  I can't stand it, and the idea of living on 30 wooded acres with a possible river running through the property just sends me into an ethereal daydream I don't want to leave. 

It's hard to look at my life, my surroundings, and not think about all the ways that it could be better.  No 100+ year-old paint chipping off of doorframes and floors that have needed to be resurfaced since 1995, but maybe a back deck framed in a Teak pergola woven with wisteria and paper lanterns.  No more, "My back lawn isn't grass at all, it's just a dense ground-cover WEED," but maybe a rolling grassy lawn with a big maple tree in the middle where there's a swing and a treehouse with a collapsable ladder and a mounted telescope for late-night, mid-summer star gazing.

 

Doesn't that sound fantastic?  I can get caught up in it so easily, we all can.  "Keeping up with the Jones'", comparing our lives to others and what they have that we want, or even being motivated to work out harder because you'd like to have the abs of the girl on the Zumba video (guilty here of all counts, by the way).

But I was challenged many years ago, when we first started our journey of 'why-isn't-what-I-want-happening-yet', by my mother who asked me what pain I'd like to have instead.  Instead of complaining about the difficulites in my life, studying my discontent and basically telling God that He's not quite handling my life very well, that perhaps I should see my struggle in a different light.

Would I switch with someone else who was trudging through a different kind of pain?  Like perhaps the family on the news who's son disappeared from school.  His mom just hasn't been able to straighten the covers on her little boy's bed because he left it messy the last time she saw him- would I like to trade places with her?

So maybe the next time that my grief wants to swallow me whole, or when my relationships seem to be just a bit disappointing, or that roll of fat just WON'T go away, I'll remember that it's not about me- not about what I want and what's not happening for me- and I'll pull up my boostraps once again and gratefully walk forward.  Even if it is just out into my weed infested, uneven, clay-packed backyard.

Maybe this isn't about me~

Three months ago Lee and I decided to pursue our final option in this whole twisted infertility journey.  As much as we've pursued treatments in the past, we never felt like we were dealing with a doctor that specialized in infertility, so that possibility was always out there, floating around. 

It's been interesting, balancing this infertility-stuff with already being a mom, wanting Jeremiah to always know what an incredible blessing he has been in our lives. His existence has made me what I've waited my whole life to become, Mommy.  He is more than we could've ever asked for in our firstborn.  That's what he is-our firstborn, even if he wasn't born from my womb. 

We've always wanted a few kids, and as much as we would like to adopt again, the desire to be pregnant has never gone away.

I kept hearing about a doctor from the Cities, specializing in infertility, who made monthly trips to a clinic here in Duluth. The recommendations to see him where persistent enough that I felt like if I didn't just go and see him I would never stop hearing about it. I was going to go and just check it off the list and close the door forever.

I wasn't prepared to have hope come ripping through our lives again.

The diagnosis: 10 minutes into our meeting with Dr. Corfman, we were diagnosed with a very common, and very treatable condition:  Poly cystic Ovarian Syndrome.  We left that meeting with the most calming sense of relief.  Finally, after 10 years, we actually knew what the problem was.

The plan: One month of birth control pills followed by 6 months of relatively easy treatments (a combination of ultrasounds and medications).  Dr. Corfman said he didn't think we would even need to see him again, that confident that our problems would be solved.

This new leg of the journey started in April, and four months into the process I've just finally been able to actually start the treatments.  A completely normal cyst appeared on one of my ovaries which delayed treatments by 3 months.  I cannot tell you how frustrating it was to feel, at long last, like we were able to step forward only to be halted in our tracks.  After 10 years you'd think 3 months would be no big deal, but I struggled, thinking, "Haven't we had to wait long enough?  Why another complication?"

Round 1 was unsuccessful, and again I'm struggling.  My long-waged war with hope has crept up on me again. The flip-side to hope being disappointment, of which I've tasted for so long that I feel silly for hoping at all.

"Tiffany, did you really think this was going to work? Haven't the last several years proved otherwise?"

"Aren't you satisfied with the child that you have?  Isn't that enough for you?  How ungrateful are you???"

It's ridiculous, and these things that I struggle with are LIES- I know that- but it's my process month after month x 120 months.

This is the time when all I have left is to go back to the basics. 

What is faith?

"Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see." (Hebrews 11:1 emphasis added)  
"And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him." (Hebrews 11:6)


 Hope and faith are tied together.  I cannot believe that God is able to do something and not hope that He will.  That was my biggest struggle for so many years- I believed that God could, but that
He wouldn't for me. 

Why? 

Because of past sin in my life? 

Because maybe I was just being used, like a puppet, for God to communicate some truth to the masses (that just might be paying attention to my life)? 

Because I am just... that... slow... in learning what God was wanting to teach me before this would be resolved?

Or how about this?  Maybe this isn't about me.........at all.  The selfish person in me says, "How cannot it NOT be about me?  It's MY pain!!"  

But what if the affects on me are important by-products but not the main goal? 

What if all these years of waiting are actually because of God's intricate, love-motivated plans for my children?  Maybe all these years of waiting are because there's a specific timing for when all my children are born. What they are going to accomplish, or give, or motivate, or change in the world is delicately woven into this great story that just hasn't started yet for the rest of them. 

Jeremiah's has- oh, does that boy have a story about the importance of his existence, of that I'm sure, and I cannot tell you what a privilege it is to be a vital part of it.  This time alone with Jeremiah, before any other children arrive, is vital to what God is going to accomplish in his life. 

So as I prepare myself to begin Round 2, I am readjusting my thinking.  I walk forward, knowing that God is not in the business of wasting time.  I continue to hope, embracing the disappointment if it should come, and believing that God is making beautiful things out of this whole story all along the way.

Empty places to fill

I'm a recent subscriber to (in)courage, a fantastic blog written by extraordinary women I hope to have the privilege of meeting someday.  One story in particular really spoke to me as I read how a woman suffered the loss of her baby at 18 weeks, enduring the labor and delivery of her stillborn daughter.

I almost couldn't read it, the pull to return to my dark and scary places so strong that I had to read bits at a time, forcing myself to stay in the present.  It was actually a really good exercise for me, to stay in the now, where I seem to be spending almost all of my time these days.  What a relief to feel like I'm on the other side of the hump able to make continual steps forward.  A year later and I finally feel like myself again.

Do you know what the most interesting part of this process has been?  I actually feel blessed to have suffered- it's the strangest thing.  If you had asked me a year ago if I felt like it was a privilege to watch my long-awaited miracle rip from my body I would have spiraled into the deep.  Looking back though, I can say I've never in my life experienced a season where I've been so raw and vulnerable before God.  Never have I been more bare, more naked of soul.  To finally understand that I don't need to always "feel" God's presence to trust that He is not only there, but active. 

Easter had special meaning for me, especially as I read Arianne's post.  We spent the morning together as a family, revelling in the memory-making with Jeremiah and I wondered if my grief has made me a better mother to him.  That if in the whole process I've been able to show him how to cling on for dear life, to wait patiently with hope (my longtime nemesis and now friend), to cherish every incredible moment and milestone, to fiercely fight through the dark and scary places, but most importantly how to love the God that we don't always understand. To let God mold, especially in the suffering. 

I've been searching for significance in this whole journey since it started, more focused on how my desire would eventually be fulfilled than on what God is doing in and around me.  To have made our life, our pain, our story "public" means that others are watching and waiting with us and I can't help but think of the disciples after Jesus' crucifixion.  How their faith was tested when they had to see the God they believed in die, to wait while grieving their loss, to hope that loss wasn't the final chapter, to know that their process was so very public.  What must if have been like to see their broken hearts and yet their stubborn determination to see it through? 

So again my focus shifts and I cannot help but think of my incredible little boy, who is sponging up more of my life than I'm aware of and the incredible privilege it is to have him with us.  What I want Jeremiah to believe about God has to be lived out in my own life and with that I will continue to step forward.

So be truly glad. There is wonderful joy ahead, even though you have to endure many trials for a little while. These trials will show that your faith is genuine. It is being tested as fire tests and purifies gold—though your faith is far more precious than mere gold. So when your faith remains strong through many trials, it will bring you much praise and glory and honor on the day when Jesus Christ is revealed to the whole world.

1Peter 6-7

*I've been motivated to make my blog a bit more interactive and with that I pose this question:  Are YOU waiting for something?  Perhaps you're trudging your way through your own dark and scary place- tell me your story!

Knots and Tangles

My life was changed a few weeks ago. Not anything drastic or really noticeable from the outside. I still throw my hair up in a ponytail far more than I'd like to (no glamour mommy, here), still haven't cleaned under my refrigerator since we installed it, can't bring myself to wear socks to bed even though my feet are always freezing , and only moved the Christmas garland from the porch railing to the porch floor 3 weeks AFTER Christmas. All of those things are the same as they've ever been for me.

My heart on the other hand, is different.

I met with a friend of mine at the beginning of December. 2009 was a difficult year for both of our families and I get a ton of comfort from sharing that with her. I am understood, no talking necessary. A few days before we met for coffee I had come to a startling realization while doing the dishes. Why that's thinking-time for me, I don't know, but monotony produces introspection. I was rinsing plates and loading them into the dishwasher when I stopped midstream, water dripping onto my toes when I thought: In all my beliefs of God's sovereignty and goodness, I realized that although I believed God COULD bless us with a healthy pregnancy I didn't believe that He WOULD.

For some reason I believed that it was my destiny to live in perpetual grief and unfulfilled desire just so God could show that He was in charge and I wasn't going to get my way.

When I told my friend this, it almost felt like a confession and saying it out loud was relieving. Doubt had been harbored in my mind and heart for the entire year and I finally leaked it out. I wasn't depressed by my admission, but it didn't feel like acceptance either- it was just out. Even though some relief came, it didn't feel like truth. Honesty perhaps, but not truth.

Not 3 days later our pastor preached about hope. I sighed and groaned internally throughout the message- not because I didn't like it, oh no, because it pierced me through and through.

A few days later I received a mailing from Chip Ingram's ministry, Living on the Edge. This is how it read:

Dear Tiffany,


NEED HOPE?---------------------> Romans 5:1-5


What do you do when you get discouraged? When everything in you just wants to give up, throw in the towel, or just flat out cry?


I have found that discouragement births in my thinking. Proverbs 23:7 says, "As a man thinks, so he is." The gate to your heart is your mind. What you allow yourself to believe about your circumstances may be the most important decision you make every day.


So what if you viewed your present circumstances- whether painful or pleasant- through the lens of God's wisdom? What would it do for your soul? Your emotions?


Get HOPE-------------------------> Romans 11:33-36



Hope comes when we choose to look at all of life through the lens of God's wisdom. The wisdom of God tells us that He will bring about the best possible results by the best possible means, for the most possible people, for the longest possible time.

Ever have those times where God communicates so clearly that you almost feel like an idiot because how obvious He makes it? I've known all along that the experience of this last year is full of meaning and purpose, that nothing goes to waste if I keep myself open to what God is doing. What I hadn't grasped was that the experience of this last year is God's PERFECT means to His PERFECT ends. If there was a calmer, gentler, more loving way of accomplishing whatever He's doing, THAT would have been my reality. I cannot tell you how many times I asked, "This way, God? Could there not have been a different way?"

But no, there could not, and I cannot be angry with him anymore. I cannot possibly understand how this all works together and therefore cannot tell him how to do it differently. I'm seeing knots and tangles, places where the yarn has been torn and retied, frayed a bit in some places, like-new in others. What I know is that God promises redemption-when I will see in full what He did with my life.

Have you ever come on anything quite like this extravagant generosity of God, this deep, deep wisdom? It's way over our heads. We'll never figure it out.

Is there anyone around who can explain God?
Anyone smart enough to tell him what to do?
Anyone who has done him such a huge favor that God has to ask his advice?
Everything comes from him;
Everything happens through him;
Everything ends up in him.
Always glory! Always praise!
Yes. Yes. Yes.
Romans 11:33-36

To Hope for Bliss~

I survived November 7th. Approaching like a giant tidal wave, my original due date scared the living crap out of me. I kept thinking these last few months, "If I'm at least pregnant again by the time my first due date comes, then it will be at least a bit easier". I don't know why I expected any of this process to be made easier, but I guess I kind of thought that God would buffer the continuous blows along the way. I wasn't asking for it to become easy; there is no way that it could have been, but perhaps without the bitter sting of scraping along the gritty bottom. I felt that if I could at least just live with my head above water for a bit I could SEE the place I would finally be marooned. But as each blow came I was pulled under, swirled around, and left sputtering and gasping for air, relief, peace.


A friend began to pray Psalm 91 for me knowing what was coming my way, asking God to tuck me under His wings and let the storm pass over me, that I would be sheltered, protected, and possibly even comforted. Intensity grew with each day that passed, finally peaking the day my friend delivered her baby due the same time mine was. Weeping into Lee's arms I kept asking, "Why did it have to be this way? Why? Why like this?" And even as I wept for my babies, my disappointment, my absolute brokenness, I knew what God was asking me to do.


Let it go.

No more should've-beens, no more what-ifs, no more whys, AND go to the hospital to visit this brand new baby girl, something that I had already decided months ago that I wasn't going to be able to do. I still don't understand why God keeps asking me to do these really hard things, why I feel like I'm under constant demolition and construction. I understand that suffering produces all these incredible qualities, but was I really that bad to start off with that I required this much character-producing heartache?


A few Sundays ago a drama video played during the service where "God" took a hammer and chisel to this guy to shape and mold, blah blah. All the while this video played and I heard the "tink-tink" of the chisel and I couldn't help but think how inaccurate the drama was. Maybe for that guy it was as simple as "tink-tink" here, and "tink-tink" there with a little "Ooh, ouch that hurts", but nothing about these last several years (this one in particular) has felt anything like a chisel. How about a wrecking ball? Explosives? THAT I'd like to see in a drama.

So as I prepared to go to the hospital I was expecting to be shattered once again. But an interesting thing happened as I made my way to my friend's room........I was okay. I didn't even have to stuff it or pretend; I was actually okay and not once while I was there did I think that I should've been across the hall in my own room. Walking the hall with Jeremiah toward the elevator, a hospital volunteer bent down, greeted him and asked if she could give him a trick-or-treat bag. For some reason being able to share that moment with Jeremiah, where his eyes got huge when he squeaked out a humble, "Sank-ooo!" (thank you), was a sweet time when I wondered if the whole time at the hospital was going to be torturous. I loved that it ended up being a fun, meaningful time for not only me and Jeremiah, but for me and my friend as well.

Holding her baby was healing for me, ending the anticipation of something I thought was going to be excruciating. Not once while I held her did I have to say, "This is not my baby." I had already held a newborn after my loss and I can't tell you why that helped me, but it did. So as I left the hospital I felt undeniable relief. A promising sense considering how I had spent the last several months. I only hoped it would continue through my due date.

And wouldn't you know? It did. Not a sense of bliss, certainly not, but breathing room in the noose I've been wearing. Is it possible that I'm on my way out of "The Great Sadness", like is described in The Shack? Like I mentioned in my last post, I've been at odds with myself in how to approach this season of silence with God. Tempted to escape it all and satisfy whatever I feel like satisfying and then wanting to stick it out to prove myself faithful, desiring to put myself into God's good graces. I just want it to be made right, I want to walk in success- even if it's just for a while. I want this all to mean something beyond the promise of personal growth.

O Lord, come back to us! How long will you delay?
Take pity on your servants!
Satisfy us each morning with your unfailing love,
so we may sing for joy to the end of our lives.
Give us gladness in proportion to our former misery!
Replace the evil years with good.
Let us, your servants, see you work again;
let our children see your glory.

And may the Lord our God show us his approval
and make our efforts successful.
Yes, make our efforts successful! (Psalm 90:13-17)

So I guess I stick it out and wait for God to make it right, for my years of suffering to be replaced with years of bliss (can I be so bold as to hope for bliss?), for the days and days upon days upon years of emotional and spiritual construction to be fruitful, successful and with much-awaited approval from God.

I have a moment of peace right now. It's naptime, freshly baked ginger snap cookies are cooling on the countertop, and pandora.com is soothing me with ballads from the likes of Allison Krauss and Patty Griffin.

This is the only moment of peace I've had so far today. It's been a day full of pain and I'm so very exhausted but I find that my desire to write has finally returned after a several month hiatus. Depleted beyond words I've had nothing to say. Nothing intelligible, anyway, as the tides of continuous grief have swept over and over again. We lost another baby in July and the following two months were consumed with almost insurmountable anger. I do not ever want to experience pain like this again. My faith has been bloodied and I've begun to live in expectation of grief rather than joy. I expect pain rather than blessings and am not sure what to do with that. I'm disappointed that this is what I've become and wonder just exactly what God thinks of me.

But even as I write words come to me, "He remembers that we are dust". So now I'm going to Google that to find the full passage...

Here we go:
The LORD is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love.
He will not always accuse, nor will he harbor his anger forever; he does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities.
For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.
As a father has compassion on his children, so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him;
for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust (Psalm 103:8-14).

My prayer lately is that I would be able to experience God's love in a tangible way rather than His seemingly painful sovereignty. I'm still waiting and wondering how much of my own junk is getting in the way. I can see God's love in all the "generic" ways- job, home, health, etc. But is it okay to say that right now I want more? Sometimes I even feel entitled to it, like God has to give in order to make right what went so wrong this year. So here I am, dust, having entitlement issues. THAT, I feel, is my biggest hurdle. When did I start feeling like I deserved anything good? But when has God ever been in the business of treating people as they deserved, whether good or not?

I find myself vascillating between the behavior of the brothers in the parable of the prodigal son. Wanting what I want when I want it, I storm away and pretend that what I'm pursuing is going to replace not only my desire but being in close relationship with the father. Other times I sit in my disappointed entitlement and can't believe why God wouldn't honor my obedience, my years of doing what was "right", my faithfulness. But both are on my terms, aren't they? I know I'm not supposed to be either brother, but what I'm supposed to be is elusive at best.

So I'll eat my fresh cookies, perhaps even make myself another pot of coffee, and continue to pray that God shows me what in the world to do with myself all the while hoping this precious moment of peace will carry me through the rest of the day.

The hand that holds the needle~

Three months have passed since losing the baby and I felt like I was off to a good start, acting as though I had this grieving thing down and could just blast through the process. I have failed miserably at doing that, however, and have spent far too much time than I would've liked in the dark and scary places. I don't know if I'm past it yet, but really hate who I am in it so am eager to move, to breathe without the pressure in my chest, to look up into people's eyes and smile like I mean it. I'm lonely, but don't want anyone around.

It seems that all that was safe and dependable has been lost and I'm fighting the urge to start over completely in an entirely different place. My grief will follow me, that I know, but the things in my life that are like big, sharp, chunky, grains of salt in my wound will not face me every day, tempting me to destroy my relationships, my ability to be involved with anything church-related, and satisfaction with my life as it sits today.

I want the last nine years to have meant something. There are days when I feel like I'm back to square one and all the lessons I learned about waiting patiently for my desire to be fulfilled, loving others who are being blessed while I still wait, being content with the here and now, are not applicable anymore. I know they should have prepared me for this time but I wonder how well I actually, if at all, learned. I'm no longer grieving a desire, but a person who I loved so very much and never got to know. Time, I've decided, and space from all that obligates me, seems to be the only solution. Things I've been involved with over the last few months are slowing down and clearing from my plate and I am not replacing them with anything. Almost like God is saying, "Tiffany...............stop. Stop everything." I'm fighting the urge to reply...."Why? What do YOU want? I don't really want to talk to you right now."

But I sense there are some things that need to be said, some tending-to in the really raw places and as much as I don't want to spend time dissecting my pain I long for the peace that comes afterward. It's like digging around to get that sliver out all the while squirming against the process.

"Hold still so I can get it out."
"Nooo, it hurts!"
"I know it does, sweetheart, but the sooner we get it out the sooner you'll feel better."
And at long last relief comes, trust restored and confirmed in the hand that held the needle. I'm praying God's grace and mercy to cover my life. Praying that I begin to have more good days than bad. Praying that God gives me what I am completely lacking, that I wouldn't be interested in trying to do this alone, that my heart would soften towards Him and what He's obviously doing in my life. Praying for endurance to do this whole waiting thing again, for strength to resist the downward pull into yucky places, for joy to return.


"God wants the combination of his steady, constant calling and warm, personal counsel in Scripture to come to characterize us, keeping us alert for whatever he will do next. Oh! May the God of green hope fill you up with joy, fill you up with peace, so that your believing lives, filled with the life-giving energy of the Holy Spirit, will brim over with hope!" (Romans 15:4, 13 The Message)