And Yet.

As a child, I was the picture of an old soul. I longed to be a grown-up. Some kids couldn't wait to just make it to 16; I was day-dreaming of college course plans, career paths and buying a house. And in that house, I would have a husband and a beautiful bunch of kids. I was that little girl, who carried around ragged, worn pages of her future children's names. When I met my husband, and I saw those blue eyes and that curly hair, I would let my mind wander into the what-if of our future together. Tiny brunettes with bouncing curls and infectious laughs. A girl first, and then maybe a boy. Would we have two? Maybe three or even four! Over the years the specifics of my grand life plan changed as I  did the same, but one steady element was those children. 

When we decided to start "trying" for a baby (by the way, I hate that phrase), there was never a thought in my mind that it wouldn't happen according to plan. In fact, we had planned that start date strategically. I read books. I researched. I was in the best shape of my life. I was prepared!  All was now supposed to fall into place. So, we waited. And waited. I began to dread that one year mark of trying. A clinical definition of infertility is 12 months of actively trying without pregnancy. It seemed such a heavy word and one I wasn't ready to face. I coped with attempts at control. I charted temperatures, I used every prediction kit on the shelves, I obsessed. And I did it all in quiet. As illogical as it may seem, the entire thing carried a sense of shame. I silently wondered if I was broken.

Well-meaning friends and family would ask all the time about our plans for children. They'd ask what we were waiting for, or some even teased that we were lucky to get a full nights sleep and not have to deal with diapers and spit-up and all that. And every word was a twist of the knife. They didn't know; how could they? We told only a handful of people, and even to them I worked to keep a facade of light-heartedness about the whole thing.

We marked two years of trying to get pregnant in August of 2013. I could write for pages about what went on during that period, but I think it's easiest to suffice it as 24 months of cyclical hope, anxiety, disappointment & sadness, marked with frustration at my lack of control. The harder I tried to hold onto the pieces of my life, the more they shifted - Jon struggled with finding a job, friendships were strained, we lost love ones, we closed the doors to our business.

And yet (isn't that just like God? I think those two words sum up so much of His character) there was good. I don't exactly know when, but at some point during this journey, the tiny seed of adoption was planted in my heart. I kept it to myself, unsure of what Jon might think. When I finally worked up the courage to tell him, I breathed a sigh of relief as he met my timid words with a soft smile and an "Okay then". We would talk casually about it over the following months, and congruently God began to place people and stories in my way that grew my general thought into a genuine and specific desire, one for waiting children in foster care. We agreed to go to an informational meeting for Foster and Adoption put on by the state. Area agencies take turns hosting these meetings and Gladney happened to be the host at the one we attended. My heart broke a little more with each statistic they told us, and we left a little more determined to do something, but left it at that.

Meanwhile, I underwent a battery of fertility tests, each one coming back with "normal". When the last test was scheduled, our doctor explained that if it proved untelling, our next option should be considering more invasive methods of trying to conceive. Those came with a hefty price tag and only a marginal improvement of our odds. When the final results were in, again carrying that seemingly benign word "normal", our doctor asked us when we wanted to schedule the next phase. I am so thankful that when it came time to discuss it, Jon and I arrived at the same answer: we don't. A few weeks later, in April of this year, we sat in a church service as my dad talked about fear vs faith. He gave everyone a piece of paper and asked us to write down one thing that we knew we needed to actively choose faith over fear, and I knew there was only one word that needed to go on that page. Adoption. There were a million logical reasons to not proceed. It's hard. These kids are hurting. We don't know how to be parents. Will we have enough money? Every roadblock I could come up with led back to one source: selfishness & fear. My mom likes to say, "you can't not know what you know", and at that moment I knew that I couldn't let that dissonance continue, knowing what I know about these kids and choosing not to act in the way I knew we were being called. The following day we contacted Gladney for our application. The rest, as they say, is history.

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I left out many details in the recounting above, but I don't think it matters. All of that is just the groundwork for what I need to say. We kept quiet for so long about every part of that journey, and if we continue to do so and give you only the shiny, pretty parts, that will only serve to bring a false glory to ourselves. He doesn't waste a story, and I don't want to either. So here is the honest, raw truth.

I am beyond excited to grow our family through adoption. I do have times of great peace. But, I still struggle. There are days when hot tears still rise to my eyes as I consider the possibility of never having the biological children I once dreamed of. I get angry when I dwell on the thought of "unexplained infertility", almost wishing they'd just would just diagnose away my hope. The unknowing feels harder. I feel guilt, sometimes, wondering if I'll ever be satisfied as a mother. I feel scared that I won't be up to the challenge of parenting a hurt child. I waiver between hope and trust. Those seem like they would be interchangeable, but not always.

The Bible is chock-full of the earnest prayers of barren women. They long for God to fill their empty wombs, and He comes through in miraculous ways, bringing forth children that would change the course of the nation of Israel and eventually pave the way for the Messiah himself. But I find myself not taking full solace in their stories, because you know what? God hasn't promised me a child, at least not biologically. Do I hope and know that He is big enough to do the impossible, if He wills it so? I want to. Or do I trust Him enough to find peace in a closed door, thereby silencing my petitions for a biological child? In some way I feel like these two pull against each other. Stop asking in peace or pray fervently in hope. Some days I pray he'll just remove my desire for a biological child altogether.

And here we are at Christmas, when we focus in on the baby who changed the world. And we talk about what it must be like to have been Mary, to shush and rock the Hope of Nations into slumber. I think, though, that I forget an important element of this story. Though a savior was prayed for, this baby to these parents was not. Mary's motherhood did not come after years of hope and disappointment and prayer and petition. She wasn't looking or praying expectantly for a child. And yet, she was chosen. And yet, He came.

The book of Luke begins the nativity narrative by contrasting Elizabeth's struggle with infertility and subsequent miraculous pregnancy and Mary's equally miraculous virgin conception. The reason Gabriel gives for  Mary's selection? "You have found favor with God." And when Mary asks what I'm sure was an astonished, "How?", the angel concludes his response with "For nothing is impossible with God." The NIV puts it beautifully saying, "For no word from God will ever fail."

 

"And Mary said, “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.”

Mary wasn't looking for a miracle. She was just looking at Him. She wasn't asking, or even ready, to be a mother, but she was poised to be a servant.

My heart is naturally inclined to the prayers of Sarah, Elizabeth and Hannah. But I want to desire to pray the words of Mary. To want to be His servant more than I want to be served. To be so focused on Him that my strongest hope is not for a baby, or a smooth adoption, but that I would simply make much of Him. I'm not there yet, y'all. Mary had so little control. Her situation made this scenario impossible, even scandalous. Fear would've been a wholly natural response. But y'all, this was His story, and He is in the business of the "And yet."

Yesterday, at church, we discussed the story of His birth, and wondered at the impossible grace of a human-born savior. We sang these words, "Mild He lays his glory by, born that man no more may die..." In the most innocent, exposed and vulnerable way He came to us. He put aside His glory, so that we would give it back to Him. The gifts he desires from us aren't Frankencense and Myrh, but instead reflections of what He's already given us.  And the thought hit me, that instead of asking for Him to remove the desire, maybe He's simply asking me to lay it down.  Author and speaker Paul Tripp has a saying:
"A desire for a good thing becomes a bad thing when that desire becomes a ruling thing." (Hagar, anyone?)
Children are good. Motherhood is so good. Biblically good! But when my desire for anything other than Him begins to rule my emotions and move my faith barometer, things are in need of realignment. I have learned that this is rarely a once-and-done transaction. My relationship with Him ebbs and flows and I know I will return to this particular altar again and again. And though I have not been given specific promises of a child, I have been given many, many more throughout His word. May Gabriel's words stay fresh in my heart: No word from God will ever fail.

May I be found in favor with Him. Despite my flaws, failures and recurring doubts and questions, may my story read "And yet." When I am shown His will, may my response echo the heart of Mary, "I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word."

Merry Christmas.

(A little PS - I am not pining for your sympathies, and I know good and well that there are those who have suffered and struggled so much greater than I. This is simply an honest outpouring of my thoughts & feelings. I hesitated so long in writing this post because I do not like to be the center of attention. These are fresh feelings, so please handle with care. :) )