Hello My Lovely

I had said goodbye to you. Kissed your sweet cheeks and tucked you in tight in the cradle of my heart. The fabric that I had bought so many years ago to make your first blanket has been stored away. The thought of diapers and bottles, onesies and rattles was pushed far into the recesses of my mind. And yet....

I haven't thought about your name in ages. I haven't dwelled on hearing your heartbeat for the first time. I haven't devised plans of telling my family and friends of your sweet coming. I had let that go. And yet.....

And yet, you still pulled on the strings of my soul. I still ever faintly heard your cry. My arms still ached to nestle you close, breath in your baby smell, and rock you to sleep. But I tried still to let you go and just thought I had. And yet.....here you are.

Hello my lovely. With your quick beating heart and you already full cheeks. I cannot wait to meet you!

I know you're likely shocked, dear reader. As am I. I'll be filling you in a bit more as we go, but cannot contain my excitement and wanted to introduce you to the soon-to-be latest member of our family: our first baby! We're working in a private adoption and this is the ultrasound is a picture of my little lovely's face, with chubby little cheeks!

Five Minute Friday: View

Prompt: View

Go.

The sky is blue with your radiance. The sun shining through the small break in the clouds, what my love calls on the sucker-

punch in this climate of falling rain mixed with tears. The world is so broken, the pieces of hearts in shambles of broken dreams and misplaced prosperity. Our minds are war torn with the violence we see on TV and the poison that leaves our lips.

 And we wonder, when is it going to change? And I look at this sky and realize that the only way it can change is if we look at this view. If we stop our racing minds and constant travel and see this world for what you made it: beautiful. If we recognise that you are the only peacemaker and promise keeper. The beginning and the end. And I wonder, how can we ever think otherwise when surrounded by your glory? Lord let me be patient, basking in the beauty of this view.

Stop.

The fine print: So here's the deal. Five Minute Friday is a stellar little blog hop run by Lisa-Jo Baker who gives a one word prompt every Friday at 12 am EST. Then you run with it! No editing, no backtracking, just 5 minutes of pure writing. Then a little sharing of the love at the link up. So come on in, join up!

Going & Growing

I have this friend, whom I've never met, but I feel such a strong connection to her through her words. She's become an advocate in this road of infertility, and she does such a beautiful job using her thoughts and typed emotion to convey her heart. Her post today was absolutely beautiful, in the raw and open manner that we battle our fears, our doubts and our deepest desires and strongest wishes. She is a blessing in my life, and this past week, I've needed blessings.

I wrote on Friday about my need to run, and the therapy that it brought me that day. It seems as the days roll by and the minutes tick on I find myself wrapped in the web of altered thought and stress. My mind is pulled from where it needs to be-focused and centered-to where it is functioning on borrowed fumes and second hand thoughts. I am focused in a way that is only disparaging, and tears me down. But there is a reason for this. Twice this week, in my typically quiet little world, I've been called to emergency situations. Twice my heals have carried me to potential tragedy, and twice I've prayed my way there. Dear God, let them live. Dear God, let them be ok. Surround them in your love and peace, comfort them with your hand. I did not think initially that those prayers would be answered in the way that I had hoped. Praise God, they were. (And I no longer wear those shoes to work-two for two in those bad boys, they can take a break!)

I also find myself in a place I had long since given up on, a situation I had not pictured to be. A place where my joy and fear collide to the point that I'm not sure which is true emotion and which is the afterglow of a former memory. I find myself wondering if this is indeed by work of the Creator, or a situation I have comprised on my own-one that I pushed into fruition. Though by the nature of how it's fallen into my lap, I can only think that this is the ultimate path for my life, the one chosen for me before my dreams had ever began. I cannot go into this at much detail now, though I hope to fill you in in detail soon. Please just keep us in your thoughts and prayers.

As I have struggled this week, I have also faithfully risen each morning (not a small feat-mamma isn't a morning girl) and participated in an on-line bible study. We're working through the book of John, and today's section focused on the miraculous healing of the man at the pools of Bethesda. Jesus approached this man, a cripple for many years, and simply asked if he would like to walk. The man replied as we would think he would, and Jesus told him "Pick up your mat, and walk". Now this is pretty miraculous stuff-really the things of dreams-but Jesus was not praised by his fellow man, he was instead ridiculed for "working" on the Sabbath. I have to admit, I haven't been a huge fan of the book of John so far, I've had trouble really relating it to my life, probably because I've been so focused on other things right now and having a little issue really narrowing in on where I need to be. But I digress, I haven't really been digging John, but I read something pretty cool today.

As Jesus was being bullied by those around him, he simply stated that he was working for his father, and his father doesn't take a day off. Done. Sabbath rule, take that. God doesn't take a break, so bite me. Well, he probably didn't say that, but it makes me smile to think that maybe he thought it. It's true though, the father doesn't take a day off. He doesn't look down and say, "Well, sorry girl, you're on your own with that CPR, it's 5 o'clock somewhere and daddy's takin' a break." Thank God, he doesn't say that. But it puts things into perspective a bit, doesn't it? When he says he clothes the lilies of the valleys, so surely he'll meet my needs-that doesn't mean he'll only do it during business hours. When he says his mercies renew each day, he doesn't mean every day but Sunday. And when he sees my faith wavering, my fingers causing ripples in the pool as I turn away in anger that my prayers haven't been answered as I see fit, he doesn't walk on by, he asks if I want to get up and walk. When he sees that I've given up, he doesn't give up on me.


I haven't totally learned this yet. Though I know I've let go of so much of myself, so much that I've held tight because it was so deeply, so intimately mine, I know I haven't given it all. It's like walking on these stairs that seem to go on for miles with no end. And that's the thing with infertility, with loss, with pain and disappointment of any kind. We hold it so close, it is precious to us in the power that it holds over us, like Gollum and the ring. It is our focus, and more important than breath itself. And it is so, so hard to let go of. And even though I know that I need to, and even though I know that I've given so much of it up, the memories still linger. And the thing with memories is that they're easy to get lost in.

But I'm getting there. Weeks like this remind me of the lengths I still must walk. A walk that, thankfully, will not end until I see those golden streets. Thankfully because as I go, I grow, and as I grow, I understand the beauty of the grace that I receive daily.

What are you struggling with today? Or are you feeling blessed?

Five Minute Friday: Song

Prompt: Song.

Go.

I'm a bit behind on my Five Minute Friday post, things have been a bit nuts. If ever there was a bipolar week, it was this one. I had some of the greatest highs, and some of the all time lows that I've ever experienced in these last few days, and honestly finding the time to just sleep has been more important than blogging or social media. My soul has not found rest, and I have labored in toil.

Ruby, my ever faithful running buddy

Last night, when I got home, I had hit my breaking point. My back was knotted, my heart was heavy, and my eyes were tingling with the tears that just make me mad. Looking for solace I slipped on my running shoes, grabbed my iPod and faithful running companion, and hit the road. There is something about running that clears my mind. Even if I don't think about what it is that has been bothering me, some how the rhythmic padding of my feet on the trail or pavement works out the kinks in my neck and loosens the tightness in my spirit.

I need music when I run. It sets my pace and gets my mind off of the sound of my own breathing, so I set my iPod to shuffle and waited for something to propel me to peace. The first song that lit up my ear buds was clearly a message to my heart. As I took my first steps, my stride lengthened to How Great is Our God. He is great and powerful. He has the strength to take the burdens I was carrying, and he gave me the opportunity for an outlet. My ever-heavy breathing began to regulate as I took solace in the soothing words, and by the end of the song I was feeling more at peace.

 By the way, he next tune to slip it's way into my consciousness was Glamorous. That's right, Fergie, make a girl feel pretty. :) It's amazing how a song can change things.

Stop.

The fine print: Five Minute Friday is an awesome little blog hop created by Lisa-Jo Baker as just another way to help encourage the women of our world. Every Friday she posts a single word, a blog prompt, and you have five minutes to write with abandon-no edits, deletes or redos. Just write. Then you link up with other blogs and spread a little bloggy love!

Shalom

When I was growing up, we had this Pastor who was a bundle of life in a small package. Pastor Weaver was always quick with a smile, and had this peace about him that no one could match. One of the things I loved most about him was that any time he spoke to our congregation he started with a simple greeting: Shalom. I love this Hebrew word. Simply translated, it means "peace", but it's meaning goes far beyond that one word. In the Hebrew language, words often convey multiple meanings that emphasize not only the vocabulary but also an emotion or feeling, and shalom is no different. Sure it can be simple hello or goodbye, but it also encompasses a feeling of contentment, wholeness and completion. It isn't jus the feeling of peace, it is fully being at peace in your heart, your soul and your mind that can only come from the Prince of Peace.

For so many of us, shalom is not something we associate with Mother's Day.Here's the thing about Mother's Day-people often don't realize how incredibly devastating it can be. We see the flowers and the cards, Hallmark makes a bundle and all the restaurants in town rake it in on their Mother's Day brunch. The cable stations play non-stop movies about the joys of motherhood, and the jewelry stores have an add on every station. And what's not to love? Mothers are some of the hardest working people out there, from son up to son down and every second in between.

 But when you're not a mom, and your only wish in life is to be one-Mother's Day is the worst holiday of the year. It beats out all the Christmas firsts and Thanksgiving celebrations. It highlights exactly what you so desperately want and can't have. What makes it worse is that we are often the silent sufferers. Us girls don't typically shout our infertility or our loss from the rooftop, and as a result, people don't know what we're dealing with. So the comments, the lack of understanding, it all just digs the wound deeper. But it doesn't have to be that way.

This year, as you get ready to celebrate your mom, or the mothers in your life, show some compassion to those who so desperately would trade you places. Give an extra hug to the girl across the pew who is misty eyed at the toddler in the front row. Send an "I'm thinking of you" card to your sister or girlfriend who may have commented that they are trying to get pregnant. Pray for a cure for this monster, and pray for peace for the women who have lost children, or never held the desire of their hearts in their arms.

 And if you, like me, have never held your sleeping infant, or have gone through the unimaginable pain of losing a child, please know that you are in my thoughts and prayers. Shalom, dear sister, shalom.

Five Minute Friday: Comfort

It's that time again, Five Minute Friday! The time of week when I join up with Lisa-Jo Baker and some pretty incredible women, who write a post on a one word prompt. Here's the beauty of it: you only get five minutes, and no editing, cutting or deleting allowed! That's right, 5 minutes of pure writing. And the other great thing-you get to encourage other women! That's right, after you link up your post, you get to comb through other blogs and spread the encouragement. So here we are, and the word of the week is: Comfort

Go.

I remember the carpet, it was an old red and yellow Berber with brown flecks. I remember the dresser. It was brown and tall, with faux mother of pearl handles. I remember the small, four leg black bedside table with the alarm clock and dim lamp, but most of all, I remember giggling. When I was little my grandma lived with us for a few years, and miraculously, on nights when I couldn't sleep or had a bad dream and would head to the comfort of my parent's bed, grandma's light would always be on. So I would tiptoe down the dark hallway, past the bathroom and across from mom and daddy's room, and ease open the door to grandma's room.

She would look up from her Bible or Reader's Digest and her baby blue eyes would twinkle at me over the silver rims of her glasses. She'd throw back the quilt and usher me in, under the covers and into the comfort of her small bed. The smell of Avon perfume would wisp from her nightgown, and her dentures would grin at me from the cup of water on the nightstand. Then the magic would begin. She would start telling me stories, and regale me with tales of my grandpa, whom I never met, and how his baritone snore would keep her awake at night. And she'd always provide an example, filling the room with a roar of monumentous proportion and echoing with my laughter. And she'd bet I couldn't do one louder. Challenge accepted. We'd laugh and snore the night away, until the bad dreams were long forgotten, and my restless mind was set to ease.

It wasn't long after those nights that the Alzheimer's began to fully set in. In a matter of months she would forget who we were, who I was, and most of all-who she was. But those memories, and the comfort found in that room at the end of the hall, will always be mine. And deep down, I know that in her heart of hearts, she remembered too.

Stop.

Papa Don't Preach

Remember that Madonna song Papa don't Preach? I feel like that on occasion, and while I've got a strong faith, the last thing I want is to be preached at. Sometimes, in this crappy journey if infertility,  I don't want to be told it's ok. I don't want to be told that its a growing season, or that my faith will be strengthened. I don't want to hear stories of how others have made it up from the depths. Sometimes I just want someone to recognize that it just really sucks. Know what I mean?
I hope I'm not like that here. I don't want to be preachy about your loss. I don't want to trivialize your pain. I want you to know that I can relate. I'll share my stories and the things that have gotten me through, and hopefully spread a little hope.