I am sitting there, legs crossed and hands held together, with my big medical folder opened on the large desk, while the doctor tells me just about the same things that I’ve already heard before. For almost three years.
Pain. Right at this moment I feel pain. Physical pain. Soul pain. Both kicking me violently.
I barely walked to get myself to this appointment this morning, with an intense pain in my body, a pain that visits every month, because I am a woman. Today was worse. The pain was worse. Today I forgot to take medication and make myself numb. Today I sat across the desk from a doctor, in deep pain, wondering if all these years of menstrual pain had any gain for me.
We’ve been trying to have a baby for years. I remember when I got married. The gift of marriage came late. It came with a package of dreams that I had lost for a while. The dreams of having my own babies and raising them as strong and confident and compassionate people, with a tender heart for those around them and for themselves. Those dreams were awakened that day when I walked down the aisle. But my womb refuses to make life. Can it be so? That my body is a grave, rather than a garden? Is this what my story is going to look like? Did I do something wrong? Do I not deserve to be a mother? Would I be an unfit mother, so God considers unfit to make me one? Tears and lies flood my eyes and my heart. Oh, Lord!
I get out of the doctor’s office with a list of things to do. Similar investigations. Some new directions. My soul is burdened. My body feels pain. Clinging pain. The pain that lasts. The worst kind.
It is spring outside, but today is gloomy. The heavy clouds offer me compassion. They represent my mood. Eyes in the list and in my phone, reading all I could about different big medical words. Then, I lift up my head and I see the trees. In full bloom. “Snowing” little white petals on the sidewalk. On me. Little white petals of hope started to cover my soul, as well. There IS hope. As I believe that new life is produced each Spring, so I believe that my Father can produce life in me. His life. His way. His ways. His ways are the best.
My Father looks at me full of tenderness. I sense His presence now. Right there. On the big Bucharest boulevard. On my sidewalk. By the tree.
He knows – there is death in thinking that my body should produce life. Because nobody can produce life on its own. Only One produces life and does so when He sees fit. When it is best.
He knows – there is death in blaming myself, or God, for infertility. Because blaming never solved anything. Blaming might seem to give some sort of peace of mind, only to create more distance and restlessness.
He knows – there is life in surrendering to His good plans. I don’t see them now. But He’s proven Himself worthy of trust, and He’s quite a master of performing miracles and bringing to life good plans for His children. For His beloved.
He knows – my heart, my pain, my dreams, my brokenness. He knows and feels.
I lift my hand. To maybe catch a few of the dancing white petals from the blooming trees. They dance is a dance of death, a life-giving death, so that they can make room for new life. Little green leaves are replacing the blooms. Little leaves. Determined leaves. And then little fruit.
I am His child, in need of graceful care today. Of delicate love. Of gentle hope. As I walk home, the thousands of blooms in the trees and the few rays of sun that did come through today, they all remind me that I am not alone in my pain. That my pain pains Him. Companionship and hope give life. He whispers life into my soul. And He reminds me that He is my Life.
Tomorrow I can investigate. Tomorrow I can read. Tomorrow we’ll explore new options. But today I am resting. I am crying. I am not minimizing my pain. Today I am spending time with my Father – for the health of my soul. Today I am dancing the dance of trust. Today I am proclaiming that He is with me, that His plans are good, that He knows best, that I am His beloved. And I rest in this tender Truth. Today.
This post was written on April 10, 2019. On a beautiful and hard spring day.