Hills & Valleys: Our Faith Journey

I wish you knew... what it was like to sit and dream for something, but have to remind yourself it may never happen how it feels to watch your dream being lived out in the lives of most of your friends yet still be unattainable for you what it's like to not even be able to go to the mall without having your deepest pain thrown in your face as you walk by maternity clothing stores, see the pregnant teenagers, hear the cries of a little baby how it feels to not be able to walk into a doctor's office without having an emotional meltdown what it's like to feel like you aren't woman enough to bear children Infertility so easily strips you of your identity as a woman. It's hard to explain to someone who hasn't ever been there, but it's our reality. It's like your one main purpose, you just can't fulfil. Your body doesn't work right. You feel like less of a woman. You feel like maybe you're just not good enough, or you've sinned too ...

It's just one little word. Eleven little letters. But they crush me. You see, I hadn't planned this. For as long as I remember, I had planned on having lots of kids. My sisters would talk about specific numbers. I would say "as many as God gives me," but in my mind, that meant an abundance - six or eight or more. I grew up in a big family - I'm one of five, my dad is one of ten, my grandma is one of twelve. Of course I'd have a big family! I never expected this . I never expected infertility to become a part of my life. Yet, completely uninvited, it came. Some would say, "be content with what you have!" or "at least you have one child." I say, you don't understand what it's like to see your dreams crushed every single month. How it feels to wonder if they will ever be fulfilled? What it's like to watch your friends and your family members get pregnant when they want to while you stand by. To have this happen year after...

No exaggeration, this was the best moment of my life. Spending a whole year apart - birthdays, anniversaries, 4th of July, Thanksgiving, Christmas - is not easy. We had already spent many special occasions apart as a result of military training (I think we've averaged one birthday together every 3 years).  But deployment was different. You don't have the luxury of looking forward to seeing your spouse in just a few days or weeks. The months stretch long, and it feels endless sometimes. There are so many emotions that coincide with the days apart - emotions that are hard to comprehend unless you've been there. Before he left, there was fear. What if he came back a different person? What would he see in combat? Would he return home scarred, physically or emotionally, from war? So many questions, and no answers. There is also a lot of emotion from trying to prepare for letting go of the person you love most in the world. It literally feels like you're being torn ...

There are two words that I used to cling to. Really, I still cling to them. Comfort zone.  That may seem strange considering all of our moves and all of the different transitions across multiple states, new cities, new friends. But still, there's that sense of "home" and I cling to it with all of my might, wherever it may be. This past year (2013), I thought I was finding a new home - a home that, while temporary, would allow me to relax and enjoy being close to family. That was going to be my "comfort zone," I had decided. I would stay home, work on some projects, enjoy some time with my little girl, and do some college classes. God had other plans. My year looked nothing like I expected. I travelled some 90,000 miles, across 14 states and two continents with a toddler in tow. I lugged 25lbs of luggage through the airport while holding a stroller. I stayed up into the wee hours of the morning trying to finish homework before a deadline. I did all kinds of...

It happened again last night - demons dragging me from my sleep. They torment me...pulling up vivid memories from my past and crafting new stories, stories that while not true, are based around reality. I wake and my husband holds me close and whispers, "It's okay, it's over now." But in my heart, it's not okay. It's not okay, because it's not over. The dream is over, but the feelings are not - the feelings of powerlessness, of fear, of being controlled. The feelings of utter worthlessness, of deep hurt. But intertwined with them are new feelings - anger, sorrow, sadness deeper than I can describe. I wish I could wish it away - this torment that seems to loom over me. I wish I could "just" forgive and let it all go. But I have forgiven, and it's still here, still lingering in my life. The pain doesn't hurt any less, maybe it even hurts more. I long for restoration, for peace, to not have to look to others to fill that role in my l...