Better

That’s how my physical body feels right now, better.  Mentally?  I'm still to be determined.  After a week of being “laid up,” as my husband keeps telling friends & family, today is the first day that I did not wake up with excruciating pain in my shoulders and belly.  The shoulder pain is what they call “referred” pain, but it hurt just the same as “real” pain.  As a nurse, I learned that “pain is whatever the patient says it is,” and my husband, without ever being told the same mantra for two years, believed me every time I was squirming and writhing and trying to get comfortable.  He offered me pills, pillows, blankets, hot tea, a heating pad or a hand with re-positioning.  It was three days before he felt comfortable letting me walk down our short hallway to the bathroom without supervision, and I still have yet to shower while home alone.

Nate has always been a faithful caregiver.  During nursing school he did the laundry, cooked all our meals, and cheered me on during those late night study sessions when normally (had I been single) I would have given up entirely and tried my hand at cooking burgers in some greasy establishment.  The last few weeks have been no different in that he has waited on me like I was a queen that held his life in my hands.  One wrong move, and off with his head!  At least, that’s how I feel when I hurt.  However, Nate took my pain-filled, sometimes snippy, mean words and replied politely out of love.  I have told him countless times in the last week that this is the “worse” part of the “for better or worse” vow that we took.  He agrees.

I wish with my whole heart that nursing school was something that happened in our distant past (rather than just releasing its grip a few short months ago), and that we had experienced a season of better before the last 34 days.  During that time, I had an HSG, an ER visit, and a surgery.  Two out of three being what we hope is forward movement toward becoming parents.  

When I was in nursing school, I would tell Nate, “remember our first year of marriage? I promise our lives will be like that again after I graduate…”  We had an incredible first year as newlyweds.  We traveled, we worked together, we gardened, we cooked, we laughed, we enjoyed better.  However, our time has not quite circled back around yet, but we pray for it every day.  We also pray that God will use this time, and not just let it slip through our fingers only touched by things that we consider to be disaster.

We even tried vacationing over New Year’s to “just relax” and to "get away" from reality.  We booked a trip to Cancun and, without travel insurance, and changed it to Kauai just three days before we flew out.  We did not have peace about going to Cancun, and ultimately decided to change plans out of respect for Nate’s family.  The first 24 hours of our vacation were a mind-boggling, exhausting, catastrophe.  We missed our connecting flight due to a weather delay, changed airlines and ran from terminal 7 to terminal 4 at LAX the day before New Year's Eve, could not check into our room (at 2am) due to a miscommunication, and were switched to a different hotel (at 3am) and were almost charged for it.  When things finally started to look like they might get better I grabbed Nate’s hand and prayed “Lord, please let the rest of this trip go flawlessly because this is too much… And please give us free breakfast.”  Well, God heard our cries and He not only let the floodgates of grace open, but He also gave us an upgraded room, gifts of apology from the resort, and two vouchers for free breakfast!

So, let’s face it, no one makes it to the ripe age of 31 without hitting a few walls along the way!  I know that things will get better, because I have seen it happen so many times throughout my life, and even as recently as our trip to Kauai.  As Nate and I pray about our next steps, we surrender them to the Lord wholeheartedly.  I am always thankful that he is my husband, and that we will get through this together on God’s sovereign promises and everlasting faithfulness. 

Tired of the worse, and waiting on the better. Nate & I decided last night that this is “too much.”  We want to resume having conversations about fun, happy things with our friends and with each other.  We want to leave behind the heartache, fears and sadness of what we think might/could/potentially happen in our future.  We also decided that on February 6^th, after what we hope will be my last health-related doctor’s visit for a long time, we will have a “do-over” of New Year’s Eve, and we will officially leave the worse in 2011, and look only for the better in 2012.

Fridays

For most people, today is the end of the work week and the hallowed beginning of the weekend.  For me, however, today is the first day of the weekend. For the last two years, I have had almost every Friday off from school or work.
In the beginning, I claimed this day as mine. My own day to do what I pleased since, of course, I earned it. It usually included coffee with a friend, something stupid on Netflix, lunch with another friend, and probably a nap or something else entirely lazy and unproductive.
I realized after a while that I was more stressed, selfish, and unfulfilled than I had been in a long time. As I looked over my hectic weeks, and the things I was doing to fill my time, I realized where the problem was. I didn't want to admit it at first. I wanted to continue my self-absorbed lifestyle. So I asked the one person that would give me an immediate, unbiased answer: my husband -
"When you come home at the end of the day, knowing I've had the day off, what pleases you most when you hear what I've done with my day?"
I truly, honestly hoped he would respond with an easy answer such as: a clean house, a smiling wife, or dinner on the table.
If I can be real for a minute, I will admit that those things are easy for me. Cleaning, cooking and smiling run through my blood. They happen when I am in my happiest places in life. When my heart is full of joy and giving. 
However, as I suspected, my husband answered "knowing that you had quality time with the Lord makes me happier than anything else."
As always, when my husband's words pierce my heart with truth, tears welled up in my eyes.
Since then (I can't say every Friday, since I am fallible and imperfect), as soon as he leaves for the last day of his work week, I turn on the worship music, I grab my bible, my journal and a cup of hot tea, and I sit in front of the fireplace in my living room to bow before my King, and lay my selfish, unfulfilled, stressed cries at His feet. 
While this time before the Lord has proved difficult on different occasions, He has blessed it richly by putting a smile on my husband's face when he arrives home from another crazy work week and hears the words "I had an incredible time with the Lord this morning."
Being married has challenged me in so many ways. My favorite is this: my husband knows me so well, that he knows how important a few solid hours with the Almighty are to my well-being, and he holds me accountable to my needs. I have this time out of obedience to God and out of encouragement from my husband. God makes and fulfills promises during the times that I have with Him, and I am so blessed to have a husband that understands the importance of my personal relationship with our Lord and its affect on our marriage. 

Choir

I don't know if I was totally oblivious before, or if this is something new. Something in the last year only?
It seems as though our church is teeming with new moms and their precious little bundles of joy. 
While my husband joyfully helps with the slides for worship and sermon notes every Sunday, I sit protected in the sound booth, behind the little plexiglass "sneeze guard." I am safe from the hugs of the expectant bellies and the offers to hold newborns. I stand in my box, behind the swinging door, with a forcefield between me and what I desire to be. Finding that I can only become vulnerable through emails to this particular crowd, I can fake my smile and offer a "good morning" and "things are great," without the pressure building too tightly in my chest that screams at me to run out the door and not look back. 
At the end of the service, families are asked to retrieve their little ones from the nursery so that the Sunday School teachers can set up for the incoming crowds that are the next service's population. This is where I fall apart. This is the time where the things around me become more than I can bear. As the worship leader strums the last few chords of the last song, and the pastor reaches the pulpit to give the final convocation, it begins. The voices and instruments slowly fade and a new sound is heard. All around, as if the volume on an intense surround sound system is turned up to the point that it screeches and squeals, the choir performs and resonates all the way to my soul. It always begins with a slight whimper or whine, and then the peers join in with their cries. By the end of the pastor's prayer, there are at least ten babies crying their eyes out as loud as their little lungs can manage, and I sit, clenching my husband's strong hand as tightly as a broken woman can. The cries remind me of what I don't have yet, and my soul cries to the Lord "You are good, God, but why do I have to go through this in a place that I should be able to leave my grief at your feet? Why do you let them cry so loud... And so many?!"
Today was different though. I was not allowed to sit in my little cage to hide behind the shield of the sound booth. My husband was training a new person, and there is just simply not enough room for all of us. 
I sat close by, in the back. I made it through half of the first worship song when an Ergo wielding new mom asked if the seat next to me was taken. As the song faded, and the worship pastor encouraged everyone to "turn around and meet someone" a new sound was heard. Nursing. The sound of a little life bonding with Mom.
Instead of being polite and introducing myself, I ran. I ran right to my husband and said I would be in the car. I grabbed my things without making eye contact with the new mom who knew nothing of her infraction, and I walked as fast as a person who is holding back a full fledged sprint can walk.
So, here I am in the car. Pouring my heart out into a journal entry that I'm pretty sure only two people, other than me, will ever read. My dear husband has text messaged me the verses that the pastor is giving his message on today so that we can discuss them when he arrives at the fort I've built in the car. Doors are locked, and my eyes are ever downcast to avoid seeing anyone we know passing by. 
Sometimes coping skills and tools I've learned to use to guard my heart, are just not enough and I must retreat to solitude with my Lord, to cry and scream and release the choir of my own sadness. 

Death

A common theme of life from death has been driven into my brain over the last few weeks.  In fact, ever since the new year began.  Through the book Redeeming Love, God's small still voice whispers about life coming from death to the main character.  In Last Sunday's Message, our youth pastor preached on the duty of a seed to die in order to bring forth the life of a new plant.  In the book Bittersweet, the author blatantly reveals her heart's sadness in waiting for death to be over, and eagerly anticipating life.

I am compelled to look back over two very life altering instances where my dreams have died, and GOD gave life to new desires... and then fulfilled them beyond my expectation.

Death: October 25, 2000 - Dream of being a teacher.

Life: November 1, 2000 - Promise of being a nurse.

The Unexpected: September 6, 2011 -  Fulfillment of God's promise: becoming an RN in the Oncology field.

Death: October 25, 2003 - Dream of being married.

Life: September 6, 2007 - Promise of being someone's beloved.

The Unexpected: April 19, 2008 - Fulfillment of God's promise: becoming a WIFE.

It is obvious to me, that God's promises are bigger, and much better, than anything I could ever dream up.  I also notice that these fulfillments take timing that I cannot orchestrate.  While I know that I have dreamed of becoming a mother I realize that God will return the unexpected

and new life will come.

Waiting

When we got married, my beloved and I realized we needed a song, the cliche of "our song," for our first dance as Mr. & Mrs. We decided on "Bless the Broken Road" by Rascal Flatts.  This song rang so true to our hearts as we learned to be newlyweds, and realized that true love is unconditional and forgives past sins. As our hearts mended together over the lives we had lived prior to each other, we grew in love and our foundation on the Lord was built.

In the last year we have faced struggles and endured the heartache that comes with the attempt to grow our family. It seems to be the logical "next step" since we are, in our minds, ready in every way. Basic needs include shelter, food, and clothing, right?  Done.  More complicated needs of course are faith in God that He will continue to provide, love for each other and those around us, and hope even when things get hard.  Done.  So, what's the issue?  Unfortunately, as newlyweds we said things like "I know things will get hard in life eventually, but I just can't believe how blessed we are." I always thought that the real trials would come our way in the form of financial instability or trouble at work or even misunderstandings that led to arguments. I never really thought that the word "infertility" would affect us.

In this time of uncertainty of whether I can bear my husbands children, we have learned more about each other than we thought possible. I have gut-wrenchingly wept uncontrollably more times than I would like to ever admit, and my husband has held me and prayed with me and supported me. He deals with the grief in different ways, but thankfully he is open and honest with me.  We are learning to communicate better when I cannot handle being in another situation with a pregnant woman, I get invited to two baby showers in one day, or I see a father playing with his child.

I have a feeling that this is just the beginning of our latest "adventure" together, and we are already over a year into the ride. Yes, it is sad, and yes, I am allowed to cry. So is my husband.  We are not, unfortunately, strangers to waiting.   We waited for each other, and look how that turned out (my husband reminds me).  We waited for me to get through school, and then waited for my dream job. Both have come and life could not be better in that regard.

However, there is a season for all things. I cannot help but think of Job and Hannah during their times of trial. I am thankful for a husband who is enough, and "more than ten sons" (1 Samuel 1:8) to me. Our hearts break together as we cry out to God and say "Isn't this enough? You said you'd never give us more than we can handle. We are at our breaking point," we also praise him for the life that we have, the friends we can bless by sharing our struggles and welcoming them to share theirs, and the love He has given us for each other.

As we sit in our warm house, clothed and fed, the angelic voice of Ginny Owens floats from the Pandora station, filling the air with the words:

"It may not be the way I would have chosen 

When you lead me through a world that's not my home 

But You never said it would be easy 

You only said I'd never go alone"

The tears well up in my eyes as they do on a daily basis, and I am comforted in the fact that God is in control.  He has only the best for His children...  Us, and the babies that He has promised to us in our future while we continue to wait.  "Our song" is now entitled "If You Want Me To" by Ginny Owens.