gratitude, and thoughts on infertility

Infertility is on my heart so much these days, which may sound odd, or even insensitive, coming from someone who got pregnant so quickly. 

There are days that I am doing simple things with Thomas and I am just overcome with joy, so much so that I think my heart may burst from my chest. He is a bundle of smiles and I sometimes cannot believe that he is really ours, for always! he's here and he's ours! 

My goodness, it feels as though I've waited to be a mom, his mom, for so long. But in reality, Drew and I prayed about when we should start a family, said to each other, ok, now seems like the right time, and then - Wait! Um, that was quick! I don't know if we're really ready for this!  

We're both very aware it doesn't work that way for everyone. I cannot fathom the heart ache women - and men - may feel as they wait for months and years for that test to be positive, for that baby to be being formed in the womb and on its way to their waiting arms. 

I cannot fathom what it's like to see baby commercials every five minutes and see children running around your neighborhood and preggos at the grocery store and high schoolers getting pregnant without even blinking... If it were me, I think I might have a melt down around all the moms shopping with their children at HEB, and yell loudly, WHY NOT ME!!!!! I cannot imagine going to a baby shower and seeing all the baby clothes and books and alllllll the baby stuff and not being bitter. I tip my hat to those women, big time! I wonder if maybe we need to say "I see you" to those women more, acknowledge their waiting that seems unfair. 

I remember being in the hospital the second morning after Thomas had been born. I was exhausted, my body hurt like ooooh-weeeee-somethin, and I wasn't sure I was doing anything right. Thomas was jaundiced so we were staying extra, and they kept running all these routine tests on him or me every 2 hours, and it was stressful. 

Drew was trying to sleep and Thomas was too, it was wee hours as I splashed water on my blotchy face. As I leaned over the sink in the hospital room, and was less than thrilled with my reflection in the mirror, I gripped the sink for strength because standing up by myself really, really hurt. I thought: anyone who wants to do this, anyone willing to go through this, should absolutely get the chance. 

God is wiser than us on so many levels and so many topics. But one I just don't understand is fertility struggles. You have a husband and a wife who want to have a baby and love that baby well, and bring them up to love the lord, and yet...struggle. pain. Prayers that seem to go unanswered. 

We're studying Exodus now through our church bible study, and I see clearly that God has, for thousands of years, worked in ways that seem weird to us, ways that actually seem pretty miserable sometimes, and He is glorified and loving, through His plan and His way.(I mean locusts everywhere? Frogs? Rivers of blood? Yuck, ew, no thank you, this is for your GLORY?!)  

Sometimes His way has pain, and the path is filled with questions, but still - over and over He proves that His path is far better than the other paths. His protection and His grace is still good. 

I hesitate to say this out loud, for fear of sounding insensitive, but through becoming a mom to Thomas, I have this new found respect and empathy for the men and women out there who desperately want to be pregnant. But it's true. 

And I know, too, that Thomas seems even more cherished and a source of joy since my dad is not here to be with us. It may sound dramatic, but when someone so close to you is ripped away, everyone else close seems that much more dear. My dad's death makes me very aware of all the blessings in my life, too many names to list here. And when you wake up on a Saturday morning, texting with your dad about college football and the lake, and by nightfall, he is gone from the Earth, you become so thankful for life, and the everyday. 

For those wanting to be parents, my heart goes out to you. I pray that God comforts you and hears your prayers. And I pray that every day with my family is a day of joy - not perfection, because that is so unrealistic, and not void of feeling tired or frustrated, but - of abundant joy. I should be far less grumpy and far more grateful with a precious baby as this one in my arms. 

I don't have answers for why we suffer. I do know that God is a healer and comforter and when seemingly silent or absent, He is not. I have learned this the hard way. And I have learned that in suffering, God sends us each other. Bob Goff (one of my favorite authors/people, go read Love Does if you don't know him) says "God doesn't pass us notes, he passes us each other." When we're in pain, many of us are inclined to hunker down and suck it up or wallow in it alone. But we are strengthened when people share their suffering. 

I found the prayer below while I was trying to find an appropriate scripture passage to go with these ramblings. Though nothing ever replaces scripture, I think this prayer is beautiful, so I leave you here. Thank you, as always, for reading. 

Teach me to listen, O God, to those nearest me, my family, my friends, my co-workers.

Help me to be aware that no matter what words I hear, the message is, “Accept the person I am. Listen to me.”

Teach me to listen, my caring God, to those far from me– the whisper of the hopeless, the plea of the forgotten, the cry of the anguished...

Teach me to listen, Holy Spirit, for your voice — in busyness and in boredom, in certainty and doubt, in noise and in silence.

Teach me, Lord, to listen.  Amen.

thoughts our third anniversary {12.31.12}

There are far worse things than getting married to the man of your dreams without your dad there. 

And can I just interject that "man of your dreams" is a silly term? I understand the gist of it as a metaphor, but taken literally, it just sets men-and women-up for failure. I am sure I have qualities that Drew did NOT dream his wife would have (to name just a few, my grogginess and crazy hair in the mornings, my tendency to ramble and ramble and then say you weren't really listening were you, and my back seat driving.) 

obviously Drew is a very brave man. 

Drew is the most amazing husband and I knew he was "it" very early when we were dating, but saying he's the man of my dreams almost implies he's not real. And really, if he were from my dreams, things might be different. For starters, I'm a die hard Memorial Mustang. Homeboy went to Stratford (our rival.) Secondly, I always thought I'd marry someone who was an incredible two-stepper, just shy of professional status, and he'd twirl me and dip me all around the dancefloor. Homeboy can hardly find the 2-step beat and most of the time I'm the one leading. And thirdly, he doesn't love to read. What a weirdo! But in all seriousness, Drew and I are "right" for each other in all kinds of ways and he still gives me butterflies and makes me giddy and all that jazz. However, calling him "the man of my dreams" just makes me think I'm sending a message to single gals out there that the Mr. Right is going to check all these check-boxes you've made in your head. That's not how it works. 

So back to my original thought... 

There are far worse things than getting married to an incredible man and having your wedding day without your sweet dad there. 

My mom and our friends have been a beacon of hope in the days, months, and years following Dad's accident. Watching our wedding video on our third anniversary, it hit me looking back, that it was really strange and hard without my dad there, but the day was such a blast, so joyful, so much about a new covenant and moving forward as me and Drew. 

(That video, by the way, is something that I insisted was an unnecessary expense and my mom said tough, I want the wedding videoed, and your dad and I are paying. She was right, having a video has been awesome!) 

Occasionally I'm overwhelmed with sadness that my dad is not here with us, and other times I get so angry I could just knock out a wall with my fists. But, the majority of moments I am able to remember Dad with such joy, and I have such awe that he was our dad, that we had it so good while we had him. I have such love in me because he and my mom loved us so well. 

My dad lived life at 100 miles per hour - he loved big, he dreamed big, he hoped big. (and all while being a fairly petite little guy, but don't tell him that.)  

I will forever be grateful to the minister who married us, Richard Colquitt, and his wife Susan, for all they did for us to make our wedding spectacular. God - and my dad- felt so close throughout the day and the ceremony. I felt covered in prayer. Susan and a team helped my mom transform the church into this wonderland of candles and flowers that I was not even expecting. In lieu of a bridal lunch, my friends and I got together at the McClellan's house, where my dad had been doing "Dads workout" on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays for years. It felt like he had just been there, and that may sound funny, but it was incredibly comforting to me as we stretched after a neighborhood walk on the McClellans yoga mats. 

So fun looking back through bridals and remembering that fun afternoon at Union Station!

The music at the church was amazing and honestly people still mention how beautiful it was- Lunden McGill kicked it out of the park and into the nickel seats (our reception was at the home of the Houston Astros, you can't expect me to NOT use a baseball analogy, can you?) Drew and I, with Richard's guidance, wanted it to feel like you had been to a worship service, and it truly did.  

Richard kept us focused on the present: on joy, on God, on our covenant with the lord entering marriage. I felt nothing but peace, just three months after my dad died unexpectedly in a plane crash. If that's not a testament to the Lord's strength in those around us, I don't know what is. 

We worshiped and we celebrated and we did just what we would have done if my dad had been there. My mom assured us over and over, this is what your dad would want. We had made the guest list and booked the venue when he was still alive, we had rolled our eyes at the cake fee, we had all given the dress a "yes!" It was very comforting the night of our wedding to know that my dad had been so much a part of the planning. 

When we visited Union Station, Dad told me how he really wanted a "candy table" and I told him how those are kind of overdone and not really "cool" anymore. His response: "This is for me. We're having a candy table so I can go grab a handful of candy whenever I want." And we did, we framed a picture of me and Pops and we put it out on the candy table, and people grabbed handfuls of candy whenever they wanted. It was perfect. 

My great-grandfather gave me away, at age 96, and not many brides can say they had FOUR healthy generations at their wedding. I'm incredibly blessed. 

When I called Papa at his home in Dallas to ask him about it, after he agreed to walk me down the aisle on December 31, I vividly remember saying "I think Dear (my great-grandmother, his wife of 74 years) and Dad will be very proud of us." He paused and said: "Well they damned sure ought to be!" This from a man I seldom heard curse or raise his voice, especially in front of a lady. He let me know through his response that he was missing them both so much, that this was hard for him too, and that we would do this together. I felt so assured and comforted. Grace. God gives us free will and bad things happen to "good people" like plane crashes, but He is there the whole time, to comfort us, love us, pull us in to him. It puts knots in my stomach to admit it, but God was so glorified through Dad's accident, and the way my mom handled it afterwards, and the way others stepped in and showed us that God was there. 

He calls us to be his hands and feet. The people who came to our wedding and smiled instead of cried, danced instead of sat down in a heap of sadness, they kept me strong and joyful, just as a bride should be when she's marrying a man of such character, faith, and love as Drew Prochaska. I did nothing to deserve a man of such patience, so much joy, always optimistic and fun, who reminds us in many ways of Dad. There it is, grace.   

Rev. RPC gave us a definition of love during our premarital counseling. I heard it again yesterday watching our wedding video with fresh ears: 

Love is willing self sacrifice, for the good of the other, without expectation of reciprocation, without regard for whether the other deserves to be loved. 

I woke up three years ago today for the first time as a "married woman,"  having made a covenant to God to love this man more than myself. Some days I'm better at that than others. But after a thousand days waking up Drew's wife, I feel as if I know more of God, more of grace, more of love, more of perseverance, than I did before. He still loves to hold my hand and he kisses me goodnight each night and he drags me out of bed for church when I don't feel like going.

For what more could I ask? 

Actually, I have so many questions. Why couldn't Jay beat cancer? Why couldn't dads engine just do what it's supposed to? Why why why why why. 

But when I lock eyes with Drew, when he puts his forehead on mine when I can't hold back tears any longer, when I watch him hold our baby boy, when I sing Amazing Grace or Silent Night, I know. God is still here, He is still good, and though our hearts still hurt, He provides healing. I'll always have unanswered questions, but I know this... 

My cup runneth over.