A Lament

One of the deals I've made with God about my pain [like that actually works anyway!] is that I will use it for good. I will learn from it. And I will share what I'm learning with others so that it might be redeemed. The following passage from Lamentations also reminds me not to forget and where I need to place my hope...

Lamentations 3:20-26, 32-33, 40, 55- 57

²⁰ I will never forget this awful time,
as I grieve over my loss.
²¹ Yet I still dare to hope
when I remember this:

²² The faithful love of the Lord never ends!
His mercies never cease.
²³ Great is his faithfulness;
his mercies begin afresh each morning.
²⁴ I say to myself, “The Lord is my inheritance;
therefore, I will hope in him!”

²⁵ The Lord is good to those who depend on him,
to those who search for him.
²⁶ So it is good to wait quietly
for salvation from the Lord.
³² Though he brings grief, he also shows compassion
because of the greatness of his unfailing love.
³³ For he does not enjoy hurting people
or causing them sorrow.
⁴⁰ ... let us test and examine our ways.
Let us turn back to the Lord.
⁵⁵ ... I called on your name, Lord,
⁵⁶ You heard me when I cried, “Listen to my pleading!
Hear my cry for help!”
⁵⁷ Yes, you came when I called;
you told me, “Do not fear.”

**Thanks Kim for sharing!

Exit Wounds

Today was another marker of healing and growth. I drove past the highway exit where I had all my infertility treatment. And I didn't want to burst in tears.

For 6+ months I made countless trips to our infertility doctor. Every time I exited 57N on Imperial Highway [actual picture], I was filled with some sort of emotion: fear, anxiety, hope, anticipation, curiosity. As I would approach this exit I could hardly believe this was a part of my story: receiving treatment from an infertility specialist so we could get pregnant. The old fashioned way of conceiving wasn't happening for us. We were healthy. We were young. We were watching all the signs and doing all the right things. And yet. I had to exit 57N at Lambert/Imperial Highway. Dozens of times. It seemed as if the wound only got bigger every time I exited to highway.

This drive wasn't just filled with emotion, it was filled with questions, pleas to God, worship music, silence, and holding hands with Brian.

Yet as I passed this infamous exit today, the wound wasn't nearly a big or raw or emotional. It still stung, but it was more like a scar than an open wound. I thought about more today about the healing a year brings. I thought about our 2 little ones in Ethiopia - likely our older was is born and the other is either a newborn or in utero. And I thought about the mysteries God's already revealed through our infertility. And the ones he's yet to reveal. And the mysteries he might never reveal in this life. I'm grateful and tender. 57N is no longer the exit wound it once was.

Divine Appointment

This past weekend I taught at Newsong's college retreat. I shared with the women only, and then with the guys only. In the women's session I taught on Isaiah 40:18-31 and how in order to FLY to the highest heights, we must go through the painful season of waiting. I went more deeply into the part of the passage where Isaiah talks about stumbling and falling...what keeps us from FLYING?
As a portion of teaching from this text, I briefly went into my own season of stumbling and waiting through infertility and adoption. I really didn't want to share much because I was talking to a room full of unmarried, college girls. What could my story of infertility mean to them?

Later that night we had a time of prayer for healing and confession. A beautiful 20 year old woman walked toward me with tears streaming down her face. She thanked me for sharing and asked what my infertility diagnosis was. "PCOS", I told her. Immediately, her streams of tears turned into rivers. This summer, she was diagnosed with the same condition and she was confused and tired and overwhelmed and exceedingly sad. My heart broke with hers and we cried together. As she shared more with me over the next few minutes, I sensed God say, "I brought you to this retreat just for this girl. You never know when your story will meet another's story. Don't be afraid to share it." I was the only person in the room who she could relate to in this deepest place. It was a divine appointment.

In that moment with the worship team singing behind us and me holding this young woman in my arms, I was once again grateful for PCOS. I was grateful that a side comment in my message traveled into the ears of girl who's felt so alone in her pain. I was grateful that God took charge of my words and gave them to her for comfort and connection. I was grateful that my God never wastes our pain or isolates our stories. He's the God of redemption, connection, and healing. Grateful...