Thursday, May 19, 2011

Mother's Day

The little blinking line stares back at me once again as I try to formulate my thoughts. 

Mother's Day.  What do I say? How do I explain?

In starting this blog a little over a year ago, my hope was that those around me would understand, even if just a little, what it is like in our world without children. To know what it feels like to be me.  Not so that they can pitty me, but so that they understand where I'm coming from. So that they understand the hurt, the joy, the life of someone who wants so badly to have children and can't. At least not yet. 

I think, in our Dutch reformed circles anywhere, there is an attitude of entitlement. No that's not it. I can't find the right word. The feeling that everyone will have children. Of course. That after you are married (and at a rather young age preferably) you will settle down and have children. That's just the way it is. And you will continue to have children for many years until your quiver is full.  They take that fact for granted. 

I know that I did. I was married later (ok, not that late, but still later in the eyes of most) and I assumed, absolutely assumed, that we would have children. Sure we were going to wait to try a little until I'd finished another school year, but we would have children.

And after all, all of the other plans I'd made - like graduate from highschool in four years, and get into Redeemer, and go into teaching, and find the ideal teaching job - they had all come true. So why wouldn't this other plan?  I assumed I would have children. 

I look back now and cringe at that assuming me.  I was so wrong to think I could plan my life. That I had a say in all of it. 

I don't.  If there is anything I've learnt, it's that God is in control.  I guess I should say, if there is anything I'm learning, it's that God is in control.

What does all of this have to do with Mother's day?

As I sat in church, as I picked out cards for my fabulous mom and mother's day, as I bought presents, and celebrated with others, my heart was falling apart. 

I think I feel forgotten.

I should explain. I know that I'm not forgotten.  I know that God knows and understands and even plans for it to be this way.  I know that my family didn't forget.  I know that my pastor didn't forget - he even prayed for us. 

But I feel forgotten. Like there is this whole day to remind me what I'm not. Like there is this whole day to celebrate what I am not.

That's why there are tears in church. That's why it hurts.

I guess, at the end of the day, another year has passed. We've gotten through it again. Held by the Almighty hand of God. And that's enough. For me, right now, that's enough. Getting through it, is enough. I don't feel like I have to thrive. I don't feel like I have to rejoice. I don't feel like I have to stop hurting, stop crying.  I can just get through. I can just rely on the Almighty for His grace, peace and love to carry us through.

And also, thank you. To those who are on this journey with us, thank you. To those who struggle - know that we pray. That you are upheld as well. To those who sent a message, who loved us through it all, thanks!

1 comment:

  1. Thanks for posting, and although I rarely leave a comment, I always read your posts. I admire your bravery in sharing this difficult journey of pain, longing and frustration. Being a mother is one of God's greatest gifts, and I deeply feel your hurt at not being a recipient (yet) of this gift. God's plan is best for us, although this can be a daily struggle to accept it. Know that I regularly pray for you and others who struggle with infertility. Big hug! Love Sandra