Hopeful in the Aching

I struggle immensely with the thought of posting this particular entry, as vulnerability continues to feel like a threat to a nervous system that has been in survival mode since childhood. The truth is, I have always been labeled the strong one, the capable one, and the one with the positive outlook. The circumstances that were revealed this past week have shaken me to my core and left me curled in the fetal position in a state of numbness. The retelling of this story is painful, but my Father gently reminded me in the quiet of this morning that we are not called to portray a state of perfection, but rather display that in our weakness, He is strong.

As a child, I always thought I would get married and have children. It was one of those dreams that seemed fairly simple, and I never though much about it until my first visit to the gynecologist in college. After a childhood of trauma and a history of sexual assault, the words "severe scarring" and "limited chance of conceiving" hit me like a brass knuckled punch from Mike Tyson. When I met my first husband in 2006, I honestly didn't really think I would get married, and to be honest, had we not moved in together and disappointed my family, we probably wouldn't have. I had strayed so far from my original dream, looking for someone who was the opposite of every strong man I had grown up knowing in the church, and determined that marriage was "just a piece of paper." We got married in 2007 and by 2008 I was pregnant. All of my past concerns dissipated as I imagined the opportunity to love a child and protect them in ways I had only dreamed of as a kid. I was so excited I told my family and co-workers and made an appointment for the first trimester ultrasound. At eight weeks, I excitedly entered the exam room, but unfortunately, I did not leave with that same sense of excitement or joy. I left the building and fell into a crumpled pile on the concrete of the parking lot as the words "miscarriage" were fully absorbed. The loss of that pregnancy left me lost, physically hurt and dreading the thought of sharing the unfortunate news with those same friends and family that had been overjoyed with me. My body was in pain but my heart was in agony. God blessed me with another pregnancy a month later, and my miracle rainbow baby was born in May 2009. When he was eight months old, I made the painful decision to divorce his biological Dad, and I would remain a single mom for the next twelve years. When you get divorced with children, no one warns you that the most painful aspect is that all of the firsts that would normally be shared with a loving spouse and best friend are now isolated moments where you feel the ache of loneliness. His first steps, his first words, and all of his adorable Halloween costumes and milestones were witnessed by me with joy, but the ache of apathy from his Dad was brutal. Sharing these moments with those around you begin to feel like a burden or annoyance, so you begin to quietly celebrate in isolation.

In 2022 when I met my amazing husband Travis, we talked about the option of having kids, even though I was almost 40. We decided that seven children between us was enough (he has six adopted children and I have one biological child), and we continued to have adventures with our little family and enjoy each other's company without the limitations of diapers and babysitters. This summer, as my son moved towards the beginning of his Senior year, we began planning the next steps for our lives together. The blessing of becoming a stepmom was only slightly diminished by limited occasions to love on my new bonus kids as they lived full time in another state. There were moments during the holidays with rooms full of kids and cousins, where I felt the joy of a big family for the first time, and I often wondered what it would have been like to be blessed with more children of my own.

One morning this summer, July 7th, I was reading in Mark when I came across chapter 11, verse 24- Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours. Without thinking, I wrote "I want a baby girl" in the margin of my spiral Bible. I stared at it in disbelief. I was a boy mom- I was too scared to have a girl and watch her grow to the age where I had experienced my own trauma. I had already worked with my therapist when my son was an infant in an attempt to mitigate the triggers I would feel as a first time mom. I was nauseous and confused- where did this come from? Turns out, it was a deep desire of my heart that I had never expressed out loud. I shut my Bible like a teenager hiding her diary and moved on with my day.

Every morning during my quiet time, I thought about the dream of having a child with my husband. I thought about what she would look like, and began to pray that she would be strong and courageous in a time where children and adolescents are lost and hurting more than ever. The fear that I originally felt turned quickly into excitement, and I found myself praying for a child almost every day.

In September, I began to feel like something was off, and I noticed that my back was aching, my face was breaking out, and I was constantly nauseous. I couldn't sleep, I got heart burn when I ate, and I had a constant headache. All of the sudden, it hit me- did God answer my prayer??? I took a test and waited. Negative. No big deal. I decided to wait and pray. At one point I told my husband my suspicions and we took a test together. At this point I was convinced that the tests were wonky (I had a couple invalid) and that the test we took together was negative just because it was late in the day. We went out and bought another test together for the morning, and that night we spoke with nervous excitement about the possibilities. In the morning, I took the test, convinced it was positive. We waited for that second line....and waited...and waited...and it never came. I was devastated. I cried for two days straight. I questioned God- why did my back hurt? Why was I breaking out? Why was I so nauseous? I was tempted to angrily isolate myself but my Father lovingly nudged me back to His word, and I found myself comforted by His promises. I read and praised and read more and praised more. I finally felt like I was in a good place- I had accepted that it may not happen, and I was putting up a brave front even though my heart was still an open wound.

Over all I took six pregnancy tests, all negative. Ironically, a few weeks later I began to experience more symptoms, especially bloating that made me feel six months pregnant. I looked pregnant. I felt pregnant. I took another test. Negative. I prayed more. I praised more. I begged God to give me wisdom. I felt worse and worse and realized I could no longer ignore my symptoms. I had a well woman check scheduled for November 6th, so I called and told them what was going on. They were not phased that the tests had come back negative, assured me this was normal, and because I had not had a cycle since the summer began that I needed to come in for a first trimester sonogram. The estimated I was nine weeks pregnant. I felt like I was going to explode with joy! I made a wish list on Amazon, started looking up names, and spent the evenings talking with my husband about how excited I was! For an entire week, I functioned as if my prayers had been answered and I was pregnant. On the day of my appointment, we drove nervously together to the doctor's office. I sat in the waiting room surrounded by cute little bellies and happy couples.

There is a lot I could say about this particular doctor's appointment. During the sonogram, they had to use the internal probe, which is already somewhat traumatizing as a trauma survivor and someone who has experienced miscarriage. My husband and I watched as the sonogram tech searched for signs of life, then watched in disbelief as she typed the words "ovarian cysts" and "no signs of pregnancy at this time." I tried my best to hold it together as we waited in a secondary room for the doctor to arrive. My experience with the doctor was brutal, compassion was completely lacking; I felt pitied and dismissed. She flippantly offered a couple of tests to check my hormones, and I immediately requested them. If I wasn't pregnant, something else was wrong (my exact statement to her)- I wasn't imaging the symptoms or the changes in my body. I completed the blood draw and made it to the car before breaking out in shaky sobs. The only word I can use to describe my feelings at this point is lament. The dream of raising a child with the husband I waited twelve years to meet, my best friend, was shattered. The next day I forced myself to go to work and received the results from my blood test in the middle of teaching my most chaotic class. I found out that day in the middle of my classroom that not only was I not pregnant, but I was also post-menopausal. That afternoon, the doctor sent me a long email telling me I needed treatment, assuring me that she cared about my wellbeing, and affirming that my symptoms were in fact real. The cold and distant messaging that I had experienced in person during my appointment was now replaced with typed statements of care and compassion, asking me to come back in so we could discuss my health further. My anger soured. I cried for days. I didn't want to eat, I barely slept and I felt that familiar numbness from my childhood, where my feelings were so big I just shut down.

How do you reconcile that you serve a Father that is so, so good when you experience heartbreak? How do you respond when you put your hope into an answered prayer and then the answer is not what you expected? For three days I was angry. Angry at the world, at the injustice of not being able to have a child with the love of my life and best friend, and honestly I was angry at God. I had prayed over and over during those weeks for clarity, and I felt betrayed. I was closer than ever to my Father but I felt like His voice was non-existent as I searched for comfort and answers. I was angry, and I scribbled questions and sadness into my journal. I continued to read my Bible and I still sat in numb silence listening to worship music. I went for a two hour walk outside, listening to my favorite worship songs and cried in front of strangers. I was mad, but I wanted to be near my Father. I brought my sadness, confusion and anger directly to Him, and I felt my heart soften as I let Him speak to me through His word. I acknowledged His goodness in my journal writings, and begin to sing those same worship songs through tears. I read recently that we are often afraid to bring our anger and hurt to God- as if our feelings of disappointment and confusion would ever cause Him to turn His back on us. What I found through those days of immense sadness was that God was the ONLY comfort I needed, and that the more I read and prayed and sang, the more I had new hope. The more I spoke of His goodness, the more my heart healed. I still don't understand the circumstances, but I know WITHOUT A DOUBT that my Father loves me more than words can express, and that He saw every tear and heard every cry. He brought my mind back to those days in my youth when I was in constant hurt and chaos, and I remembered His hand lovingly bringing me back to Him more times than I deserve. I know that He is good, no matter what happens, my Father is a good Father.

A few days after that appointment, I sat in the silence of the early morning and I wrote down all of the things I was grateful for. I smiled as I realized how hard I had prayed for each and every one of them- my son, my husband, my job, my family, my beautiful house and the provision and safety I felt every day. I realized that none of these underserved blessings had come about in the way I had planned, and I laughed as I realized that there is no diagnosis that can stop God from blessing our family. His timing has always been perfect, and his blessings have always been SO MUCH BETTER than I could even imagine. I worship a God that can split the sea, raise the dead and create life with a mere breath. My hope is not lost, my story is not complete, and nothing is impossible for my Father. And if not, HE IS STILL GOOD.

The sky as I drove to school this morning- the beauty of the Son shining through the dark clouds.

Songs to listen to when you need to remember His goodness:

Sure Been Good (Tiffany Hudson)- https://youtu.be/9eTNiZ3rAUg?si=5whMfCTqDmvl9HKC

Thank You (Jonsal Barrientes & Tiffany Hudson)- https://youtu.be/mw42Hzk3OKU?si=q6W3dT5n_RyiHKuS

More Than Able (Chandler Moore)- https://youtu.be/dQ1xxoP7NJk?si=rBBuACBkVARagGfy

I Have a Father (Chandler Moore)- https://youtu.be/ayUjaEPYnoE?si=jBNpS6S1h7OBRL2H

So Be It (Tiffany Hudson)- https://youtu.be/edZVnKxKEUU?si=FpT0BRjFW1xwLOWd

Wait On You (Elevation Worship and Maverick City)- https://youtu.be/K3TYG7Q_fj4?si=N-tJhXNZFyhlSOjW