My Body. Our Life.

Though it's been a year since our last infertility treatment, this past week I've been bombarded with infertility realities or possibilities. A dear friend who thinks she might have PCOS. A reality TV show that talked about their struggle/decision to do IVF. Another dear friend who just finished all the initial infertility tests I did a couple years ago. A couple friend whose IVF cycle just failed. It's all around me. Reminding me of our journey - decisions, pain, confusion. Reminding me of God's closeness and tenderness during those testing and treatment days.

One of the more difficult parts of the process was the dual reality that while it was my body handling the medical treatment, it was our life that was affected. My body was going through the medications, injections, ultrasounds, blood tests and doctor probings. But it was our life together that we were making these decisions for.

If there was one thing I could suggest for other couples struggling with conceiving/infertility, it would be this: make ALL your decisions together. Don't make a decision until you can be truly together on it. While it is the woman's body going through the drama/trauma of infertility, it truly must be a partnership - down to the very last doctor appointment, drug, or injection. The physical, emotional, financial, and spiritual demands of infertility demand partnership to get through it together.

Partnership is one of the greatest gifts my infertility gave me. Partnership with my God. Partnership with my man.

This picture was taken days before our last treatment failed...doing it together made going through it possible.

Showing Up

One year ago today I furiously drove home from church to get news from Brian about our 3rd and final IUI cycle. It was our last medical shot at getting pregnant. I threw open our front door, butterflies flying in my belly, and ran back to find Brian. We met in the hallway. He didn't even say anything. I knew. It failed.

I collapsed to the ground in tears. Brian held me up and carried me to our bed. I don't even really remember the rest of that night. Unimaginable pain and loss. That was the worst day of my life to date. It felt like a piece of me died. And even one year later, tears are streaming down my face as I remember that moment.

Fast forward one year later and we are expectantly awaiting our referral for our 2 little ones. Our hearts have healed so much and we are full and grateful for our story. What a difference a year can make.

But what I wanted to write about today was what unfolded in the week after that devastating day. I took the week off work to grieve and rest (my body had been through so much treatment in a year). And people started showing up. I remember who showed up. My parents sent flowers. Angela showed up with homemade Korean food that she and her mom made. Daniel and Cassidy showed up on a night where I was going to be alone and brought dinner...and a bottle of wine. Ed showed up with Mexican food and sat with us for over an hour, validating our grief, sharing about Jesus' grief. Lisa showed up with the "Anne of Green Gables" series. Our small group showed up to love on us. So many others did, too, through phone calls, texts, emails, and hundreds of prayers.

I remember who showed up because it carried us through that week in ways I will never fully understand. I will be forever grateful to our friends and co-workers who showed up those days. Once again, thank you. It will make sharing our babies with you even more powerful, humbling, and overwhelming. We love you and are so grateful.

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...