Dwell in Me

Seeking God in the Every Day

Category Archives: Infertility


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Rejoicing

Rejoice in the Lord always. Again, I say rejoice!
Philippians 4:4

I am really bad at this.

And until this week, I didn’t really think about it being a command. But maybe it is. As Paul is writing from a dark place (house arrest in Rome) all about joy in his letter to the Philippians, I don’t think I can excuse my failures to rejoice as a result of my circumstances. I’ve got nothing on Paul.

As I read these words I was struck by how similar it sounds to I Thessalonians 5:17:

“Pray without ceasing.”

I struggle with that one, too.

And the next verse (I Thess. 5:18):

“Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.”

We just finished Philippians in my Bible study. Actually, tomorrow is our last meeting for the year. And the commentary on Philippians 3 had some lovely words that struck me about rejoicing.

Rejoicing in the Lord fixes the mind on the only real source of joy and comfort–Jesus Christ. This gives perspective to life. We must resist the tendency to rely too much on God’s good gifts of health, financial security, the love of family and friends. To set affections on the gifts of God rather than on God Himself is to court disaster, for the gifts are temporal and subject to change. When believers rejoice in the Lord, they can thank Him for all His goodness and appreciate all He has given without basing happiness on the gifts.

I can’t remember the last time I rejoiced in the Lord simply because he is the Lord.

 I find that when I need to learn something God likes to show it to me in a cascade of ways all at one time. So it was no surprise that that evening (April 29) I read the following from Sarah Young’s book Jesus Calling (written as though Jesus is speaking):

Let Me teach you thankfulness. Begin by acknowledging that everything–all your possessions and all that you are–belongs to Me. The dawning of each new day is a gift from Me, not to be taken for granted. The earth is vibrantly alive with my blessings, giving vivid testimony to My Presence. If you slow down your pace of life, you can find Me anywhere. . . . The secret of being thankful is learning to see everything from My perspective. My world is your classroom. My Word is a lamp to your feet and a light for your path.

I’ve been reading Ann Voskamp’s blog, A Holy Experience, for several months now. She is the author of the book “1000 Gifts,” and she recommends daily giving thanks to God for what we have and who he is and what he is doing in our life (even things that hurt). I’ve been thinking for a while that I should really do that, but I haven’t been motivated to actually start. So I started a twitter account just to note my thanks. I’ll try to put in three things a day that I am thankful for; they’ll show up on the side of my blog and hopefully help keep me accountable. Anyway, I’m putting them there so I will have a record I can refer to and because I don’t blog consistently enough to put them in my posts.

Maybe making a conscious note of thanksgiving will help me to better rejoice in the Lord, to grow in my faith, and to see beyond my circumstances (which so often feel dark and painful). Maybe thankfulness and rejoicing will help me truly lay my pain and burden at the foot of the cross.


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Sharing in His Sufferings

“But whatever gain I had I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith–that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead.” Philippians 3: 7-11

So I’ve been meditating some on what it means to take joy in suffering lately. I guess that came up in my last post and then hit me again as I was doing my Bible study in Philippians 3 this week. The verses that really caught me are 3:10-11, though I provide 7-11 for some extra context here. Paul has just finished talking about why he was about the most qualified person for salvation that ever could be–by worldly, Jewish standards anyway. He has perfect lineage, “a Hebrew among Hebrews.” As a Pharisee, he knows the law forward and backward. He had great zeal for his beliefs–which he credits as the motivation behind his persecution of Christians before meeting the Lord on the way to Damascus. He is as righteous and by the book as any man could have been before Christ. But he says, “I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.”

None of those credentials is worth anything to him in light of Christ. And none of those things could have saved him.

There are things I rely on in daily life all the time when I should rely on Christ. And things I feel so heartbroken that I am missing. But I was reminded recently that while “children are a blessing from God,” they are not the ultimate blessing. That is salvation.

That doesn’t change the fact that infertility means pain and difficulty and suffering for so many of us, myself included. I haven’t really suffered in this life outside of this, and I have found it difficult to become accustomed to it. I don’t like suffering. I don’t want it. I want nothing to do with it.

But then, that puts me a bit out of line, doesn’t it?

Paul talks about sharing in the sufferings of Christ not just as a worthwhile thing, but as something he desires. Wow.

This verse (verse 10) really hits home when considering how to have joy in our sufferings. We can rejoice in our difficult circumstances because in some small way our challenges allow us to take part, albeit to a lesser degree, in the sufferings of Christ. I believe this is so even when the things we suffer are not outwardly related to our faith or profession thereof. That is, even when our sufferings are not brought about by persecution.

In this sense, I should rejoice in infertility, even if all I could ever gain from it is that I will have shared in some small part in the sufferings of Christ.

I need to remember that to attain resurrection from the dead is worth it at any cost. Even the cost of my ability to bear children. That is so difficult for me to wrap my mind around. But if that is not true, what do I believe?

I think if I had read what I am writing here a few months ago I would have thought two things. First, that this writer is a bit off balance (which, let’s face it, is a completely valid concern even now), and second, that this writer has no concept of what I am going through and clearly cannot understand my pain.

But God is working on me. He is changing my heart and changing my perspective. If you think this is crazy, I don’t blame you. But this. This is what I am thinking. And this is true: My pain is worth rejoicing over if it means I am getting closer to Christ and growing more Christ like. 

And in that way, infertility is a discipline, making me better than I could make myself. And God, who knows all things, is growing me and doing what is best for me, as he has promised to do. Even when I don’t understand it.

I don’t have to enjoy it.

“For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness for those who have been trained by it.” Hebrews 12:11

But I do need to rejoice in what suffering really means for me. The building of a Christ-like character within me. And that’s an investment in eternity.


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The Production of Hope

I had an interesting question in a comment the other day, and it’s sparked a lot of thought.

From anchortomysoul:

I do take comfort in that knowing he said this would happen, and that trials produce perseverance and perseverance character and character hope which does not disappoint! Although the end of that verse confuses me! Ha how does character produce hope?

The verse referenced is Romans 5:3-5

Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.

Last year, I studied Revelation in my Bible study. At first I really struggled with it–and not just because it’s such a difficult book to read through. I struggled with the idea of the world’s end, and especially with the idea that we were supposed to be looking forward to it and even praying for it (“your kingdom come,” in the Lord’s prayer, is just one example). Frankly, it was hard for me to say truthfully that I wanted Christ to return and for the world to end. There are things I want to do. Like have babies, for example.

But suffering makes you think about these things differently. When we were first diagnosed with IF, I felt oddly in tune with the suffering in the world. It was like my personal tragedy somehow highlighted tragedy around me. It was probably because I was so emotional at that time. Uncharacteristically emotional–though I don’t know that “uncharacteristic” is still an accurate description nine months later.

And when I watched the news coverage Monday of the bombings at the Boston Marathon, it was all I could do to hold back tears. Maybe that’s a normal response, but I know it wasn’t a normal response for me 10 years ago. When 9/11 happened I was glued to the TV in fascination, but I don’t remember any real sense of empathy for the people whose lives were lost or who lost loved ones. That sounds terrible as I reread it, but it’s true.

Suffering–through the longing for a family, the challenges that infertility has wrought on us, and, yes, the growth we’ve experienced through IF–has led me to be more aware of the fact that we live in a fallen world. A world of pain. A world where people are hurting every day and all.the.time. This is not my home. And I don’t want this to be my home.

I don’t have an official answer to the question posed, but I have a response. Suffering produces hope. Through suffering, we persevere; perseverance builds our character (I think, primarily, our trust and faith in God, our recognition of our own powerlessness and incompleteness alone, etc.), and we end up with hope. To hope in a place where there will be no more crying. To hope in the perfection promised. To hope in Christ, in his offer of salvation, in the redemption, and in the completion of that story when he will come again.

And now, when I say the Lord’s prayer each night, I mean it. Especially “Your kingdom come.”


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Can I Claim That?

People talk all the time about believing the promises of God in our life. I find defining the promises really difficult. There are promises I want to believe are for me. But how do I know that something in scripture is a permanent promise that applies to everyone and not just a promise that applies to certain someones?

There are some I have no doubt about. For example, Romans 8:28: “For we know that in all things, God works for the good of those who love him, who are called according to his purpose.”

I love God. So that promise must apply to me. (I sometimes struggle to remember it, and I often have to remind myself of it, but it’s a promise for me without any doubt.)

But then you read about other promises that are made in scripture. Here’s one I want to claim for myself, but how can I be sure it’s for me and not just for the people who were there?

“You shall serve the Lord your God, and he will bless your bread and your water, and I will take sickness away from among you. None shall miscarry or be barren in your land; I will fulfill the number of your days.” Exodus 23: 25-26

And I want this one:

“Listen closely, Israel, and be careful to obey. Then all will go well with you, and you will have many children in the land flowing with milk and honey, just as the Lord, the God of your ancestors, promised you.” Deuteronomy 6:3

Or this one:

“He will love you and bless you, and he will give you many children. He will give fertility to your land and your animals. . . . You will be blessed above all nations of the earth. None of your men or women will be childless, and all your livestock will bear young.” Deuteronomy 7: 13-14

And I’m not even asking for any sheep or goats to bear young.

I don’t have an answer. This is something I’ve been pondering for many months. In fact, I’ve wondered for many years what the promises are in the Bible. There isn’t any set rule that I can see. Like, if it’s written in Psalms it’s for you but not if it’s given by Moses. Nothing like that.

So I pray over these verses. And I ask God to let them apply to my life and to the lives of the many men and women I’ve come across through blogging or other means who are also struggling through infertility. And I keep asking for clarity and guidance.

Today, as I read those verses in Deuteronomy 7, I thought it was clear for a moment. Those promises are clearly made to the children of Israel.

But could I claim the promises to Israel? Am I like a child of Israel? I’m not descended from Israel (at least, not as far as I know). But I have been adopted into the family of God by belief in Christ Jesus and his work for me. Does that entitle me to the promises given to Israel? I don’t know, but I’d like to think so. (I like this perspective on the subject.)

When I google the promises in the Bible, many lists come up. So I clicked on one. This is one of the promises listed:

“‘For I will restore health to you and heal you of your wounds,’ says the Lord.” Jeremiah 30:17.

Some clearly claim this promise for themselves, even though it is prefaced with “This is the message the Lord gave concerning Israel and Judah” (30:4).

I realize this is pretty convoluted. I’m still trying to figure it out myself, so maybe I’m not the best one to be writing on this subject. But I’ll leave you with this verse (which I’ll be meditating on and trying to better understand over the next few days for sure):

“For the Son of God, Jesus Christ, who was preached among you by us–by me [Paul] and Silas and Timothy–was not ‘Yes’ and ‘No,’ but in him it has always been ‘Yes.’ For no matter how many promises God has made, they are ‘Yes’ in Christ. And so through him the ‘Amen’ is spoken by us to the glory of God.”
2 Corinthians 1:19-20

And I will say, “Amen” to those promises as I read them–just in case they are meant for me.


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Thoughts on Mark 15:31-32

I am reading through the Bible this year and seeing things through the eyes of a woman dealing with infertility. And in that way, the scriptures are made so fresh and new. Occasionally, a thought strikes me and I’ll make a note of it. This one seemed worth sharing.

The verses (while Jesus is on the cross):

“The leading priests and teachers of religious law also mocked Jesus. ‘He saved others,’ they scoffed, ‘but he can’t save himself! Let this Messiah, this King of Israel, come down from the cross so we can see it and believe him!’ Even the men who were crucified with Jesus ridiculed him.” Mark 15:31-32

The people taunted and mocked Jesus on the cross. And they entreated him to come down from the cross to prove his power to them so they would believe. They were telling him what miracle to perform.

How often have I asked God to perform a specific miracle through which we could give him great glory? If we become pregnant before the medicines have possibly had time to work–or if we become pregnant before this or that treatment–what great glory we can give the name of the Lord! And I do believe it would glorify his name if we could tell of a miracle pregnancy, a miracle baby.

But what if Jesus had come down? Perhaps the mockers witnessing that act would have been muted. Perhaps they would have looked upon Jesus and known that he was beloved by God after all, that he did possess some extraordinary power. But if Jesus had come down from that cross, the penalty for our sins would not have been paid. We would not have been saved.

If he had come down from that cross, Jesus may have obtained glory for himself, but it would have been at the expense of God’s great plan for his children.

As a believer, I have to look at this story and be thankful that God does not seek to glorify himself by doing only what people think would give him glory. Instead, he knows the full story and he knows the best way to glory.

So I hope to glorify God in whatever comes through our infertility and through my life. What I think would glorify his name may not be what he knows will be for the greatest glory. But I should not lose heart. And I must continue to trust him. Because Jesus doesn’t come off the cross when the mockers tell him to. Instead, he lays down his life and the curtain separating man from God is torn in two. And what glory when Christ walks from the grave on the third day, showing us that he has conquered death and freed his children from the bondage of sin! Praise God.


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Thoughts of Adopting

I’m back. We did our two weeks in Thailand, Cambodia, and Laos. We did some really fun things and saw some beautiful things. And I’m so glad to be back and able to sleep in my own bed.

For some reason the trip brought up thoughts of adoption. I don’t know if it’s because Angelina Jolie’s first child, Maddox, was adopted from Cambodia (I didn’t know that until we were there), or because the children we saw were so adorable, or something else. DH and I had always talked about adoption, you know, before we found out we couldn’t procreate naturally, in the naive, after we’re done having pregnancies, maybe we’ll adopt some more kids kind of way. And I looked into it briefly when we first found out we were dealing with infertility. But when I really think about adopting, I find it frightens me. What if our kids never feel like they’re ours? Does adoption mean I’ll always feel infertile?

We had the opportunity a while ago to see Mark Schultz in concert in our neighborhood. I enjoy his music and we stood in the rain to watch him play. It was great, until he started talking about his life. He was adopted. And he clearly loves his adoptive parents. But he was talking about how he had always wanted to meet a blood relative. He always wanted to meet someone who was physically related to him. And then he and his wife had their first child. And when that child smiled for the first time, it was his smile. And he was so excited because he had finally met a blood relative.

It’s supposed to be a happy story. And I think I may have been able to share his joy a little better if I heard it today, or last week. But I was very weak then. We were in so much pain and it was all right there on the surface. Just the mention of a baby would make me feel sad and small and not whole. That feeling isn’t totally gone, of course. It still resurfaces from time to time. But I’m a little less sensitive to it today than I was a few months ago.

All I could think of when he was telling this story was that if we adopted we would always be infertile. And that our children would always feel like they missed out on something.

Of course, the case for adopting isn’t helped when you look at the uncertainty and the expense compared with doing IVF. And I still don’t really feel like adoption is a way to replace having children naturally or even through ART. I think some people are called to adopt. And some people have a heart for orphans and will adopt and thereby add to their families. And I think it’s wonderful to adopt a child. A truly wonderful calling. But I wouldn’t want that to be a second-choice plan–I wouldn’t want my children to feel like they were a second-choice plan.

Our hearts could change tomorrow; we could find one day that adopting is the right step for us, the first choice. And maybe a seed has been planted for adoption in our hearts, though it has not yet matured. Right now, choosing adoption would be some kind of compromise. It wouldn’t be right for the child or for us. And I know that.

But I looked at the children around us on our trip and started to wonder . . .


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Not Everything Is Constructive

I’ve been feeling pretty convicted about my last post. I shouldn’t have said some of the things I said about my mom. It’s not that these things weren’t true, but I feel like I should have left out the parts that were pointing out her flaws instead of working through my own experience. It’s a fine line, and I wish I could un-write some of those things. But I can’t (I mean, technically, I could delete them–but it wouldn’t really undo what I’ve already said). So I ask for your forgiveness and understanding. 

Upon re-reading it, some of the parts of that post were clearly written out of my hurt and anger. And I know I should have addressed that with her instead of sharing it with the world. Truthfully, I had addressed those things with her. That conversation we had continued for four hours because she wanted to make sure we resolved things before we parted. And we had. So it was wrong of me to rehash the especially bad parts here.

I know it’s my blog and my place to vent and that I am free to say what I want, but I have been reminded of I Corinthians 10:23: “‘Everything is permissible’–but not everything is beneficial. ‘Everything is permissible’–but not everything is constructive.” So I ask forgiveness for dishonoring my mom in my last post–it wasn’t necessary, and it wasn’t right.

At the end of the day, I know my mom loves me. We are very different people, but she means well. Maybe she’s not the most empathetic person in the world, but she does hurt for me. And I know she was very upset to know that she had hurt me. She just had trouble figuring out how to stop doing it. I do love my mom. And I am very glad she came to visit. And I am glad I have a blog where I can work through some of the most difficult things in this infertility journey in a way that is constructive. The thing is, parts of what I said in my last post simply weren’t constructive.

Thanks for understanding.


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Visit from Mom and Dad

I had a lovely blessing this weekend: My parents came to visit. My dad hadn’t seen our new house yet, and when my mom came last we had just moved in. She was helping us unpack. So it was very nice to have a chance to show them the house now that it is put together and we’ve hung stuff on the walls.

We had a great time while they were here. DH and I took them to NASA headquarters and we visited DH’s parents at their lakehouse. We ate at excellent restaurants, and we really had a wonderful time.

But last night my mom wanted to discuss our infertility stuff. It was their last night here, and we were up until almost 4 am talking. She and I had talked a little about the physical stuff (medicines we were trying, our approximate timeline of upcoming stuff, and so forth), but last night she asked, “Are you happy?”

I told her that I am happy most days, but on the whole I’m sad. I don’t think I’ll ever look back on this period of my life and think, gee, wasn’t that a great time? Remember when we were living in a strange city, we didn’t have a very good social outlet, and we found out we were infertile? Wasn’t it just lovely?

And she didn’t like my answer. She wants me to be happy, of course. But in her mind, the fact that I’m not happy isn’t a fact. It’s something I’m apparently supposed to be either ignoring or doing something about. The hardest part was that she kept telling me that she just knew we would have children someday–if we had faith. She said it more the more I tried to explain to her that, while I appreciated that she was trying to make me feel better, her words weren’t comforting.

I really feel that God is calling me to trust him and to, in a sense, come to terms with the possibility that we won’t have our own children and know that if this happens it will be because that is what is best for us (based on Romans 8:28). It’s not that I think we won’t or that I am not hoping that we will, but that I feel I need to come to a place where I can say honestly that while I hope we will have a family of our own one day, I am okay with the possibility that we won’t.

I’m not there yet. But I’ve gotten close a few times.

I had told her all this before. But it clearly didn’t sink in (or, more likely, she just thinks I’m wrong in my assessment of things). Last night, I told my mom that what she was saying was undermining what I felt like God has been telling me.

And she couldn’t comprehend that.

I just wish she would try to understand. That she would sincerely put herself in our shoes and try to get what it feels like to be here. Or, if that is too much or not possible for her, that she would at least listen when I say, “Mom, what you are saying to me right now hurts me. Believe that if you like, but please stop saying it.” Instead, when I say that to her, she repeats the offending words. Over. And over. And over again.

What she said (though she couldn’t understand why this was hurtful) boiled down to saying that if we had enough faith we would be pregnant. As in, it’s our fault we are still barren.

I don’t believe that is true. Deep down, I know it’s not true.

But it’s hard enough to hear stuff like that from people I don’t know well. It’s so much harder to hear it from my own mom.

Lord, give me strength to love her, even when we don’t see eye to eye. And to recognize that she means well, even when she keeps throwing little barbs at me.

(Note: I am really grateful they came to visit. As hard as last night was, maybe by the end of our 4-hour conversation she came to understand something new. Maybe things will be better next time. I am glad it happened. And I really did have a lovely long weekend with my mom and dad, even if some of last night was depressing.)


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“The Watch”

The WatchWhat could be better than a goofy comedy/alien invasion?

I know what you’re thinking. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You just can’t improve on the ridiculousness of Ben Stiller, Vince Vaughn,  and co. beyond adding evil aliens.

But wait–what if they throw in a character dealing with infertility?

Early in the movie we see Evan’s (Ben Stiller’s) wife with an OPK. Intriguing.

And later, after continual pestering from Bob (Vince Vaughn) about when he’ll have kids, Evan confesses to him that he’s shooting blanks. The conversation is lighthearted, and the movie certainly doesn’t present a serious view on infertility (and, irritatingly, it makes adoption look like an easy option), but it was kind of nice. (And better, in my opinion, than the more serious but grossly inaccurate portrayal in W./E., which I may write about later.)

Really, the movie is pretty bad, though DH enjoyed it (I’d say it’s a guy movie). The language is terrible, and there are a lot of sexual jokes and comments, so I wouldn’t call it wholesome. But, though many of the reviews of the film complain that the infertility subplot is “uninteresting” and “boring,” I found it nice to see infertility–and male factor infertility at that–portrayed in a comedy. It makes what we’re going through seem more everyday. More culturally relevant.

The normalization of infertility in our culture could really do good things for those of us in the trenches. It would be nice if infertility were something people looked at like other medical conditions instead of something to feel embarrassed or secretive about. It would be nice if more people recognized the difficulty of infertility (even if they haven’t experienced it) and could better sympathize with those of us going through it.

And I think cultural references, even in silly movies, are a great place to start.


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Believing–Trying to, Anyway

This morning, this struck me in my reading:

From then on, Jesus began to tell his disciples plainly that it was necessary for him to go to Jerusalem, and that he would suffer many terrible things at the hands of the elders, the leading priests, and the teachers of religious law. He would be killed, but on the third day he would be raised from the dead. … Then Jesus said to his disciples, “If any of you wants to be my follower, you must turn from your selfish ways, take up your cross, and follow me.” (Matthew 16:21, 24)

It really is crazy to think that Jesus specifically told the disciples to take up their cross and follow him well before he was crucified. How much plainer could he have spoken?

Jesus knew the moment he began his ministry that he was taking up a cross and that he would bear that cross to completion.

And he told his disciples that he would be killed and that he would rise again three days later.

He told them this at least three times. (See Matthew 17:22-23 and Matthew 20:17-19.)

But after he was crucified, the disciples are nowhere to be found. When they first receive the news that Jesus has risen from the dead, they don’t believe the women who tell them, “because their words seemed to them like nonsense.” (Luke 24:11)

I look at this and wonder at how the disciples could have had so little faith. It is clear they did not believe what he had told them.

But why do I think I’d have done any better?

I’m dealing with infertility. And it hurts. It hurts so badly. And I cannot confess to you the number of times I have thought about my situation and found it hard to believe that God could be using this for my good, for anyone’s good.

But I’ll try to have faith.

Eventually, the disciples saw Jesus face-to-face again. And then they believed. Even the most skeptical of all of them believed.  I can only hope God will have patience for me as he did for them.