shifting sand

update

I'm no longer updating this blog- you can find all new postings related to my faith and journey of infertility on my main blog, under the tags FAITH and INFERTILITY. Thanks so much for reading and allowing me to share my heart with you.

KA 

Please don't fight these hands that are holding you

I am currently reading absorbing Waking The Dead by John Eldredge. Tiffani and I might be a little bit too into his books lately. I called Natalie the other day and said "Natalie I have some life changing news for you" and she asked warily "Are you going to read to me from a John Eldredge book?"

Really, I just wanted to tell her I stumbled across this amazingly cool way to frame a map that she's had for years but not wanted to pay to frame. But since she asked...

I've been spending time alone with God lately. I had gotten away from that because I didn't want to force a Southern Baptist "Quiet Time" into my relationship with the Lord. But sometimes in our quest to be revolutionary, we stride too far away from simple concepts that benefit us. Just because I disagree with the way a quiet time was taught to us as youth doesn't mean that the principle of spending solitary time with God each day wouldn't be beneficial to me.

And it has been. When I am silent and seeking, rather than pounding down Heaven's door with my frustrated rants and desperate prayers my heart feels settled. Peaceful. It's one of those moments in faith that are difficult to describe. This month's disappointment wasn't fraught with desperation. Just a subtle sense that He's by my side, wherever I fall, in the dead of night, whenever I call.

So please don't fight these hands that are holding you.

There's a greater story, written long before me.

When I was 19 years old I sat alone in a doctor's office in a white paper robe, counting the dots on the ceiling in an attempt to stay calm while I waited to find out what was wrong with my body. I thought it might be cancer. That's because I have OCD and I always think I have some sort of cancer. And also because I kept passing out from the pain.

I'd been to seven doctors that year. I'd had no answers.

This doctor, this detached woman who must not have seen the slight trembling of my teenage hands. This doctor came in with an answer. She gave me her diagnosis. I asked what that meant. She looked at me, sitting there in my white paper robe, and told me crisply that I could not have children. Ever.

I never went back to that doctor.

Time passed. I had some surgeries. I sort of got used to the idea.

Then I fell in love with Jeff.

And I wanted more than anything to give him a child. To have a body that wasn't broken. To conceive and carry and fulfill that part of our heart.

What we've learned since is that my body can, on a rare occassion, conceive. What it cannot do is carry. Very quickly we made the decision not to share my pregnancies, not even with friends and family, because they so quickly slip away. A few weeks here, a few weeks there. Not long enough to grasp. Just long enough to break a heart.

Just long enough to ache at the sight of motherhood. Just long enough to fall before the Lord in raw emotion.

I am the first to admit that I don't understand. I'd be lying if I told  you that on really bad days I didn't watch mothers with their children in the grocery store and judge the ones I think don't deserve them. I don't have any solid answers to the question "why?"

What I do know is that God works even in the midst of sorrow. That in my tears and frustration and pain, He is constant. That there is a purpose to this broken body. That there is a beautiful ending to the story.

And that while I'm in it, He will carry me. I know this because I feel Him there. When I feel everything else, when I'm angry or frustrated. When I'm heartbroken. When I'm numb. When I have nothing left. In every emotion, I feel Him there.

Through the last year, I've been reading Angie Smith's blog. The following song/video was written in honor of her daughter that passed away just shortly after her birth. I've never lost a child in that way. I can't relate to that. What I can relate to is the assuredness of a Savior that quietly carries us through our sorrow.

Is this the strange feeling of You working all to good? | Home, part one.

This is the story of Jeff and Kayla Aimee buying a house. It's a long story, one that I'm going to break into several parts. I hope that I can do it justice, in sharing honestly both the anxiety, fears and setbacks while weaving through the underlying theme of faith that God has been teaching us throughought this journey.

It's November of 2008. Through a series of events, Jeff and I decide to move back to Georgia. Our lease on our apartment is ending and we decide to look at apartments over our Thanksgiving holiday. Instead, Jeff's parents convince us to look at a house that a friend of theirs has for sale. It is a cute little 3 bedroom cottage home in North Georgia. We know that she's had it on the market for nearly a year with no offers at all and is desperate to sell it. It seems perfect for us. We talk about the house for the entire 3.5 hours drive back to Tennessee.

At this point we are not sure what my work situation will be. Jeff, on this same trip home, visits a friend that he used to work with and learns that his old employer is hiring. He stops by his old office and they offer him a new position that day. I'm still working for the scrapbooking company but know that my last days are approaching. The owner of the home we are interested in recommends me for a position at the church she works at, so I go in for an impromptu interview and they give every indication that they are intent on hiring me, so with that confidence we decide to make an offer on the house.

We arrive home.

We make the offer.

In one day we went from no place to live and no jobs to having a job for Jeff, a solid job lead for me and an offer on a house.

The next day we receive two phone calls. The first one is from the church, telling me that budget cuts are preventing them from hiring me and they are going to give the position to a staffer that needs some extra hours. The second call is about the house. After an entire year with no offers, someone made an offer the same day as us. A higher offer. An offer we could not possibly match.

That day? That day sucked.

We spent the next few days in a bit of a rough patch. It didn't make sense. We had prayed about the house and felt peaceful about making an offer. We had prayed about the job and felt peaceful about my interview. We felt certain that the chain of events was purposeful and leading us to purchase a home. So where were we wrong? Did we misunderstand God? What did any of this mean? In retrospect, I can see clearly the outcome that was to follow this being set in motion but in that time, in that place, in that moment we were thouroughly confused and wounded.

With only a week left before we move, there is no time for  us to find another house. Suddenly we are faced with two options: short term lease an apartment or move in with Jeff's parents.

Thinking that we would find a house by January, we decide to move in with Jeff's parents.

To be continued...

Personally, I'm waiting for the Polly Pocket manger scene to go on sale

I just got this email from a friend and asked her if I could post it here because it made me smile:

A couple weeks ago I was doing kids' church and we were talking about the Bible story of Moses going up the mountain to be with God and he was up there for so long that the people got upset and started taking it out on Aaron and wanting him to do something about it.  So, they built the golden calf, etc., etc.

Well, at the end, this one girl, Ava, looks at me and she says, "You know what, this is the perfect story to tell with Polly Pockets."  And I looked at her and said, "You know what, you're so right."

Boldness

Lately life has been composed of tough conversations. Some good, some bad. Here's the thing: I suck at tough conversations. I just do. I'm getting better as I get older but I still tend to get all frozen up and unable to form coherent thoughts. I'm a much better writer than I am an on-the-spot orator. Typically I end up completely overwhelmed and unable to say what I'm feeling, which leaves me completely angry at myself later on, when I'm reflecting on the conversation.

Recently, I sucked up all my anxiety and sat down for a reconciliation with a family member. And it was tough. But I am glad that I did it. I'm glad that I no longer have to wonder about what might have been. I'm glad that I was able to make it through the conversation with strength and peacefulness. I'm glad that it came to pass. And yet, I'm not sure still how to process the situation. I know that I want to extend grace and I know that I want to facilitate a relationship. At the same time, I don't think that reconciliation equals the resolution I was hoping for. Overall, however, it's better and it's good.

It made me want to approach my whole life differently. It made me want to not sit back and wait and wonder, but to make things happen. To rely on grace and let it carry me through.

It made this verse make a whole lot more sense: My grace is enough; it's all you need. My strength comes into its own in your weakness.

Coming out of the fog

I can feel that the words spilling out of my fingertips on this topic are going to be many, so please bear with my longwinded entry or feel free to skip it altogether.

For several days weeks months I've alluded to what I've deemed "our situation" without going into a lot of details and there are many reasons for that. One was that I just wasn't at liberty to share certain things yet and all the rest of the pieces relied on that information to make any sense. Like a big game of Jenga with different aspects of my life as the blocks. We're nearing the end of this chapter of the story and so I'm able to have a little more clarity and tell it with a little more detail.

A while ago, the country's economic issues paid us a formal visit which resulted in my being laid off. It seems so small, typed out in a sentence like that, just little black print on a page. But it completely overwhelmed me. All of our plans were tied to my working. A lot of me was tied to my working. My work was very much a part of my identity for the last few years.

As far as being laid off goes, we were in a better position than most. We have worked hard to stay debt free and live frugally so that we could live off one income if need be. Not that one income isn't tight and frustrating, but it is doable. Plus, we were staying with my in-laws while we waited to hear about our house, which meant we had very few bills during that time. Doesn't that seem so ideal? It was a total horror for me, nevertheless. (Not my in-laws, just the thought of being laid off)

Our house though, was a bit of an issue. Every week we hoped I'd find a job because without having one going into closing, we would lose the house. Every week I applied for literally every job possible to no avail. Weeks went by without a single interview.

Those weeks were rough on me. I won't gloss over them, I slipped into a pretty rough patch of depression. I couldn't handle the pressure of knowing that our plans: house, fertility treatments, future - they were all crumbling and I felt as though that were my fault. That the catalyst for the crumbling was losing my job. And even though rationally I knew it was just tied to this moment in history and had nothing to do with me directly, I could not overcome the feeling of pressure. I started having really bad panic attacks, up to two or three times a week. When the last date of my employment passed and the closing on our house was pushed back, I cried for an entire day. I also ate an entire bag of white cheddar popcorn and a carton of moose tracks ice cream, but that's neither here nor there.

Last week the phone calls started and I was blessed with several interviews. I took a job knowing I wouldn't love it, but figuring that it would be enough to take the pressure off and secure that future we'd planned. I worked one full day there and realized that it was something I considered to be jeopardizing my personal safety. I was still going to go back too, except that my husband put his foot down and said that no house was worth that. I think that memory will live with me a long time, the subtle way he freed me from the havoc my mind was causing in my heart. It gave me pause enough to realize that I wasn't really trusting God. I thought I was trusting God by taking the first job that came along.

Then my realtor called and told me that faith was not believing God was going to send me a job, but believing that He was going to send me the right job for me. That night she sent over a list of verses for me, and John 16:24 stood out among them. I went out for a walk the next morning and let go. Just let go of the fear and anxiety and honestly, of the selfishness. And then it all came together.

See, when I took that job I canceled the interview I had lined up later in the day. I knew I'd want the second job more because it was creative and very well suited to me but the first job seemed smarter on paper, with all the benefits and stuff. I didn't think about it. I just went with safe. Turns out, that job was paper safe but not physically safe. After all the reading and walking and praying, I called the second interviewer back. Almost a week had passed and I was sure they wouldn't want to see me since I'd canceled on them prior.

They offered me the position.

The closing on our house was moved to accommodate my change in employment.

Yesterday, I ovulated. (okay, so this is only a big deal if you know this only happens to me 3-4 times a year. I practically have a party every time now.)

It's still not the end of the story but it is getting closer to the end of this chapter and the start of a new one. I wish I could tell you I was pressed into God the entire last eight weeks, but that would be a lie. The truth is, God pressed into me for the last eight weeks, patient with my shortcomings, never changing, always steady. He kept working for my good, it just took me awhile to see it.

And the thing is, it still may not play out like we thought. We may not end up with this house and have to find another. We may not get pregnant again for a long time, if ever. But maybe this time will have taught me a lesson for next time. A lesson about how really, apart from Him I can do nothing.

I'm going to title this "The one where I got some perspective"

I have so much to update on but have a few things to get in order first. I wanted to share this story here in the meantime.

The other day I was sitting in a waiting room. I was sitting on my hands in order to avoid reading the newest issue of People magazine. I'm not going to lie, that was a tough one because the Gosselins of Jon and Kate Plus Eight were on the cover and I have many opinions about those people. So I'm sitting there having a little conversation with myself about how reading just one article wouldn't be breaking my resolution not to read tabloids anymore, when a man came in and sat down beside me.

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. This is how his conversation went:

"Hey Billy, this is Carl. I'm just calling to tell you I got a job this morning and I wanted to say thanks for your prayers man."

He talked to Billy a little longer, hung up and then immediately dialed someone else, having the same conversation as above. He repeated this for about 8 or 9 phone calls.

Once he ran out of people who had been praying for him, he called the people that had not been praying for him. I know this because his conversation went like this instead:

"Hey Joe, this is Carl. I'm just calling to tell you that I got a job this morning and to let you know that God is good. I was praying for a job and now I have one. I just wanted to let you know that God does answer prayers man."

He called more people to deliver this speech than the other.

In piecing together his conversations, I learned that Carl desperately needed a job because he had been laid off. I learned that the job he took paid very little money, but it was going to cover his bills and he was thankful about that. I know because he told people.

I also learned that Carl's new job was cleaning out porta potties on job sites.

I'm not kidding. And he was so stoked about it. And he called EVERYONE he knew to tell them about his new job and about how God provided for him in his time of need.

I sat in that waiting room feeling completely ashamed and humbled. I've spent the last six weeks in turmoil over my own situation, sometimes approaching God in complete belligerence. This man is facing 40 hours a week of cleaning out porta potties and he was completely joyful over it. He called everyone he knew IN TOTAL JOY about it.

Perspective.

The middle of the story

I was reading a book the other day (shocking!) and this phrase caught my eye "Don't you go and give up in the middle of the story."

The middle of the story is the hardest part. As a wannabe author, it's the hardest part to write and every creative writing class I've taken has stressed this. It's hard to write the middle.

It's hard to live the middle too. I've always heard that our lives are a story, but I don't think of it that way. I picture our lives as a series of short stories, each one separate but together making a whole. It's easy to look back on individual stories and see how the middle worked to connect the beginning and the end, the invisible spirit of God weaving it's way through the parts and binding it together. That's why they say hindsight is 20/20. Looking back is much easier than looking in the midst.

Did you know that most authors give up writing in the middle of the story? It's because the middle is hard freakin work. I have dozens of half finished pieces that stop somewhere in the middle, all because I don't know where to go next. I can't see how the story will make it to the end so I give up and start working on a new story. Because the new story has a fresh, exciting beginning that I am passionate about. It's hard to be passionate about the middle.

But you can't have a story without the middle. Hence the dozens of half finished pieces lying around my desk. No matter how great the beginning is, you always have to come to the middle.

I felt really strongly about that phrase this week. If I wasn't terrified of needles I might get it tatooed in a pretty cursive font across my wrist. Except tatoos are something that probably need a little more thought than that. I did write down and tape it to my monitor though. Just because I think we could all use a reminder, to not give up in the middle of the story.

Choosing the happy ending

Yesterday I read this book. I was so disappointed with the ending. I hated the ending actually. It wasn't even a sad ending, it just felt incomplete. Here she is in the book, looking for a happy ending and I'm reading the book waiting for her to get her happy ending when all of the sudden the book just ends. She just gets an ending.

It annoyed me. I was annoyed that I wasted time reading the book. She needed a happy ending and I didn't even get to see if she got one or not. I think it annoyed me because lately, I've been praying for a happy ending. We're in the midst of some things I'm not at liberty to talk about yet, but a recurrent theme in my prayers has been asking God to FIX THINGS. So what annoyed me was here I was, identifying with this girl. Wanting to see her get her happy ending. Wanting to grasp that hope and decide that it was going to happen for me too. And then the story just ended.

This morning I thought about it some more. I realized that the ending was more realistic. It wasn't wrapped up nicely and I didn't turn the last page filled with joy at the conclusion. I had to choose to be happy about that ending. To recognize that it fit the situation and that the story didn't need a cliched happy ending for it to be happy. It wasn't a storybook happy ending. It wasn't the happy ending I was expecting. But it was a happy ending nonetheless.

It was a happy ending because she saw things that way. I was reading her story thinking "how can you be happy about this? This isn't a happy ending at all!" This morning I discovered that I let my definition of happiness dictate what the happy ending should be. That's why I was disappointed in the book. Not because the ending was bad, just because I wanted a different outcome.

That's how I feel about what we are dealing with right now. I know what I want the outcome to be. I see what the current situation is and it does not line up with that. It's made me unhappy. But maybe the real issue is that my perspective is totally off. Maybe the real issue is that what I want the outcome to be and what the outcome will be are two totally different things. Maybe the thing I need to do is to choose to be happy regardless.

After all, my joy doesn't rest on happy endings.