I have been thinking a lot about infertility lately. I know others around me are being touched by it right now. But it's one of those things that when you're in the midst of it, you feel as if you are all alone. In life when you experience a loss, people around you offer words of comfort. When you are infertile you experience a loss every month. There is no one to comfort because nobody knows. No one understands the pain of that loss except you. A baby was lost that never was. A dream evaporated that never saw the light of day. Your arms are empty. Everywhere you look there are pregnant women that are not in your mirror, and chubby babies that don't belong in your arms. It is the most lonesome and isolated I have ever felt in my life. I would not wish it on my worst enemy.
Almost from the time I realized we were infertile I decided not to let that pain be in vain. I tried hard to let everything be for the glory of God. I felt convicted to not pursue infertility treatments. I KNEW that God did not want that. At the time I did not know why. Now of course I realize it was because he was preparing us for bigger things. For 4 long years, I prayed to my Savior to relieve this suffering. I did not see God working. I pled for Him to send us a child. In my heart I was growing bitter. I fought hard to keep my faith. I plunged into scripture allowing it to speak to my heart. I grew bitter. As bad as I hate to admit it. I wanted to bring my Father glory but I sometimes wanted a baby more. But He was greater than the pain.
A year ago I started praying for Him to remove the desire I had for a baby. I knew at some point there would be no baby, I just need him to give me peace to accept it. And he did. My great, sovreign God, who had listened to my tears, and rage, and desperation for 5 years began to close off all the displeasing emotions that had my heart twisted inside out. He removed the desire for a baby, and I thought that was it. I started getting used to the idea of mothering a lonely only child.
Then on a cold, sunny Sunday in March, my husband, whom I had never spoken to about adoption, casually mentioned that he might be open to the idea. Within 3 days 3 different people brought it up. Then I had a dream. A dream in which I was holding a beautiful black baby in a pink dress and a big bow. Her name was Layla. When I awoke the next morning I looked up the name. Layla means "dark beauty".
I try to approach this with caution, but I truly believe this was a vision from God. Especially when my sister had the exact same dream.
I never would have chosen to be infertile. I never would want someone else to feel that pain and loss. I never would have pursued adoption. I certainly didn't think I would have an Ethiopian daughter someday. I never want to go through a valley as deep as the one I have just come out of again. I would never change an element of the journey that has brought us to this point.
Almost from the time I realized we were infertile I decided not to let that pain be in vain. I tried hard to let everything be for the glory of God. I felt convicted to not pursue infertility treatments. I KNEW that God did not want that. At the time I did not know why. Now of course I realize it was because he was preparing us for bigger things. For 4 long years, I prayed to my Savior to relieve this suffering. I did not see God working. I pled for Him to send us a child. In my heart I was growing bitter. I fought hard to keep my faith. I plunged into scripture allowing it to speak to my heart. I grew bitter. As bad as I hate to admit it. I wanted to bring my Father glory but I sometimes wanted a baby more. But He was greater than the pain.
A year ago I started praying for Him to remove the desire I had for a baby. I knew at some point there would be no baby, I just need him to give me peace to accept it. And he did. My great, sovreign God, who had listened to my tears, and rage, and desperation for 5 years began to close off all the displeasing emotions that had my heart twisted inside out. He removed the desire for a baby, and I thought that was it. I started getting used to the idea of mothering a lonely only child.
Then on a cold, sunny Sunday in March, my husband, whom I had never spoken to about adoption, casually mentioned that he might be open to the idea. Within 3 days 3 different people brought it up. Then I had a dream. A dream in which I was holding a beautiful black baby in a pink dress and a big bow. Her name was Layla. When I awoke the next morning I looked up the name. Layla means "dark beauty".
I try to approach this with caution, but I truly believe this was a vision from God. Especially when my sister had the exact same dream.
I never would have chosen to be infertile. I never would want someone else to feel that pain and loss. I never would have pursued adoption. I certainly didn't think I would have an Ethiopian daughter someday. I never want to go through a valley as deep as the one I have just come out of again. I would never change an element of the journey that has brought us to this point.
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