We’re going to be okay.


I want to write, but I don’t know what to say.

I could write about how under attack our marriage feels at times. Infertility & loss can feel so isolating, even between a husband and wife. Thank God those moments are the exception rather than the rule, but I understand how without a lot of prayer & diligence it could all start to feel very overwhelming. I keep quoting “Do not gloat over us enemy!” {from Micah 7} and singing this powerful song about standing in strength when the rain falls…even daring the rain to fall harder. {Except….let’s not let it rain harder right now. Okay then.}

Or I could write about how I swing between feeling numb or with emotions lurking just right under the surface. We took a kindergarten field trip today to Lowe’s for a building project and I had to fight to keep from crying while I watched the kids happily hammering away. I don’t even know why.

I’m so perplexed by God and how He could call us to do this knowing that this would be the outcome that I can’t even begin to know what else to say about that. I feel like I have a big fat question mark hanging over my head when I think about what in the world we are going to do moving forward, so obviously there’s nothing else to say there.

Or how, in spite of the pain & disappointment, how much joy & honor…pride & wonder I feel when I think about what God has done in our life over the last year and a half. It seems as though it all would be diametrically opposed, but somehow it’s not.

Maybe I could try to explain how what Chris really wanted/needed, which was to limit our openness with others about this second transfer, has turned out to be quite the opposite of what I needed when it was all said and done. He felt like he had to tell and retell others about the outcome of the first transfer, but I feel like the bulk of that really fell to me. {Well, I had to tell most of the people who we know and interact with regularly, he had to answer questions from a bunch of randoms that he randomly told.} So this time around, he has had less people to tell and I’ve basically had the same amount, only spread out over a longer period of time. And because they didn’t know the transfer was happening in the first place, it feels as though most are either less interested or afraid to give much of a response when I share the news. {Not to say I haven’t received beautiful shows of support from those closest to me…they have been wonderful and so caring.} I don’t know. It’s just lonely. I’m just not sure where I fit these days I guess, and it’s hard. People don’t know what to say to me, and I don’t know what to say to myself.

I’d rather not write about how I am really out of excuses and need to get serious about losing some weight. Between eating my feelings and some weight I’d like to blame on the fertility meds {even though I have no idea if they are to blame at all}, it’s not helping how I feel about myself.

So yes. Still sorting. Still processing. Still scratching my head and crying in the car and buying books about grief & pregnancy loss on my kindle because somehow this transfer loss feels more like a miscarriage than the first one did. I had little lives inside me and they died inside me, and that’s just really devastating to think about. 

But we’re going to be okay. And then one day we’ll be more than okay.

With God on my side, it can’t turn out any other way.

Blessed am I.