Cedar N' Steel

I read the most amazing passage in my Oswald Chambers devotional, My Utmost for His Highest, and it perfectly describes what true faith looks like. It reads: “Faith never knows where it’s being lead, but it loves and knows the One Who is leading…The root of faith is the knowledge of a Person, and one of the biggest snares is the idea that God is sure to lead us to success…The life of faith is not a life of mounting up on wings, but a life of walking and not fainting. It is not a question of sanctification; but of something infinitely further on than sanctification, of faith that has been tried and proved and has stood the test…a tried faith built on a real God.”

I think what he means is that true faith is in the person of God, not in the results of our faith (whether He answers our prayers or not). True faith never knows what’s around the next corner or expects a certain outcome, but it knows and trusts Who’s in charge of the future. Chambers says “the life of faith is not a life of mounting up on wings,” (i.e, having success because we are now Christian), “but a life of walking and not fainting (i.e, continuing to go forward with unceasing trust in God, no matter how hard things get, just like Job). For the suffering Christian this is a daily struggle, slogging through the muddy backbreaking weight of life’s difficulties and our emotions.

Suffering inevitably makes us doubt God because we can’t imagine how an all-powerful God, who is supposed to love us so much that He died for us, would allow such pain into our lives. We know He could take it all away in a heartbeat, so why doesn’t He? We doubt who He is, what we know about Him, and even whether He’s real. I’ve wondered all those things at various points in our infertility journey and sometimes still have thoughts like that. A girl in our small group said there are two ways to handle doubts about God: either turn away from Him or seek Him. That is the free will He gives us: to choose to turn and face Him or turn our backs and walk away.

Doubt doesn’t mean God isn’t who He says He is (loving, strong, just, kind, gentle; think fruits of the spirit). He doesn’t cease being who He is because we don’t believe in Him. It’s human ego to think we have that kind of power over Him. When we feel doubt, it simply means we don’t understand Him or know Him well enough to have the kind of true faith He’s asking for, a faith that knows Him so well that there’s no room for doubt.

The journey to that kind of faith is different for everyone and takes time and experiences uniquely tailored to the individual, but I do think we only know how strong our faith is when it’s been truly tested and holds firm. And I’m not just talking about a bad day that’s cured with a glass of wine tested. I mean something so painful, so exhausting, so maddening that it makes you question everything you ever believed or felt about God and life. It’s a test where nothing you try to do seems to make things better. It’s a test where you can’t find the answers in any book, or song, or image, or person. It’s a test where God’s silence deafens, driving us mad.

Sometimes He’s not asking us to learn something from our suffering. Sometimes He’s just asking us to weather the storm with Him so He can show us and those around us just how strong and deep our faith roots go. What a powerful statement we can make to the world if our faith holds firm, and even deepens when we suffer! They’ll wonder how we can smile amidst the chaos, which opens opportunities to share His love. True faith holds firm when it has absolutely no reason to by the world’s standards. True faith says “I love you and I trust you God, even though life makes absolutely no sense right now.” It says “I acknowledge I don’t understand this situation and can’t predict the outcome, but I know you are who you say you are and that’s all I need to know.” True faith says, as Jesus prayed in the Garden, “your will be done, Father.”

I am so thankful God has decided to reveal His true self to me through our infertility struggles. I made the conscious free will decision to pursue Him, to know Him better rather than turning my back on Him as so many do when faced with suffering. I stopped asking questions specific to our infertility issues and started asking God “Who are You? Please show me the real you, because obviously what I thought isn’t right.” I sought to know Jesus better, how He lived, what He thought, how He treated people, and tried to emulate that. Jesus is our real world example of who God is because He was God incarnate. He is the only perfect model for the true Christian life.

As hard as it is to continue slogging through the pain of infertility, I know God’s changing me through it. Every torrent of tears, every fit of rage, every overzealous display of joy, every clutch of despair, every emotion and experience brings me closer and closer everyday to that point of true faith where I can say without a doubt, “God I trust who you say you are, even though our future is uncertain. I wish only to know you better and I accept whatever happens to accomplish that, even if it doesn’t feel good.” I know I’m a long way away from freedom from doubt, but I’m on the right path to getting to know the real God and that is the true success.

John 20:29, 2 Corinthians 5:7, Matthew 14:31, Hebrews 11:1

Luke 10: 38-42
As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help!” “Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”

I’m currently sitting in the Phoenix airport faced with a 7 hour delay on my flight to Atlanta. Thankfully I have nowhere to be anytime soon, so I’m content to write, read, watch movies on my iPad and generally rest from the last two weeks of what I like to call “growing relationships.” I’ve spent the past 4 days in Phoenix showering my sister-in-law (Michael’s brother’s wife) with baby paraphernalia and enjoying family time with my husband’s side of the family. Prior to that, we were in Fort Worth, Texas for the Colonial tournament where we’ve stayed with the most wonderful host family for the past three years and also get to see family. It’s been a whirlwind of socializing which for an introvert such as myself can be quite exhausting.

One of the best things to come from our infertility journey is the deepening of our relationships with family and friends. We’ve had such an outpouring of love from everyone who learns about our situation and we are so thankful for everyone’s texts, emails, phone calls, conversations, and prayers. In a world where culture expects us to keep our difficulties to ourselves and present ourselves as “having it all together,” I’ve found that sharing our pain and imperfections, showing the real us, has grown our relationships infinitely more than keeping it all to ourselves. It’s presented opportunities for us to share about God’s powerful love, healing, and strength as we continue through something that often shatters relationships.

Over the past two weeks, I’ve wanted to write about something but had no idea what to talk about. I’ve asked God to inspire me so I could do this for Him, but the only thing I’ve gotten back was “sit and engage with those around you.” God’s wanted me to be Mary. He put people around me, my husband, my in laws, my nieces and nephews, and my friends, who needed me to just be engaged with them. To metaphorically sit at their feet and spend time “growing relationships” rather than wracking my brain trying to come up with a blog to write. It’s been wonderful spending one on one time with family and friends and God has deliberately surrounded me with the perfect people to elicit deep conversations about God and life. With my previous two miscarriages, He used his own words to heal me. This time He’s using relationships with other believers. He’s showing me I’m not meant to live isolated, but in community growing myself and helping others grow.

God’s two greatest commandments are to “…love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind…and love your neighbor as yourself.” (Matthew 22:36-40). If I’m understanding those commandments correctly, it sounds like God’s telling me that the most important things to Him are relationships. First and foremost is our personal relationship with Him and second is how we relate with other people. As an introvert, relating to other people is challenging for me because I’m naturally inclined towards solitude and a good book. I’m the kind of person who likes to rely on herself and not burden others. I’d rather be Martha, making all the preparations and plans and avoiding people altogether, than Mary sitting and engaging and “growing relationships.”

Mostly, God’s been showing me that even though He’s not calling me to be a mother yet, there are still many children in my life who need me. It’s been delightful spending time with my nieces and nephews, the three school age children we stay with at the Colonial, and my sister-in-law carrying my niece or nephew who comes in July. It’s allowed me to take off the blinders of my desire to have my own kids and focus on the kids who need me now. It doesn’t take away my desire for children, but expanding my tunnel vision to see the whole picture has allowed me to recognize the importance of being Mary to all the kids, ages newborn to 22 years, I find in my life now. We’ve also started sponsoring two kids from Compassion International and are looking forward to supporting them for many years to come.

When I find myself working hard to fulfill my own goals and they don’t go as planned, I become frustrated like Martha and ask God to intervene, to give me what I want. Instead, God’s calling me to sit and listen, to Him and to those who need me. As far as I can tell, my situation isn’t changing anytime soon, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t others who need me in the meantime. When we choose to engage with people, to grow relationships, we fulfill one of God’s greatest commandments. My single most important goal when engaging with people is to point them towards God, by my words and my actions. I’m not perfect and I know I constantly fail in thought, word, and deed, as all people do, but my heart desires for everyone on Earth to know about God’s love and what Jesus did on the cross. How can I point people towards God if I’m Martha, caught up in my own world, worries, plans, preparations, and goals? He calls me to be all things to all people (1 Corinthians 9:19-23) to show them God, and the only way to know what people need is to “grow relationships” and engage as Mary did.

Love is not a feeling; it’s an action. Love means getting to really know people and being what they need. It means taking time away from your own desires to help others achieve theirs. It means sitting, listening, engaging, and growing relationships. Most importantly, it means guiding people to God, the author and perfecter of true love. Even though I’m not a mother, I still wear many hats as Christian, wife, daughter, sister, aunt, granddaughter, cousin, niece, PGA tour wife, and friend. That’s a lot of relationships and a lot of opportunities for God to use me how He wishes. We never know what impact our devoted attention to someone can have on their life, but I hope I can continue to recognize those who need me and sit and engage deeply, loving them as God loves them. Though I think there’ll still be time for a good book 🙂

John 13: 34-35, 1 John 4:11-13, Galatians 2:20, Proverbs 8:17

I’m planning to start adding pictures to the blog! Yay! Here are some from last week’s post about my time in Guatemala in 2010. I still can’t believe this was over 5 years ago.

The hardest physical test I’ve ever endured was climbing Pacaya, a constantly erupting volcano in Antigua, Guatemala. During the final semester of my graduate studies in physical therapy at Emory University, myself and a group of fellow students and faculty members traveled to Guatemala to create exercise programs and upper extremity orthotics for children and adults with physical deformities and other handicaps. We found some time to sight see and spent a day climbing to the top of Pacaya (on the opposite side of the lava flow obviously). Hours upon hours of uphill climbing, first on well-worn roads, then uneven narrow paths with switchbacks, followed by sinking black sand, and finally dried crust speckled with obsidian and steaming from the hot lava flow mere meters below.

It seemed like an endless climb with no peak in sight.  I’ve never breathed or sweated so hard in my life. At times I wanted to give up and just turn around and go back, maybe hop on one of the donkeys taking people down. Every once in a while a plateau emerged for us to sit and rest, taking in the breathtaking view of the verdant valley below, catching our breath and mentally and physically gearing up for the next part of the climb. The higher we climbed the harder and more draining the path seemed. We could see our destination, but it never seemed to get any closer.

That’s what I feel like now. I am exhausted. I’m tired of all the tests and the hormones and the emotional roller coaster. This path to build our family feels like an uphill climb with no end in sight. Each test result and treatment brings new hope, a restful plateau to take in the scenery, and renewed vigor to climb the path. Each transfer, the excited anticipation of finally reaching the summit. And each miscarriage reveals a new grueling section to the climb, the peak still hidden in the clouds. I know there is a summit, just like Pacaya, but I have no idea how treacherous the journey or how long it will take to reach it.

The hardest part is not knowing what God wants from me. Is He telling me that biological children aren’t in our future and He’s calling us to adoption? Is He asking us to just keep going forward no matter how difficult? Does He have some other plan in store we can’t even see right now? At times I feel like we’re ascending this mountain in a blizzard, frozen in time while our friends and family move forward, numbing the pain with distractions, unable to see more than a few feet ahead. I just want to let it go…

My response to this miscarriage has been completely different from the previous two. After the first one, I closed in on myself, avoiding contact with anyone, staying home all day. After the second one, I started working out immediately to numb the pain and Michael and I left Birmingham to spend the winter in Saint Simons, hoping a change in scenery would help us forget. This time, the minute I started cramping and bleeding, I just broke down in tears. Poor Michael just held me and kept silent as I bawled into his chest. With my first two miscarriages it took months for me to cry out to God.  This time it took minutes. I cried to Him how sad and angry and alone I felt. My exact (silent) words to Him were “Take this from me. I can’t handle it on my own!” I’m not exaggerating or making up what happened next. Immediately a sense of peace washed over me and I stopped crying. I even smiled because the next thing that went through my head was “What am I worried about, God? You got this.” I fell asleep moments later.

For the first time in this long journey, I heard God. Really for the first time in my entire life. He cut through the storm in my mind, met me exactly where I was, and told me not to worry. In Matthew 8:23-26, the following scene occurs: “Then he got into the boat and his disciples followed him. Suddenly a furious storm came up on the lake, so that the waves swept over the boat. But Jesus was sleeping. The disciples went and woke him, saying “Lord, save us! We’re going to drown!” He replied “You of little faith, why are you so afraid?” The he got up and rebuked the winds and the waves, and it was completely calm.”

God should be the first one we run to in times of trouble, not the last. It’s taken me three miscarriages to learn this. When storms come up, when the climb seems impossible, when we feel we just can’t handle it anymore, our first response should be to ask for God’s help. He brings us to things we can’t handle so we recognize our need for Him. 2 Corinthians 12:9 says “But he said to me “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”

I realize it’s only with God’s help that we can continue to climb this mountain. I can’t do it without Him. In my head I knew this, but now my heart feels it as well. I am physically and mentally exhausted, weakened by the ascent, but He has infinite strength and power that never fails and can carry any load we give Him. All I can do is focus on the few feet I can see in front of me, leave the future up to God, and press on. We still have four embryos frozen, more tests to undergo, and more decisions to make before we reach the summit.  He won’t let me give up right now because we have a duty to the four children we have left. He still has more planned for us through IVF and I know I must lean on Him to see this through.

I have no idea what the future holds. Be it children through IVF, children through adoption, children through surrogacy, honorary children through other family and friends, or no children at all, I know God carries us the entire way. He’s told me “Don’t worry Rachel; I got this.” The fact that I’ve finally heard Him and experienced Him calming my storm makes me realize I’m on the right path. He’s meant for all of this to happen in order to bring me closer to Him, the ultimate purpose for my life, and it has. It makes me realize that the accomplishment of the climb is not the summit, it’s the journey it took to get there.

Isaiah 40: 28-31, 2 Timothy 2:1, Revelation 2:3, Matthew 11:28, Galatians 6:9

While everyone celebrated motherhood on Sunday, I drove home from Florida in a complete fog, over seven hours of silence and solitude just wanting my bed. All my symptoms pointed to another miscarriage and yesterday my doctor confirmed it. I’ve miscarried…again.

In the book Horton Hears a Who, Dr Seuss says “A person is a person no matter how small.” A baby in the womb, whether 4 weeks or 40 weeks, is just as much a person as you or I. I have now lost 7 children, 6 to miscarriage and one ectopic pregnancy. The fact that I’ve never made it past 8 weeks doesn’t make it any less tragic. It’s the loss of a potential life. The loss of hopes and dreams. The loss of someone already loved beyond measure.

I could not have written this following either of my first two miscarriages. After the first one I was too depressed, hardly able to get out of bed and make it through the day with any purpose. After the second one I was angry, punishing my body on the treadmill or in hot yoga and intentionally avoiding God. This time I feel resigned. This may not work. I am inching ever closer to believing it won’t.

Don’t worry about saying the right or wrong thing to us. There is no right thing to say in this situation. Whatever comes to your heart to say is fine. I don’t have bitterness towards anyone who says the wrong thing; I just mentally forgive their ignorance and keep smiling. The only one who can comfort us is God. We must go through the grieving process with Him by our side and allow Him to heal us.

Right now my goal is to love and be gentle with myself. I’m letting my to-do list sit for a while and doing things I love like reading, watching movies, listening to music, running/lifting/yoga. I get to take a break from fertility treatments and just feel normal. My energy level has sky-rocketed, alleviated from it’s melting pot of supplements and artificial hormones.

Some people keep saying “I know it’ll happen for you.” I just smile and say yes maybe, but no one can know whether it’ll happen or not. We’re conditioned to believe everything has a happy ending because movies, shows and books tell us so. Naturally we desire a happy ending to every situation, but I’ve learned a happy ending may not necessarily mean getting what I want.

The only way to start healing is to expose my real feelings about all this. I must not hide from God or isolate myself from others because that just delays moving on. Writing this blog has become a significant coping mechanism because it forces me to open up to everyone about our struggles. Burying pain behind a smile leads to physical, psychological, and spiritual illness. Our natural inclination is to hide pain and difficulty because our world expects happiness and perfection. Instead, I’m intentionally choosing honesty, openness, and vulnerability. I’d rather people know the real me than a faux facade.

I finally understand what God’s been trying to teach me the whole time; that I can wish for things to go as I want them to, but hope is reserved for only that which is absolutely certain. He’s taught me how to put my hope in God alone, and not in things of this world. I must keep pressing forward in what He’s called me to, leaving the results up to Him. My happy ending is not necessarily a baby, though that’d be a good side-benefit if God sees fit. My happy ending is a deep, unshakeable, hope in God. A hope that someday all the heartache and chaos will be over and He’ll make me whole and perfect. A hope that when I’m standing before Him entering the gates of Heaven, He will read my life story, look me square in the eyes and say “Well done good and faithful servant…”

2 Corinthians 4:16-18, John 16:33

I have no experience with actual pregnancy…only miscarriage. On Wednesday, my doctor called to let me know my pregnancy test was positive. Literally 24 hours after receiving the news, I started cramping and spotting. For someone with my history, you can imagine my anxiety over the last 48 hours with these new symptoms. For the infertility patient, the thrill of pregnancy is always tempered by the fear of miscarriage. Yes we can hope and pray and try to stay positive, but we inevitably analyze every ache and pain hoping it’s not another loss. Miscarriage is devastating, no matter the circumstances.

The cramping and spotting remain and haven’t progressed any further. The nurse I talked to said it’s just my uterus stretching to make room for the baby, and especially if it’s twins, it has to grow much bigger. So now every time I feel cramping, I silently say “Grow babies grow!” This helps me cut off the anxiety before it starts. I don’t want my babies to have hypertension before they’re even born.

Does my anxiety mean I don’t trust Him with my future? I don’t think so. I do trust HIS plan for my future, I just don’t know if His plan involves biological children. More I think it shows me I am human, in need of supernatural peace and confidence only God can provide. I can’t manifest it on my own. It shows me my need for God, and anything that does that is a good thing. I know it’s going to be a looooooong pregnancy if I freak out at every new symptom. Once we see a heartbeat (or 2), I’m hoping my paranoia goes away. The only thing I do know is God is good. He loves me and I love Him.

The thing I love about writing this blog is it helps me acknowledge my feelings and write down every experience, and then it forces me to search for God in the midst of it all. I either find something He’s already taught me, or I find something new He’s revealing. Either way I seek God and sharing it with you keeps me accountable. There is no such thing as a perfect Christian. We all fall short, which is why Jesus came; to free us from any guilt and shame we feel at not being perfect. I am simply a woman being transformed by God and every step in this infertility saga has something to offer me. I don’t want to emerge from it bitter…I want to emerge better.

I go back to the doctor next Tuesday to repeat the bloodwork and make sure my hormones are increasing appropriately and in 2 weeks we have our first ultrasound. The ultrasound is the step we’ve never gotten past. We’ve never seen anything in there. The point of the blog is to share everything, the good and the bad, so people can have a better understanding of what infertile women go through. I hope next week brings good news and in two weeks we finally see our little one or ones thriving, but I can’t predict the future. All I can do is celebrate every day I have with them in me and pray for God’s protection over them and peace and wisdom for myself. I pray God provides all of us peace through our anxiety as only He can.

1 Peter 5:7, Philippians 4: 6-7, Psalm 55:22, Proverbs 12:25, John 14:27

We live in a world of instant gratification. We hate to wait. We want to do it now, know the answer now, get what we want…right…now.

For the infertile lady going through IVF, the nine day wait from the embryo transfer to the pregnancy test is excruciating. It’s the culmination of every test, every procedure, every drug, and every prayer. You and your doctor are finally confident enough in the state of your body and your embryos to put them in and see what happens. They are in there. Please God don’t let me screw it up.

It’s nine days of balancing activity to keep the blood flowing with rest to keep stress levels low. Nine days of eating pineapple cores, avocados and brazil nuts, drinking pomegranate juice and avoiding coffee and alcohol, and sleeping only on your left side. Nine days of putting into action everything the success stories swear by. Nine days of looking for anything that could be a symptom of implantation.

After three transfers, I haven’t found the magic way to deal with it except to stay busy, eat and drink healthy, and keep stress low. For seven days, I’ve binged on Netflix, worked on travel plans for our upcoming tournaments, organized our 2015 finances, cut fabric for my next quilting project, read books, walked, done yoga, meditated, run errands, and now written a blog post. When I felt tired, I lay on the couch and rested. When I felt energized, I got stuff done. The point is I’ve distracted myself with anything I could think of to pass the time and keep from thinking about what’s happening in there. Life doesn’t cease while I wait.

This transfer feels different from the other two because I realized I’ve completely given the results up to God. With the other two, I worried and stressed over every aspect of the process, trying to get everything perfect to make it work. Now I realize only He can make it successful or not. I can eat the perfect diet, sleep in the perfect position, do the perfect amount of activity, do everything everyone tells me to do and it still may not work. If God wills it, it will work. If He does not, no amount of effort on my part will change that because He is God and I am not. Honestly, this takes a lot of pressure off me. I’ve basically said “God, you deal with this. It’s too big for me.”

Waiting teaches us patience. Patience is defined as the ability to accept or tolerate delay, trouble or suffering without getting upset. How can we learn to be patient if we always get everything we want when we want it? Infertility has taught me that I CAN wait and how to wait well, with peace in my heart and a joy on my face that only God can put there. Patience reflects spiritual maturity, and I’m so thankful God has developed this in me through all this.

Waiting also teaches us fortitude, defined as courage, endurance, emotional strength, and steadfastness in the midst of adversity. You never know how strong you are until being strong is your only option. One of my favorite things to come out of all this is how I view myself. Not as a weak, timid, useless, failing, scared girl, but as a powerful, intelligent, beautiful, badass woman with a purpose. A strong woman who can handle anything with God inside her. Waiting has given me the time to really see myself how God sees me, as someone worthy of His love and someone He has plans for.

Right now, as I type, I’m sitting on my screened-in porch as the sun sets, shooting golden arrows through the trees. Our cat lazes on the ottoman at my feet, content with the safety of her human. A blood red Cardinal sings to his mate and the sweet scent of budding flowers dances through the swaying verdant foliage. A Mumford and Sons song called “I Will Wait” has just started playing on my Spotify Favorites playlist. My eyes glisten (thanks hormones) while I listen to the lyrics, knowing they are perfect for this blog. That’s what God does. He gives us exactly what we need when we need it. If we trust that, we have nothing to worry about. And we can wait as long as He needs us to.

From Mumford and Sons “I Will Wait”

“Now I’ll be bold; as well as strong; and use my head alongside my heart; so tame my flesh; and fix my eyes; a tethered mind freed from the lies; and I’ll kneel down, wait for now…’cause I will wait I will wait for you.

Psalm 31:24, Psalm 27:14, Lamentations 3:25, Psalm 39:7, Nahum 1:7, Matthew 11:28, Romans 8:28

Up until now, our next transfer felt like some far off occurrence preceded by countless other activities. It never felt real, except for the fact that I’ve been plying myself with various forms of hormones in preparation, but that just feels like a daily part of my routine added to the mountain of other pills I’ve been taking for 6 months. I now have no more distractions, because today is transfer day! In a mere 2 hours, my fertility doctor will put two of those little lives in and then begins the 9 day wait until my pregnancy blood test. And possibly a 9 month wait after that…OMG.

Stopping in Hattiesburg, MS for dinner last night with our caddie, he made a comment that I’ve been thinking about ever since. He said “It’s pretty amazing that this time tomorrow you’ll be pregnant.” My response was something like “hopefully” or “well we still have to wait for them to implant,” but since I’ve thought about it a bit I’ve decided he’s right. Even if it takes days for those little guys (or gals, or both) to find a cozy haven to grow, I’ll know they’re in there, something normal women trying to conceive can’t know until they pee on a stick two weeks later. Since I’ll know they’re in there, for at least 9 days, I’ll be doing everything I can to provide the optimal environment for them to grow. Deep down I know God is the one who opens or closes the womb, decides whether they stick or not, and sustains them for 9 months, but I also believe I must be prudent with the knowledge and resources He’s given me to take good care of myself the next week and a half….and eat lots of pineapple.

To me, pregnancy doesn’t just mean an egg and sperm have united to create a blastocyst that has then burrowed into my uterus and will grow for 9 months.  To me, pregnancy means God has given me the responsibility for protecting, nourishing, growing, and loving something He created. Because God creates life…not doctors. The embryologist may have been the one to combine the egg and sperm, but God guided her steady hand, helped her pick the perfect specimens to go together, and helped her create the perfect environment for them to grow. God decided which ones would develop and how many. God is the driving force behind all of this, no matter how many doctors and nurses are involved in carrying it out. He has put so many wonderful people in our life to help us achieve this dream, but now He’s called me up to bat. All our hard work over the past year comes to this day, when He will entrust these little ones into my keeping. In 2 hours, they become my responsibility.

Oh geez y’all I’m nervous. I’m not gonna be all high and mighty saying I have perfect peace and complete confidence. Even though I know God is good no matter the result, that He loves me, that He’s in charge and has a perfect plan in mind, that it’s His timing and He desires what’s best for me, even with all that knowledge in mind, I’m still nervous because I want it to work so badly. With my previous transfers, I always had doubt in the back of my mind as a way to protect myself if we did’t have the desired outcome. I came up with fun things to do if it didn’t work, like taking a bath while drinking a glass of wine and eating sushi.

This time feels significantly different, not because I have 100% resolve that it will work (I know it might not), but because I KNOW FROM EXPERIENCE that God will be beside me if it doesn’t. He has every other time it’s failed, so why should this time be any different? I did’t feel that assurance of His guiding hand the first two tries, but this time I know He will help me handle any outcome. That doesn’t take away the niggling nervousness about wanting it to work, but thinking about God holding my hand the entire way gives me peace that I will be fine no matter what. I don’t have to do anything except continue through the process with my eyes fixed on Jesus. If it’s not meant to work, He will comfort and strengthen me. If it is meant to work, He will sustain and enlighten me.

Just writing this early morning post has brought me peace. I thank God for using my writing to calm, teach, and transform me. I originally started this blog with the desire to help others understand the infertility struggle many women go through and find peace through their own journeys to start a family. Unexpectedly, He has used my writing to show himself to ME. I have learned so much about God simply by writing about Him.  Just another reminder that God is in all of us just waiting to be called upon for help.

I wanted to thank everyone who has supported me through prayers, hugs, phone calls, emails, text messages, and all other modes of communication. God is so good to put so many wonderful people in our lives to show us how loved we are! I promise to keep updating people on our progress and pray for the strength to continue blogging no matter the result of this transfer. The only thing I know is God gives me strength for everything He brings me to.

OMG I’M GONNA BE PREGNANT IN 2 HOURS!!! Genesis 30:22…I HOPE SO!!

John 14:27, Psalm 29:11, Philippians 4:13 (NIV), Jeremiah 1:4-5, Psalm 139:13

Sweet beignets and spicy jambalaya. Lively zydeco and smooth jazz. Pristine mansions and crumbling shotguns. The scents of rich creole cooking and putrid streets. New Orleans abounds with juxtaposition. Influenced by a hodgepodge of cultures from all over the world because of its port location at the mouth of the Mississippi, New Orleans welcomes people from all backgrounds to experience its unique and eclectic personality.

I had never been to New Orleans when Coach Anderson recruited me to play soccer for Tulane University. Nestled in the beautiful garden district, Tulane attracts students from all over the world to study a few miles from the heart of the Big Easy. I still have no idea why it attracted me instantly. It’s a completely different environment from where I grew up in Northern Virginia 15 minutes outside Washington DC.  Looking back now, I can say God sent me there, but at that time I didn’t have a relationship with God. Simply put, Tulane offered me the most athletic scholarship money. I verbally committed as my coach dropped me off at the airport, and a few months later I started pre-season with 24 other girls in the sultry summer of 2003.

Three soccer seasons, four Mardi Gras, three boyfriends, three hurricanes (the storm not the drink), and many many daiquiris and hand grenades later, I graduated with a bachelors degree in ecology and evolutionary biology. After Hurricane Katrina, they dropped the soccer team and I spent my senior year as a student athletic trainer for the Tulane football team, igniting my interest in the human body which lead me to earn my doctorate in physical therapy from Emory University in May 2010. As turbulent as my time in New Orleans was, two of the most important milestones in my life occurred here: I turned to God and I met my husband.

When Hurricane Katrina came through at the start of my junior year and wiped out the levees causing the city to flood, New Orleans died. Most of us fled ahead of the storm, sitting in hours upon hours of traffic trying to reach safety. Those who stayed were trapped for days and weeks in flooded homes or city provided shelters. When the waters receded the city felt like a third world country. Streets piled high with trash and muck, widespread looting, businesses closed, electricity downed, streetcars stagnant, citizens displaced all over the country, national guard deployed. The storm crushed the city and many wondered whether it could ever be rebuilt. Many wondered whether it was worth rebuilding.

Sitting at a cafe on Magazine street, shaded by a majestic overhanging oak tree, surrounded by music and conversation, drinking my chicory cafe au lait, I smile as I write this because the city now thrives. Only a few weeks after the waters receded, volunteers from all over the country flooded to New Orleans to begin the clean-up. When we students returned to Tulane in the spring of 2006, we gutted moldy houses, cleaned up debris, provided food, shelter and supplies to locals who had lost everything, and started rebuilding what nature had torn down. Locals and tourists alike restored it because they loved it. The city emerged like a phoenix from the ashes and became even more beautiful and vivacious than it was before.

It’s been almost 8 years now since I graduated from Tulane, but I still remember my 4 years in New Orleans as the most vibrant years of my life. Whether riding the streetcar downtown to walk down Bourbon street or shop in the open air French Market, going for a run in nearby Audubon Park, catching a concert at the House of Blues, downing charbroiled oysters at Acme Oyster House, wandering the above ground cemeteries in search of Marie Laveau the voodoo queen’s grave, perusing the boutiquey Magazine street shops, watching the street performers, local artists, and fortune tellers outside Jackson Square or just taking in the eclectic architecture all round the city, I still feel like there’s so much more to explore.

August 2015 marks the 10 year anniversary of that storm. New Orleans still has neighborhoods of vast wealth and vast poverty. Fetid smells still permeate the French Quarter competing with sweet and savory fragrances  emitted from world famous restaurants. Voodoo shops sit next to churches and street artists continue to capture evocative cityscapes. For all the new structures and streets scrubbed clean, the city’s soul remains just as diverse and flawed as ever. I think it’s the city’s imperfection that makes it beautiful; it’s willingness to not timidly hide its shortcomings behind a flawless false facade, but display its battle scars proudly. It’s not ashamed to be exactly who it is, exactly how God created it, blemishes and all. It’s loved unconditionally, both beautiful and ugly.

But underneath what I see, why do I truly love New Orleans? Because it survives. It perseveres. It is resilient and powerful. No matter what it faces, it refuses to be held prisoner to the trials it weathers or let people’s expectations and limitations hold it back. Katrina swept away buildings and streets, but the culture remained and rebuilt because New Orleans was worth rebuilding. The storm crushed the body, but nothing could ever crush it’s God-given soul, and it’s the soul of New Orleans that makes it tough. It survives because it wants to. It survives because it has to. It survives because it is loved.

Spending the week before my next embryo transfer in New Orleans, while my husband plays in the Zurich Classic PGA tour event, allows me to reflect on how far I have come in the 12 years since I stepped on Tulane’s campus, a naive 17 year old. I’ve weathered over a decade of storms, none more difficult than infertility. It’s my own hurricane of swirling emotions battering against my God given soul, trying to crush me under the weight of its unrelenting uncertainty. The hormones and medical procedures attack my body, causing weight gain and sickness. Failure after failure rain down on my spirit, seeking to paralyze me with depression. My inner being became polluted with shame, guilt, and anger. I knew I couldn’t stay like that, didn’t want to stay like that, but how could I be rebuilt? Was I worth rebuilding?

Although the storm still rages around me, not knowing whether this next transfer, or any transfers for that matter, will work, God is teaching me how to persevere. He is teaching me that even though I am not perfectly made by the world’s standards, I don’t have to hide what I perceive as ugly about myself; I should wear my battle scars with pride. He created me exactly as I am for exactly the purpose He has in mind for me. We can all survive our storms, and we are all worth rebuilding because we are all loved by Him unconditionally. No one is too far gone or too unworthy to be rebuilt by Him. If New Orleans taught me anything, it taught me that I will make it through this because I want to. I will make it through this because I have to. I will make it through this because He loves me and He is doing the rebuilding.

James 1:2-4, James 1:12, Hebrews 10:36, Romans 5: 3-6, Revelation 2:10, 2 Timothy 2:12

We’ve all played the game where someone asks you to list three things you’d like to have with you if you were stranded on a deserted island. Knowing in all likelihood this probably won’t occur, we rattle off things like our favorite book or food or if you’re more literal like me, survival items like rope, a knife, something to catch rain water, etc. On the nature channel, it always says to find a source of water first, then shelter, a food source, a place to create fire, taking care of your basic needs. What the show doesn’t account for are the mental ramifications of your situation…the feeling of utter isolation from any other human being with no foreseeable way out.

The feeling of isolation has been the worst part of the whole infertility process. If you’ve never gone through infertility, you simply cannot relate to the emotional turmoil it creates. You feel cut off from the world around you with no foreseeable end in sight. While all your friends and family move forward with their lives and family planning, you remain stuck in purgatory between your friends who can’t even fathom parenthood and those whose husbands seemingly sneeze on them and Boom!…baby on the way. Even your closest family members can’t understand and when you try to make them, their ignorant “advice” only makes you more upset. You develop irrational feelings of resentment and anger towards people who only desire to help. So you cope by cutting yourself off from people, places, activities, and anything else that causes pain, secluding yourself on your own personal deserted island.

While all my friends and family members announced their good news one after the other, I threw away yet another negative pregnancy test or bought another box of tampons. Month after month while we tried on our own, it was the same cycle. Period comes–>exercise for 2 weeks to alleviate my pissed off mood—>ovulation predictor kit –>well timed sex–>2 weeks of waiting and trying not to do anything to mess it all up–>negative early result pregnancy test (or 2)–>Period comes…All the while getting invited to baby shower after baby shower, seeing pregnant woman after pregnant woman (is there something in the water in the South and on the PGA Tour and where can I get some??).

Each month brought two weeks of pissed off followed by two weeks of hopeful anticipation and then crushing depression when the cramps started before getting pissed off again. Why couldn’t my body just do what I wanted it to do? Intense exercise became my coping mechanism, as a form of punishing myself for failing. I started avoiding people I loved, choosing solitary activities instead. I traveled with Michael, but avoided sitting and socializing with other wives in player dining. I avoided all baby showers like the plague. Seemingly innocuous things triggered crying meltdowns. My only ray of hope came from the fact that we could just try again the next month, praying fervently for the result we wanted.

I decided to keep it hidden, even from those closest to us. I smiled and laughed and told everyone things were fine while secretly holding my ticking time bomb of emotions in check until I found an appropriate time alone to detonate it. Poor Michael didn’t know how to console me and wisely allowed me to come to him when I felt better. All the while, I read Christian books about infertility, seeking to understand God’s purpose for my affliction, prayed for a baby, and asked God to take away the pain. I felt like I was praying to a brick wall; all I heard were crickets chirping every night when I cried out to Him in misery. No response, no comfort, no end in sight.

One of the books I read told me to pray for God to take away my desire for a baby if it wasn’t meant for us. Another told me to pray for others and stop thinking about myself. Another told me to be thankful for what I had and stop focusing on what I didn’t. Another told me to pray only for God’s best for me. Another told me to…you get the point. This seeking carried over into the IVF process where I tried anything and everything to “figure out” the magic formula God wanted from me so He could finally bestow our blessed bundle of joy. Every time I thought I’d finally gotten it right, I’d wait excitedly for the positive pregnancy test only to have my hopes crushed and then start anew searching for God’s purpose for my strife.

My beliefs about God over the last 10 years can be summed up into one single idea: I thought He blessed and prospered those who believed in Him and lived according to Christian standards, and brought calamity on those who didn’t believe or live uprightly.  That was my “theological suit” as Oswald Chambers likes to call it; my personally created idea of who God is according to what I’ve learned from all my Christian influences. However, the actual events of my life called into question everything I believed about God. I thought I was doing everything right, yet He still allowed misfortune. My experience of things contradicted my creed.

The biblical book of Job perfectly describes God’s expectations about Christian grief and suffering. Job’s family, possessions, health, literally everything except his life, are taken away from him for no apparent reason. Job cannot understand why such troubles have befallen him and he seeks answers from God. His friends try to console him and offer advice, but he cannot be soothed. He is on his own deserted island. Though his protestations of grief become increasingly more dramatic as the book goes on, Job never waivers in his beliefs about God’s integrity. Oh that I could have the faith of Job.

In “Baffled to Fight Better,” Oswald Chambers does a study through the book of Job. This study completely changed my mindset about God and about my suffering. I realized God was asking me to stop trying to figure out His purpose. I didn’t have to try to discern His will. I didn’t have to try to grow through my suffering. I didn’t have to pray harder or about certain things. I didn’t have to seek people to understand and provide support. All I had to do was sit alone on my deserted island, depleted from all my efforts, empty of everything I believed about God, utterly exhausted and crushed. He shattered me to pieces, brought me to a point of complete prostration where I had to acknowledge that I knew absolutely nothing about anything.

Chambers writes:

“In grief the sufferer frequently declares that no one on earth can assist him…There are some kinds of suffering and temptation and sorrow no one can sympathize with, and by means of them a man gets on to the solitary way of life. It is not the suffering of a man who does wrong and knows it; it is an isolation in which no one can sympathize.” Chambers then explains the reason God brought Job to his personal deserted island: so “God alone can come near.” Finally, in my defeated state, I became useful to Him, no longer polluted by my own ideology. It is only when we completely empty ourself of ourself that God can fill us with HIMSELF.

Chambers also writes: “It was grief that brought Job to this place, and grief is the only thing that will; joy does not, neither does prosperity, but grief does.” Joy doesn’t make you question anything. Grief makes you question EVERYTHING. It was only through grief God brought me to question what I believed about Him. It was only through grief that God isolated me from all worldly influences so He could finally come near, unimpeded by the friction of my human stubbornness.

Finally, God gave me an answer, and it was the same answer He gave Job at the end of the book. God’s ways are superior to mine. Who am I to think I can question Him, the creator and sustainer of the entire universe, and demand He give me what I want? Do I think I know better what’s best for my life compared to the One who knew every generation before me and knows every generation after?

God has whittled me down to the form of a newborn child, ready to learn from the only true teacher, God Himself. I know now that it’s not by my own efforts, but by His supernatural work in me that I become more like Jesus through the people and circumstances God orchestrates in my life. This whole situation isn’t even about giving us a baby. It’s about cultivating my personal relationship with God, whereby I completely submit to His authority and wisdom and simply seek to have unconditional faith that God is who He says He is, no matter how my life goes.

Finally, God has helped me emerge from the isolation of my deserted island, building a bridge only He could build, and solidly holds my hand as I traverse the choppy waters of the world’s difficulties. It’s not by my own efforts that I can play with my friends’ babies and genuinely be happy for someone’s pregnancy announcement. It’s God’s supernatural grace, and joy, and peace, and kindness, and most importantly strength that allows my inner being and outer being to finally be in sync. It’s a comfort I pray everyone can find when suffering hits; the comfort of knowing that despite our own limited perception, all is well.

Isaiah 55:9, Proverbs 3:5, Psalm 23:4, Psalm 34:18, Hebrews 13:6