Tag: Christ

my scar, His Scars

Hey, scar on my belly, you do not represent me.  A doctor called you a “horror show” one time, but his words do not describe me.  You are long and just plain ugly, but you do not characterize me.

You are a visual reminder of the war waged on me in my youth, but you do not represent me.  You are simply flesh ripped apart and sewn back together by human hands.  You depict a battle for my life, but I won. You are just one part of my infertility, but not the most important.

You have been with me nearly as long as I can remember, but you do not define me.  I have been embarrassed of you.  I have wished you away.  You have reminded me of all of the pain I have been through, but you do not speak for me.

Your outward appearance does not hint to the inward conflict that has taken place physically, spiritually, and emotionally through the years.  You do not speak, you do not breathe, and you do not love.  You are just a symbol of a fateful moment in time long ago; a physical remnant of my life-changing event.

Hey, scars on His wrist, you represent me.  Hey, wounds on His feet, you are because of me.  The pain inflicted on Him should have been mine.  He was scoffed at, called names, and torn apart by a battle not of His own. I have wished Him away, not trusted Him, and raged at Him; but still, His heart welcomes me.

Hey, scars on His wrist, you embody the physical, emotional, and spiritual freeing of me.  His scars delineate a world not deserving of His grace.  The ugliness of His death portrays the beauty of His forgiveness.  His wounds speak of great passion, and His pain screams mercy.

He is the past, present, and future.  He is the most important moment in time.  His words were of compassion, and His breath of love.

His Love,

His Life,

His Scars,

His Sacrifice,

His Forgiveness,

His Resurrection,

my gain.

Hello, World!

Hello, World! My name is Caroline. I’m 40, married with children, and barren.  There, I said it. I’m barren. I’ve known nearly my entire life that I would never have children. A devastating illness almost succeeded in taking me out of this world at the age of eleven. The only way to save me was to remove my uterus, right Fallopian tube, and right ovary. These organs had been ravaged by a bacterial infection – or more like invasion. I am the youngest female known to have had a hysterectomy. Then, at age 20 my left ovary was removed due to a cyst.

One may wonder why in the world I would consider myself to be blessed. Well, I did not always feel this way. Heartache, isolation, gut-wrenching grief, and confusion lurked within, behind, and around me nearly every stage of my life. I dealt with infertility as a child, teen, and adult, but then, this funny thing started to happen. As I drew closer to my Lord, the shadow of my surgery seemed to be just that; a shadow. Grace was changing me.

In 2006, my husband and I became foster parents. We fostered for about four years and were able to adopt our two foster children. They are now 3 ½ years old and 5 ½ years old. Many things have been revealed to me during these past few years…well, maybe the past 29 years since the surgery. One thing I do know is that love is a miracle – pure and simple. 

Love knows no boundaries, no genetic markers, no birthing, and no bloodlines.

Love takes hold of opportunities and transforms them into beauty.

I still get the sense that there is great shame and silence with infertility. There should not be. Too many suffer in silence while people offer their two-cents worth on what to do about not being able to have a child.

I have gone from barren to blessed, silent to singing, and loathing to laughing.  Happiness is possible in the world of infertility. I’m not ashamed. I’m not desolate.

Hello, World!  I’m barren and blessed!  

I found my purpose in it and hope to share it with you through this blog.