Your Worth is not Defined By Your Ability to get Pregnant

Your worth is not defined by your ability to get pregnant.

Read that again.

One of the many troubles this virus has caused is in the area of “non-essential” medical appointments. Infertility treatments and appointments fall into that category.

But for so many couples, these appointments feel essential. Crucial to their plans. Important to their dreams. Vital in their next step in building their family.

Imagine grieving and struggling with the loss that infertility brings, taking the courageous step to make a doctor appointment, and then getting the call that it has all been postponed. In an instant, fear and sadness creep in. All of that pent-up hope spills out.

But, friend, your worth is not defined by your ability to get pregnant.

I had to learn this over the years; to discover my worth is not caught up in that one aspect of womanhood. It wasn’t easy, of course. Usually, these things aren’t.

On this Easter weekend, please remember this.

You are more valuable than any riches on Earth.

God hasn’t forsaken you.

When Jesus headed up that hill to the Cross, he had you on his mind.

Your worth is not defined by your ability to get pregnant.

Remember this.

Dear Infertility (Part 5)

Dear Infertility,

I caught myself thinking about you the other day.  I mean, honestly, how can I not think about you when I’m surrounded by the gift of adoption?  It seems odd, you know.  I used to suppress you, ignore that you found me so young in life, and try with every ounce of my being to not allow myself to believe that you were a big deal.

But, here’s the truth.  You were a big deal.  Through a random illness and subsequent surgery, you changed my course of life.  I entered into a world of barrenness that not too many seemed to understand at the time.  I was just a child, and of course, did not understand it, either.

How dare you push your way into my life.  

I did not invite you.  I did not ask for you to happen, and yet, my life had to be saved.  It is ironic, isn’t it?  The surgery to save my life rendered me unable to give life.

I found myself wondering about what my birth children would have looked like.  I also thought about what their personalities would be like, and if they would struggle with the same challenges that my children have.  I also thought about what it would have felt like to carry my children in my body, to nourish them, to provide them with all that they needed for a healthy development, and to hold them close to my chest after delivering them into this complex and amazing God-created world.

Dear Infertility,

I thought of you the other day.  My life is now built on a solid foundation of faith and love.  You, however, are like quicksand.  A foot-hold cannot be found in you.  You suffocate, swallow, and take…just take.  That is all you seem to know how to do.

And then, I thought about all of the others (far too many to even count) that are in the throes of trying to stand up in your quicksand.  I thought about the ones who are just learning of you.  They had their life planned out.  They desire to have a family, but you seemed to slither your way into their lives.

How dare you.  How dare you push your way into their lives.

It is funny, you know.  My life is no longer determined by you.  And, I have the hope that you will no longer determine the lives of countless others.  Oh, you will keep on trying, won’t you?  You will keep on kicking and screaming until they surrender.

However, I need to fill you in on something.  That something is called the ‘human spirit’.  You see, giving in does not come easy for most of us.  Throwing in the towel, surrendering, and giving up does not feel good, and it certainly is not a trait that we embrace.  If anything, it goes against the very core of our existence.

Dear Infertility,

So here’s the deal.  Why don’t you take a backseat for a while?  For over thirty-two years, I have carried you, and no offense, but you are kind of heavy.  You are also far too heavy for the ones who are just discovering you.

My children, you know, the ones I thought I would never be a Mamma to, are just as exquisite, unique, and loved as I thought they would be.  You did not dictate my life, despite your efforts.  You did not win.  Oh, I know how you must hate that.

I would say I’m sorry, but I’m not.  

And, just to make you feel as small as I once felt, I celebrate, CELEBRATE, every single adoption that occurs when couples, who have you hanging on to them, take the courageous step and become parents.

Dear Infertility,

I thought of you the other day.  I thought about how different my life might be if you were not in it.  Do you want to know something?

Without you, I would not be able to encourage others who find themselves on the same journey.  Without you, I would not be able to embrace how God had it all in His hands.  Without you, I would not be the mother of three amazingly challenging, and precious children.

Dear Infertility,

Why don’t you dwell on that for a while?