Changing slowly

Tonight I was asked how infertility has affected my relationship with God, and it got me thinking about some of the hard questions I have asked throughout the last three-plus years, and how my receptiveness to possible answers to those questions has slowly changed. For example, I have many memories of lying in bed at night just so sad and desperately wanting to "talk about it." That's my husband's worst nightmare, I'm sure (remember, these were the days before I knew what a blog was and you, my dear reader, could listen to me vent). So he had to just lie there and listen to me babble on and on, asking deep, dark questions like, 'why would a loving God cause me to suffer in this way and not bless us with children, which are the very reason a man and woman join together before God as husband and wife in the first place?' He would offer very nice advice ("because his plan for you hasn't yet been revealed") and then listen as I flatly refuted it. The one argument I kept coming back to was this: Bad things happen to very holy people and there is a chance that no matter how faithful I am, I could die with no children. Then the conversation would turn to whether my reward would be in heaven and that was just too much to take in at the time. It just wasn't consolation to think that I would be rewarded in the next life. Not at age 29.

Luckily for both him and me, that has changed. We never have those late night infertility depression talks (thanks internet!) and I have to believe that even if we did, they would go very differently. The reason I know this is because I find myself giving others the very advice my husband once gave me. And I believe it! That's what happened tonight. As I was emailing someone I realized that I had, at some point, begun believing what my husband always tried to tell me. Maybe it is self-preservation, maybe I have just been worn down. I tend to believe, though, that this transformation has taken place through prayer. I have cried out to God so often to help me, hoping that help would come down like a lightning bolt and when it didn't, I wondered if he'd heard me at all. It wasn't until long after (we're talking years) that I realized I received the help I was asking for. It took a while, but I have slowly come to accept the answers to some of the very tough questions I use to ask. Like...

Question: Why does God want me to suffer like this?
Old Answer: Who knows! It makes no sense. Everyone else can get pregnant and I can't. Can he not hear me? Does he not love me?
New Answer: He doesn't want me to suffer but he allows it for several reasons, such as a) to purify my soul, b) so I can share in the sufferings of his son, c) because the suffering may only be temporary and I am just being very impatient.

Question: What if the suffering is not temporary and I never have children?
Old Answer: I will live a horrible existence, my life will be wasted and maybe, if I am lucky, I will receive my reward in heaven, whatever that means.
New Answer: If I am to never have children (biologically), then I will join millions of other couples who will also never have biological children. I am not alone and God did not single me out to hurt me. That being said, being childless never has to be the end result because we can always adopt. If, for some reason, God puts it on our hearts to not adopt, then there must be a really good reason for that and that would be something we would decide together and have to be completely okay with.

Question: What if I am never okay with not having biological children and I am miserable for the rest of my life?
Old Answer: I don't know! I guess I will just cry every day and no one will want to be around me, ever. And I will be a horrible adoptive parent because my child will always know that I am depressed and God forbid he or she finds out it's because I couldn't get pregnant.
New Answer: That misery will subside as I draw nearer to God. That might be hard to understand at first, but it will happen. This was a sticking point for me just a couple years ago, as I refused to believe the sting of infertility would ever go away. In fact, I thought it would only increase with time. I have found that while it is still painful, I have come to the realization that misery does not please God and to love him is to want to please him. Plus, if what people say is true, that misery becomes a distant memory when your adopted baby is put in your arms.

I remember one night, my poor husband was trying to read a book with me about suffering. We had ordered it online and our hopes were high that it might offer me some help. We got to a chapter about the need to find something that brings you joy in life (like an activity, such as gardening or playing the piano) and I could go no further. I literally sobbed and sobbed because I could not think of one thing in the world that brought me joy, which just depressed me even more. My husband tried his best to list off some possibilities and I just knocked them all down. And at the time, I was being honest. Nothing brought me joy. I was depressed. But I am so blessed today to be able to look back on that and say I have discovered several things that bring me joy. I truly believe God has answered my prayers and transformed me so that I am able to experience joy in the midst of suffering. That's what it is all about - living with this. It was the theme of all of my tough questions. I was afraid of how much it would hurt to live with this pain and what that meant for my relationship with and image of God. I am not on the other side of this by any means, but I really feel like I have grown so much. With God's help, I have learned that suffering is manageable and things can get better. Believe me, I still hope things get much better for me. The difference is that I now believe they will.