Praise Him in this Storm

Based on some of the comments I have heard recently, I feel like maybe I haven't been completely transparent with you all recently. The past few months have been beyond hard. I struggle with my infertility and my past losses daily. I know that I often put up the strong facade, but inside I feel so weak, so broken. It seems like everywhere I turn there is a mom with a young child, or a pregnant woman, or a new dad. There remains a part of me that is happy for these random folks, and I still often smile at them as we pass in the store. But there is another part of me, a part of me that feels like it's getting bigger and bigger, that just crumbles at these sightings.

I have cried more tears than I thought I could cry in ten years time. I have spent hours, even days, in emotionless dazes. I have been completely insensitive at times to other people's problems as I have been consumed in my own turmoil. Then there are the countless instances that I have seen something that results in immediate bawling. Like when I watched the Academy Awards a few weeks ago and saw Javier Bardem accept his award for Best Supporting Actor. As he gave his acceptance speech, his mother beamed from her seat in the front row. I began to sob as I thought that I may never get the privilege of seeing my child achieve his/her dream.

I want to have a baby. I want to be pregnant. I want to experience morning sickness and have my ankles swell. I would willingly accept stretch marks. I want to feel the flutter of my baby move and then eventually kick. I want to lie in a doctor's office with Colin by my side and look at an ultrasound monitor and see our little miracle. I think it would be fun to pick out a name together, trying different combinations to insure last name compatibility. I would gladly endure labor - the sweat, the tears, the pain, the agony...the beautiful miracle of life entering the world, the happy tears, the kiss from my husband when it's all done, holding new life in my arms. I want to experience the struggle of learning to nurse. I would willingly accept 2-3 hours of sleep at a time if it meant that I got to spend half the night up rocking my baby and singing to it. I want to change those nasty diapers - the ones that look like a bomb exploded! I want to do laundry every night or two. I long to give my parents and my in-laws the honorable title of grandparents. I want so desperately for my grandparents to meet my child and become great-grandparents. The list goes on...

That is the truth. Those are the cries of my heart. What I've learned, though, through this crazy ongoing process is that this journey and our pain can be filled with purpose if I allow it to bring glory to God.

I was devastated at the loss of our eight embryo babies. I couldn't understand why the Lord had taken all eight of them. When I learned that we had eight embryo babies, my heart's capacity to love grew. And when those babies went to be with the Lord, the void in my heart was very real. I knew that the Lord had given me this capacity for a reason, and so I began to pray. It was then that I realized that if I could not give this love to my own child right now, that He was calling me to give it to another.

It is my pleasure to introduce you to the newest member of our family - Charles Muli.



Charles is our new Compassion International child. He will be nine years old in May - he was born the month that Colin and I started dating! He lives in Kenya with his grandparents. Colin and I decided to "adopt" Charles in loving memory of our embryo babies. It is one small way that we are finding purpose in our pain with the hope that the Lord is praised and that He receives the glory that He is due.