I stared so hard at the teeny window on the plastic stick I held that my eyes were watering. My heart raced with desperate anticipation, as well as a deep-seated dread of what I sensed was coming. Sure
enough, a “minus” sign appeared in the window instead of the coveted “plus”
sign, and a small explosion went off in my heart. I slumped down on the
bathroom floor in utter defeat, the negative pregnancy test slipping from my
fingers and clattering away while I buried my face in my hands. I didn’t even
bother telling my husband that I was taking these tests anymore so that he didn’t
have to share in the disappointment when the negative result inevitably arrived. But that also meant that I had to bear the grief alone. And that is how I felt—so
completely, utterly alone.
Then came a blur of doctors, lab tests, and appointments. The cold hopelessness of abnormal test results. The humiliation of offering up your marital private life to complete strangers for dissection. The
pronouncement that my husband and I would likely never be able to conceive a
child. On the weekends, I attended baby showers for my multitudes of friends
who were on baby number two, three, and four, and on the weekdays I sat in a
fertility clinic waiting room where no one looks you in the eye and the air is
thick with grief, waiting for them to call me for yet another session of blood
draws. My arms were full of bruises, and so was my soul.
Christian femininity sometimes feels like it is synonymous
with motherhood. Almost all of my Christian friends were moms, while
the young non-Christian ladies at my work eschewed marriage and children. At
church, we were positively surrounded by babies, and despite the joy their
presence brought, there was also a stabbingly painful reminder of our own empty
arms. I felt like an outsider in women's groups,
because I couldn’t participate in their lively debates about cloth diaper
brands or naptime strategies. Many times I stood by, mute and inadequate, while
their mommy banter carried on. Carefree comments often cut me to the quick--“You must be so happy to have so much
free time since you don’t have kids,” or “When are you two going to grow up and
have children?”
In truth, I was suffering so much because my identity was
based on an idol. My inability to conceive made me feel like a sub-par, damaged
women who clearly was not worthy to be used by God. My despair threatened to
isolate me from meaningful friendships, and I started questioning whether God
was really good to allow this to happen to me. It was far too easy to be swallowed up
in grief and self-pity. Times of worship felt cold and empty. My joy in the
Lord was dwindling, and my attempts to serve others seemed fruitless as my mind
was preoccupied with my sorrow.
Eventually, I went out to coffee with a dear friend that I had
not seen in a long time. She was, ironically, pregnant. She talked excitedly of
her new baby, eagerly anticipating the blessing she would soon welcome into her life. I
struggled to maintain my composure, determined to hear her out and not to break
down to reveal the mess that I was inside. But finally, my awkward demeanor could not escape her questioning eyes, and I could hide it no
longer. “We have been struggling with infertility. The doctors say we can never
have a child.” I blurted out.
She listened to my story as I laid out our sad history. She
reached out to hold my trembling hand, looked at me with eyes full of
compassion, and said, “You know, you are still complete in Christ even if you never
become a mother.”
Words cannot describe the freedom that coursed through my
veins at that pronouncement. Tears flooded my eyes as I grasped her hand back
tightly. For some reason, I had completely lost sight of that concept. In her
words, I heard the voice of my savior Jesus—who loved me so much that he gave
his life up on the cross for my sins, in whom I am redeemed, forgiven, and made
holy as a daughter of the king. In HIM, in his sinlessness life and righteous
work on the cross, I am indeed fully complete, lacking in nothing as he has
made full provision for me. There is no condemnation for me now in Him.
This beautiful reminder was the beginning of a healing process
for me, as I drew nearer to Jesus and realized that I had worth and value not
because of my identity as a mother or a wife, but because Jesus’ identity
through grace covered mine. His work is the one that has ultimate meaning and
worth, and it is His work that I have the joy to be able to participate in as I
walk out his purposes in my life. I now no longer have to worry about
convincing others to accept me, because Jesus has accepted me. I do not have to
feel damaged, because he has made me whole. I can worship with joy and intimacy
because I know him. I can serve
others because he has given me his heart to share this love and acceptance with
others who are in places where it is difficult to see. In Christ, I am free indeed.
We were able to witness a miracle, though. As my husband is
fond of reminding me, God knows more than doctors do, and much
to our shock and delight, a positive sign finally appeared in our test window.
A tiny baby boy is now ours to steward, a living reminder of his power and
grace that I am humbled by daily. But even if that gift had never come to us, I
know that I would have been okay, because he had already given me the greatest gift—himself.
(photo credit: http://runforcoveronline.com/uncategorized/pregnancy-test/)
