I see you.
I see you working those long, hard hours. Coming home tired. You put your whole self into your job, making sure that your work is done well. You deal with stressful situations where you have to take action and make tough decisions. And yet at the end of the day, you still have something for me. You want to know how my day was, what I did, where I went. You kiss me and rub my back before I fall asleep every night, no matter how tired you are.
I see you serving in our church. Your passion to worship the Lord comes through in your musical talent. You have been gifted with teaching and you are not afraid to share your love for the Lord in a tangible way with others. I admire your knowledge of the Bible and your thirst for understanding and learning new things.
I see how these years of infertility have worn on you. The loss has become harder. Watching our friends having children has become harder. I used to pray for you to be able to understand the suffering of infertility with me, so I would not be alone. Now that you are here, I hurt even more. For you are half of my heart, and my heart hurts to see you hurt. Yet even in your own pain you are still there, to pick me up and encourage me to continue to have hope. You give me endurance to keep trying.
I see how it has become harder for you to relate to the men around you. When the talk turns to t-ball, diaper counts, sleepless nights, bruised knees, and the difference of going on summer vacation with kids, you have nothing to add.
I see you playing with other children, loving on them and sharing your love of planes and baseball. My heart cries out with longing when I think that you still are not able to experience this in your home. Yet you have not let your gifts go to waste. Though you have not been a father you have discipled younger men and showed them an example of a godly man walking in a relationship with Christ.
I see you planning our trips, making the most of our ability to travel. You have remained a romantic and have kept pursuing me. Infertility could so easily destroy the joy in our relationship, robbing us of the contentment we have in each other’s company. Yet you find ways to breathe life into our daily routine to keep it from becoming stale.
I see your careful attention to my emotional well-being. You might not be able to understand the physical toll on me as each month passes and there is no pregnancy, but you do understand the hole that has not been filled. Your desire to be a father is still unmet. And yet you believe, and strive on. You take my meltdowns, my dark days, and when I direct my anger at you with so much grace. You take it all with so much grace.
I see that while the attention is usually on me and how I will deal with Mother’s Day, you will have to face another Father’s Day where you are not a father. Your quiver is empty. And you are still waiting.
I see you. But more importantly, God sees you.
He sees what I see: that you are a man of God. That you are an incredible husband. And that you will be the best father someday. I pray every day for God to make you a father, and I will not stop.
I love you, my dear.
you hold my lot.
The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.