This Purpose

I am overwhelmed by the response I have received to my last post, Half agony, half hope.

Frankly, I was scared to write about infertility. It’s nerve-wracking to blast into the online world something that’s so personal to you. The desire to write about it has been there, and I’m certainly not even close to being the first person to “come out” about infertility. But you never know how people will react.

Will they comfort you? Pity you? Act like nothing was ever said? Belittle your situation? Offer you unnecessary platitudes? See you in a different light? All these scenarios ran through my head. Despite the amount of people who experience infertility, there is still a stigma related to it.

Before I published my post, I messaged some of my fellow IF (infertility, for you non-lingo folks) friends to let them know that I was posting it. I told them that my prayer request was this: that God would use these words despite myself, my sin, and my desperate need for a Savior, in order to reach those who needed to hear that they were not alone. That God deeply cares about the subject of infertility. That their suffering matters.

I cried throughout the day after I posted it. Every new comment or message brought on a fresh wave of tears. Yet at the same time, it was incredibly freeing. I felt a weight had been lifted off of me. It’s ok for others to be aware of your pain.

My prayer request was answered immediately. Within hours I received personal messages from others who were or had experienced infertility or had a recent miscarriage. My pastor shared it with other pastors in our denomination, who then shared it with their church congregation. Throughout the week I continued to receive messages and testimonies from friends of friends and even strangers who had read my post. I don’t pretend to know what God’s purpose is for me in all of this, but I am encouraged and humbled that it has affected so many outside of my normal circle of influence. I have created connections that I never would have had if I hadn’t published my post. My sweet momma in law described this connection with infertility as the “exquisite agony of sisterhood no one ever asks to join.” Infertility is a disease I would not wish on my worst enemy. But for those of us who have this burden, these kindred souls are like a soothing balm to our heart.

Today, on this Mother’s Day, I am grateful for all the people in my life who have supported me, walked beside me, prayed for me, and held me at my lowest moments. Never are the barren more aware of their current state then on this day. Look around you in your churches and communities. Infertile men and women are trying so hard on this day, I promise you, and you don’t even know it. Tim Keller says in his book, Walking with God through Pain and Suffering, “Human life is fatally fragile and subject to forces beyond our power to manage. Life is tragic. We all know this intuitively, and those who face the challenge of suffering and pain learn all too well that it is impossible to do so using only our own resources. We all need support if we are not to succumb to despair.”

My situation has not changed. Nope, not one bit. But if I was able to remind someone of God’s never-changing love for them, then it was worth it. Psalm 56:8 says “You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?”

Bebo Norman, The Hammer Holds

A shapeless piece of steel, that’s all I claim to be
This hammer pounds to give me form, this flame, it melts my dreams
I glow with fire and fury, as I’m twisted like a vine
My final shape, my final form I’m sure I’m bound to find

So dream a little, dream for me, in hopes that I’ll remain
And cry a little, cry for me, so I can bear the flames
And hurt a little, hurt for me, my future is untold
But my dreams are not the issue here, for they, the hammer holds

And the water, it cools me gray, and the hurt’s subdued somehow
I have my shape, this sharpened point, what is my purpose now?
And the question still remains, what am I to be?
Perhaps some perfect piece of art displayed for all to see

The hammer pounds again, but flames I do not feel
This force that drives me, helplessly, through flesh, and wood reveals
A burn that burns much deeper, it’s more than I can stand
The reason for my life was to take the life of a guiltless Man

So dream a little, dream for me, in hopes that I’ll remain
And cry a little, cry for me, so I can bear the pain
And hurt a little, hurt for me, my future is so bold
But my dreams are not the issue here, for they, the hammer holds

This task before me may seem unclear
But it, my Maker holds