This time last year my heart was incredibly tender, most decidedly bruised and broken, and longing for some semblance of a healing touch from God. I was knee-deep in my wrestling with God. My heart questioned His faithfulness, and my mind challenged His sovereignty.
In a frantic, but failing attempt to protect my heart, I had silenced myself in regards to infertility. In some way I suppose I thought that if I didn’t verbalize our struggle maybe it wasn’t really real. If I stayed quiet about my wrestling, maybe God would bless us with a baby. There were a select few women with whom I shared my secret, and each of them had wandered the painful, lonely journey of infertility.
I’d felt God’s relentless pursuit of my heart for months. I knew I had, on many levels, idolized motherhood, and I knew that He was vying for my whole heart, a heart solely and completely devoted to Him. Yet I resisted. In my journal I wrote,
“I am entrenched in a battle of wills – His and mine – and even though I know who will win, I wrestle. My one and only prayer, ‘Lord, don’t ever stop drawing my heart to You. Please don’t stop wooing me to Yourself.’”
And oh how I battled, wrestling with the Holy One, groaning under the suffocating weight of His love, pounding my fists in rebellion against the story He is writing on my behalf.
A few days before I left for Indianapolis and the Influence Conference, my husband took me out on a date. As I sat across from him I fairly whispered the words I’d known for so long to be true, but that I was so afraid to utter.
“I think God wants me to tell our story of infertility. I think I’m supposed to write about the wrestling with Him, and His faithfulness.”
My husband is wise, so wise. And his heart is so tender towards me. And somehow he was completely prepared for that statement, because he responded with nothing but complete confidence:
“You know you’re going to be speaking about infertility one day, right?”
I’m not a public speaker. But I knew, deep down, he was right. I nodded my head, but couldn’t bring forth a verbal ascent to his words.
And then, with compassion and love, he asked the question that completely reshaped the way I view this journey:
“But will you share our story if we don’t ever have that happy ending?”
My eyes filled with tears, and my spirit was heavy. I nodded while trying to stifle the tears that were already falling. Swallowing the lump in my throat I answered,
“Babe, we already have our happy ending. Our ultimate end is fellowship with Jesus! Eternally worshiping and enjoying Him in all of His holiness and glory! We have this assurance! It’s the in-between chapters that really suck.”
Yes, I uttered what was quite possibly the most theological statement I’ve ever spoken, and ended the thought with the word ‘suck.’
It’s the in-between, the unknown that is so hard to endure. Those long weeks turned into years of waiting and wondering, those are painful and frustrating.
But the ending – it is glorious, filled with endless praise of the the One who is worthy of all honor and glory.
When my husband posed that question, something stirred in my heart. Somewhere deep down, in the restless, broken places a quiet settling – a gentle healing took place.
And I knew…I knew that babies or empty arms, story time or empty cradles, squeals of laughter or quiet evenings…I will tell this story. And I will forever proclaim with confidence that I know the ending is a happy one.
Are you ready to be an inspiration? (To find out the purpose of the Desire to Inspire community, please read this post.)
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