All around the web, it's easy to see people writing "I'm thankful for" posts - especially now that November is firmly upon us. Thankful for big things and thankful for little things. I have been thinking "How can I be thankful for infertility?"
The answer is, I'm not.
I'm not, you guys. I'm not thankful for it.
I'm still at the place where I look at God with angry disbelief that I am infertile. That biological children - babies with my husband's eyes and my smile - are incredibly, deeply, terribly unlikely. Each time it hits me, it's... It's just unbelievable.
But I am thankful for other things that have been illuminated because of my circumstances.
I think the only way I am able to be thankful is to think about the love that I have been shown by others.
That the Miracle in all of this is that I am being carried.
Yes, carried by Jesus, certainly. But the miracle that I have experienced is in the people that surround me - all kinds. Family and Friends. Those with and without kids. They encourage me. They call on their own life's grief - past or present - and they offer hope. Hope that God has not abandoned me. Hope that I am not alone. Hope that life is and will be good.
I am thankful for the men that have rallied around my husband - and over and over their message to him is "Reassure your wife." I'm thankful that he does. That he takes nearly every day to say, "I would marry you all over again, knowing what we know now." Because, my friends, there is no worse fear than the fear that the man you love the most wouldn't have chosen you...if he knew the pain this would bring.
I am thankful that there a number of people that write in books and on blogs about the painful roads the Lord guides us along. Henry Nouwen, Charles Spurgeon, Deanna Davis.
I am thankful that God has a handle on me. That his grasp is so firmly planted that I do not have to be grasping onto him. Because I have come to the end of my own ability to hold onto him. I've been flailing about. But he has me.
I'm thankful for a moment three weeks ago. When the still, small voice broke through my railing against him. My ferocious questioning of him. How could you do this? And then the quiet words: "My plan is better than yours. You would choose this too, if you knew the end."
That was it. No other illumination.
But it was there. And He has given me the faith to hold onto that word. Because I have absolutely no faith of my own to summon up to believe such a thing.
And so he gave me the hope. And he gave me the faith.
And for that, I am thankful.