Receiving Love

I come from a large (Dutch) family. My mom is one of six, my dad one of ten. I myself am the youngest
of six children and at last count, I have 22 nieces and nephews, and eight great nieces and nephews. Our
family has been blessed! And growing up, I confidently expected to help increase that number. My
mother has been an amazing role model to me; she is one of the most wonderful people I’ve ever met,
and I have always wanted to be just like her… large family and all. So it was something of a surprise
when Sean and I were unable to get pregnant when we wanted to. A year went by and my doctor
encouraged me not to assume the worst. But as medical testing and specialist referrals continued, it
became increasingly apparent that we would not be able to have biological children.
I processed this with disbelief. How could this even be? I knew, knew with every fibre of my being, that I
was intended to be a mom. Was my intense desire the very thing preventing pregnancy? Finally, after
lots of testing and various treatments, all accompanied by the emotional and mental drain of the
rollercoaster ride (are we pregnant this month or aren’t we?) we sat at the desk of the specialist at the
fertility clinic and were told that we had a 1% chance of conceiving. He proceeded to lay out some
fertility treatment options, quoting prices, and success rates of up to 50%. We went home crushed.
At this time I began to wrestle more deeply with God, and with my desire for motherhood. Was there
some overlooked sin in our lives? Wasn’t the promise of offspring a biblical one? Weren’t we allowed to
ask for our own “quiverful”? Why did I feel this need so deeply? I was only aware that on every level of
my being, I yearned to carry, birth and hold my own child. In the meantime, our friends and families
were having little ones of their own, all around us. It was very bittersweet. I craved to hold those
newborns, and mostly dreaded the conversations with the moms (you’re expecting? congratulations!)
especially when they were experiencing their own pregnancy or parenting challenges (lost a little sleep,
did you? I’d give my eye-teeth to be where you are!) And I can’t even remember how I managed the
baby showers.
At the baby dedication of our very dear friends’ first child, I grew increasingly uncomfortable. I had the
emotional equivalent of that queasy, water-filling-your-mouth feeling just prior to vomiting. I tiptoed
out of the living room and collapsed in the kitchen, racked with sobs I couldn’t suppress. Another friend
came along and held me while I wept. I couldn’t make sense of my pain. Why couldn’t I just get over it
and move on? And as I sat there weeping, I saw Jesus come and sit down beside me and put His arm
around me. When I looked at Him, He was weeping too.
Time went on. Sean and I talked about fertility treatments, weighing the cost, the low success rates, the
ethics. Keenly aware of the emotional toll, I was reluctant to take on such a chancy option. My heart
couldn’t take much more disappointment. I began talking to the Lord about my desires, and asking Him
to help me. I was very much in a place of wanting to persuade Him to see things my way. But I knew that
my way was tearing me apart inside. I had begun to disassociate myself from my desire for
motherhood. And perversely, I had to work through fear about how I might react to actually becoming a
mom, if that were ever possible. Israel asked for a king, and God gave them one, but told them they
wouldn’t like it…
We decided against fertility treatment. We went on a holiday, and I began to allow God to open me to
the possibilty of not having biological children. I began to mourn the loss of pregnancy, childbirth,
nursing. Seeing our family’s features and character traits in our own little ones. It felt like death. Our
parents stood beside us, listening, praying, reassuring. Affirming their love for and support of us.
Withholding their own grief.
I slowly began to give God permission to help me be okay with this. I was still plagued with that 1%
chance. I couldn’t seem to stop playing out scenarios of discovering that despite everything, we found
ourselves pregnant. I longed for an end to the uncertainty, even if it wasn’t the end I actually wanted. I
wrestled to not resent signs of fertility all around me. I sought out a pregnant acquaintance at church,
confessed my bitterness and asked for her to pray for me, sort of “on behalf of” pregnant women, and
that broke a lot of the power of the isolation I had begun to build up between the “haves” and….well,
me.
Sean and I began talking about adoption. While keenly aware that it’s not a cure for infertility, it is an
opportunity to parent. And aren’t we all adopted into God’s family? That’s His heart, for sure…
So we went to a local adoption agency and signed up. We went through the application process, the
home study, the classes. We paid the fees. We requested a domestic adoption of a newborn or infant.
We set up a nursery. I began stocking it with everything a new mom could need, in both boy and girl
flavours. Hope was growing again, and with it, anxiety and fear. We learned about the process a
pregnant woman would consider when unable or unwilling to parent the child herself. We put together
a profile of ourselves to be shown to clients of the adoption agency and began waiting. Proverbs 13:12
says “Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.” My heart, not fully
healed from the infertility journey, was definitely sick. Life felt uncertain. The holiday schedule came
around at work and I was at a loss to know what to ask for. This was before call display was
commonplace, so most every incoming call came with stomach knot. Walking by an empty nursery was
its own strain. I struggled to find peace in the waiting.
A year went by. The agency was unable to confirm whether or not anyone had seen our profile. We
continued to wait. I continued to sicken inside. Over the course of the next year, the clinical depression I
had been under treatment for since my early adulthood, not unsurprisingly, flared up. I reached a point
where I found it difficult to function, and my doctor took me off work for about six weeks. I tried to rest
and trust, but felt my nerves stretched taut. Then came a painful conversation with our adoption social
worker. When she discovered that I was off work, she reproached me for not advising her, saying that
we would need to have our names temporarily removed from the waiting list if I wasn’t emotionally
well. I was devastated that once again, my own overwhelming desire for motherhood had seemingly
betrayed me. Did I want this so much that I was actually preventing it? Shortly after that we received
our second annual fee from the adoption agency, for being on the waiting list. I broke. I simply couldn’t
do it anymore. Many people have gone through more, waited longer, had more challenges. But not me.
I had reached another end of myself.
I took apart the nursery, and Sean and I began talking about life without children. I found another layer
of surrender. I laid down more of my desires before the Lord, and begged Him for mercy. I began to
question whether or not I could find fulfilment in life, without being a mother. Prior to this I had refused
to even ask that question.
More time passed. Life settled into a rhythm, and I held babies whenever I could. Slowly, slowly, I
continued to ask the Lord how to reconcile my longing with my reality. Patiently, He continued to coach
me to lean into Him.
And then, as my heart slowly began to heal, we began talking about foster parenting. Maybe this was a
way for us to share our love with little ones in need. And it felt separate from the question of being
parents, which was a loaded issue for me. So off we went to the ministry, taking the pre-training course,
filling out the seemingly endless paperwork, and doing another homestudy. It was even more thorough
than the adoption agency’s! We learned about the guidelines for foster parents, the special
considerations required for the kids coming into care. And we hit another roadblock. The ministry
required some extra steps be taken, before they could approve us.
With my only partially-healed heart, life fell apart again. I was depressed to a degree I had not known
before. I was barely able to care for myself. I was off work for six months, struggling to get out of bed
and do the basics of life. This was a desperate time. I still have substantial blanks in my memory from
that season. In my desperation, I determined that whatever it took to get better and stay better couldn’t
possibly be worse than the current reality. I went for counselling, and committed myself to getting
better. It was a grim mess, but the Lord was alongside me every step of the way, freeing me up.
With less dignity but more grit and determination, I emerged on the other side. We completed the
ministry’s home study and received their commendations (and puzzlement) on our integrity. I set up
another nursery. And then in July of 2011, I received a call at work from the ministry. They had a sixmonth
baby boy who needed a home that very day. I put my head down on my desk and cried (this time
with joy). We brought the most adorable little boy into our home that day, and put him into the crib for
a nap. I couldn’t quite believe it myself. We had two precious, challenging weeks with that little man.
We changed diapers, bottle- and spoon-fed him. We held him, and listened as he laid in the crib after
waking, babbling softly to himself. We dressed him in the clothes I had carefully washed and stored in
the dresser. We took him to meet our families. And unexpectedly, he returned home to be with his
mother after fourteen days with us. I got to sleep through the night again. And I continued to wonder
and question God. Was this journey the right one for us?
We had another placement shortly after that. This little girl was only ten weeks old, and this was a very
different experience from that happy little boy. This sweet girl had sadness in her eyes that no wee baby
should have. The separation from her mother was all over her. She was moved to another foster home
after only a few days, and once again, Sean and I looked at one another and asked, what’s next? Could
we do this, care for these especially needy and broken little ones, learning how to parent from scratch,
while continuing to heal ourselves? Once again, I was on my knees. The moment came when I was finally
able to surrender the last little bits of this journey to the Lord. I had no reputation left, no pretense, no
desire to control the outcome. I simply wanted to rest in His lap. And He met me yet again. So
powerfully, so faithfully, that I cannot but be amazed, and testify to His goodness to me.
We stepped out of foster parenting. I took apart that nursery one last time. I donated everything I could.
I tentatively poked around inside my heart, and found a peace there I would never have thought
possible. The Lord has affirmed to me my worth in His eyes, and He sees nothing lacking in me. The
interesting piece for me is that I still don’t understand why. He could have directed our paths quite
differently. I know He has the power to heal. And yet, that’s not the way it’s turned out. He has used this
journey to accomplish His purposes in me, that I know. He truly makes beautiful things out of dust.
Whatever you see and hear from me today, that is redeemed and at rest, is entirely Him. I was a mess,
and Sean can attest to that. We have been able to relish and invest in the lives of many kids around us,
from our own nieces and nephews, to many of our friends’ children. We are honoured to be part of the
village it takes to raise each child we come into contact with. I still adore snuggling newborns, almost
more than anything else. And I also enjoying sleeping in, going out when we feel like it, having the
freedom we do.
I no longer feel in competition with my peers who are moms. We are more alike than we are different. I
want to enter into their journeys and support and encourage them in what they go through, as moms.
And I receive support and encouragement from them as well.
Last year on Mother’s Day, not typically my favourite day of the year, I was overwhelmed with gratitude
to our Father for all that He’s done for me. Instead of dreading the day and how it could represent my
loss or lack, it was a day of celebration for me. That God could move me from grief and despair to
wholeness and acceptance, is nothing short of a miracle. And I’ve felt convicted ever since to testify to
His goodness. You may have been on your own journeys of pain and waiting. You may be in the middle
of such a journey right now. It may look very different from infertility. Whatever the case, and wherever
you may be, without in any way being glib about the reality of the pain, I want to encourage you to talk
to God. He is good and faithful and loving. And He is completely trustworthy, even with the dearest
desires of our hearts.