Behind These Doors

It's true that we often do not know what lies beneath or what goes on behind closed doors. Every person is fighting some kind of battle or struggling in some way. How often we pass them by without even a glance. We assume that all is well and each person is thriving, until we hear differently.

The same goes on here, in the land of Blogville. So easy is it to encourage another, praise them in their achievements and pray for them in their trials. But most often, it's much easier to portray a picture-perfect lifestyle and life free of pain and struggle. When I read the heart-felt, honest posts of another blogging wife and mom, my heart goes out to them. I know how very difficult it is to be brutally honest, even if you are virtual 'strangers' on the other side of a computer screen. It's difficult to do since, well then I'd have to admit after all that I am not perfect, have the perfect family nor lead a completely perfect life. It's easy enough to fill in my posts with the beauty of it all and a chuckle or two, but it's the hurting, honest ones that are tricky.

If you've read here for any length of time, you know that occasionally those heart wrenching posts do show up and most often they center around the same theme:my infertility. I do not write them for pity or even for you to acknowledge my pain, but I write them so that you see what the face of infertility looks like. And today, I am reminded that it looks like me. Perhaps it does serve as more of an outlet for me to share what I cannot even verbalize if we were to meet face to face. Most often infertility wears a mask and it's one of smiles and sunshine, while hiding the deep pain that we carry around in our aching hearts.

Had I ever had the chance to choose my cross, this would not have been the one I would've chosen for myself. But then, would any of use choose pain for ourselves if it did not help us to gain eternity in heaven? Fertility is a gift and I made an assumption that if you had it when you were twenty, you'd have it until you were forty. Today I am reminded that I do not have that gift fully within my grasp every month and pregnancy may never come to me with ease again. And I have to learn to be okay with that. One day. Probably not today.

I spent a lot of time in the early hours of this morning contemplating again an unknown future and unknown fertility. After dealing with the infertility for over three years, you'd probably think that with each cycle it gets easier or that you just press on toward the next. And most often, your logical mind prepares you and makes you do these. But then there are cycles where I just can't help but hope a little more than usual, being aware of every ache, sickness and symptom that leans toward feeling like pregnancy. With each day I pray to make it through 'just one more day' to get me further along in my cycle to indicate that we had finally achieved a positive.

All of that comes to a halt when there is evidence to the contrary. I cannot help but try and guard my heart and my head in order to keep me from despair. I am raw with heartache and feel as though I dare not even go beyond the surface of my emotions, so afraid of the complete grief that will consume me. But I rest today knowing that tomorrow comes with new grace, new hope. I also rest today because in those early morning hours, my husband felt my pain and sadness and consoled me by praying a rosary for healing and comfort for me as I wept. He also knew that today I needed him and to rest from the daily duties of being mommy and he stayed home from work. Such a wonderful man he is, that one.

Yesterday, words from a song that I learned as a teen suddenly rang in my ears:

They that wait upon the Lord
shall renew their strength.
They shall mount up with wings
as eagles.
They shall run and not grow weary,
they shall walk and not faint.
Teach me Lord, Teach me Lord,
to wait.

And today I understand why I was being reassured with those words. I will continue to wait. I will continue to hope. I cannot help but eagerly anticipate what may be just around the next corner waiting for me.