I woke up at 3:30 this morning, my mind racing. I just feel weary. My heart feels weary. My brain feels weary, trying to find an answer as to why we haven’t been blessed with a child. Almost two years in, and we have no diagnosis. No rational reason as to why we haven’t conceived.
It’s like this: when it’s just me and Mr. M, or when we’re hanging out with people without kids, I can almost think our situation is normal. We have a good life! We have a good marriage, great friends, a lot going right. But then when I get pregnancy announcements, or I spend a chunk of time with our friends who have kids, it’s like the illusion is shattered. No, it’s not normal to try to get pregnant for 22 months with no success. Heck, doesn’t Creighton say that beyond 6 months of “focused fertility” is abnormal? And when that thought occurs to me, usually in a jarring way after forgetting about it for a while, it’s so hard to not feel stagnant, like we’re in a river where everyone is floating past on their happy rafts, having a picnic, while we’re clutching driftwood and swirling around and around in a whirlpool, going absolutely nowhere.
I know the truth, the reality, is that Jesus is right beside us. That our marriage is fruitful, just in less obvious ways than other people’s. That we’re growing in faith, hope, and love and are certainly not stagnant. But man is it hard to really believe this!
Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.