Happy Father's Day

I'm not sure how other men handle years of infertility, struggling, begging God to have a baby.

I don't know how any other man deals with a crazy wife who dreams of adopting, not knowing where that road might lead.

Maybe there are better stories of heroism and bravery, but I haven't heard them.

I know that you held me when the sobs of despair had overtaken me.

I know that you breathed "yes" to adoption before it was every really an option for us.

I know that you followed Jesus day in and day out on our road to becoming a family.

I know we boarded a plane together as 2 and came back as a pack of 4.

I know that from the moment he met you, you were his "person" and he's been attached to you ever sense. 

I know that she sees strength and power in you and she relies on you for that. 

I know that you are teaching her how to be purely loved so that YOU are the standard she judges all other men by.

I don't know how other men handle tough situations in their lives, but I know how you handle yours.

And I couldn't be more honored to have my life validated by having you in it. 

Happy Father's Day to the most pure hearted, amazing Hero I know. 

Stand Up & Accept The Rose

Four years ago, I sat in church and watched as a beautiful tradition unfolded for hundreds of mother's in our congregation. Pastor gave an impassioned speech about motherhood and how it was the world's greatest job. When he was finished, he then asked all the mothers in the room to stand and be presented a long stemmed rose. Ushers moved across the room, presenting women with flowers, commemorating their bringing a child into this world and bestowed the most amazing gift.
I cowered at the back of the room; a slumped, sobbing mess. I gripped The Hero's hand, as he placed his arms around my shoulders. While these women stood to be honored, I fought off the devil in my head.

Our test results had been given to us a few days earlier. Our chances for success in the biological family planning realm were laughable, but I found no reason to laugh. My body would never be able to replicate either pieces of myself, or more depressing, pieces of the amazing man I married.
That morning, I told The Hero I never wanted to go back to church on a Mother's Day. I just couldn't handle having such a visible separation of a life I wanted, opposed to the life I thought we would be forced to live. I was barren, both in the womb and in the soul. My heart ached as my eyes stared not at the women who stood, but the women who were seated. Maybe not all were longing to be mothers, but their presence in that moment confirmed that there was a silent, suffering minority on what is supposed to be a celebration day.

Fast forward to this morning: dishes every where and our house destroyed from toys, clothes begging to be folded and put away and yet we lounge in the glory of celebrating my third mother's day. My heart could not be more full and more grateful for the gifts I've been given. I truly am not worthy.

Infertility is a lying, stealing demon that personifies Satan at his best. It steals our dreams of family, kills our heart's motivation to be happy for those around us and destroys our self-esteem, our relationships and our ability to see the light ahead. While God knows that I understand how hard it is to be standing in an aisle full of Mother's Day cards wanting to throw them all on the ground, I offer you a challenge today.

Stand up and accept the rose.

Whether you are waiting to be matched with a child, suffering from the loss of losing a child, or simply standing at the edge of uncertainty of where to turn next, if there is a child living in your heart, you've already be named a Mother.

Stand up and accept the rose.

No longer allow infertility to stand behind you and whisper his lies. Don't let doubt and fear cloud a day that is meant to celebrate your heart as a mother. If you know there is a child out there that is for you, you may not know how they get delivered to you, but if you're praying for them today, you've earned that rose. When your pastor asks for mothers to stand and be recognized, place your feet on the ground and put your head up high and stand up. Accept the rose.

And if your congregation doesn't offer one, go buy one for yourself. A simple, beautiful resolution for you, that you will not let infertility undo you, you will let it strengthen you to stand and accept the rose.

Over Infertility?

I told The Hero I didn't want kids.

On our first date.

He laughed and said I would change my mind.

I scoffed.

I had never wanted kids.

Babies didn't make me oogle (still don't).

I had big plans for us.

Money.

Travelling.

Complete days of total irresponsibility.

And absolute no sign of crayons,

Cheetos,

or crying.

It took three years.

For The Hero to be right.

Work wasn't as rewarding as the brochures made it look.

Money spends twice as fast when you have a little.

The Hero and I were happy and did enjoy days of total irresponsibility.

But something was missing.

He could sense I wasn't satisfied.

But when I told him I wanted kids,

he laughed.

He said it was the cute Asian toddler beside us on the airplane.

He said I'd change my mind when we landed in Mexico.

He brushed it off when I read "What to Expect When You're Expecting"

on the beach,

drinking a margarita.

But he almost fell off the bench when I told him

I felt like we were missing out on a different kind of happiness.

And that I hated the person I was becoming.

And I seriously wanted to talk about a baby.

He cried.

The Hero had been waiting his whole life to be a father.

He's that damn good at it.

I took it extremely personal when we didn't get pregnant.

I felt that my hard heart for so many years led to our infertility.

I felt I had failed my husband,

my family,

and my own gender.

I was unable to perform a task that millions of women accomplish.

Every day.

I got bitter.

I bit back tears at the arrival of birth announcements.

I went to work instead of baby showers.

I let the Devil convince me that I couldn't get pregnant

and that made me less of a woman.

Our adoption changed everything.

My kids are just that: my kids.

But every once in awhile that old bedfellow creeps back.

He starts to lie again.

I'm not good enough.

Our love is different.

They aren't my kids.

Blah.

Blah.

Blah.

Those fears are perhaps felt more often as we head toward adoption again.

An information packet came yesterday.

Asking us same questions as two years ago.

Had we worked past our infertility issues?

I stared at the question.

I asked The Hero.

He laughed.

No.

He offered up.

I stared back.

We haven't?

He smiled.

Infertility is a lie. We had a family without the biology.

God did that.

Infertility is just a liar.

And that's a big enough history to never get over.

Over infertility?

Never.

I'm just mad we spent so much time being sidetracked by him.

I laughed.

He's right.

He usually always is.

We'd always have issues with infertility.

It told us we'd never have a family.

It was wrong.

And I'm sure we would have discussed it more.

But there were two voices already screaming

"Mommy!"

"Daddy!"