We drive through a desert to get to the mountains where we ski every year. We've done this for as long as I can remember. And every year, I stare out the window shocked over the way there appears to be ponds of water in faraway, desert places. Those mirages fascinated me when I was a child. They fascinate me still.
And in March, as we drove the drive we always take, I watch the mirages move, evade, always one mile ahead of our progress. At the time, I was hoping we'd bring home more than sore muscles and goggle tans. I was hoping the mirage of motherhood would finally be a real thing growing inside of me as I've dreamed for years.
Alas, the motherhood mirage moved. Again farther out into the distance. Again evasive.
March marked a year of trying, a year of timing and temping and tension between hope and sadness. I did the requisite things: Doctors. Appointments. Blood draws. Results. And we got the bad news: we're broken. Each of us in our own hidden, but huge ways. Ways that make babies with his almond eyes and my dimpled chin impossible. Ways that bring us clinging to one another in the wake of life-changing news.
News like this -as it is with death and illness and loss- comes crashing through the ceiling of your safe place. It falls at such a speed that you fear you'll be crushed, never to come loose, always stuck beneath the weight of bad news. Wash away the powdery pain with tears. Throw off the burdens with honesty. Lift yourself from the rubble and preserve -with a glass of wine (or two), long evening walks under the setting sun, and spa days. Because, time will pass and your aching soul will heal.
It is not my goal to minimize the disappointment that comes with the heavy burden that is brokenness and waiting -I'm sick of stillness in the name of circumstance. The words used to name the news -barren, infertile, unable- are nearly unbearable for me. They are labels I refuse to carry as their weight is just too much for my soul to bear. Words I refuse to entertain for the sake of my faith. So, I am calling myself brave, ready, Mama. I am singing an anthem of love in the depths of my soul because nothing is as powerful as the Mama desire He put inside of me.
In all this I can say, there remains hope. Shredded, thin, gauzy hope. Hope that is worn cotton -faded and soft as a result of years of wear and tear. I don't deny Her richness. I don't deny miracles and fighting odds and unexpected surprises. But, I believe part of faith is facts. Facts that are made up of statistics and science. Facts that say, my children will be born of my heart and not of my flesh. Facts that point us in a new, blessed direction of growing to the Thomas Three.
And so, we wait. We wait on the last numbers, statistics, conversations. We wait on the next steps, the process, His plan. Because while we're slowly moving, the mirage isn't yet ours to behold. We will run into the depths of the desert after the refreshing springs of faith. A faith springing wildly from the way He promises glory over all things -our family included. I know the mirage will materialize and the pool we'll approach will refresh, restore, renew. I know He will dip us below the surface of the waters and declare us Mama and Dad to some beautiful, blessed soul.
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