When Going Requires Letting Go

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Sometimes news is good. Sometimes it’s bad. Other times it’s good, but you’re scared to say it out loud.

After a year’s worth of prayer and conversations with trusted friends, I decided to stop holding monthly meetings for Graceful Wait. My ministry partner, Ashley, and I are still offering one-on-one support, and will maintain the Facebook page as a way for women to contact us.

I struggled making this decision all of 2019. It started last February, when I sensed a new nudge from the Lord, a kindling similar to the one he sparked more than a decade ago. That nudge pushed me in the direction to cofound the first Graceful Wait support group in Missouri.

The current nudge is less defined. I don’t know what the assignment is, per se. It’s pointing in a few directions, hovering between two of my passions: biblical literacy and adoption/foster care advocacy. While I’m not sure what I’ll do, when it’ll start, or how I’ll accomplish what needs to be done, I can’t deny the call to go.

To do that – whatever it is – as well as invest more time in writing projects, I knew I’d need to offload some responsibilities. Through different circumstances and a gradual heart shift, the Lord showed me that had to include the monthly support group.

If you know me and my story, you understand why it would be hard to walk away from this ministry – this baby that wasn’t a replacement for a baby, yet was something I’d still birthed and nurtured and watched grow. Giving up a group that I believe is crucial and needed, and that let me witness God perform amazing acts of connection and transformation, felt like intentionally dropping my wedding ring down the drain.

I didn’t want to quit, but I also didn’t want to continue. Filled with doubt, I unburdened my uneasiness before the Lord.

God, I know You asked me to trust You when I started this group. I was scared, but I believed. And look what happened. You took our collective tears over empty wombs and crushed dreams and babies who died before they could live, and You poured them into the most priceless jar of clay. You healed. You restored. You brought glory to Your name as the only Life Giver and Redeemer of Your daughters’ broken hearts.

Graceful Wait is Your beautiful creation. But now, unless I misheard You, You want me to stop hosting it. Why? Why let this space for grieving women wither and die? Why tell me to start something good, something needed, then ask me to let it go?

And so I wrestled. And, ironically, I had to wait. God didn’t answer my questions right away. By his wisdom, he let me stay uncomfortable in order to grow my faith. He stretched my belief in his sufficiency so I could lean harder on his strength.

But I needed help releasing my grip. He brought a friend into my life who has experience transitioning from one long-time ministry to another. When I asked her the same question I’d demanded of the Lord, she looked at me with empathetic eyes and spoke straight wisdom.

“God doesn’t always call us to serve in the same place forever.”

Ah, yes. Forever. What it felt like waiting for motherhood. What a strange place to be – feet dug in the ground, resisting the call to move forward, when for so long, all I’d wanted was to move on to the next stage.

Through my friend’s simple statement, God woke me up to reality. Going anywhere requires leaving something behind. As much as I’m passionate about helping women face infertility and loss, and as dearly as I hold it near my heart, I can’t serve in this way forever. Thank God, I don’t need to. It’s his ministry. It always has been. He hasn’t just ordered my steps; he has ordered the steps of every woman who showed up to our group desperate for hope and healing.

It’s funny, when I was talking with Ashley about whether we should continue Graceful Wait, she made a comment that echoed what my friend had said earlier.

“Maybe this group has served its purpose for now.” For now. Now vs. forever.

Graceful Wait isn’t forever. One day, there won’t be a need for it. No more barrenness, no more aching, no more losing beloved babies. I’m not forever, either, not on Earth. I’ll live out my days according to God’s plan for me. Then I’ll join my Savior in heaven – my Savior who is the same yesterday, today, and forever. He holds all things together, including a small-town support group that held space for grief.

Though I came to accept the need to surrender, I delayed making the decision for a year. Then I delayed writing about the decision for several months. As I said at the beginning, I’ve been scared to write this post because I knew that once I did, it would finally feel real. I’m really done leading Graceful Wait.

While I shouldn’t need confirmation that it was a good decision to follow God’s lead, he blessed me with it, anyway. When I went to a coffee shop to write this post, I ran into a woman who had come to our group in the past. She lost her sweet baby girl a few years ago. As we chatted, she shared that she’s pregnant again. She’s excited and happy, worried and sad all at the same time.

Layers of emotion wrapped in gratitude. That’s the best way I can describe how it feels now, letting go of a treasured ministry so I can embrace the nudge toward a new ministry.

Walking alongside women facing infertility and infant loss is a sacred privilege, something I never would’ve asked for, but am deeply grateful God entrusted to me. I know I can hand over this beautiful gift and burden to Jesus because he’s worthy to carry it. It’s what he has done all along.

I Lift My Eyes to the Microwave

1:30. I punch the numbers and slump against the kitchen counter, waiting. One and a half minutes seems too long. My abdomen is howling, crying out for relief from the cramps. They shoot across my belly, fiery darts skittering through blood vessels and tissue and organs, a jumble of body parts fused together by metastatic disease.

It had been two years since I was diagnosed with endometriosis, four years since doctors initially missed the diagnosis. In between the two surgeries, the cancer-like disease spread to my ovaries and bladder, depositing trigger points in various nooks and crannies of my reproductive system. All it takes is a slight shift in hormones to spark the pain. It starts low, near the beltline, at the epicenter of physical and emotional turmoil, then radiates to my chest, arms, legs, back, and neck.

I lift my eyes to the microwave. From where does my help come? It comes from a loaf-sized pouch filled with beans, magic beans sent from heaven.

Read full essay at Fathom Magazine.

Pro-life for All: Adoption

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For many years, I longed to give life. It wasn’t that I merely coveted the title of “mother” or felt obligated to take the next step following marriage. No, the yearning ran far deeper than external pressures or an internal ticking clock. I was an image bearer who wanted to bear image bearers. But I couldn’t, not when I wanted to, and the ache of it drove me to question God’s goodness. Why would the Creator of the universe withhold life from his child?

The answer came slowly, a trickle of awareness that sprang the day my husband and I attended a domestic adoption seminar. During a panel discussion, we heard adoptees and birth mothers share their experiences. The birth mothers explained how they had wanted to carry their babies and provide for them, but faced circumstances that would have made parenting extremely difficult. The adoptees described how they cared for their adoptive parents and also wanted to know their biological parents. As I listened to their stories, I could feel the sorrow that lingered for those who lacked contact with the children they birthed and the mothers who brought them into the world.

A revelation dawned on me then: I wasn’t the only person in the room who suffered. These adoptees and birth mothers also yearned for more ways to give and receive love. All of us experienced loss at some level; all of us wanted relationships that, at some point, seemed out of reach.

We needed a Shepherd to walk us through grief and usher us into new life.

Read full article at Morning by Morning.

[Photo courtesy Daniel Hjalmarsson on Unsplash]

Weeping with Those Waiting for a Child

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I’ve often imagined the scene at the tomb the day after Christ’s crucifixion. The world must have seemed bleak. His family and disciples spent that Saturday grieving the loss of the One they thought would free them. They didn’t know He’d rise in victory over sin and death the next day. In the shadow of the cross freshly stained with Jesus’ blood, they couldn’t see the glory of an event yet to come.

Women who suffer infertility experience a similar grief over the death of our dreams about motherhood. Like those who mourned Jesus that dark Sabbath day, we’re unsure when or if joy will come tomorrow or the day after. Our bodies set us on a perpetual roller coaster of emotions, rising with anticipation at the start of a cycle then crashing with disappointment when the test turns out negative. A friend described it well when she called the arrival of her period as a “mini-funeral” she endured month after month.

This comparison to death might not make sense if you haven’t lived through the heartache of infertility. I didn’t understand it until my husband and I struggled to conceive. After years of tests, surgeries, and failed treatments, I learned the truth of Proverbs 13:12: “Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.”

Read full article at Revive Our Hearts.

[Photo courtesy Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash]

How a Birth Mother’s Choice Is an Illustration of the Gospel

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It’s an odd experience, shaking hands with the mother of your son before you get a chance to hold him. My pulse was racing when my husband and I sat down in the adoption agency office to chat with the woman who was changing our lives at great cost to her own.

“Good to meet you,” she’d said, smiling warmly in a way that would become familiar, reflected in our son’s cheerful face. Later, I tried to consider the anxiety she might’ve felt walking into that room. She had more reasons to be scared than I did, but she didn’t act flustered. Maybe she’d bathed in the same inexplicable peace that had washed over me halfway through our meeting. All at once, I sensed this moment as a God-ordained melding of families birthed from different brands of labor pains.

My husband and I had embarked on the adoption path after years of struggling to conceive. In the midst of our grief, God reawakened our desire to adopt, an idea he had planted early in marriage before we discovered our fertility issues. We set out expectant and hopeful, yet wary of the potential for further heartache.

Though my husband and I chose adoption as a way to grow our family, the choice of who would become our child rested on the will of another woman. This mother faced the shock of an unexpected pregnancy, endured the labor and delivery process, and carried the weight of an agonizing decision about how to care for her child. Whereas we were left wondering when and how we’d have a baby, she had to ponder if she’d take her baby home or place him in someone else’s arms.

Read full article at ERLC.

[Photo courtesy Aditya Romansa on Unsplash]

Why Adoption Isn’t Plan A or B

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Love, marriage, baby carriage—that’s the predictable course many couples follow to fulfill the cultural mandate in Genesis to “be fruitful and multiply.” Because procreation is a natural biological process that God designed, we expect our bodies to work as intended and assume the sequence will progress in the usual way.

But reproductive ability isn’t guaranteed. Our world is fallen, and sin affected the entire process of childbearing. Some couples can’t get pregnant; some miscarry or lose their babies in the womb. Their roads to parenthood meander and extend, with some diverging from the typical biological route.

When my husband and I began pursuing domestic infant adoption after several years of infertility, we mourned the loss of bearing children, but also rejoiced at the prospect of adding a child to our family through adoption. God sparked the desire to adopt early in our marriage, before we had problems trying to conceive. We didn’t view adoption as a second-rate method to grow our family, but rather appreciated it as a beautiful, redemptive way to bring us a child.

Though we received support from family and friends, we heard occasional comments insinuating that adoption was Plan B. The remarks implied that biological pregnancy was the preferred method for growing a family, and construed adoption as a subpar option left to those who otherwise couldn’t have children. A few couples we knew who were also facing infertility refused to consider adoption because they couldn’t imagine raising children that weren’t their biological offspring.

Deeper insight into the adoption process can help clarify the misperception that adoption is inferior to “having your own kids.” As parents who welcomed our first child through adoption, we jump at the opportunity to explain how God unfolded his plan for giving us this undeserved gift.

Read full article at ERLC.

[Photo courtesy Bonnie Kittle on Unsplash]

The Shunammite Woman: Faith in God’s Life-giving Power

A short story in the Old Testament tells how a simple woman with a generous heart grew in faith after witnessing God work a miracle in her life. God’s faithfulness to his word led her to boldly request another miracle later on, as she faced the uncertainty of death and loss. Her intensified conviction provides hope that God can mature the smallest mustard seed of faith in those who seek after him, even for chronic doubters like me.

We learn about this woman in 2 Kings 4, which chronicles events that happened early in the prophet Elisha’s ministry. During his frequent travels, Elisha often passed through the small village of Shunem, where the woman lived with her husband in a large, empty house. She invited the prophet over to eat every time he came by, and eventually asked her husband if they could set up a small room where the holy man of God could rest.

Elisha stayed and, in gratitude for her hospitality, asked his servant how he could repay her. The servant mentioned she didn’t have a son, and her husband was too old for them to bear children. Learning this, Elisha delivered shocking news: The following year, she would hold a son in her arms. Her response is reminiscent of Sarah’s incredulity when God promised her and Abraham a son: “No, my lord, O man of God; do not lie to your servant” (2 Kgs 4:16). She couldn’t believe it, because it was impossible.

Read full article at Morning by Morning.