Charles Spurgeon is quoted saying, “I have learned to kiss the wave that slams me into the Rock of Ages,” and it’s true; I am never more aware of God than when I’m drowning in the midst of pain and overwhelmed by circumstances outside of my control. It’s through the pain and grief that I’m pushed up close to the presence of God.
Here I am in Sacramento. Andrew and I have just moved here. I am calling this our adventure. But inside I am totally losing it.
I have no idea who I am and what I’m doing. I’m a few months away from turning 30 and this is the biggest move I’ve ever made. What is most pathetic is I don’t even have to switch highways to get back to my hometown.
Two and a half hours feels like another world and I’m not sure I want another world. Dying in the place you were born without ever living somewhere else seems a little depressing—especially if that place is Fresno. But still, this wasn’t my plan and worse yet, I actually have no plan for this new adventure.
So I do what I normally do: I overeat, watch too many episodes of something, and then I get in the bath with a new book.
“Almost everyone had at one time or another been exposed to the world as being flawed, and human. And that it was good, for the development of character and empathy, for the growth of the spirit. Periods in the wilderness or desert were not lost time. You might find life, wildflowers, fossils, sources of water.”
This is the blog post I never wanted to write and the words I never wanted to say.
Probably the biggest lie I have had to wrestle to the ground these past few years is that my infertility is a punishment.
For my past.
For my sin.
Now I would never say this out loud, nor would I let any of you. But I think it all of the time.
And there are days, those hard, dark, painful days that I actually believe it.
Because I know my past, I know the depths of my sin, and I know how far I was from the LORD.
I also know there is a kind of suffering that is unexplainable, and so you start reaching for explanations.
I don’t usually write about infertility. Too deep. Too private. Too dark. Too hard. But then I sit with someone who has shared their journey and I’m comforted. Through their brokenness and their pain, I find hope and encouragement. And I realize that’s thing with the Body of Christ . . . we’re meant to share our stories with…