As I observed this vacant scene on the shores of Lake Erie, I marveled at the wonder of God’s creation and how, every year, He allows nearly every sign of life to be obscured by ice, freezing temperatures and snow.
When we first started trying for a baby two and a half years ago, the early months held tendrils of hope. My mind swam with thoughts of our future family, not thinking for a moment of the difficulty we might face along the way.
It was 6AM, and my eyes were heavy as I tried to make sense of the Scripture passage laid out in front of me.
Infertility is a physical problem, but it has ramifications that go far beyond the physical. God gave us not just a body, but a mind, heart, and soul (Matthew 22:37).
We had it all planned out. We would get pregnant in September, and have our baby in June, so my teacher-husband could have three months off with our newborn. It was a great plan. It just wasn’t God’s plan.
I was so angry at God. How could he let this happen? We had been trying to conceive for seven years.
The loss of conceiving biological children is not a loss that many understand, but it is a loss. I felt stuck in my grief.
As my husband and I began to try for a family, my heart was hopeful and expectant. Surely, God would give us this family that our hearts longed for, wouldn’t he? As months passed and this dream seemed further out of reach, my heart became doubtful and even fearful.
For the better part of fifteen years, I have lived my life in two-week increments. If infertility was a sea of impossibilities, I was determined to ride the wave of hope for as long as I possibly could. But is hope really hope if it can be swallowed up in despair every two weeks?
When you stop and think about it, Good Friday and Easter Sunday seem to receive all the focus. But what about Saturday? What was that day like?
