someday

This is about fertility, babies, and the deepest longings of my soul. Consider yourself warned.



Even though we're not trying, even though we have a plan, and even through I know the timing is not right, every month I feel a sense of failure sink in. And every month I try explaining this to Matt. I tell him about callings. I tell him about the feelings that are so core and so very central to my being. I try my best to articulate that while I am currently decidedly unpregnant, I feel like I should be pregnant. There's always a lot of pausing for deep breaths between even deeper thoughts. I sigh, stare at the ceiling, and struggle for the right words to say. I finally tell him what he already knows - his wife would like a baby please. After this display of emotion, I always find myself flopped on the bed. And in a display of spousal love, I always find Matt flopped next to me.

We discuss timelines. We discuss finances. We discuss waiting and agree that a bit of patience is best. But then we (mostly me) discuss the what-ifs: what if it doesn't work/what if it takes years/what if we regret these months of waiting? We (mostly Matt) discuss trusting God. We (I) discuss infertility and miscarriage and the dozens of things that can go wrong. We (Matt) discuss, again, trusting the Creator of the universe and our hearts, the One who put these desires in motion.

Then we (Matt) get up to brush our (his) teeth and get ready for bed, while we (I) go to the couch to do some thinking.

I think about the first time I realized I was made to be a mother - made to nurture and support, to tend to and love. I was six and my youngest brother was a few months old and starting to cry. I picked him up from his crib, sat cross-legged on the floor, put on my gentlest voice, and calmed him down. Something clicked. I sat there, watching him drift slowly off to sleep, feeling like I had both power and purpose.

I think about my heart and the hearts of women everywhere who share the same longing. How all of our hearts beat so strongly for this one thing that all this waiting, either intentional or unintentional, just seems throughly unproductive.

But then I think about God. I remind myself of His promises and His plan and of all of those little things that my impatient heart doesn't want to hear. How my God is the same God who remembered Rachel, who remembered Sarah, who remembered Elizabeth. Someday, somehow, He will remember me.

Then, in all of this talk remembering, I remember this doozy: God knows the exact date of each of my somedays.

And with that, I can finally go to sleep.

useless anecdote no. 1: Church vs. church

In our apartment, we do a fair amount of singing. Singing in the shower. Singing to the kittens. Singing the lyrics of one song to the melody of another (by yours truly and not even on purpose, I just happen to be musically challenged). Call me Maria Von Trappe.

Yesterday’s singing session took place between church and our Holeman & Finch reservation and was kicked off with me singing one of the morning’s hymns to the tune of Girl Crush by Lady Antebellum (again – not intentional). So Matthew, being the dream boat he is, pulled out his guitar to graciously aid me in my praising. We moved through the a few other hymns, but mysteriously ended up where we always end up these days - the contemporary classic “Shut Up and Dance.” (two-for-one tangent: I watch that little 20 second clip at least once a workday and it makes me grin down to my toes // I found an old journal during the last move and saw that I wrote about praying for a singing husband...so thank you Jesus.)

Around this time, our across the hall neighbor, who, unlike us, has age-appropriate hobbies like going to bars (this detail will become pertinant, I promise), had arrived home and was letting her cat roam the halls, heard our impromptu concert and was lead to tell us that we were really good. I was like, um, we? As in both of us? She confirmed. Yes! Both of us! And told us that we should preform places. Like Tin Lizzy’s or JCT. Matt mentioned that he plays at church about once a month. To which the neighbor said, “Oh I love Church! I go there all the time! Let me know next time you play!” We were like, "Yeah! Ok!" and then headed out for lunch.

As I walked down the stairs, I realized she was most likely referring to Church (also known as Sister Louisa's Church of the Living Room & Ping Pong Emporium, a bar in Edgewood), while we were referring to church (also known as Trinity, also known as the House of the Lord, Most High).

We should have clarified.

But am I still riding high from the fact that someone thought my voice was something other than “different” or “not great”? Yes. And I will hold onto that white-lie of a compliment til my dying day.

Anyway. Holeman & Finch burgers deserve every bit of hype and are worth standing in line in the muggy heat for. Highly recommend.