A week ago yesterday, I packed up HOPE. I was done, that was it–no more.
Erik and I had been informed of yet another pregnancy–yet another pregnancy that wasn’t ours’, that didn’t seem “fair” and that caused us to ask, “Why not us?”
It’s so hard for me to hear a person say, “We weren’t planning this…it’s not the best time….we didn’t want this right yet….” It causes me to turn toward God and scream, “I WANT IT! Give it to me!! Stop giving it to the people who don’t want it yet!!!!!”
So I packed up HOPE.
A long time ago, when we never dreamed our infertility would last this long, I painted the guest room pale yellow, with fun green, blue and white designs and called it a nursery. Many months ago, before we realized the struggle this would be, I bought a table at a garage sale and painted it blue. Hundreds of days ago, during a time when it made sense to HOPE, I purchased black iron letters and placed them on this table.
Ever since, this little table, with its blue finish, its cute white and green lamp, its collection of antique Disney books, editions 1-17, the pair of socks given to me when pregnant, and its four letters spelling HOPE has been a beacon of light in our house. A beacon that reminded me daily of the assurance I have, that no matter how hard it gets, my HOPE is in the Lord. That there is HOPE. That HOPE is key to survival.
I was done; that was it–no more.
I have spent the week questioning, yelling, crying … and losing HOPE. I just figured, if prayer doesn’t sway God, then why pray? If HOPE doesn’t help, only hurts, why HOPE? If time doesn’t heal, why continue on?
Every time I’d enter the former nursery, now confused, brightly colored guest room, my emotions changed. The first few times I went in, I felt almost victorious. Like, “There. Good. I win. It’s over.” As the week went on, and as I worked through my emotions with the Lord, and with good friends, my feelings upon entering the room changed. It became more like, “Huh. It’s kinda empty” to “Hm. I kinda miss HOPE.” to “Wow–I wonder if I’ll ever bring it back?”
A week ago yesterday I packed up HOPE.
Today, I dragged it all out again. The lamp is back, the books are back, the teddy bears are back, the Noah’s Ark painting it back, the stuffed bunny is back … and HOPE is back.
It felt good to set it all up again–as if I’ve returned. I’ve never been one to quit. I’ve never been one to give up. I’ve just never had to struggle with something so hard, and so long before. It has been 881 days since we started this journey. 881 of praying, wishing, hoping, grieving, crying, yearning….2 miscarriages, one surgery and many puffy eyed mornings later, we’re still here.
I only packed up HOPE for one week, and one day. HOPEfully, I don’t ever hit that low again. The only way I’ve made it through 881 days of this, is HOPE. As hard as it is to HOPE; as much as it hurts … there is no other way to do it.