Even in healing...

I don’t talk much about infertility anymore. Have you noticed that?

The last time I talked about it I danced around the fact that Len and I are complete as two, and unless the Lord has other plans sometime in the future, we’re happy. Content. Healing. Joyful. So much good came with that realization that we were exactly where we needed to be that it was almost a relief not to feel infertile.

Yet even in healing, there are scars. There are tender spots that ache with memory. Even in moments of sweet closure there is a sharp pang of grief as we say goodbye to yet another dream that wasn’t meant to be ours. It’s surprisingly complex.

And joyously simple. For the past year as we deliberately embraced our life as two there has been such laughter and joy and fun. There were moments when I had to pinch myself as a reminder that the reason we were experiencing this amazing life was due to this horrible thing called infertility.

Most people don’t really ask whether we have children, or hope to, or any of the questions we used to field. I don’t know whether everyone just knows, whether it’s been so long now that they don’t dare say anything, or what. It doesn’t matter really… as much as I disliked mention of our infertility during the deep grief of it, now I almost relish the opportunity to confess God’s goodness in the path He’s placed us on. Perhaps the joy on our faces is witness enough.

Either way, even in healing there are tears.

Before we left the breakfast table at my parents’ cottage on the way to the airport, my father prayed with us, specifically for our life and the burden of infertility. The gesture, so beautiful and so filled with love, brought me to tears and a deep sense of gratitude. It was a reminder that as much as we love our life as two, we are still infertile; a reminder also that God hasn’t forgotten the pain of it, nor the need for support from those who love us most.

As if the gift of healing wasn't enough...