A perhaps too many...

I like donuts. I shouldn't but I do. I don't like the ones with sprinkles or powdered icing but all the others are wonderful.  Crullers. I really like crullers.  And eclairs...

Perhaps I am a smidge ashamed that I'd like to eat half a dozen on my own at the moment.  The difference is that I won't actually do that.  I just want to.  Really, really want to.

I've been a smidge funk-i-fied over the past few days.  Perhaps part of that is overcoming jet lag; perhaps I can't stop dreaming of people speaking foreign languages.  Perhaps the fact that I'm feeling behind in school already and it's only the third week is weighing me down.  Perhaps the fact that I haven't been running in ages or planned a proper, healthy meal in just as long is making me less than gentle on myself.  I could probably perhaps myself to death.

This morning as I crawled back into bed for a pre-work snuggle with The Len my mouth said the words, "I'm stressed" but my heart caught me off guard by whispering, "We're childless."  I wasn't expecting that. 

Sometimes our hearts can whisper what our minds don't want to acknowledge. I prefer to acknowledge positively that the life we lead is a result of God's abundant blessings; I can count quickly and joyfully the number of things we can do as a result of our infertility; despite our infertility, even.  I love our life.  We consider ourselves a complete family of two; being childless with joy and healing is the miraculous result of our journey through infertility.

I wish the quiet niggling of grief would leave, however. I wish it wasn't still a part of me; I wish it didn't sing a quiet refrain of 'You're here because you're childless' the entire time I was in Europe, or anytime I sit in the boardroom full of men whose wives are having babies.  As much as I would never hope to stop missing my mom -a different weight of grief - I wish this grief would just go away.  I wish the 95% of the time where I love everything about my life despite infertility would be 100%.  I wish I didn't want to go into our spare room and throw things at the walls in pain and frustration at the visible reminder of hopes and dreams that never came true and didn't belong to us in the first place.  And given that I'm not really one to throw things, it makes me all the more irritated.

It actually bugs me that we're still infertile.  I rarely feel infertile anymore, but it doesn't change the reality.  I wish it did. I want to wake up one morning and simply live our childless life without the occasional niggling finger of grief reaching over to jab me in the heart.  (Of course, that would open up all sorts of different conversations about why we don't have kids if we're not infertile anymore, but let's not go there today.)

It's moments like these when I think I'm kidding myself.  Perhaps I'm not truly happy with our life.  Perhaps I am living this giant lie and one day I'm going to wake up and the whole world is going to come crashing down around me.  Of course, as soon as I write that, I know the real lie.  And I know the source.

What greater glee to the father of lies than to have us believe his lies over God's truth?  Why wouldn't the enemy choose to take that niggling grief and twist my heart into a confused, frustrated mess?  Wouldn't he love for me to doubt all the real, hard evidence of joy and healing in our lives and instead shoulder that grief and uncertainty again?

I'm not saying grief is sin; I think our human hearts bear grief and sorrow and will continue to do so until our Lord Jesus returns.  Beware however, of moments like I am having today... moments where the enemy uses that grief to expose and nurture the dark, hardened parts of our hearts that would gladly exchange Truth for his lies in times of pain.

"Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth. This then is how we know that we belong to the truth, and how we set our hearts at rest in his presence whenever our hearts condemn us. For God is greater than our hearts, and he knows everything." ~ 1 John 3:18-20

We belong to the truth.  We don't just know better, know truth: we belong to it; to Jesus, the Way, the Truth, and the Life.  Praise Him!

When I call this blog my outlet, I really mean it. There was a dark cloud looming over me when I started writing this. I really intended to find some donuts today and stuff my face.  I wanted to commiserate, vocalize my pain, get some hugs, rant a bit.  God clearly had other plans... 

I'm going to go eat an apple now.