Just Supporting Cast

(Warning--I'm still a bit nuts. I mean, I did play Wii Tennis this afternoon at Wal-Mart for half an hour. Until the middle schooler next to me said, "Um, lady, do you think I could have a turn?")

I fully recognize that it is not normal to talk about your girl parts in public. Or, as the case may be, to write about their dysfunction ad nauseam on the world wide web. I just wanted you to know that I am aware of that fact.

And yet (what a wonderful way to approach the day!) somewhere in the midst of this hell-hole of infertility and incompetent cervix and just general ineffectualness of parenting, something special has happened. And like most GREAT things in my life, I've had little to do with it.

Recently, I've been getting emails, facebook messages, and phone calls about struggling with childlessness. And bed rest. Or how to relate to friends struggling with infertility. Or bed rest. And even emails about parenting. (Why people are asking me about parenting is a real shocker. Running down the aisles at Wal-Mart is our go-to rainy day activity. I mean, I entertained my son this afternoon by plopping him in a grocery cart and taking down Luigi.) I've even been stopped at the grocery store by a complete stranger who is struggling with infertility and a friend of hers told her about my blog. (Weird. A little creepy. But quite possibly one of the most fabulous moments of my life. Really wished I'd bathed that day.)

And most of you generally say something to the effect that you are in awe of my openness, encouraged by my willingness to be vulnerable, and appreciate my sense of humor.

To this I want to say several things--

1. It may be entirely possible that I'm too emotionally raw at this point to discern what I should and should not be saying. I'm simply too tired to suck it up and put on a brave face.

2. I've said it before and I'll say it again, when your adult life is once again centered around bodily functions that you apparently have no control over, you have two choices--you can laugh or you can cry. (As of late, I've been doing lots of both. But generally, laughing is my preference. It doesn't make my mascara run and I can count it as exercise.)

3. I would like to point out that through all of my "strength" I have been pretty passive. I cry. I cry out. I wake up with my face stuck to my pillow with snot from having cried my empty-armed self to sleep. I lay in bed for 12 weeks. I go to the doctor. I get shots. I pop pills. I lie on a table and put my feet in stirrups. That is the extent of what I have, am, and will be doing. I have a team of doctors and nurses to whom I am entrusting the heavy lifting. And I have The Author of Life who is ever so softly cradling me, breathing life into this wackadoo frame, and redeeming the entire heartbraking process.

4. That is pretty much all I'm doing. I do not want to discount your gratitude. I don't want to belittle whatever fruit God is growing here by saying it's not a big deal. It is a huge deal. I simply want you to see that I'm doing nothing; God is doing everything. I want you to see I'm only narrating a story of which I am a minor player. I want you to see Who this really is all about.

5. This rawness, this vulnerability, this desperation--it may just be the only time in my life where I understand reality for what it is. It is the time when I am most alive.

Most of the time, I'm pretty capable. I'm funny. I'm a good story teller. I'm crafty. I enjoy my husband and my son. In general, people like me. (I've actually had phone conversations with a friend where all we do for five minutes is talk about how awesome we are. It's a good friendship.) I'm American and rarely in my life have I wanted for much. (I'm pretty sure wanting a maid does not count.) I live 5 minutes from a Dunkin Donuts, Target, Wal-Mart, Michael's, and a Mexican restaurant. So most of the time, I simply go from place to place, not really thinking about the things I do or don't do. And for the most part, I really like this set up. It is comfortable.

But it is life on auto-pilot.

And I was not created to live life on auto-pilot.

I was created to live life intentionally and in relationship. God made me to love and be loved by Him and to be about loving and being loved by the other people He made in His image. And you just can't love other people if you don't risk losing face. Real love ALWAYS takes the path of humility. To the point of humiliation. To the point of death, even.

5. Lastly, and maybe most importantly, thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I am very touched that my weakness has brought you strength. The knowledge of this, in turn, encourages me. I'm hoping my acknowledging what is going on here doesn't jinx us all.

What a sweet story it will be to tell Baby Q how he or she was dearly loved and prayed for by people even before he or she was born. That truly he or she was conceived by God through the prayers of so many people. And to those of you who were in on those early rambling emails and stories about our quest for P (now known as Henry), I'll let him know he's yours as well.