I first heard the Song of the Month for October at my church a couple of Easters ago.
Not the Christian radio version. This one. Live, with the lengthy monologue.
I know, time is precious. Twelve minutes and 44 seconds of your attention is a lot to ask for. But “Forever” by Kari Jobe is worth every second.
So buckle your seatbelts, folks. As they used to say in Arkansas, if this don’t light your fire, your wood’s wet.
I came across this verse in my Bible not too long ago:
“The Lord guards the inexperienced; I was helpless, and He saved me.” (Psalm 116:6)
These lines were starred, with one of my daughters’ names written in the margin. Apparently, I had noticed the verse before.
This day, troubled as I was with all sorts of petty issues, my first inclination was to breathe a sigh of relief as I read these words. Right about then, I was so very glad that God was guarding my children as they try to learn difficult concepts and absorb new material at school.
Although infertility is an issue that has deeply influenced my life, I don’t write about it much on this blog.
My book about the topic—Infertility: Finding God’s Peace in the Journey—is available here. Several months ago, I had the opportunity to do a Q&A about adoption and infertility with a wonderful blogger who graciously uses her own experiences with this painful struggle to reach out to others in the same boat. And I treasure the opportunity to share comfort or shed tears with someone whose dreams of motherhood are not coming true in the way she had hoped.
But the fact of the matter is that infertility is part of my past, not my present. Other matters occupy most of my time and energy these days, which is as it should be, I think.
Lately, though, I’ve been thinking about what I wrote in my book more than 12 years ago, and what, if anything, I would change if it were re-released today.
To tell the truth, I wouldn’t alter much. I still believe what I wrote about God’s goodness and sovereignty, about comparisons and prayer, about developing a thick skin and letting go.
There is one area I would revise just a bit, though. It has to do with treatment options, and how far people should go, medically, in their quest for pregnancy.
In the book, I was pretty cut and dried about my opinions regarding in vitro fertilization, and if I had a chance to rewrite, I would probably soften that some.
Although Randy and I chose not to pursue IVF, I’m not opposed to it. In my writing, however, I did offer some rather strong opinions about the boundaries a person should consider before attempting it. And what I’ve realized since then is that, though there definitely are ethical lines that should not crossed, our choices had a lot to do with our personalities, our aversion to certain kinds of risk, and, ultimately, with God’s plan for our family.
If I had a chance to update the book, I would leave more room for differences in all of those areas.
But here’s what has been confirmed to me, once again.
The peace of God is the umpire that guides my decisions. (Colossians 3:15)
As we considered IVF, I always had that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that signals, for me, a lack of peace.
Looking back, I realize a great part of that might have been the fact that I simply am not a risk taker, especially when it comes to finances. This can be a negative thing at times. It can show a lack of faith and a lack of trust.
But in this case, I believe God used it.
We didn’t want to risk a large sum of money on the possibility that IVF might not work. On top of that, if I had conceived this way, I’m quite certain that I would have been a ball of knots the whole time I was pregnant, fraught with worry about everything that could possibly go wrong.
That’s no way to live, I can assure you.
By the time we got around to thinking about more advanced treatment options, we were already worn from endless medical procedures to treat endometriosis. So when the procedure we had decided would be the last step in our efforts to conceive failed, there was no doubt in our minds what the next step would be.
We would adopt a baby girl from China.
As I think about this, I almost have to laugh out loud at the irony.
International adoption is full of risks and unknowns. Things can, and often do, go wrong. And that’s only before the child comes home; there are often unforeseen problems, developmental delays and medical issues to deal with afterwards, as well.
I never had a single qualm about any of this. Not once.
The wait was long (though nowhere near as long as it is now for couples wanting to adopt a non-special needs child from China) and incredibly frustrating at times, but I was not afraid.
Not of any of it.
Randy often jokes that I got us through China. While he was regularly having stomach problems due to nerves on our trip to get Lilly, I ate like a horse, handled all the paperwork and did whatever else needed to be done without batting an eyelash.
How could someone who was so ate up inside over the thought of doing “risky” IVF not hesitate for a moment before jumping into international adoption with both feet? Exactly 13 years after we met our first daughter, I think I know.
God knows how I am formed, and he remembers that I am dust (Psalm 103:14).
Had we not had that sick feeling in the pit of our stomachs at the thought of IVF, who knows what we might have missed out on?
That’s kind of a rhetorical question, but I have an answer. Actually, two answers.
Lilly and Molly.
♥ Lois
When I was a business reporter years ago at a newspaper in Northwest Arkansas, I came up with some of my own story ideas, but I mostly wrote what I was told to write.
Wal-Mart just released quarterly earnings. We need a story.
The manufacturing plant down the road is making a big announcement at a press conference today. Go cover it.
There’s a bunch of dirt being moved at the corner of Central and Moberly. What’s going in there?
You get the idea.
“Only 18 summers.”
It’s a phrase I’ve seen a few different places lately, referring to the limited amount of time parents have for intentional, one-on-one influence before their kids go to college or leave home for other reasons.
It’s encouragement to make the most of every cold bite of watermelon, every lazy day around the pool, every family vacation. It’s a reminder that time is fleeting, that before we know it our children will fly the coop and the only tangible artifacts we’ll have from their first 18 years are boxes full of dusty sports trophies, camp T-shirts and band concert programs.
I get the point. I really do.
In my last post, I described how I found relief after years of wandering around in a emotionally and physically draining wilderness.
When I finally cast aside my fears and started using the medication my doctor had prescribed for me, I felt like I had been totally and completely unwound.
As I wrote, “I was exhausted, overwhelmed and irritable. … “But I didn’t know just how badly I had felt before until I felt better.”
In the years leading up to this moment—years when I didn’t really know or understand the hormonal cause of all my symptoms—I prayed often that God would heal me. Not gradually, but instantly, like He healed the woman who touched the hem of His garment in Mark 5:29.