Kiss Your Miracle

Before I got pregnant I met a woman who went through five years of fertility treatments before finally having her son. She extended sympathy to me and told me not to let anyone minimize my pain. It was validating to hear and I appreciated it. But then she kept talking. She actually went on for quite a while, detailing just how wounded she is from her struggle. Is. Not was. She is still wounded. At this point her son was a teenager.

The interaction really bothered me. I was grateful for her willingness to reach out to me, but at the same time I felt panic rising up inside. I remember thinking, so even if I get pregnant and have a healthy child I’ll still carry around this same pain? This infertility will always be with me? The idea depressed me so much that I made a decision that day. I promised myself that if I ever did become a mother, even if I spent thousands of dollars and years of my life and even if I only had one child, I would let myself join the mommy club. I would choose to identify more with motherhood than with infertility.

Not that it’s always easy. We all know how infertility can affect a woman’s identity. Bitterness is a slow, sneaky thing – we don’t realize we headed down that path until one day we arrive in a place we never intended to be. Anyone can go there, even a woman like me, whose prayers for a baby were answered in a very cool, dramatic way. It takes work to be thankful for what we have, to spend time in that place of gratitude every day. If I don’t stop and deliberately think about it, I’ll drift away and start focusing all my attention on my next prayer request.

My point is not to condemn the woman who tried to comfort me. I just want to check my own heart and mind. Pastor Colin Smith says, “Time only heals if the wound is clean.” If you’ve faced infertility, you’ve dealt with hurt and disappointment and it’s possible to carry that pain around even once you become a mother. The good news is that God knows our hearts and he is always ready to heal us, if only we will let him.

Human beings are very adaptable. We get used to things. At one point for each of us, infertility was a major part of our lives. We thought about it every day. We wondered if it would always be like this and desperately hoped it wouldn’t be. Then we became mothers. We went from feeling empty to feeling overwhelmed, swept up in the nonstop activity of life as a new parent. Motherhood is so all-consuming that we didn’t have time to sit and daydream about how fulfilled we felt; we were too busy changing diapers, wiping up baby puke, and working to keep the baby calm. If you’re like me, you might even find it hard to remember what life was like before your child arrived. Which brings me back to how adaptable we are – we can even get used to miracles.

I don’t want to sit around and meditate on how sad infertility is or dwell on the emotions I felt before I became a mom. But at the same time, I never want to forget how much I prayed for a baby and how it felt when God answered those prayers. Psalm 77:11 says, “I will remember the deeds of the LORD; yes, I will remember your miracles of long ago.” Meditating on the goodness of God is part of being a Christian. God didn’t have to give me a baby. He’s already given me his Son. But he chose to answer my prayers with the kindness of a Father who loves extravagantly.

My nature is to take things for granted. But with God’s help, I’ll choose to remember what he has done for me and motherhood will not be one of those things. Today when my baby wakes up I’ll tell her that she is a miracle and a blessing from God. She won’t realize it, but I’ll be telling myself too. It’s something I never want to forget.