Early
on in our infertility journey, I read that I needed to get over needles
fast. Whoever wrote that encouraging little memo wasn’t
kidding. My doctor recently switched me from oral progesterone to
at-home intramuscular injections. Combined with monthly blood draws
and weekly acupuncture, that puts my pokiest week topping out at roughly 18-20
needles in the span of 7 days literally from the top of my head down to my
ankles and everywhere in between. My acupuncturist even started
needling my belly recently, which is just a delight, let me tell
you.
While I eagerly look forward to the day that I’m no
longer a human pin cushion, this season hasn’t been without it’s
blessings. For example, I have a good nurse friend who is taking the
time to come administer my progesterone injections (having my husband give them
was an option, but I wasn’t too keen on that idea. He keeps
reminding me he gave them to pigs when he worked on the hog farm and that pig
skin is the most similar to human skin - thank you, Mythbusters - so, he’s not
entirely inexperienced. Somehow that still just isn’t overly
comforting to me). Anyway, my friend prayed for me as she gave me my
first injection while my husband stayed nearby with Nika (who is essentially my
emotional support dog), and I was again reminded how very much I am not alone in
this. I know that someday my own joy will be shared (and amplified
as a result) with so many who have walked alongside (and sometimes carried) us
through this, regardless of how God chooses to glorify Himself through it in
the end.
I have also been more aware than ever of how I am
crossing paths with people I wouldn’t have and in ways I wouldn’t have had my
story been unfolding differently. I am familiar with all of the
phlebotomists at our hospital. I see my acupuncturist and the girl
who runs her front desk every week. In the time we have been trying to conceive, I have had the gift of being a
nanny to three beautiful kids in two separate families and of getting to love
them and watch them grow. I had the time, mental clarity, and energy to give careful and thoughtful counsel to the teenage girl who reached out
unexpectedly for guidance the other day. I have more of myself to
give in youth ministry (and ministry in general) during this
season.
Pain and suffering are not the worst
things. Struggles and trials are not the worst things. In
fact, all these things teach, grow, and refine us and bond us to others in
ways that nothing else can accomplish. They help us know Jesus just
a little better and become a little more like Him, for he suffered more than any
of us will ever have to. He did so on our behalf. He
provided the way to escape the most intense, thorough, and final pain that any
human being will ever experience. He took it on Himself, and all
that He asks is that we trust Him. We will still experience
disappointment and deep hurts in this life, but if we trust Him, we know that
the glorious end of our own story will completely overshadow the heartaches of
today. I have had hope through infertility, through marital
heartaches, through job loss, through seemingly constant life upheaval, and
yes, through the caronavirus because I know the One who died for me and whose
love was unequivocally and incomparably demonstrated by that
death. I also know that He is alive and that anything He allows into
my life can be used for good. The grave could not hold Him; neither
will it hold those who believe in Him. And I know that ultimately
I’m not the end of my own story. He is.
“Sing to the Lord all you
godly ones! Praise His holy name. For His anger lasts
only a moment, but His favor lasts a lifetime! Weeping may last
through the night, but joy comes with the morning” (Psalm 30:4-5 NLT).
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