Therefore, to keep me from being too elated, a thorn
was given me in the flesh, a messenger of
2 Corinthians 12:7-9
I always avoided church on Mother’s Day. If I went, I’d have to face them. Mothers everywhere, wearing their oversized corsages and happily crowding the pews with their extended families. I also avoided stores, which would be crowded with mothers helping their offspring select that ‘perfect’ mother’s day gift. And restaurants? Forget about restaurants. I would have to wait an hour just to be seated near some huge family, with the Queen Mom seated at the head of the table.
In my late 30’s and childless, I wanted to rip every corsage off of these pompous, gloating women. I felt they were taunting me, as though they all belonged to some exclusive club that I was not allowed to join.
Having a baby was the sole purpose of my life. I read everything on infertility, saw the doctor, took the tests. All with no results. Over and over I prayed for a baby. Over and over I was disappointed. My husband did not feel the same desperation I did. He didn’t have to; he had a child from his first marriage. In my incessant search for answers, comfort, a reason why everyone else on the planet could reproduce but me, I was eventually led to the Bible verse, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Gee, God, I said. Thanks a lot. I come looking for help, and all I get is the snide reminder that You know best.
Feeling even worse, I continued my search. I felt abandoned by my husband, my Doctor, even God, and the sand in my biological hourglass was running out faster than my options.
Finally, I realized that all of this self-imposed misery would do nothing to change the fact that I most likely would never have a child. I had to give up the fight. My surrender came in the form of a letter to God. In it I stated that I would accept God’s will for me, no matter how painful. It was a tortuous task, but I forced myself to acknowledge that sometimes the answer to a prayer is ‘No.’ I accepted the possibility that I may never have children, and from this point forward live as though my life were already complete. I lit a candle and burned the letter, sending the message to God in smoke.
There was no miraculous flash of light, no sudden cure, no ‘amazing grace’ moment where I was able to accept being childless as my destiny. But eventually, I felt calmer. I didn’t cry every month that I wasn’t pregnant. I began to accept childlessness as a fact of my existence, not as a failure on my part. And I even went to church on Mother’s Day.
(11) He said, “Go out and stand on the
mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Now there was a great wind, so strong
that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord,
but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the
Lord was not in the earthquake; (12) and after the earthquake a fire, but the
Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.
1 Kings 19:11-12
One of my favorite things to do is to do is to walk into my church’s sanctuary when no one else is around. Walking through the heavy wooden doors, I am transported away from the endless cacophony that is my daily existence.
I rush to arrive early for my
regular Tuesday evening meeting. I
break away from the crowd and quickly walk into the sanctuary. As I open the door and step inside, I am
struck by the stillness of the large room.
The noises from the meetings and other activities occurring down the
hall fade into the distance. As I
walk inside, the carpeting muffles the constant click click
click of my shoes. The traffic noises from
I approach the altar. My pace slows with each muted step. My thoughts, the constant internal chattering, fade to a whisper and finally stop. Even my breathing becomes quiet. I kneel at the altar rail, surrounded by the noiseless peace.
Within this sheer silence, I can hear God.
Honorable Mention, Non
Fiction
2003 Poem or a Page
Contest
UW Writer’s
Institute