"Rejoice with those who rejoice..."
-Romans 12:15
They've been married for four years, the last two of which were devoted to conceiving a child. When asked why he wanted to become a father, he would say only, "It's the next step in my life." It sounded robotic, made fatherhood seem like something on his things-to-do list. But that's how he always sounds, especially about things that make him anxious.
When asked about becoming a mother, she would angle her gaze toward him and smile in earnest joy. "We're ready to love a baby of our own, aren't we, honey." Phrased like a question, but expressed as a statement of fact.
In the beginning, friends asked them periodically for progress reports. "Are you?" they all wanted to know. One day at her office, a coworker noticed her stomach looked a little rounder than usual under a tight-fitting blouse.
"Congratulations!" the coworker announced.
"What? I'm not pregnant," she said.
Oops.
So everyone learned to stop guessing and second guessing, learned not to monitor the slight heft that had accumulated around her midsection, learned to pay attention to the disappointment gathering on her brow instead. And the couple learned too: learned to wait for God's timing, learned to talk in generalities and use the far-future tense, learned to think of children as a possibility and not as a certainty--a blessing and not a birthright.
"It's getting late; I think we should head home," she would say diplomatically once a month when hanging out with friends. Then out the door the couple rushed, their hurry rather inexplicable. These declarations never came at a particularly late hour, so their friends soon decoded that message. I am ovulating, and we're going to try again.
Some friends blamed this approach for their problems conceiving. "Sex should be about love, not about charts and schedules," they said amongst themselves, and sometimes to the couple. "Trying so hard is putting too much stress on things, and that's not how a baby should be conceived." Others thought the charts, and the calendars, and the temperature-taking were helpful in increasing their chances.
When the couple thought she might be, at first they didn't let anyone know, because one doesn't want to jinx things. Something bad might happen, they thought about waiting until after the first trimester. But everyone had been praying for them for so long, had shared in their anxieties and frustrations; the baby seemed to be as much their friends' as the couple's. Babies: they were twins.
"Isn't God faithful!" friends said. "A double blessing." "Long awaited children, like Isaac to Abraham and Sarah." Hugs, smiles, and congratulations all around.
So of course no one knew what to think yesterday when the father-to-be sent out an email saying the following: "We are no longer expecting children this year." Friends closest to the couple wrenched details from them, and disseminated what they learned: the second ultrasound revealed that the twins had no heartbeat. In the last two weeks, they hadn't grown at all--a very, very bad sign. Those who found out secondhand are unsure whether to mention this to the couple at all. Is it better to sympathize with them, or let things lie and not bring up this emotional grenade?
Is God still faithful? Was this really a double blessing? their gay friend wonders to himself. Which is worse, to taste the wine of marriage mixed with the gall of infertility and miscarriage; or simply to pine after a mate and children, but never knowing either? And for just this once, their gay friend thinks that maybe being gay and Christian isn't the worst thing that can happen to someone.
-Romans 12:15
They've been married for four years, the last two of which were devoted to conceiving a child. When asked why he wanted to become a father, he would say only, "It's the next step in my life." It sounded robotic, made fatherhood seem like something on his things-to-do list. But that's how he always sounds, especially about things that make him anxious.
When asked about becoming a mother, she would angle her gaze toward him and smile in earnest joy. "We're ready to love a baby of our own, aren't we, honey." Phrased like a question, but expressed as a statement of fact.
In the beginning, friends asked them periodically for progress reports. "Are you?" they all wanted to know. One day at her office, a coworker noticed her stomach looked a little rounder than usual under a tight-fitting blouse.
"Congratulations!" the coworker announced.
"What? I'm not pregnant," she said.
Oops.
So everyone learned to stop guessing and second guessing, learned not to monitor the slight heft that had accumulated around her midsection, learned to pay attention to the disappointment gathering on her brow instead. And the couple learned too: learned to wait for God's timing, learned to talk in generalities and use the far-future tense, learned to think of children as a possibility and not as a certainty--a blessing and not a birthright.
"It's getting late; I think we should head home," she would say diplomatically once a month when hanging out with friends. Then out the door the couple rushed, their hurry rather inexplicable. These declarations never came at a particularly late hour, so their friends soon decoded that message. I am ovulating, and we're going to try again.
Some friends blamed this approach for their problems conceiving. "Sex should be about love, not about charts and schedules," they said amongst themselves, and sometimes to the couple. "Trying so hard is putting too much stress on things, and that's not how a baby should be conceived." Others thought the charts, and the calendars, and the temperature-taking were helpful in increasing their chances.
When the couple thought she might be, at first they didn't let anyone know, because one doesn't want to jinx things. Something bad might happen, they thought about waiting until after the first trimester. But everyone had been praying for them for so long, had shared in their anxieties and frustrations; the baby seemed to be as much their friends' as the couple's. Babies: they were twins.
"Isn't God faithful!" friends said. "A double blessing." "Long awaited children, like Isaac to Abraham and Sarah." Hugs, smiles, and congratulations all around.
So of course no one knew what to think yesterday when the father-to-be sent out an email saying the following: "We are no longer expecting children this year." Friends closest to the couple wrenched details from them, and disseminated what they learned: the second ultrasound revealed that the twins had no heartbeat. In the last two weeks, they hadn't grown at all--a very, very bad sign. Those who found out secondhand are unsure whether to mention this to the couple at all. Is it better to sympathize with them, or let things lie and not bring up this emotional grenade?
Is God still faithful? Was this really a double blessing? their gay friend wonders to himself. Which is worse, to taste the wine of marriage mixed with the gall of infertility and miscarriage; or simply to pine after a mate and children, but never knowing either? And for just this once, their gay friend thinks that maybe being gay and Christian isn't the worst thing that can happen to someone.
Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.
-Romans 12:15
-Romans 12:15
Really like this post--very honest and heartfelt. Had a friend in a similar situation and could totally relate to how you were feeling.
ReplyDelete