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Childless Mother

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A womb that will always be empty. A nest forever free of little hens.  I thought I was okay. I am okay, right?  Since having to make the decision, I’ve told myself so many things to make myself forget how painful this might be. I push, push, pushed it down, until I could pretend that it didn’t exist - the agony of knowing my womb will never grow a child full of both Ethan and I. I’d never know whose laugh that child would get, whose eyes, whose sense of humor. Whether he would have a strong personality like me or a gentle personality like Ethan. Whether she’d need braces, or get lucky like I did. Whether he’d be a ‘sports’ kid, or an ‘academic’ kid.  No matter the option, it wasn’t choice. I knew in my heart that regardless of so many mothering possibilities out there, my physical body is incapable of caring for a child from womb through adulthood.  I told myself it doesn’t matter, because I’d have been a shit mom anyways. I’d have little patience, I wouldn’t be loving enough, I would
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The Devil

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Agony. It’s agony to remember.  To remember the red roses, reminiscent of the blood he’d draw later. Happy Valentine’s Day to me.  To remember those hands that held me so gently, but then squeezed until I couldn’t breathe, until I panicked.  To remember those embraces, so loving, so tender, until they forced me to go to my knees. So I could “go to work”  for hours.  To remember the jokes about sharing me with his friends while we sit at the table. This isn’t normal, right? “Yes, doctor, please drug me up, because I know what’s coming next, and your needle means it won’t hurt so bad.”  His angelic face that charms the nurses is the same one that hides the devil underneath. The devil only I have to see. The devil he only shows me. Dramatic, they call me. Faker, they call me. Liar , they call me.   Failed. They failed me. “Why couldn’t you look deeper?!” I want to scream at my parents, my teachers, my youth leaders, my friends.  Dramatic. That’s why. That label.    The label that hid
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God’s in the Broken Glasses

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God’s in it. God’s in the surgeries that go wrong. God’s in the offered hug from a “no-hugger” out of nowhere.  God’s in the seizures that haven’t happened in 3 years.  God’s in the friend who asks if she can pray for you. God’s in the overnight hospital stay you don’t know how you’ll afford.  God’s in the gift cards to help with groceries.  God’s in the pain that won’t go away.  God’s in the email to a worried mom, asking if an entire seminary community can pray for her daughter.  God’s in the strep that comes at the worst possible time. God’s in the joy that comes from gluten free pizza dough from a friend.  God’s in the disability hearing that seems like a total lost cause.  God’s in the Whisper that reminds you that He’s the God of lost causes.   God’s in the abuse that makes you lose hope in love. God’s in love of a husband who proves it still exists.   God’s in the fertility news that breaks your heart more than you admit.  God’s in the kiss from your nephew.  God’s in the broke
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Memories Made and Memories Lost

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How proud he was of my for my first prom.  How he ran out of the dug out on my first home run, and almost got kicked off the field for the rest of the game. When he made those shitty scrambled eggs after going out at 2am on one of my terrible pain nights, because I really wanted eggs and we were out.  His hug and tears picking me up at IWU, and giving me his IronMan medal because “I was his IronMan.”  Telling me he was proud of me when I got cut from volleyball, because he was never brave enough to try out for a sport he could get cut from.   Training to run the Fort for Fitness with me and being my softball coach.  “Calling Dr. Dad!”  Sweaty hugs and the designated “grumpy goose” on vacations. Awful snack ideas at the cottage and the Deca-Pentathlon.  Running a lap with the Michigan flag before kickoff, and knowing how loud he’d be screaming with Michigan beating OSU the last two years.  Saying, “And that, my friends, is what we call ‘closure,’” after my ex-boyfriend hid behind his da
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Girl of Light

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She was so filled with light.  That sweet girl, with the big, bright smile, and the deep brown eyes. She had a big personality, and a big heart to go along with it.  She was so hopeful. She didn’t believe in Monsters - even if there were Monsters, she knew that her God was big enough to stop them. She was invincible, she was safe, nothing could hurt her. She had the Mighty Word of God on her side - the Sword of the Spirit and the Shield of Faith. If she needed to fight off dragons, if she needed to fight off evil, she was equipped.  Her God was Mighty. Her God was invincible. Her God lived inside of her, and she was untouchable.  But the world did - touch her, that is.  There was a deep darkness that laid beneath the surface of the green grass she once loved. There was a creeping evil that hid underneath the dirt, crawling up. Its roots began wrapping themselves around her ankles.  She looked down, in panic. She frantically searched the beautiful, clear blue sky. She cried out to her M
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Shining Tears

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     “But please, please - won’t you - can’t you give me something that will cure Mother?” Up till then, he had been looking at the Lion’s great feet and the huge claws on them; now, in his despair, he looked up at its face. What he saw surprised him as much as anything in his whole life. For the tawny face was bent down near his own and (wonder of wonders) great shining tears stood in the Lion’s eyes. They were such big, bring tears compared with Digory’s own that for a moment he felt as if the Lion must really be sorrier about his Mother than he was himself.       “ My son, my son,” said Aslan, “I know. Grief is great. Only you and I in this land know that yet. Let us be good to one another.”  “MOM!” My brother screamed, as me and my mom were eating downstairs. My other brother was at work, and my sister was at her basketball game. As soon as I heard his scream, I just knew. “Dad’s on the bathroom floor! He’s not moving!”  I ran up the stairs as fast as I could, tripping on them on t
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“My Bones are in Agony”

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 “ To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one . Lock it up safe in a casket or coffin…but in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will begin to change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable ” (C.S. Lewis).  I hate that quote. C.S. Lewis is my favorite author, because his words are so powerful; unfortunately, I don’t often take them to heart. Instead, they are pretty words on a page that should  mean something to me, but don’t.  “To love is to be vulnerable.” Seriously, I hate  that. It wasn’t until I learned what it meant to be an 8 (the “Challenger”) on the Enneagram that I fully understood why this bothered me so much; I honestly thought I was broken, and I was really embarrassed by how I viewed vulnerability. My husband, Ethan, is a 9 (the “Peacemaker”), and he has a really difficult time having “tough”
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