Seasons

Many years ago we were at a non-profit banquet where Tim Tebow’s mother spoke and afterwards I was chatting with her and explained somewhat apologetically that we were donors but I wasn’t a volunteer. She encouraged me that with toddlers at home and a career there would be another season for that. I appreciated those words of wisdom and encouragement and have shared them often since. 

These days I find myself in a season I could have never imagined. One full of chaos, joy and challenges, raising four adolescent boys. This season, so unexpected and unlike any other season I've ever traversed includes 

• 5-10 hours a week volunteering, mostly with Safe Families and occasionally with church or other organizations 
• 5-10 hours a week exercising, mostly running with some lifting and yoga sprinkled in 
• 5-10 hours a week driving back and forth across central Pennsylvania for sports/band pickups and drop offs, music/play/equine therapy appointments and dentist/orthodontist visits.

My time is spent trying to steady my heart rate through my mile splits and marathon temper tantrums put on by boys who are big enough to pack a punch, researching ADHD treatments, tips and tricks (October is also ADHD Awareness Month), and trying to reinvent my social life. 

Sometimes it’s lonely and loud all at the same time… how can that be!? 

I have dreams of adding 5-10 hours a week of writing time, 1 hour of connection with other moms and 1 hour of dates, but haven’t realized those hopes quite yet.  There are a few half-done blogs in my queue.  

But my point here today is simply that I think it’s important to find an occasion to stop and take stock of it all. There’s a popular meme out there that says "you are currently living one of the prayers you used to pray." And that’s true to a certain extent, at least for me. 

October is (was) pregnancy and infant loss awareness month and recently a good friend posted a friend of hers’ powerful testimony about her miscarriage. That post provided an opportunity for me to stop and take stock of my life.  It was accompanied by a photo of a women curled in a ball, or at least that’s the way I saw it. 

I don’t have any actual pictures of myself curled in a ball but there are memories in my mind like that. Memories where I’m curled in a corner, sobbing and begging Mike to think more about that adoption option I’d thrown out. Memories where we’re both huddled on the curb up the hill outside the back of Hershey Medical Center dumbfounded that it could have possibly happened again, a third or was it the fourth time. Those pictures in my mind are now a bit like a faded black and white, they’re there, but diminished in vibrancy and power. 

I thought about posting for pregnancy and infant loss and awareness month but I’m also cognizant of the fact that any picture on my newsfeed or in my camera roll is not just of me but instead includes my patch of four rambunctious boys and this might rather upset than connect with my friends struggling with infertility. These beautiful and broken people may be clinging to hope but still tender from loss or recurrent loss, emptiness and/or unmet dreams. And I wouldn’t want to do anything at all to deepen their grief or make them feel even more alone. 

All this got me to thinking about how our belonging expands as our seasons change. The places and people with whom we belong, connect, relate to and bond with progress over time, as our lived experiences are ever expanding.  While I still relate to and feel like I belong in groups of people with infertility, they may not feel that they belong with me.  

Some constants I’ve recognized so far, in my life across seasons: 

• I’m values-driven, my values give me hope, purpose and direction 
• I’m focused and capable of diligent persistence (towards those values) even in the absence of any tangible proof of progress
• The outdoors and journaling calm me down and help me pray 
• I appreciate and need community, true friendship and authentic confidants and if they don’t just show up on my doorstep, actively seeking them out is always worth it. 

I don’t think about my infertility much anymore but I still recognize it as integral part of who I am and who I’ve become, somewhat of a sine qua non. I still sometimes struggle with grief over feelings that my family doesn’t quite look like I thought it would. But the larger truth for which I’m grateful is: 

I am indeed living the answered prayers from a decade past. 

Life never is what we thought it would be. No, it’s much more complex than that. Harder, richer, louder, full of highs and lows and happy mediums, requiring self-discipline, faith and hope in an unforeseen long game with constantly changing obstacles, goals and expectations. It’s learning and relearning again and again that we aren’t in control of it all, surrendering our plans to the Creator and following in the path He lays before us even though we don’t know the route. 

My prayer today is that I have the discipline and faith that this season demands of me and that sharing my own journey here continues to inspire and give hope and belonging to all who read this, no matter what season they find themselves in.