My Prayer

I've spent the past week raging against life.  At the most recent doctor's appointment, we discovered part of the root of many of my health issues--or at least, more of the root.  The latest labwork shows I'm in early menopause--not premenopause, but actual, real menopause.  At 37 years old.  Yep.  This is due, in part, because my adrenal glands have quit working.  When that happens, your body starts stealing from other hormones in order to stay upright and keep functioning.

On my way home, I had to pull into a parking lot up the street before I could face my family.  I needed time to scream, yell, cry like a crazy person, and rage on.  I sat in the parking lot with Casting Crowns blasting on the stereo, pounding the steering wheel and screaming at the unfairness of my reality.

I feel screwed over.  That's all the honesty I have to give you.  No wisdom, just honesty.  My sister had child #5 at age 40, but here I am, at 37, realizing just how incredibly miraculous the two boys I do have really are.  Again, it strikes home--no more babies.  It's like a hammer slamming down.  Reality.  Have I mentioned I'm only 37?

My body has been through hell, is still going through hell, and has yet to come back. My body is worn out, my immune system is suppressed, and nothing works the way it should.  Every system in my body has gone in its own haywire direction.  Recovery from this, IF I can do everything the way I'm 'supposed' to, could take up to two years, and that's if my body is in shape enough to have it all reversed.  That's a whole lotta ifs.  I'm angry,  I'm frustrated, I'm upset, I'm just really pissed off.  I cry at the drop of a hat, and I just want to hide.  I feel gipped.  Most days, I don't have the energy to put up a good fight.  In a life in which your own body continually works against you, it's hard to have hope.  I want to feel bitter, I want to be bitter.  I don't want to have to play nice, be nice and move on.

This wasn't my plan.  My plan was for a house full of kids.

I know there is a part of me that continues to hope if I repeat "Having another baby is impossible" enough times, God will rear up and shout "NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME, CHILD!"  He did that with Avery, and I just, even if I'm lying to myself, need to believe, at least for now, that it can happen again.

This wasn't my plan.  I can't tell you how many times I've said this in the past fourteen years.

Funny how that happens.  This--NONE of this--wasn't my plan, but it obviously is part of His plan.  I'm having one of those "Could you maybe just clue me in a bit, here" weeks.  Is it possible for Him to let me in on His plan?  Even just a hint?

Yesterday I stood in church during praise and worship with tears streaming down my face.  I couldn't stop them. This has become my norm, and I know there is still more to come.  I prayed, "Lord, please let this mess be for Your good."  Please, let something good come out of this.  Not because I'm ready to martyr myself, not because I want to look, act like, be a martyr, but because I need something positive to come out of the negative.

With Avery, God gave me a tremendous testimony.  With the recovery and remission that came with his pregnancy and birth, I found an incredible story to share with others.  I am called to share it with others, to give hope, to share faith and God's promise--THIS, this is what our God can do.

I don't know what this chapter of my journey holds for me as an individual, or us as a family, but I do have to believe it won't be for naught.  I need to believe we will look back on it and think, "Ohhh, I see it now."  I need to continue to believe in the good, and have faith even when I don't like what's happening.

Even in the storm, praise Him.