The Ache
I can’t describe it any other way – it’s a merciless ache. It aches when I leave the doctor’s office and they tell me (for the bajillionth time, because apparently no one teaches doctors how to be nice to diabetics) how unlikely it is for someone in my “condition” to get pregnant and have healthy babies. It aches when I see countless Instagram photos of my friends and their cherubic offspring. It aches when all I want to do is something silly and sedate, like walking down the Bend river trail, and I realize how easy it would be with a stroller and a little buddy along for the ride.
Everything in my orbit is reminding me of the ache right now, and I don’t have any distractions from it. It’s been a lingering pain for a couple of years, but I’ve had other things on my mind as well – a busy church-life, a lot of girl-friends to grab lunch and swap stories with, a growing business network that expanded and inspired my creativity and my ambition.
Now we’re in a new place that revisits my ache every day. This is where I want to raise kids, where I see myself as an easy-going northwestern mom. The ache pounds at me with every passing day until I feel ready to crumble, ready to sign off of all social media for the rest of my life, ready to ignore all beauty because the ache overpowers.
What I have to remember is this: the ache is not the whole story. The ache doesn’t tell of God’s goodness and faithfulness, it only speaks of my impatience. The ache lies, it breaks my heart over an as-yet unknown outcome. It blames and shouts and forgets instead of praying and hoping and remembering. So the big question is, how do I live with the ache without letting it rule my heart?
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