Patiently Frustrated
I grew up in a Lutheran home. My dad's parents regularly attended St. James Lutheran in Scottsbluff. We regularly attended St. James Lutheran in Garden. We'd go to their church when we were visiting, they'd go to ours when they visited. I attended Sunday School every time. I sat in service every Sunday with my Children's bulletin and busy bag propped on the pew as I kneeled on the floor. I attended VBS every summer. I also sang in the children's choir. When I was seven, my Grandpa passed away. (For those that don't know, I am very much a Grandpa & Granddad's little Mandy girl.) Shortly after, church became traumatizing for my seven-year-old mind. Our pastor went through a bitter divorce, which he took out on the congregation, "damning us all to hell" every Sunday. My parents abruptly stopped attending after the second or third Sunday of this type of speak. We continued to attend church with Grandma when we went up to Nebraska, but we never went back to our church in Garden.
In high school, I began going to the other Lutheran church for youth group and Wednesday pizza lunches. In that gap of not attending church, I never stopped believing in God and I never stopped occasionally praying...I just didn't attend services anywhere. I was well behind in my "Lutheran walk", as I was almost 17 and still hadn't gone through confirmation. I finally made that decision, alongside my 15-year-old sister. My Grandma was thrilled! I was just happy that I didn't follow the crowd and had decided to do it when I was truly ready.
As high school ended and college life began, I fell away from the church altogether, only attending services with my ex-boyfriend/fiance's family when we were up in Silver Lake. I still believed in God, but as my self-worth and self-esteem was slowly diminishing and my relationship began to get abusive, I didn't know if God necessarily loved me. So I began to question, but never stopped believing.
Fast forward a few years:
Brandon and I got married and attended the Methodist Church in Pittsburg. We went there because Brandon had been working there as a choir member and the music leader of the contemporary service. When we moved to Eureka, the town of liquor stores and churches, we never found one we truly felt "at home" in. So we occasionally attended a Baptist church with a coworker of mine. Moving to Pratt, we began to attend the Southern Baptist church. I enjoyed it and felt more at peace than I had in a long time at church. But I wasn't sold on it, especially when I was going to have to get baptized again. It didn't "count" that I had been baptized and confirmed anywhere else and I felt a huge blow. I was torn because, as silly as it sounds, one tie I still had to my Grandpa and Grandma, and my Dad, was the Lutheran stuff. I wasn't ready and felt pressured into doing something I wasn't even considering doing in the first place. So we kept going to church, but didn't become members. We, unfortunately, didn't find our "home" until almost a year living here. We began attending the AHNaz (for short). Brandon and I both became involved almost instantly and a few months later, I wanted to be re-baptized...not to "prove my belief" or anything, but because I wanted to wash the old Amanda who was held down and still holding on too tightly to the past, and to reaffirm myself to God. We became members the following Spring and serve our Lord diligently with love.
So, why did I just go through all of that on my fertility blog? It seems rather odd, but it's a good stepping stone to some thoughts for today and on this week. First, I believe God has a plan for me and for my family. Second, I know he loves us. Third, I am not, though normally I am, patient in this area of my life. I have blamed God, thrown my hands up in frustration to Him. I have been angry with Him for ignoring me and my prayers for a baby. I want to know His plan and that patience that I used to have is slowly melting away sometimes.
I have had a rough week...crying and feeling bottled up on Monday evening. Leaving two not-so-nice voice messages for the nurse at the doctor's office that never were returned. Being told that I am throwing pity-parties for myself right now. It's rough. People don't understand unless they've been there...and no matter what perspective I try to give, some of them will always think that it doesn't matter.
I'll admit, this week, my prayers have been scattered and few. I have been finding it difficult to continue to pray for a baby, as it seems like my hope is dashing and fleeting. But I have a wonderful friend who gave me a much-needed hug yesterday and a reminder that I'm not alone in this...so, today starts better. I still hurt inside, and I know that won't go away anytime soon, but I know that I can keep putting one step in front of the other. God has a plan, and though I don't know what it is or where I'm headed, He's right here with me.
In high school, I began going to the other Lutheran church for youth group and Wednesday pizza lunches. In that gap of not attending church, I never stopped believing in God and I never stopped occasionally praying...I just didn't attend services anywhere. I was well behind in my "Lutheran walk", as I was almost 17 and still hadn't gone through confirmation. I finally made that decision, alongside my 15-year-old sister. My Grandma was thrilled! I was just happy that I didn't follow the crowd and had decided to do it when I was truly ready.
As high school ended and college life began, I fell away from the church altogether, only attending services with my ex-boyfriend/fiance's family when we were up in Silver Lake. I still believed in God, but as my self-worth and self-esteem was slowly diminishing and my relationship began to get abusive, I didn't know if God necessarily loved me. So I began to question, but never stopped believing.
Fast forward a few years:
Brandon and I got married and attended the Methodist Church in Pittsburg. We went there because Brandon had been working there as a choir member and the music leader of the contemporary service. When we moved to Eureka, the town of liquor stores and churches, we never found one we truly felt "at home" in. So we occasionally attended a Baptist church with a coworker of mine. Moving to Pratt, we began to attend the Southern Baptist church. I enjoyed it and felt more at peace than I had in a long time at church. But I wasn't sold on it, especially when I was going to have to get baptized again. It didn't "count" that I had been baptized and confirmed anywhere else and I felt a huge blow. I was torn because, as silly as it sounds, one tie I still had to my Grandpa and Grandma, and my Dad, was the Lutheran stuff. I wasn't ready and felt pressured into doing something I wasn't even considering doing in the first place. So we kept going to church, but didn't become members. We, unfortunately, didn't find our "home" until almost a year living here. We began attending the AHNaz (for short). Brandon and I both became involved almost instantly and a few months later, I wanted to be re-baptized...not to "prove my belief" or anything, but because I wanted to wash the old Amanda who was held down and still holding on too tightly to the past, and to reaffirm myself to God. We became members the following Spring and serve our Lord diligently with love.
So, why did I just go through all of that on my fertility blog? It seems rather odd, but it's a good stepping stone to some thoughts for today and on this week. First, I believe God has a plan for me and for my family. Second, I know he loves us. Third, I am not, though normally I am, patient in this area of my life. I have blamed God, thrown my hands up in frustration to Him. I have been angry with Him for ignoring me and my prayers for a baby. I want to know His plan and that patience that I used to have is slowly melting away sometimes.
I have had a rough week...crying and feeling bottled up on Monday evening. Leaving two not-so-nice voice messages for the nurse at the doctor's office that never were returned. Being told that I am throwing pity-parties for myself right now. It's rough. People don't understand unless they've been there...and no matter what perspective I try to give, some of them will always think that it doesn't matter.
I'll admit, this week, my prayers have been scattered and few. I have been finding it difficult to continue to pray for a baby, as it seems like my hope is dashing and fleeting. But I have a wonderful friend who gave me a much-needed hug yesterday and a reminder that I'm not alone in this...so, today starts better. I still hurt inside, and I know that won't go away anytime soon, but I know that I can keep putting one step in front of the other. God has a plan, and though I don't know what it is or where I'm headed, He's right here with me.
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