is there an answer?

if you have read this blog for any length of time, you will know I am no stranger to melancholy. Some of it is legitimate. Some is much more about the way my soul is bent (and broken). I am learning to become more comfortable in my own skin- but part of the learning is knowing when the melancholy has taken its toll. when the shift inward leans towards self-destruction, self-pity, and even pride. like it's my pain. I will interact with it the way I feel like it. well, that's all well and good in the moment, but day upon day upon day- well, it only breeds more grief and little hope.

I can be in any of these places on any given day- even in the same day- and so the dance of repentance is one I am learning well.

I remember when josh and i were struggling with infertility. I mean, what does that even mean? We wanted a baby, and we were not having any luck- while it seemed the entire universe was fertile and babies were falling out of the sky into anyone's arms except mine. "struggling with infertility" just doesn't do those emotions justice. It was sad. heart breaking. a death of a million dreams. it created huge chasms in friendships. awkwardness. it stole countless moments of joy. it also took a good run at my innocence. my naive perception that the world always worked in my favor. that pain and sorrow and bad luck were for people in India and third world countries. but me- I live in a world where earthquakes and tsunamis and poverty were only a sad story on the news. my world was full of lunch dates, and parks, and perfectly constructed baby nurseries. that was my dream- and I was drunk with expectation. and the hangover- well, it lasted for years. as we waited, waited, and waited.

I will forever be thankful for the few minutes I sat in front of a counselor and he told me how risky it was to hope. to lean into love and hope, even though it might get taken away. that it was worth it.

I wish I could have seen that at the time. I missed my sister's baby shower because it was too risky- in fact, I checked out for most of her pregnancy. like it wasn't happening. like my pain trumped her happiness. her gift. This happened quite a bit, actually. circumstance, after circumstance- my pain trumping someone else's joy.

I missed out on so much hope.

now, I am not saying there is not a place for boundaries, and bad days- and even proper grief. but, as I have said for so long, joy and sorrow always mingle- they ALWAYS will- because of the world we live in.

I am so thankful for that counselor for giving me words for the kind of love I was avoiding. I didn't want to hope or enter into any kind of joy- because what if it failed me? what if i was using that decision to bargain my way into happiness, even a pregnancy? but you can't really. if you really enter into someone's happiness, their joy- well, that is a kind of love that is really only grace. the kind of love that says, I don't know how to do this on my own strength- I want to love you, and this baby, or your new job, or your brand new kitchen. I want to love your story with the confidence that I have a story of my own that God is weaving.

I know what your thinking- all well and good. you got your baby. you have a job. you have what you want.

well, perhaps this is true. but it hasn't always been true, and it might not always be true.

in fact, much of the way I am broken, causes me to fear the bleakest of circumstances. I see pain 10,000 miles ahead and I plot out ways to avoid it. I don't call people and choose to love them less because of the pain I am resisting of when I might not have them any longer. I do that with my own husband. I look at him when the lights are out, and my heart sinks to my feet at the thought of losing him at any time. and that thought spirals into the next- until I realize that this sad day comes to all of us. some earlier than others. that on any given day, we come face to face with the reality of living in such an incomplete place. such a paradoxical place. where blue skies and beaches, and coffee, and the most beautiful flowers send us to a place of utter bliss as we bask in the glory of true delight. the same place where the rain pours, and we lose our only love, and our wombs remain empty.

I have no idea how we live in these extremes. I just have no idea.

but I choose to hope. to risk it all. and I say that knowing I am having a good day.

and I also unabashedly admit, that I am putting all my eggs in this basket.