Life is a Trigger

You may have noticed that it's been winter all year here at Conceiving Hope.

Sometimes life is permeated with a grey, foggy haze that doesn't lift. That's the best way to describe 2016. The death of a parent. The death of another child. The death of an aunt. The death of a friend. A new diagnosis - this time a disease brought on by pregnancy itself. And so winter wasn't coming, it just never left.

I'm mostly still back at January 22nd, even now. Remembering every bit of that morning before I knew my world had changed.... remembering a peace that was a lie. Freshly fallen snow that morning, a hot cup of tea, a slow start to the day, and time spent soaking it in. Yet far away, the loss of a parent in those same moments. It's strikes me even now how eerily silent it was that morning. Hauntingly so, as crystals formed, and snow flakes settled and everything in the world was frozen for a moment...

Grief is a strange sensation. Like the snow that morning, it is mostly silent - but discernibly there. And after the snow, it's even like the feel of sticky morning dew on bare skin in springtime. Or like a thick, hot breath inwards on a particularly humid summer evening. Or that first crisp scent of Autumn in the air that catches your nose.

They are all so distinct, aren't they? Familiar, yet new. Recognizable, yet different. There, yet not really. The deafening quiet of that snowy morning and particularly the change of the seasons this year are some of the most poignant to me still, as I think back on the loss. The world kept going, but I did not. And loss upon loss, I became numb. I didn't even keep up motions in my numbness. I just was. Or am. Or something...

In 2016, all of life has seemed a trigger. Maybe it's hope delayed? Or maybe this is some Phoenix metaphor where I have to be burned to ashes before some dramatic rebirth. Perhaps my Hashimoto's is conjuring up exactly that scenario. I'm not sure, nor does it really matter much which it is. I just am. Or whatever is left of me, anyway.

Losing a parent is so very different than losing a child. Almost everyone can relate to one, and very few can relate to the other. Yes, losing a parent is expected at some point, but even in the shared experience - the reality of it is utterly unique and unshareable.

I buried my father on my birthday. And since the year I was born, it always snows that day. It did that day too. I'm not sure how it's 8 months past that day already, but it is. I'm still in winter, stuck in January, and the rest of you kept going.

Martha's Dignity, My Infertility

You could throw a proverbial rock into the Christian interwebs and the chances would be pretty good that you'd hit a blog that teaches women the virtue of how to be a "Mary" in a "Martha" world. It seems to be the *it* thing to write about as a female Christian blogger and you can find just about any of the advice that you are looking for, whether it be in checklist form, countdown form, prose around biblical verses, or some snazzy pin with a pretty graphic.....unless you want to explore the dignity and virtue of Martha.

If you've read Luke 10:38-42, then you know the story. Martha worries about serving, Mary lounges at the Lord's feet. Martha is anxious and seeking for Christ's validation. Mary is carefree and hanging on Christ's every word. No, I'm not a biblical scholar.... thank you for asking! :)

The interesting thing to me though (but that I never read in all these Christian blogs and analyses of Martha/Mary) when people are referencing this story is this: the good of Martha. We focus on what we perceive are Martha's shortcomings or what we perceive are her missteps. And more often, I think we see her as the woman who doesn't find favor with the Lord in those verses. Don't be like Martha is the mantra we're all taught. But by comparing Martha to Mary.... we really don't afford Martha her dignity. As women - and humans - we don't get the luxury of comparison without the consequence of being sinful. We are not all just compilations of our sins... there is dignity imparted onto our souls by God Himself and it is greater than our missteps, failings, and sins. Put more simply, our job isn't to judge Mary or Martha, but that role is left open only to Christ's bailiwick. And what does He do when the opportunity to judge and compare is upon Him? He does neither.

I feel like infertility has taught me a lot about Martha. Infertility taught me to eagerly welcome Christ... just like Martha. Infertility reminds me of all the worries and anxieties that I possess.... much like Martha. And maybe most poignantly, the path to and through infertility reminds me of the intense feeling that I've been denied by Christ. But that isn't really what Christ did, is it?

Martha served Christ...freely, enthusiastically, and seeking favor. Even when what seemed most important to her was not granted, I believe Christ's exact words in that passage afford her dignity more than they point to someone else being more virtuous. His careful words address her worry directly as a balm and He focuses on what she needs in light of what she wants. We should all be thankful for that kind of attention, right? Notice that Christ's words don't actually offer a comparison of the sisters. It's a powerful passage to reflect on, if you look at it from that vantage point and reread His actual words carefully. He certainly could have compared them, but look at what He did instead.

Let me never judge anyone who enthusiastically seeks to serve the Lord for any reason. Let me focus more on what Christ says to me alone. And if I feel denied in my request when I feel unfairly left alone to carry what I see as the heavier burden, let me remember the tenderness with which Christ will speak to me if I seek His Will. I get there by recognizing the good of Martha, not by comparing her to anyone. And maybe there is something to that cartoon I drew a couple years ago after all....