Finding Grace in Infertility and Loss

Last week at a pre-op appointment, I needed to sign a document that read, “I understand that I will not be able to become pregnant if I undergo this procedure,” and my breath caught in my throat and tears stung my eyes.

The next moment, that reaction surprised me. I am 47 years old and I haven’t thought about becoming pregnant in years. I long ago lost the hope of bearing a child and eventually lost the desire as well. But somehow initialing my name next to that sentence compressed the last 20 years, and I was suddenly a young wife again, crying over Dollar Store pregnancy tests that stubbornly refused to show me two pink lines. 

I reflected on these last 20 years. Adoption was always a Plan A for Gil and me, but the plan was to mix the biological with the adopted. Doctors never found a reason why biological children never came and we lived most of our marriage in a country where (at the time) treatment wasn’t available. 

I became pregnant once, which lasted only several weeks. That baby was due at the exact same time – down to the week – when Grace was born. We didn’t meet Grace until several months later, but I’ve contemplated many times that if that baby had been born, we wouldn’t have Grace today. And if I had birthed a child sometime in the following ten years, I might not have some of these children who fill up my soul. 

This useless womb, which caused me nothing but pain, inconvenience, and sorrow – turns out it was actually the impetus for the beauty in my life today. In a strange irony, it was not useless at all. 

My tears of loss turned into tears of gratitude. 

When Gil was a high school senior obsessed with soccer, he felt something in his knee pop. In one instant, a torn meniscus changed the course of his life. 

He lost a third of his speed capacity, and with it, his dream of playing soccer in college. He would have been good enough to play on his Cal State team, but the injury was enough that he could only redshirt (practice with the team but not compete). But if he had made the team, it’s likely he would have stayed at that college. He wouldn’t have transferred to The Master’s College. He wouldn’t have met me; he wouldn’t have lived his adult life in Tanzania; he wouldn’t have these kids. 

Gil’s knee has been the cause of much pain and grief over the years. He’s had surgery on it twice; one year he could barely walk. He continues to play soccer on borrowed time until he needs a knee replacement. Yet it turns out that injury was actually the impetus for the beauty in his life today. 

I can look back on the last twenty years and give thanks for my infertility. Gil can look back on the last thirty years and give thanks for his injured knee. He’s told me this often. 

I write this with a strong aversion to sounding trite. I can’t stand the Christian-radio version of Christianity, the Hallmark movie, Disneyland, sugar-coated kind. Goodness knows I’ve sat in the abyss for hours, days, months, wondering where all the light went or if it ever existed at all. The happy bow at the end of the story doesn’t erase the tormented nights, the weeping until no tears are left, the engulfing losses. The Christian life is far more mysterious than we are comfortable with.

Yet when the tears are spent and we rest in acceptance, and when we are very, very patient, we get glimpses of redemption. 

In The Story of Reality, Greg Koukl writes, 

“When discouragement, disillusionment, or defeat creep into [people’s] lives, they are caught by surprise. They thought the Story was about them—their happiness, their comfort, their personal prosperity. Then they wonder what went wrong when things go in another direction. “How could God let this happen to me?” they ask. They thought that with God in their lives they would be the center of his attention and everything was going to be easier. Then they are caught off guard when things work out differently.

There is a saying that has been helpful in some ways but I think is misleading in this regard. The saying goes, “God has a wonderful plan for your life.” From what I understand now, that perspective is in the wrong order. The Story is not so much about God’s plan for your life as it is about your life for God’s plan. Let that sink in. God’s purposes are central, not yours. Once you are completely clear on this fact, many things are going to change for you.”

Therein lies the mystery God has revealed to Gil and me. It’s not that everything in our lives has been wonderful – or that everything is wonderful now. Final happy endings won’t materialize this side of eternity. But we’ve been given a peek behind the curtain of what God is up to, and that changes everything.  

That glimpse took decades to see. Paul Miller writes, “We see resurrection only in the rear-view mirror.” Perhaps that’s why Scripture places endurance as indispensable on the road to growing character (2 Peter 1). We must wait, and wait, and wait to see God’s purposes. We wait in confusion or darkness or lament. Then one day, 20 years later, in a doctor’s office, we can say, Huh, Look at that. Turns out He knew what He was doing.

Since ancient times no one has heard,
no ear has perceived,
no eye has seen any God besides you,
who acts on behalf of those who wait for him. (Isaiah 64:4)

Related:
Waiting on the God Who Acts
Infertility and the Privilege of Motherhood