Battle Scars & Crooked Toenails {Guest Post :: Anna}

I met Anna my freshman year in college at Oral Roberts University. Anna was bffs with my floor chaplain, Alison, and getting to know someone in the light of a beautiful relationship, you always get to really see their heart. God placed her in a strategic position to be able to speak on my behalf to be a part of the chaplain leadership program for 3 years thereafter that truly changed my life in so many ways. Anna and her husband, John, walked through the infertility journey for 3 years before finally conceiving and giving birth to little Ayla, who just turned 1 last month! They make their home together in this nation's capital with Anna's bloggy home being Anna's Joy. Her fresh and funny way of looking at life, even in the hard, will remind you that it is possible to have hope, JOY, and even a sense of humor no matter the circumstances.

Battle Scars & Crooked Toenails

I have a few really messed up toenails. I brutalized them in years (too far) past by running a couple of marathons, causing them to die and grow back in lumpy and crooked. Even though they look somewhat normal when painted and pedicured, I know what they really look like and that they will probably always be this way.

That’s what my heart is sort of like, too.

You’d never know it by my usually hilariously awesome personality, but I had a broken heart at least one day a month for almost three years.

Anyone who has run the infertility marathon will know exactly what I’m talking about. The heartbreak on days of yet another negative pregnancy test, or not even needing to take one, is truly relentless (severe, harsh).

Like many newlyweds, my husband and I laughed and blushingly smiled at people’s insinuations of lots of children and carelessly answered when people asked what our plans for children were.

We were naive kids, jumping into what we thought would be an easy float trip down a scenic river. It turned out to be a test of everything inside of us as we fought our way down a rushing torrent tumbling by treacherous rocks.

On those days, I was not feeling the relentless love of God.

On those days, He was this giant stone face; present, but silent.

On the “not yet” days, I often begged God to tell me, “No.” The endless wait, the hollow ifs, the just-freaking-don’t-know-whys, were so hard on my heart. If He would just put me out of my misery and tell me that we weren’t going to get pregnant, I could get on with my life and start looking for other ways to start a family.

God would not, in fact, tell me, “No.” He actually (finally) said, “Yes.”

No, it was more of a, “Yes, but.”

Yes, we got a baby. But, she was born a few weeks before my husband was scheduled to be transferred overseas for a year without us.

At the risk of losing some of the dramatic moment here, I must ask you to not feel too sorry for us. We are very close to the end of the year!

I am still not out of that darned river, though it’s different now.

Over the years of infertility, even through the days of the silent God, He was lovingly, patiently teaching me how to swim. He showed me when to float, when to kick, how to navigate around dangerous obstacles, how to hold my breath longer, what to do with my arms and so on (I don’t know how to actually swim that well, so that’s all I’ve got for swimming terminology).

While giving me swim lessons, God was also building us a community. We had hundreds of people praying for us to have a baby. We took a risk by letting so many people in on our painful journey, at times we even wished we hadn’t been so open. It was necessary for us, though, to have this army around us. They were how God showed His love for us, a constant, present force, holding our arms up, pointing our eyes up to the hills, then rejoicing with us as our prayers and theirs were answered.

Now, these people are still lifting us up in prayer, seeking out ways to help us and making what could be a terribly hard time of separation a season of reaping with thanksgiving.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s still really hard. My daughter isn’t the only one who cries in this house!

But these lumpy toenails of mine, I mean, my strengthened, battle-scarred heart can keep walking on abundance-filled paths (Psalms 65:11), where others wondered how the timing of this separation and baby could have possibly been from the heart of a loving Father, I cannot doubt it.

His relentless love led me, protected me and taught me in the days of waiting for a baby. I learned to trust Him wholeheartedly, to rejoice in the provision of Today and to hold on to the hands of others on the journey. Then was just one long training session for now.

I’m pretty sure even this now is preparation for what’s next, but we’ll take those steps when we get there, crooked toenails and all.

This month I have asked some of my fellow bloggers to join me here at The Little Missionary Girl All Grown Up to share how they have seen the Relentless Love of the Father in their lives in moments of brokenness, heartache, and valley-of-shadow moments. This post is the 10th in the series of that exploration into the passion of the Father for us across miles, across personalities, across hearts that are His. To read more of the posts, click here and here.