The line reveals itself slowly – over several minutes, as you hope with all you have that that second line begins to appear. You stare at it. With everything you are, you try to bring that second line forth with your eyes. But it doesn’t appear. Your stomach aches in the deepest pit. You start to breath deeper. The tears sting your eyes, and now you can’t breathe. You sink to the floor, stick in hand, bury your face in your knees, and weep the tears of loss. Again.

If this pain is your pain, as it is mine, then this post was written for you. With all my love.


I want to completely ignore the fact that I’ve neglected to post for too long take a moment and introduce you to one of the most important people in my life:

My momma.

She’s the strongest, most compassionate, most amazing-est person I’ve ever had the privilege to meet. I wish every person reading this could know her personally, in real life, if you don’t. I shared my struggle with getting pregnant in my previous post, and my momma fought that battle for 12 long, hard, dark years. Now? She’s the homeschool mom in the 12 passenger van in the church parking lot. Yeah, her story is pretty incredible. (Don’t worry, Thomas, I don’t see a 12 passenger van anywhere in the foreseeable future…fingers crossed.)

As I’ve been going thought this battle with fertility myself and processing, crying, praying, and everything in-between, she’s been here beside me — holding my hand, letting me cuddle up by her and weep my brains out on her shoulder, giving me the necessary pep talks and reprimands when needed, and everything else I could possibly ask for. As she’s been walking down this rocky path with me, I’ve realized that she had to walk it alone. If she had to bear it all by herself, how many other women are there out there who are walking this same road alone? The thought brings tears to my eyes.

jordan lynette alone nature

I’ve received many emails from women who said that my previous post simply helped them not feel as if this battle, and the pain that comes with it, is something they’re enduring all by themselves. Infertility is so common, and you, my friend, are not alone. This is a letter my mom wrote to me, yes, but to you, too. It’s for us all – all of us who are longing to hold that precious baby in our arms.

So, this one’s for you; from the heart of my loving mother, to yours.


I love you.

I am across the state from you, my phone gives a little buzz – a message from you – and I open it to see a stick with one line. My stomach drops. I literally feel a pain in my chest. One horrible line. One lone pink line on a stark background of white.

Not even a hint of a second line. It’s such a minor thing to the rest of the civilized world – at least most of it – there are many out there who stare at the same single pink line, month after month. It’s a sisterhood – a club that no one wants to be a part of, and every member is clawing with all of their strength to get away from…

I love you.

The line reveals itself slowly – over several minutes, as you hope with all you have that that second line begins to appear. You stare at it. With everything you are, you try to bring that second line forth with your eyes. But it doesn’t appear. Your stomach aches in the deepest pit. You start to breath deeper. The tears sting your eyes, and now you can’t breathe. You sink to the floor, stick in hand, bury your face in your knees, and weep the tears of loss. Again.

I love you.

Baby, I’ve been there. And I go there again, each and every month that WE don’t get a second line. I love you, and oh how I want to take this pain from you.

I love you.

Part of being a mommy happens on the basest of levels. It’s deep within you, in your gut, in your soul. When you have a little one, a baby, a teen, even an adult child, and when something happens in life that causes pain to that child, there is something deep within that wells up, needing to burst forth. It’s a feeling of protection. A need to fix the problem – to stop the pain, to rescue your child.

There are times in your life when you find yourself completely out of control. When you want to get up and make yourself a cup of coffee, you do it. Coffee’s on, mug’s waiting for the warm swirl of heavenly blackness (forget the syrupy sweetness, embrace the COFFEE)… When you want a new pair of shoes, you get in the car, turn the key, and take yourself to the store, where there are rows upon rows of brilliant footwear to satisfy your shoe-desire.

And then there’s this.

Something you can’t…just…get. Something I can’t just fix.

I love you.

You drown in the why’s. Why me? I would be a good mom. Why her? She doesn’t even want to be a mom. Why them, they destroy their little ones. Just give them to me. I will love them. I will care for them. I will celebrate them and cry for them and over them. Lord, I will raise them for YOU. Why? What did I do? This is supposed to be so easy. People in the general public fear it and run from it, and it searches them out! Three million babies at Planned Parenthood. SERIOUSLY – WHY???

Sometimes you need to get that out. You need to cry it. You need to shout it. It’s ok to be angry about it, because it is not FAIR. There is nothing FAIR about it. You are right. And you need to get it out. Because, if you don’t, then you can’t listen. And right now, you need to listen.

What do you say to someone who has lost? What do you tell me when my daddy dies? What do you say to a young wife who just lost her husband? Nothing. There are no words. Just “I love you.”

There are words that will be spoken to you, from “Don’t have a baby right away,” to “You have plenty of time,” to “Relax, it will happen,” to “I am overwhelmed, you can have one of mine.” And I am giving you permission, right now, to say, “Stop. Don’t say that to me.” And turn and walk away. Those words are salt, ground into your open wound. And you don’t have to be nice, and you don’t have to just take it. Say, “Stop. Don’t say that to me,” and then go cry them away. It’s ok.

Honey, after you have wept yourself out, this time, when you are lying in your bed, on your tear-stained pillow, and no more tears will come, I want you to think.

I want you to think about your momma who loves you so much more than life itself, and weeps with you. And I want you to think about your heavenly father, who loves you so much more than you could ever imagine. And I am sure He weeps also.

And yes, He can control it. Yes, he can open your womb. Yes, He is in control. But yes, He loves you.

What is His plan? We don’t know. But He does. Are you going to question His plan and His wisdom, or are you going to accept it and trust Him?

Are you going to throw a tantrum (answer is yes) and tell Him “I WANT IT NOW!” or are you going to cry and then accept His authority in your life?

Are you going to believe Him, when He says, “I love you?”

Remember all of the times in your childhood, that you wanted something and my answer was, “No…” You asked, “Why?” I said, “Because I said so?” Sometimes you are not ready to carry the weight of the reason, so the answer from your Father is simply, “Because I said so.”

You are so much closer to the Lord than I was when I was going through this. I knew OF our Father, but I didn’t KNOW our Father. You do.

You know what it means to rest in Him. You know what it means to cry out to Him. You know what it means to go to the throne in prayer. You know what it means to journal your prayers, where you can dump every word and thought onto a piece of paper, for you and Him, alone. You know what it means to be comforted by Him. And you know what it means to seek refuge in Him.

I am walking this with you, and so is He. Every month, I will pray for you, for Thomas, and for my precious grandbabies, who I love so much already, that I am crying now, as I just imagine them. Every month I will hope with you, and until the Lord says, “Yes, Jordan,” every month, I will cry with you. But Baby, every month, I will also hold you, wipe your tears, and say, “Let’s trust the Lord.”

I love you.


I hope this breathed some life into your aching heart today. You are so loved.

xo,

Jordan

P.S. – more light-hearted posts coming up! Pinky promise.

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