Author: debbie beal

“Who is your hero and why?”

I feel like I had to answer this question a lot growing up–whether it was a school assignment or on an application, it seemed to cross my path often. I never really knew how to answer it. I never really felt like I had a hero. A hero (to me) implied that there was someone that I wanted to be exactly like…but I never really wanted that. At least, not in every way.

I remember putting my mom down as the answer to this question. For a long list of reasons, I felt like she was the person I most wanted to be like–even if not in every way. I have the tendency to see all the ways people are imperfect and why I actually wouldn’t want to be like them, even if they have a million incredible qualities. My mom probably got the brunt of this criticism more than most. In fact, she’d be the first to tell you that I was one of the most difficult children (of four) to raise. Believe it or not, I’m stubborn. And opinionated. And strong-willed. And selfish. And direct. But for whatever reason (mostly because it was so long ago and I can’t recall why) I wrote my mom into that blank almost every time.

I haven’t encountered the “hero” question much lately. But, I have encountered my mom more. And, the more I get to spend time with her, the more I’d be willing to write her name down over and over again to answer this question.

“You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
These are the type of sentiments we tend to believe about the people who are older than us. We’re convinced that people are “stuck in their ways” and “unwilling to change”.

These are the exact reasons why my mom inspires me. In the last several years, I have watched my mom change. I have watched her open her mind, her heart, her life up to new people, experiences, and challenges. I have watched her love generously, give selflessly, live more uncomfortably, and wrestle with hard things.

When I grow up, I hope I’m as willing to embrace change as much as she has. I hope that I’m willing to admit that I’m wrong. I hope that I’m willing to live my life differently than I have (for maybe even decades) as I wrestle with what is true and good and how that can affect my everyday actions. I hope that I’m willing to learn “new tricks”.
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I wrote this a few months back, knowing I’d eventually finish it. I didn’t imagine, however, finishing it in the DFW airport on my way to Missouri because my mom is in the hospital with a broken hip.

But, here we are. In the midst of the constant reminder that nothing ever goes according to our plans. A simple morning routine, one that you’ve done every day for years. A routine that leaves you on your back, on the ice, calling for help for an hour in twenty-degree weather. A routine that leads to surgery and a long recovery.

Life is crazy.
And unexpected.
And hard.
And, somehow in spite of all of that, still beautiful.

And my mom, my hero of a mom, fights through it all.
A kid with a heart defect who survives emergency open-heart surgery at 19.
Kid(s) who come close to abandoning their faith or marrying addicts.
The loss of her good friend.
The loss of her parents.
The loss of her first grandchild.
Breast Cancer.
And now this: a broken hip.

She asked us to pray that she would be brave.
I don’t know if she realizes that this is exactly who she’s been her whole life. Brave enough to be different. Brave enough to be more like Jesus. Brave enough to invite a stranger to live with them. Brave enough to fight through all the sickness, the brokenness, the death and to remember that she has purpose in the life she has left to live.

Brave enough to see the people who are serving her in her incapacitated state as people and desire to know and love them.

I get to see my mom tomorrow.
I get to watch her be brave. To face the pain. To start to recover.

Because my hero of a mom is brave.
Brave and broken.
Brave and willing.
Brave and seeking for her entire life to still reflect the image of God.

Maybe all of us have something to learn from my mom.
Maybe all of us need to be a little more brave.
A little more willing. A little more open to how our brokenness can give us opportunities to be brave.

Brave enough to fight, to speak up, to love, to open our hearts up to the things and people who are different from us. Brave enough to change. Brave enough to be Jesus in the midst of a world that hates Him (John 15:18-21). 

Pray for my mom to continue to be brave.
For her to fight through this physical recovery so that she can have more opportunities to be brave in how she pursues the Lord and loves His people.

“You’re opening lots of doors!”

Lately I’ve been seeing our next steps through a lens of chaos and uncertainty, so the above response was generous to my soul.

So what if we’re heading to Costa Rica for four weeks while also working our way through Foster Care training while also trying to do our jobs while also entering my final year of graduate school…

Lots of open doors.
I like that. Maybe I need that. Maybe it helps the crazy feeling feel a little less crazy.

I was frantically getting ready for church yesterday morning because I was, of course, running behind.  I began thinking about Foster Care and what it would look like to have a four-year-old living in our house that we would also have to get ready for church. And while that might be a perfectly normal thing for most 34-year-olds in the world, the thought hurled me into a: what are we doing moment. I don’t know how to be a mom.

I decided recently that I need to react more quickly to the urgings that are pressed upon my heart. The times when I think, “I wonder how ___________ is doing– I really ought to reach out.” Or, “I should probably give that homeless man something”. Or, “We should invite that couple out for lunch.” 

These are the types of thoughts I think often and then, almost as soon as I think them, they are gone. I haven’t actually done anything. My good intentions vanish into thin air and I’m immediately consumed by another thought that’s, most likely, self-absorbed.

But what if I didn’t move on?
What if I paused and sent the text message? What if I stopped the car and found a way to reach out? What if I went out of my way to extend the invite?

It’s crazy how quickly I can talk myself out of doing something.
It’s crazy how much my own insecurities and fears send me into the spiral of self-focus and how quickly a situation becomes about me instead of the person I was just thinking about.

I get scared that I’ll be rejected. Or that I’m too much. Or that I’m not enough. Or that no one really wants (or needs) me. 

Or, that I don’t know how to be a mom and have never been a mom and that I’m much too selfish to really handle bringing a child into our home. How much earlier would I have to wake up, anyway? 

They’re never good reasons. Even the best-sounding ones aren’t actually good. They’re just selfish. Fearful of change. Fearful of the unknown. Fearful of my world not revolving around me and what I want, when I want it.

I didn’t mean to make a New Year’s resolution. I just meant to do something different…to live differently. It just happened to be right around the start of 2019. It’s not about being “my best self” or living my “best life”. It’s just about responding. Responding to the urgings to ask, to call, to text, to show up, to care, to go.  It’s about not talking myself out of things, but talking myself into following through with the initial thoughts. It’s about kindness and generosity and hospitality and hope. It’s about letting go of me.

In some ways, this is like the “summer of yes” for me. Only, instead of saying “YES” to things people are asking me to do, I’m saying YES to (what I think is) the Holy Spirit moving me toward people.  Saying YES to getting over myself, my fears, my worries, my selfishness…and going towards others.

Saying yes to opening up more doors.
Even doors that might lead me to other countries. Or doors that involve us inviting kids in who need a safe place for a little while. Or catching up with someone from a long time ago. Or doors that remind me that God cares deeply for others and He wants me to learn to do the same, regardless of what it might cost me (after all, just look at what it cost Him).

We’re opening up doors. Asking God to show us which ones to walk through.
And I’m also resolved to respond to the promptings.
To say yes.

It’s been one of those nights/mornings where I can’t turn off my mind.

My husband and I are currently trekking our way across Texas, working our way up to Missouri — spending time with our families for the holidays. We generally like to start these 13-hour jaunts in the wee hours of the morning. And when we wake up early, it means deep sleep is usually impossible for me.

Rather than sleep, my mind soars through a seemingly endless list of things.
Work.
Family.
School.
Mission.
Costa Rica.
Foster Care.
Babies.
Jesus.
Living more radically.
People.

I’ve written somewhat recently about some of the happenings in the Beal family, but what you don’t know yet is that in the two months since that blog post, a few things have happened.

• I wrapped up the fall semester of grad school and my mind is still reeling from all the information and how to practically apply it in my life. 
• We filled out and submitted our application for Foster Care and attended our first RAFT training (Relative Adoptive Foster parent Training). 
• We booked tickets to Costa Rica for 4 weeks to see if the Lord might be leading us to a permanent move there. 
• We found renters for our second rental home! 

You matter. 
It’s a statement I struggled to believe for much of my life. I constantly wanted affirmation that these words were, in fact, true.

Prove it. I would typically spit back. Because (I was sure) if I really mattered, then my life would be different. People would treat me different. God would have pulled through on the array of different requests I had thrown up to Him.

So, naturally, it’s easy to go through life believing the opposite is true: you don’t matter.

I’m finding more and more that I’m not the only one who has walked in the wake of this lie. I’m not the only one who has suffered through it, who has agonized over the rejection, who has desperately attempted to prove to herself that maybe it’s not true. Because, when you believe the lie–it’s not really a lie. It’s your reality, it’s the voice you hear on repeat in your head: You don’t matter.

When you live your life believing somewhere at the core of who you are that you don’t actually matter, it seems to play out in a variety of different ways. Some people self-harm. Some people try to fight the lie, trying to prove that they do matter to someone or to something. Some people try to pretend it’s not really there.

I think I did a lot of fighting and a lot of pretending. I tried to find validation in boys. Or sports. Or grades. Or being a “good Christian”. Or having a sweet haircut. Because, if I was loved by someone, or if I was MVP, or if I was an A-student, or a really great Christian who read my Bible and prayed, or if I was hot… wouldn’t I matter? Wouldn’t that amount to something? Wouldn’t that mean that I had done something right?

For one of my classes this past year, we had to detail out our entire life story in such a way that caused us to examine our strengths, our passions, our purpose. At the same time, we were asked to walk through the events where we had face opposition and look for the commonalities in them. As I made my list, I began to see a core lie emerge: You don’t matter.

In so many instances throughout my life, I could see the devil at work in his attempt to persuade me with this blatant attack. You don’t matter. For so long, I believed it. For so long, I pretended to be an upbeat, happy-go-lucky girl that was winning at life. In fact, I think I was so good at pretending that I actually started to believe that the facade was true. I started to believe that the success mattered significantly more than whatever was going on inside. Avoidance and pretending seemed to be working. 

But, on one harrowing Thanksgiving break in college–all my walls collapsed. I remember sitting at the table and after an awful statement (made by yours truly) caused quite the commotion among the family… being broken. Like, fall on your face, weeping type of broken. Broken because there was this flood of all the things I had pushed back for years suddenly surfacing in the mind of my 20-year-old self. Words that had been said. Things that had been done. Every single one of them communicated the same thing: You don’t matter. You never have. 

I ran that night. Out of my parent’s house and into the arms of my oldest brother who had chased me out the door. He held me tight and wouldn’t let me go, despite my every attempt to escape his grip. You matter. You are loved. He proclaimed truth. His direct opposition to the words I had unknowingly believed for so long felt like a bright light suddenly shining in my dark world. It hurt. It made me mad. I wanted to fight it. But it was exactly what I needed to hear in that moment. 

I wish I could say that from that moment on, I’ve never believed the lie. But, I think that moment was only a step toward a necessary healing that would take years and years to be complete. In fact, I would have to admit that at any moment of opposition I encounter, it’s hard for me to not immediately jump to a place of thinking I don’t matter. 

This same class assignment required a re-naming of ourselves as we begin to embrace more of our giftings and strengths. As I processed through all the life events, both the good and the bad, I ended up with this “new name”: Pursuer of Purpose.  It speaks to the way I interact with people and the way I long for things to be in my relationship with the Lord: purposeful. I want Scripture to have purpose, to move me toward action. I want my actions and life to reflect the purpose that I believe Scripture calls me to. I want to overcome the challenges, but allow them to have a deeper significance, for there to be purpose to them. I want to learn from the past and to know how I can use the elements of my story for the Lord’s glory.

I’ve made it a habit the last few years to do a mushy gushy anniversary post….and while our 4th anniversary came and went this year, and while I had every intention to sit down and write about how great marriage still is…

I never got around to it.

Sometimes that feels like a theme of life: Never getting around to things. Like cleaning my house. Or actually preparing real meals. Or brushing our dogs. Or looking like a presentable human being. So life just becomes about priorities and getting through the things that matter more when they matter more. And then you sleep. And then you wake up. And then you do it all over again… still thinking, “I really ought to….”

So here I am a month later, still reflecting on our last year of life together. And, rather than pages and pages of all the crazy, here are some paragraphs about what our life has entailed for us in our third full year of marriage. And mostly, you’ll learn, that this is basically just a list of all the ways my husband supports me and how blessed I am by our marriage.

• School. Distance learning at its finest–including a trip to Charlotte, NC and Boston, MA and lots of pages to read and write in the meantime. If my calculations are correct, my master’s degree could be complete by next December. None of this would be possible without the endless amounts of support from my husband. This is a man who selflessly lets me read every paper and post aloud to him before submitting, who lets me disappear into my books every Saturday, who dialogues with me constantly about all the things I am learning, who doesn’t complain about eating cereal because I’m too behind to cook, and who has washed more than his fair share of dishes as a result of my studies. Resuming classes is, hands down, one of the best decisions I have made in a while and I could not have done it without him by my side. 

• Children. In the last year we went through some basic testing to determine why we were not able to have children. While we weren’t provided with any clear answers, there’s been some peace in knowing that there’s not anything “wrong” with us. There’s been some peace in knowing that we can let it go and trust the Lord more fully in this area of our lives. In fact, the past month or so we’ve been in the process of considering what foster care could look like for us and if that’s something we want to pursue. Foster Care hasn’t ever been something on my radar, but for whatever reason on a random Sunday (with probably a whole lot of other factors influencing us) we felt the urging to open our hearts and home up to children (or even teenagers) in Santa Fe who may need a safe space for even just a short amount of time. Your prayers in this process would actually be awesome… 

• Trips. In addition to our school and work travels, we’ve found ourselves back Hawaii this fall (we just l-o-v-e Kauai and can’t seem to get enough of it). We also worked our way to Florida to meet our newest niece who was already a year old! The ocean and the sun have held a special significance in our hearts during this last season which also led us to…

• New Tattoos. Of suns (no, not turtles and not matching). Because the sun always rises. Because the sun rises on all people– both evil and good–and it reminds us constantly to pray for those who have hurt us, for those who are harder for us to love, and to help us not show partiality to others (Matthew 5, James 2). And also, because… from the rising of the sun, to the going down of the same, the name of the Lord shall be praised (I can always hear my friend, Lyndi, singing this song based on Psalm 113:3). Basically the sun is awesome and it holds a lot of good reminders for us as a couple, but also us as individuals. 

• Houses. We just closed on another house in Columbia, MO that we hope to be another rental property. Have we seen it yet? No. Do we own it? Yes. Basically we’re crazy. Pray that we can find renters quickly! 

• Pottery. In addition to supporting me fully in my school workload, Kel encouraged me to take another round of pottery lessons. I just wrapped up a 7-week stint that involved me being gone for hours and hours twice a week. Just the clay and me, fighting with each other until it decides that I’m actually in charge and it will be a bowl. Or a plate. Or a mug. Or something that will look cooler once it is glazed. And even though I was kind of dreading the time commitment the class would require, this time has been good for my soul. 

• Church. Our church involvement throughout our marriage has gone from zero to nil. This last year, however, we have realized the importance, the beauty, and the richness of caring more and giving more. Through church, we’ve been more actively involved in serving at a homeless shelter once a month. Through church, we have begun hosting and leading a Bible Study that challenges us to, together, reach up, reach in, and reach out. I’ve been proud of Kel’s desire and commitment to being a part of growth, in not only our camp community, but also our local church community (and eventually beyond)!

• Pain. We have gone through a more painful season in our marriage this year than we ever have before. In it, we have learned, through brokenness and tears, what it looks like to lean on the Lord and also each other. We have been supported by a community of friends and family (both near and far) who have believed in us, prayed for us, fought for us, and reminded us that God is good, all of the time. We have been humbled by an outpouring of kindness and grace, we have been humbled that God’s plans are not our plans, and we have been forced to open our eyes a bit wider to the world around us and asked to consider where and to whom the Lord might be calling us. 

• Rhythms. It’s also been a year of learning more about rhythms–the need to rest and the need to lay down other responsibilities and commit ourselves to spiritual rhythms that lead us to the foot of the cross more consistently. We learn over and over how we cannot do much of anything good if we are not centered more wholly on the Lord and allowing the Spirit to move in and through us (vs. us always trying to do things on our own). This has involved a greater commitment to Sabbath– to planning our lives around things that focus us on Christ and allow us to be more intentionally connected to Him, each other, and those we care about. Our Sabbath often involves corporate worship, solitude, time in creation, time with each other, and “family dinners”….and it definitely doesn’t involve work or school! 

• Discipleship. It is one of our greatest pleasures in life to journey alongside others in the quest to be more like Jesus. Both Kel and I have a deep passion to see other grow in their relationship with the Lord and are tremendously humbled when we are asked to be a part of this. When we get these opportunities, we try our best to support each other to love and serve others in ways that encourage growth, change, and more disciples of Jesus. This last year has been challenging to both of us in different aspects of discipleship, but also exciting and hopeful in other aspects. We have gotten to launch a new discipleship program at camp that is pretty sweet, too! 

I had this vision the other day of standing with outstretched arms, face toward the sun, a heart filled with praise. While every part of my soul cried out, while every part of my being tried to keep my eyes fixed on the One who is worthy…my feet were surrounded by mockers, tempters, distracters, mutilators of truth.

I tried and tried to push them away, to throw them off of me, to get them to leave me alone, but these poor, unfortunate souls wouldn’t go. My gaze returned to the One who is worthy, and quickly the thieves of the night were no longer consuming. Still there, yes. Still wrapping their horrors around my ankles and attempting to grab onto my outstretched arms, but my foundation was firm, my determination unyielding.

Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose.

The surprising cry of the “Friday Night Lights” mantra rang from me. Clear eyes, focused on the One who is worthy. Full heart, filled with the truth of the Gospel and the many who love and support me. Can’t lose, a promise of victory over death, defeat, destruction, despair and the tears that pour from my eyes.

I might look broken, vanquished, and abandoned with predators up to my neck–but my feet are secure, my legs are strong, my arms held high, and my heart beating solely for the One who is worthy.

There’s a lot I don’t know about the world–and I feel like I learn that more and more every day. There’s a lot that still takes me by surprise, a lot that causes my heart to ache, a lot that tries to break us. I know that we exist in a world where evil dwells and tries to muffle our praise of the One who is worthy. I know how it feels to be up against the wall, with the odds against me.

But I also know the One who is worthy.
I know that, despite all of the darkness, all of the depravity, all of the confusion–there is much to hope for.

For through it all, my eyes will always come back to the One who is worthy.

Our summer staff arrive tomorrow.

For those of us in camp ministry, that means that a “normal” life for the next three month is virtually impossible. Our world speeds up and we struggle to breathe. But it’s so, so good.

On this night before the chaos ensues, I find myself researching vacation spots for my husband and I post-summer (open to any recommendations you may have!), jamming out to some old school Shane & Shane, and letting my mind go down memory lane to the first day I arrived at camp as a summer staffer.

I’m going into my 15th summer of camp…but I’ll never forget the first day I arrived at Camp Eagle in 2003. Everything was new and I didn’t know a soul. But, it was the first place I remember going that I could be fully me. It was the first place that I went that no one else I knew had gone before me. I was on my own, embarking on a new adventure. In most ways, it felt like the most radical thing I had done in my just-turned-19 years on earth.

It makes me think a lot about the staff that are coming in tomorrow and how they must be feeling and what they must be thinking. They may not ever forget tomorrow for the rest of their lives. They may look up 15 years later and be working full-time at a camp with several of the people they worked with that first summer. Crazier things have happened.

I probably don’t even know all the ways that first summer changed me, but I know that I was different afterward. I know that I continue to learn and grow and, hopefully, become a better version of myself. Not just because I work at a camp. Mostly because God is good and gracious and patiently waits for me to realize how much I need Him (over and over again).

I want to be like I was that first summer again.
Open, willing, ready, eager, excited, nervous.
Willing to dive deep into relationships with others, excited to see what the Lord was going to do, eager to learn and grow in my relationship with God and my study of Scripture so I could teach it to campers. Open to whatever the Lord had for me. Ready to work hard and learn all the new things required of me.

Join us in praying for our staff as they arrive. Pray for safety. Pray for their hearts to be prepared for a summer of intense ministry… a summer of investing in eternity. Pray for their lives to be malleable and ready for God to change them, as He works through them and in them–even in the most exhausting, selfish moments.

Pray for our full-time staff, as they go from a busy season of serving and preparing into an even busier summer of leading our summer staff and serving thousands and thousands of guests (literally).

We have incredible opportunities around us. Pray that we would be bold with the Gospel, that we would live out of the Spirit, and that we would be diligent about investing in our relationship with the Lord and those around us.

I’m pretty pumped for whatever this summer entails.
Let’s do this.

I have been on a journey with spiritual disciplines for the last few months. 

Science is crazy.
So is the human body.

Last week, we were presented with some new news regarding our fertility. You ready for it? Basically, we’re both fine. Healthy, even.

My husband’s got a lot of forward-swimming little guys with funny shaped heads (but enough normal shaped head ones to not matter). My ovaries are in the stellar shape of a 23-year-old lady (that’s ten years younger than me, folks) with no tube blockage and plenty-o-eggs to be implanted.

It wasn’t shocking news.
But, now we know.

“So, Doctor-man, you’re saying there’s no apparent reason that we aren’t getting pregnant?”
“Honey… it’s amazing anyone gets pregnant.”
(okay, so he didn’t say “honey”, but it seems like he should have.)

And he’s right.
It is amazing. Miraculous. For every single thing to go right that has to go right for a couple to conceive is crazy. I don’t know when the last time was that you watched a little clip on “how babies are made” (probably 7th grade, like me)…but, it’s fascinating. And weird. And fascinating. And miraculous.

So, now what?
Do we keep moving full speed on the fertility train of IUIs and IVFs and wherever else it may lead us?

I don’t think we’re quite there…and, honestly, we may never get there. More than anything, the cry of my heart is to be open to what (or who!) the Lord might have for us in this journey of life. Since before I was married, I have always thought adoption was something I would want to do (I even wrote this blog about it, long ago). Then again, I was also sure kids were something I wanted to do.

But that’s the prayer.
Not my will, but the Lord’s will.
Maybe we’ll get pregnant.
Maybe, someday, we’ll come across a little child that needs a family.
Maybe we’ll never have kids. 

But, that’s the prayer.
That, no matter what our circumstances may bring… we would be faithful. Joyful. Content. Open. Willing. Obedient. Abiding in Christ and bearing much fruit.

Beyond that, I’m not too worried about how it all plays out. There will be hard days…and good days…and mediocre days. There will be days when my heart cries out for a child, days when I feel like my life is flying by and I just can’t catch up, days when nothing is as it should be. But, despite those moments, I know I’ll be okay.

Pray that we’d be willing.
To go, to be, to give, to receive, to let our lives truly be transformed by the Good News of Jesus Christ.

On a note of practical updates:
I am taking Clomid for a few months and we do plan to reevaluate and see what our next steps might be, depending on how that goes.

Today was the day.
I hadn’t really put too much thought into any of the details of what would transpire, aside from asking people to pray for us.

Pray for us to know more.
Or to have clarity.
Or something. I don’t even know.
We had been praying a lot ourselves. Looking back, I’m not even sure what we prayed for.

Paperwork.
Lots of paperwork. Intimate questions. How often do you sit in a sauna or hot tub? (every day, people). How many caffeinated beverages do you have a day? How many times are you intimate with your partner each week? Medications. Surgeries. All the things.

A nice doctor man.
We sat down with him and talked through our history and where we were at, what we had tried, what we had come across.

“I assume you’re here because you want to get pregnant.”

Nice doctor man… while that might be the normal assumption of a couple at a fertility clinic, that’s not exactly the case here. We just were hoping for some answers. Just to know if we even can have kids. I don’t know if I’m really ready to pull out all the stops.

He described it as a journey and began to tell us the step by step process of how things typically go, what they’ll try and a bit of what we could expect. Asked if we had questions. “Sir, we have a hot tub. Does that affect sterility?” “No, I think you’re fine.” I had asked my husband a few weeks ago, after reading online all the negative ramifications of hot tubs on sperm count, if he’d rather have a baby or a hot tub. He hadn’t answered…

Before I knew it we were being given an ultrasound, tested for vital sperm and taken into a room with a nurse to sign my life away. More tests. Prescriptions. Specific days of my cycle to take medication, test for ovulation and come in and get a turkey baster of my husband’s goods planted in utero (I promise that the doctor actually referred to the medical syringe as a turkey baster).

I remembered at this juncture that a friend had told me recently how, once you go into the fertility clinic, they just throw you onto the moving train of baby-making. I got a little panicky as I listened to the nurse’s words. There was no, “If you want…” or “think about it…”. Just, “do this” and then “do that”. BUT WHAT IF I DON’T WANT TO!?!?!  My heart was racing.

“Could we just try the medication for a bit before jumping into IUI (in utero insemination)? My husband and I haven’t had a chance to talk about all of this…”

Finally seeing my panic, the nurse backed off a bit. She assured me that I could take my time and that signing the papers was just a formality to get out of the way so we wouldn’t have to worry about it later. I could just take the medications for a few cycles and see how that goes before coming back to the clinic for an IUI.

Next steps involve another blood test and a few more tests on me to see that no tubes are blocked. The good news is that I have healthy looking follicles and eggs (and no cysts). The bad news is that I still feel a bit lost as to what to pursue and how much to pursue it and how far is too far. We haven’t even talked about the dollars involved in this entire process yet….

So, my husband and I left feeling a little more exposed, sat at the bar of Texas Roadhouse (they were giving away free appetizers if we sat there) and talked about our fertility treatment options. I’m sure it’s perfectly normal to have a couple at a bar, drinking Dr. Pepper and water, praying and talking about IUIs.

I don’t know if we have solid answers yet. Maybe my husband does and I don’t. Maybe I just need some time to process and pray some more. I told Kel that I think I have this faulty expectation that if we go down this route, we will have a child…. and I’m still sometimes really not sure if I want one. But, I also realize that if we go down this route, we still might not have a child. And maybe that part is actually more unbearable to face. Pulling out the stops…and still being empty-wombed.

So.
Keep praying, if you think about it.
We have some pretty decently quick decisions to make and I have loved hearing from those of you who have reached out (and in the very near future, once my classwork slows down, I plan on responding to all of you). I’m encouraged by the fact that there are others who have gone before me in this, others who are still struggling with it and others who are just here and with us, even if our battles look really different. I’m thankful and humbled by you all.

(Ironically enough, I am taking a Christian Ethics course this semester… which includes some content on reproductive technologies. So, that’ll be fun).