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I couldn’t stop the tears from coming this time. 

“We’re calling about your results from your blood tests last week. The doctor would like you to come in to review your results in person. It’s nothing urgent or life-threatening. Nothing you should lose sleep over. But you probably should be warned that your uterus is shriveled and your eggs have all died…”

Okay, so that’s not exactly how the entire phone call went, but it was still a weird call to receive. I got it almost three weeks ago after finally going to the doctor for my annual (which is never actually annual) and to ask some questions about our current inability to conceive. Lots of blood came out of my arm that day.

First available appointment we could make was for today, January 4.
I hadn’t been overly concerned about it, but sitting in the doctor’s office, waiting for her to arrive, I couldn’t help but ask my husband, “What’s the worst thing she could tell us today?”

There’s always a trillion possibilities flying through my head.
What we got?
A few minutes about my vitamin deficiencies (apparently I’m lacking D3 which you often get from the sun but they don’t encourage sun exposure so D3 is a probably a great market to be in..), my slightly elevated levels of testosterone (which has never been a surprise from this hairy one), and the probability of a mild form of PCOS (poly-cystic ovary syndrome)… but nothing that really makes pregnancy an impossibility. No crazy hormonal imbalance that causes my uterine lining to cease to exist and no irregular pap smear.

A referral to a fertility specialist, if we should choose to go at a future date. A recommendation for a pelvic ultrasound and mammogram (mostly because of my family history)- but nothing she really was worried about. A question or two about whether or not urinating immediately after intercourse actually matters when trying to get pregnant (it doesn’t), and the encouragement to try charting temperatures or using ovulation predictor kits (yeah yeah, I’m on it already…).

And there we have it, folks.
No real answers.

I don’t know what I expected.
Well- I know what I expected. I expected her to tell me my testosterone levels were still the raging levels of a 16-year-old boy (because I got told that once…by a doctor, I promise) and in all my reliable webmd research, high testosterone made pregnancy very unlikely. So, I expected a shot in the butt with estrogen or progesterone or whatever female things I’m lacking and for all to be well. Or something. Something more than nothing.

Now we just have more questions than answers.
When I should I schedule a pelvic ultrasound…? Should we go see a fertility specialist? That seems a little extreme… and expensive. We haven’t technically even been trying for a year yet (at the end of this month it’s been a year though so maybe it’s time…?).

So, at this point I have vitamin D3 and B12 sitting in my amazon shopping cart (gotta compare with other prices first, of course). I have a referral to a fertility specialist and for a pelvic ultrasound. And apparently PCOS, which is supposedly very common– and not even a “severe” case of it. As we walked out her office, my doctor said, “I don’t think you guys will have a problem. I have a good feeling about it.”

Thanks lady.

I sound more bitter than I am- I don’t mean to. I actually like my doctor a lot.
We had more of a profound conversation with her about the miracle of life. She told us that the more she gets to see pregnancy up close and see all the things that go wrong and all the things that have to go just right for someone to get pregnant and then to carry a pregnancy to full-term… she said she’s humbled by it all. That so often people don’t appreciate how miraculous it is.

I think I might have been one of those people once upon a time.
I think I thought that I’d get married and feared getting pregnant immediately because I just knew I’d be a fertile myrtle. I think the process has already shown me how delicate, precious and miraculous human life is. It’s shown me over and over and over again how out of control I am. It’s given me a freedom to just be. To let God to be God. To live life.

It’s a beautiful, cold day today. Snow is still all over the ground. I’m at 8,908 steps with a volleyball game still to play tonight. I’ve got an incredible husband. A sweet job that I still am trying to figure out and am humbled to be in on a daily basis. A gentle giant of a dog that I absolutely adore. A great community that I’m learning to love more and more. An ever-growing, God-loving family. But, more than alllll of that, I have the creator of all life who loves me. Who chose me. Who reminds me constantly that my worth can only be found in Him. One who calls me to remember the bigger picture and that His plan might just continue to be different from my own. One who reminds me that His plan is truly always better. I’ve seen it firsthand.

I can’t wait to see what all this life entails. Baby or no baby, there’s still an unknown adventure ahead. A good adventure.
I’ll continue to keep you posted, because I promised I would.

Thanks for praying.
Thanks for asking.
Thanks for loving us well, for sharing your own stories with us, and for reminding me how good our God is.

It’s hard to imagine waking up tomorrow and being responsible for anything.

It’s like a jack-in-the-box… it’s slowly winding up and I’m cringing, waiting in dreadful anticipation for that scary clown to pop up. It’s inevitable. It’s coming. I can’t stop it, no matter what. 

I’ve missed writing.
It’s been a few months of not knowing exactly what I could or should write, though. At some point you get tired of saying, “Hey guys, don’t worry- we’re still not pregnant…” and at some point it’s just good for me to be still. At some point I can’t exactly publicize all the ins and outs of what’s going on in my life either, and usually that’s very okay.

But writing is an important way for me to process through all The Stuff and that’s something I’ve been neglecting.  It’s also a great way for me to remember.

So here I am.
This particular post isn’t really for anyone but myself. It’s public because somewhere out there it may benefit someone or might interest someone a bit. You just never know.

My husband and I just got back from a whirlwind trip to Europe. Whirlwind because in our 13 days of being gone, we hit up 5 different locations: Manchester, Edinburgh, London, Dublin and Lahinch/Cliffs of Moher. We averaged 8-12 miles per day of walking, spent way too much money, ate delicious food, and experienced some incredible things. We stayed in hotels, apartments, hostels, cottages and castles.

We walked through the National Football Museum and learned all the things about soccer and the history of it. We ate food in Chinatown. We got a tour of Etihad Stadium and then saw Manchester City get destroyed in a football match against Liverpool (and heard lots of crass and angry language in the process). We discovered that our plan to change seats halfway through (we were sitting in VERY different spots during the match) was foiled due to high security and a stadium that doesn’t allow the first floor to access the second or third. We mastered all types of public transportation. My husband got close to perfecting his Australian accent (yes, it’s just as confusing as it sounds). We found ourselves in Christmas markets all over town, buying international adapters, and eating our first round of fish and chips.

We rented a car where we drove on the left side of the road on the right side of the car all the way to Edinburgh. We pre-filled our tank which, we now realize, is always a bad decision. We saw sheep…lots of sheep. Blue and red spotted sheep. We saw the sun set behind a castle. We saw Susan Boyle sing Silent Night while we stood on the street in a crowd of thousands of people where fireworks soon followed. We saw a circus performance where a very strong woman did impressively strong things and a man wearing a bear suit held a lunchbox and then did tricks on a pole. We walked the Royal Mile, toured our way through Parliament and hiked up to check out Arthur’s Seat in the middle of Holyrood Park. We drank tea and ate waffles at the Elephant House, where Harry Potter was jotted down. We went on a ghost tour and barely escaped the claws of the Mackenzie Poltergeist. We were truly enchanted by Scotland and all it had to offer.

We trained our way to London and found ourselves suddenly thrown into the hustle and bustle of tourism at it’s finest. Inside the British Museum we saw mummies and really old human remains. We tried bartering with a man on a street for Lion King tickets, but opted out of ‘standing spots only’ and decided to check out The War Horse. The puppetry of the horse was incredible and I may have shed a tear (and missed our dog) as a result of the show. We watched the Changing of the Guards at Buckingham Palace and got to hear the band play a surprising amount of the score from Les Miserables. We marveled at the history inside of Westminster Abbey–and I think this was one of my favorite parts of the trip, still. We got two for the price of one so we decided to check out the London Dungeon…where I discovered that Sweeney Todd might just be real and had fake leeches crawl under my bum while the plague was dramatized before our eyes. We happily strolled through the Hyde Park Christmas markets and drooled at the crepes (but couldn’t buy because we had no cash and had forgotten our debit card).

A subway, train, and plane ride later, we headed into the heart of Dublin to join forces with friends for Thanksgiving night, thankfully making the switch from pounds to euros. While our connection wasn’t seamless, we finally found each other and our Thanksgiving consisted of an Irish pub with pumpkin pie and American football (the Irish were loudly cheering on the Panthers and the Cowboys presence was minimal, at best). The Guinness Tour and the Musical Pub Crawl were next on the docket. McDonalds was somewhere in there, too (don’t judge). The pub crawl had less pubs and more music, and we learned the ins and outs of a traditional “session”. We tapped our boots, listened intently and cheered, “You couldn’t have come at a better time” when prompted by our guides. We learned that thirty sounds a lot like ‘turdy’ and that three sounds much like ‘tree’ and if you’re ever the third wheel, you might just actually be the ‘turd’ wheel (sorry). Following our guide’s recommendation, we worked our way over to another pub and found ourselves in the midst of a real live traditional session. It was intimate, beautiful, and honest and I felt privileged to catch a glimpse of this remarkable musical talent. There were instruments of all types- the bodhran, the accordian, the fiddle, pipes and a couple extremely captivating vocalists. Old men. Young men. Irish history and culture on full display. Another favorite of mine.

My first night in a hostel involved 22 other folks, little sleep and fears of falling off the top bunk in wee hours of the morning. Despite the cold wind and the rain, we jumped on a charter bus the next morning to see the Wicklow mountains and Glendalough (oh, and the PS I Love You bridge, of course). While we started off drenched, the rain let up for the perfect amount of time so we might enjoy a bit of an exploratory walk before heading to, yet another, pub. Did you know Irish stew is fantastic? We found another Christmas market and the most tasty cheeseburger and I unhappily bobbed my head to some non-traditional Irish music. A second night in the hostel included my poor husband vomiting up the fish and chips he had eaten a few hours earlier (everyone can cringe now).

Another rental car, Papa Johns in our bellies, and three hours later took us across Ireland to a small coastal town called Lahinch. There has never been a windier place in all of my history of life. Beautiful views, a quick grocery stop and a night in a cottage with homemade scones and a sweet frontal Mary. We shared the things in this past year we were thankful for and made our way to another pub with high hopes of catching another traditional session. Instead we found burpees, arm wrestling and a juke box.

Prepared for the worst, wettest, windiest weather, we set out for the Cliffs of Moher the following morning. The Lord was so gracious with the weather and we were easily able to enjoy the great outdoors. Quite possibly one of the most continuously beautiful hikes I’ve ever been on. 8 kilometers along the coast, testing sketchy grounds and snapping hundreds of pictures. The most gigantic waves crashing 700 feet below us, getting scolded by my over-protective husband for getting too close to the edge, leaping over streams, trudging through mud, checking out a washed up whale or shark-type thing. And, of course, stopping every few minutes to hem and haw over how stunning the landscape was. Definitely at the top of the list: you must do this if you ever visit Ireland!

A final pub, a final cider (Orchard Thieves, anyone?) and the drive back to Dublin to stay in a marvelous castle for the night. Upgraded to a suite, we left with an Irish breakfast in our stomachs, the $1800 hold on our card for the rental car guaranteed to be released and 24 hours of travel to make it back home. We may have flown on the oldest plane still in motion, but we survived the 8 hours (even without televisions in the back of the seat in front of us). During our 6 hour lay over in Philadelphia we happened upon a group of men singing Christmas carols in our attempts to get more steps in for the day. We sang with them, filled with good cheer and Christmas spirit! Another 5 and a half hours on another ancient plane, a quick blip in Phoenix and we breathed a sigh of relief when we rolled into Albuquerque airport just before midnight. Time travel, at it’s finest.

We survived.
The dog survived (with only a few minimal incidents of an escaped kennel due to an intense battle with diarrhea and an escaped fence due to a bandit of a dog friend).

The world around us is in mayhem and I have a thousand deeper thoughts on all the things we actually experienced, but now we at least have a little bit of what we did documented.

Ultimately, we are thankful. Reminded, yet again, of how much bigger the world is and how small we are in the scope of time. It’s crazy humbling. Our eyes are bigger. The Lord is bigger. Pray we don’t forget it.

Cheers.

A year ago I was groomed, pampered, calm… ready.
I had just finished racing go-karts, trying my hand at the batting cages, and having the finishing touches of my wedding-face applied. White dress (with pockets!), red heels, champagne sash, five billion bobby pins and glossy lips… ready.

Today I’m a little pudgier, my nails are atrocious, my eyebrows are wacky… but I’m content.
I have just finished attending church, eating 10,000 calories of Mexican food, walking for an hour to try to compensate, and getting ready to spend an evening at backyard (where we were wed) bonfire with friends and family. T-shirt, bare feet, chapped lips, white little Zeus hairs all over my clothes… content.

A year ago I was inviting family and friends to my parent’s yard to witness a life-long commitment being made. Today I’m sitting on the couch in my parent’s house making sure our giant dog doesn’t destroy it, football streaming on the television, my dad picking apples outside, my mom cooking food, my husband on a coach– one eye on the tv and the other on his phone.

A year ago I was preparing for one for the biggest life-changes I’ll ever know.
Today life is pretty normal, but I’m still wondering when and what the next life-change will be (knowing that life is full of the unpredictable).

One year ago.
We’ve been reminiscing a lot this week. It helps that we’re back in the same place where our wedding went down. It helps that there are wedding remains all over: Aspen candle holders, giant logs, CAKE (which we’re excited to finally try, regardless of the commentary that cake a year later is disgusting).
It helps that it was all just one year ago.

We have survived.
And marriage is still awesome. You might even say that it’s been a piece of cake.
We’re less patient, less romantic, less careful with our words, less concerned about appearances and privacy. But we laugh a lot, dream a lot, talk a lot, sing a lot (I think I’m rubbing off on him).

We aren’t perfect, but it’s okay.
We could be kinder, more loving, more selfless, more aware, more Christ-centered, more prayerful.

But I don’t know if I could be more thankful.
Because one year ago, I stood before the Lord and a host of witnesses and was tied forever to a man who exceeded my wildest dreams. I’m still not sure how it happened. We were in a church worship service a week ago, music playing, people singing… and I thought to myself all over again, how did I get here? How is it possible that the Lord is so good and so faithful when I’m just not. I’m still in awe.

I’ve learned a lot.
I’ve learned a lot in the waiting, in the stillness, in the unknown. To trust. To live. To open up my mind to even the most unlikely things (long-haired younger men with sea turtle tattoos, in this instance), and to see what the Lord does with it. I think He’s continuing to reinforce those things into my heart.

Trust.
Live.
Be open-minded.
You never know what I have in store for you.

They’re necessary life lessons.
Can I continue to allow Him to surprise me? To allure me?
Can I respond to the bouts of waiting with grace and joy? Can I respond to the unknown with steadfast faithfulness?
Can I believe that He is good, no matter what?
Can I believe that He has a bigger plan in mind?

I think our anniversary will always serve as a reminder of the Lord’s faithfulness.
The Lord’s faithfulness–even when it means waiting a long time, even when I feel like I want to give up and that there’s no more hope to be had. The Lord knows. His timing is perfect. His plan is perfect.

And it’s always been about much more than Debbie finally finding love.
To me, it’s been a journey of finding out more about who Jesus is and what He has done… and what He continues to do. It’s truly life-changing.

How can I not love Him more?

I’m sure you’re all holding your breath and wondering, “Could this be the month for the Beals…?”

Well, it’s not (for those of you who were actually wondering).

And before you think I’m devastated or crushed or heartbroken- please know that I’m okay. Really, truly okay. Not just saying I’m okay to appease the masses, but really okay.

We’re in month 8 of this and I couldn’t help but think the other day that if we had gotten pregnant when we had started trying, our lives would look really different right now. I’m thankful for the Lord’s timing. It’s better than ours. It’s like He knows what He’s doing or something…

I think my biggest thing with our inability to get pregnant right away is that it makes me somewhat worried that there’s something is wrong with me/us. That maybe we’ll never be able to get pregnant. I also think the assumption was that as soon as we started trying, we’d get pregnant. And it’s all okay- I just know the “never” is a lot different to cope with than the “not right now”. We’ll cross that bridge if we get there.

The responses I’ve gotten have been so encouraging.
Thanks for the prayers.
For the honesty.
Thanks to those who have shared your continued struggles with infertility and how you’re learning/growing and still seeking to trust the Lord. For reminding me, yet again, that God is faithful, even when it doesn’t turn out the way that we might think we desire.

It is good.

Thanks for the many of you who have admitted that you may have also struggled with trying to get pregnant. For reminding me that not everyone gets pregnant immediately after starting to try. For reminding me that real people are going through this thing and we aren’t just statistics. It’s been incredibly freeing to be open about where we are at in the process.

“Debbie- when are you guys going have a baby?”
“No idea- but we’re trying!”

It’s usually pretty fun to see the shock on people’s face when I invite them in, instead of readily denying or avoiding the questions. I don’t want people to ever feel like they can’t ask, especially now that we’ve declared our efforts. It seems like people are often scared or don’t want to invade. It’s always okay to ask how it’s going/how we’re doing. I won’t melt into a puddle of tears. Yet.

When I was single, I wrote a lot of blogs about living in the tension of wanting but not having. I wanted to be married. Desperately (I’m sure you may remember…). And it felt like it would never happen. I remember one of my married friends writing to me around that time, relating to my blog posts about this tension in their attempts to get pregnant. Wanting but not having. Learning to be content and trust the Lord, no matter the circumstances.

I don’t usually think I’m even fully ready to have kids yet, because every month, even in the midst of disappointment, there’s a large part of me that’s relieved for one reason or another. But I’ve wondered if that’s some weird sort of defense mechanism in order to better cope. Instead of dwelling in the shadows of disappointment, I jump into the world of, “Well, at least I can….” (this month, its look forward to more travel with my husband).

I remember doing this a lot when I was single, too.
Oh, another guy didn’t work out?
Well, at least I can… go wherever I want, whenever I want…. talk to whomever I want, whenever I want… spend money on whatever I want, whenever I want…

You get the idea.
We cope.
And if this plan we have for ourselves doesn’t work out exactly the way we might have hoped… at least I can… do, try, think, hope for something different. At least I can find some positives in the midst of this cyclical disappointment I can’t ever seem to escape.

I’m not convinced it’s the best way of dealing.
I know it’s not the worst.
I suppose, more than anything, I just want to fully trust the Lord and do away with the feeble attempts to make myself feel better. To admit that I want a baby, to admit that there’s disappointment and often shame, fear, worry, and feelings of “this is never going to happen” that accompany the monthly routines… but to just trust the Lord. To trust that He is good.

I don’t want to live my life so consumed with what I don’t have, that I forget all that I do have. I have a lot.

I don’t want to live in such a way that I’m consumed by anything that isn’t directly related to the Lord who He he is asking me to be (whether that be marriage, babies, job things, people, body-image, etc.). And while all of these things can have traces of that,  I can’t let it be defining of who I am or who I want to be.

There’s always more.
There’s always eternity to think about.
There’s always something bigger, greater, deeper than I can ever possibly imagine.
Something that isn’t so limited by my narrow perspective and way of living.
There’s more important things– more important things that He is calling me to, asking of me, reminding me of. More important things like knowing Jesus and considering everything else a loss compared to that.

And, if all things in life, no matter how hard or how good, enable me to gain more of Him…
Then I am blessed.

**this was written one month ago**

I don’t know if I’ll publish this yet. Or ever.

It’s July 12, 2015 and we’ve officially been “trying” to get pregnant since the end of January.

A whole slew of things led us to start (for those of you who have already put on your “You just got married: WAIT!!!” hats).  For one, we were both excited about the possibility of having kids that were similar in age to their cousins. So, when my last brother to have any children announced their pregnancy at Christmas, our timeline sped up. Also, I’m old-ish. Oh, and my husband LOVES kids (you can testify to this if you’ve ever seen him interacting with them). And, for you nay-sayers of quick pregnancies in marriage, by the time we would actually give birth, it would have been at least a year of marriage (that’s something… right?!). The list continues…

And so we started trying.
And I’ve humbly realized every four weeks how I can’t just decide to create a life. It’s not up to me.
There’s been a lot of freedom in that realization, but I can’t deny that there’s also been disappointment.

The thing about “trying” is that people don’t really announce it. I don’t know why (despite the intimacy of it), but it seems more socially acceptable to just tell all your family and friends AFTER you’re pregnant. There were a few times early on when I thought about asking my family and close friends to journey alongside us in prayer about the whole process… but I think my pride prevented me from actually doing so. It seemed more fun to spring a pregnancy announcement on them than a “we’re TRYING to get pregnant” announcement. And it seemed pretty contrary to anything “most” people do. And so we’ve kept mostly quiet– dodging pregnancy accusations right and left while secretly hoping and talking and praying in the privacy of our own home. I’ve been a little surprised at how isolating it can feel.

But fortunately there’s this thing called the Internet. In the process of trying, I’ve discovered a whole world of women who are also, anonymously, trying. I’ve discovered a world of acronyms that stand for things that I’ve had to Google many times: TTC, DPO, AF, BFN, BFP, HPT, etc. etc. etc. (I actually didn’t know how to read many forums because they were so littered with letters that I didn’t understand).  So many questions, so many women hoping, so many women waiting and wondering if their symptoms might actually result in a BFP (Big Fat Positive…. I don’t know who came up with these). So many stories…

I’ve discovered that it’s absolutely normal for women to sit anxiously every month in the “Two Week Wait” as they twiddle their thumbs hoping that they timed/charted/planned ovulation right and that it led to conception so that “Aunt Flo” won’t appear on its normal due date.

Trying.
Hoping.
Waiting.
Only to do it all over again, praying that this time, it might be different. And then still trying being okay when it’s not. Most days I feel like I’m hiding, only really divulging my roller coaster of thoughts and feelings to my husband because of this secret path we’ve chosen for ourselves.

There were lots of things I didn’t know.
I didn’t know how expensive pregnancy tests were.
I didn’t know ovulation predictor tests were a thing.
I didn’t even know you’re not supposed to drink coffee if you are trying.
I did, however, find out that pregnancy tests should not be left in the glove compartment of your car for many months. I also found out that my husband has no problem buying pregnancy tests at Walgreens (while I bolt to the car ahead of him to avoid any possibility of judgmental or curious eyes from the cashier).

I still sometimes think I can control a LOT of things.
But I cannot create life, and I most certainly cannot dictate when it shall spring forth.
Most of the time I’m glad it’s not up to me. I’m glad that the Lord’s timing is perfect and that He is Sovereign in all of this. In fact, our prayer each time has been to continuously trust the Lord and His will for us, whether or not that ever includes biological children. His timing is greater, and I must remind myself of that daily.

There’s a little bit of shame attached to this feeling of being unable to conceive. A little a bit of feeling like something is wrong with me and how could I ever admit to others that we’ve tried and seemingly failed (especially when it SEEMS like everyone on Facebook is pregnant or has kids). I’ve read enough to know that we fall under a category where it’s perfectly normal to not conceive right away and you should only go to a specialist if you try for a year and there’s no pregnancy. I’ve also discovered that every month, I really only have a 15% chance of getting pregnant.

Pregnancy is a miracle.
I’m learning that more and more.
My brother and sister-in-law taught me several years ago that children are a blessing– not something that we deserve and not something that we’ve been promised. Something that we are uncommonly blessed with. It’s a beautiful reminder for me, even still. Especially now.

My life now, just as it is, is great.
I can’t complain.
I can’t want.
I can only trust.
And ask that He might sustain me.
And ask that He might continually remind me that the Gospel is sufficient. In all things.

I have already been given incredibly more than I could have ever thought possible.

So today, even as I write… knowing that I am in fact, NOT pregnant… I am content. Satisfied. Maybe still slightly disappointed from time to time, but learning to trust in a new way.

Maybe some day there will be reports of BFPs, ultrasounds, doctor’s appointments, baby rooms and gender reveals…

But, for now, we live fully in our present circumstances, seeking opportunities to be obedient to Jesus no matter the cost. Because my purpose will forevermore be greater than being a wife, a mother, an employee… and right now we get the seize the moments more quickly than we ever might if we had children.

There’s our secret.
Baby-making.
Apparently we aren’t too good at it…but we’re trying.
Instead of journeying through this life-altering thing alone, we’re deciding to invite others in. We don’t want this to be a sensitive, hidden thing that we’re going through any longer. We’re asking you to pray for us, to ask us about it, to be excited for us, to remind us of the Lord’s goodness and faithfulness in all things.

Let’s rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn.
Love in action.

(Don’t worry, we’ve told a lot of our family/friends before posting this. We both, on the same day, thought to ourselves: Why are we keeping this a secret? It’s sort of felt like people either get pregnant immediately after starting to try or they get pregnant without even wanting to. I know that’s not really always how it works out, but that’s more of how it feels based on when things get revealed. So we’re breaking the mold a bit. We’re going public. We need people to walk with us through the good, the hard, the disappointing, the waiting, the trusting, and the hoping. We need people to know what’s really going on with us. We also need you to know that if you’re pregnant or if you have kids, we are thrilled for you. Truly. Don’t feel like you can’t talk to us about it because you feel like you have something we don’t. We’re okay. Excited still… and completely at peace with whatever may come.)