Dear Parents of the Children That I Babysit

Dear Parents,

Tonight you are going out and leaving your children with a childcare worker. It might be a babysitter that you just hired for the first time, or one that you have used forever or maybe you’ll be dropping them off at a childcare facility. Here are some things I want you to know, pro-tips, if you will.

You probably don’t know my name, which is a good place to start. Learn my name. I usually wear a nametag, but when I’m crawling through the bounce house to pull our Little Miss Poopy Pants for a reluctant diaper change, it comes off. I know your name, phone number, kids’ names, food allergies and eating, sleeping and potty schedules. You are leaving the most important thing in your life with me for a few hours, learn something about me. Even if it’s just my name.

On that note, please be nice. Be nice to me. Be nice to the other parents who are trying to do exactly what you are doing and who’s time is every bit as important. Be patient when I slide your credit card and the machine takes f…o…r…e…v…e…r. Be extra nice to your kids. They are either coming or going and their world shifts. Please don’t decide that the front desk of the daycare or the entry hall of your home on your way our to dinner is the best place to discipline your 4 year old.

Follow the rules. If you don’t allow your kid to watch PG movies, or if they have to go sit on the potty every 30 minutes exactly (so much of childcare is about the bathroom, sorry guys) or if you say “No snacks,” I listen to your rules. I want to honor you, as a parent, and provide the best care possible for your child. Please understand that my rules are there for a reason. Sign in and out, don’t come back into the play area for 20 minutes to settle little Mr. Separation Anxiety (he will cry for 2 minutes after you leave. It’s ok, I know you are the one who has a hard time saying goodbye.), understand the pricing before you leave and hand over the money when you pick up your bundle of joy, don’t send extra toys to the daycare, especially expensive “toys,” like phones and iPads, and lastly, please, please, please, do your best to not be late. Some daycares can only have children for a certain number of hours and it could cost them their business to be consistently allowing children to stay late. Camps and babysitters also have a limit! There are open business hours! I understand that sometimes there is an emergency that will prevent you from sticking to your original plan, and know that in those times, your child will continue to receive the best care possible from me, however, don’t stay at that concert 30 minutes later and just think you can pay for that when you get here. Not that you won’t pay, we charge a pretty little late fee.

Notify me of any special needs your kid has. Please. Parents, please. Peanut parents are the best. Parents of a child with a peanut allergy are all over that, Epipens, warning labels, extra notes, and I always appreciate it. If your child has anything that may require an extra amount of attention, please tell me when you drop him/her off! I will still take them! I will still play with them! But I need to know if the little boy who keeps taking his pants off and refusing to put them back on is just being difficult or if he is having a sensory overload and needs some quiet time. This goes for anything from potty training to autism, allergies to heart conditions. I know some parents are concerned about their child being labeled. I won’t label him, but I will be able to understand him and his needs.

The last thing I want you to know is that I love your kids. Childcare workers spend hours weekly chasing kids, changing diapers, making meals, rocking babies, getting spit up on, pooped on, sat on, cried on and loved on. We get glue in our hair, paint all over us, manicures are almost as good of an example of futility as cleaning up the tub of toy kitchen food every day (or, in my opinion, making my bed J.) We know every word of “Cars” (which should have been called either “Racecars” or “Lightning McQueen” since that is what every child I have ever babysat calls it anyways) and have a legitimate opinion on which “My Little Pony” is the best (Team Pinky Pie!) For a few hours a day, your kids tell us their secrets and confide in us about their friend drama or that “Mommy said that if I keep my pee pee in my pants and don’t show it today, then I can have a lego set.” And we love it. Our chosen profession is a perpetual state of child rearing. And you don’t choose that if you don’t love children. So bring them on in to the daycare, sign them up for camps and call me to come babysit so you can run some errands or just have night out. I will welcome you with my Mary Poppins smile and I will enjoy a few hours spent with the most fascinating humans on the planet (0-12 year olds).  I’m a childcare worker and I love my job.

Update: Empty Hands

I have been avoiding you. All the questions and the comments. I just don't really have answers. And so I may have ignored a text, or a Facebook post, and I may have skipped church on Sunday. I'm not mad at you. I love you. I love how much you care about what happens to me. I just don't know what's going to happen to me. But I am learning some things that are maybe, just maybe, a little more important? So here is the update: 

1. Home: 

Status: Uncertain

Details: We are moving. We have moved out of our wonderful little #10 and moved everything into our Nashville house, which we are trying to sell ASAP. We don't know where we will be "living" in the meantime. We will sleep at the Nashville house, most likely, but we don't plan on unpacking and "moving in." We like living on the edge. :-P

2. Job:

Status: Uncertain

Details: I have 2 job interviews tomorrow, one is a a childcare place and the other a hotel, but both would take me away from our fencing business. The money would be a big step towards a house though. On the other hand, I am struggling. I feel like committing to a full time career, means I'm giving up on being a full time mom. I know in my head that that is not true, but it sure feels like resignation to my tender and infertile heart. Speaking of which...

3. Baby:

Status: Uncertain

Details: After 5.5 years, some of which was not trying, not preventing, some of which was dedicated and legit, we have decided to take a long break from trying to conceive. I had a false positive last week and it was pretty devastating. In this sort of thing, false hope can be worse than no hope. I firmly believe our family is meant for more than the two of us, but I don't know when or how we will multiply. TTC is all about timing. You become a slave to time. You count the days in your cycle, you calculate for ovulation, you time your sex life, you time drs appointments and procedures, you time moods and meds and symptoms. You wait two weeks then you test. Then you time 3-5 minutes and wait for the second line. Then you test again. Then you start the whole thing over and time again. TTC'ers may be masters of time management, calculators and stopwatches. But we can't own time itself and for us, right now, the timing isn't right. 

4...  I can't even bullet point this. But here's where my real update is: I have no certainty in this life at all, which is always true, but I'm feeling it very keenly right now, and I tend to be a control freak. I always plan and plan and plan. I have backup plans for the backup plans and everything in my life runs on a very detailed system. I have always believed that if you want something, you fight for it. Impossible odds are never impossible. You hang on to those plans and dreams and you fight with everything you have to make them happen. But right now, with no job, no money, no baby, no plan, I am being taught the very beautiful, but painful lesson of letting go. Not of my dreams, but of my plans for getting there and of the stress of perfection and systems. There just can't be a plan for everything sometimes. 

I hold onto my plans so tightly, like a baby holding onto a fistful of sand. I have looked at God with defiance in my eyes and I have said "You can have this plan, but you will have to pry it from my cold, dead, hands." 

And He gently took my hand and He pried it open. 

There goes the house. 

There goes the baby plan. 

There goes the stable, unexciting, uneventful life. 

There goes all of my security. 

All of my plans. 

And I looked into my empty hand and I felt so overwhelmed. I felt so alone and so drained and so hopeless and scared. And I avoided everyone and I hid in my work and tried to pick up all of the sand, tried to hold onto just one grain of sand! But I couldn't, and then I saw that it was because He was still holding onto my empty hand. He is holding my hand and He is loving me. And today, when I woke up, I told Chris that I am ready to let go. I know it's cliche to talk about holding your plans lightly in your hand, but sometimes just because a truth is hidden in a cliche, doesn't mean it's not still a truth. And sometimes we don't hold plans lightly, we are asked to lose them entirely. I don't believe that God is asking me to lose my dreams and to walk away from my goals. I don't believe we are being called to live homeless lives, but today I feel very much like I have been in the midst of my life, doing my thing and was just called, very deliberately, to drop my nets, stop everything, and follow Him. Wherever He is leading, with no warning, no certainty. 

In the words of Chris' favorite artist, "You take my hand and drag me head first, FEARLESS ." :-) Well I'm not totally fearless, but I am been given a spirit of power, love and a sound mind and I'm working on it.

So that, my dear friends, is my update. Thanks for reading through all of the thoughts and musings, I know that this isn't my best blogging work. 

Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers and we will keep you posted. 

Love. 

Pain Demands To Be Felt

It was so sunny outside, and I am so very pale. So I put on my swimsuit and out I went. Emmabeth had left her tanning blanket and Kindle outside, so I thought "Perfect!" 

I flipped on the Kindle and scanned through her library. "A Fault In Our Stars" was among the most recently read. I had seen the movie preview and I thought I would probably see the movie, but I didn't really know much about it. Other than that it was a cancer story. And a love story. What could go wrong?

I started reading. "Pain demands to be felt."

A few months ago, I went to see a movie that I had been looking forward to for months! "Saving Mr. Banks" finally came to our small theatre and I bought tickets with my mom and brother's girlfriend and in we went. SPOILER ALERT: The dad dies. I should have probably prefaced this with the fact that my Dad's all-time favorite movie was Mary Poppins and that, while I held it together when a little girl stared at the unmoving, unfeeling face of her dead father and Mom and Gabby cried, the final moments of "Let's Go Fly A Kite" brought tears to my eyes. Not because the song is sad, but because it made me  remember him. 

And miss him. "Pain demands to be felt."

I don't talk very much about my grief or my sadness about Dad, or anything else really. Even my infertility struggles have been fairly private and secret, before this blog. But the words from "A Fault In Our Stars" gave me a kick in the butt. I am a strong woman. I have a good business head and I don't make mistakes. If I do, I am harder on myself than anyone else. I honestly thought I didn't need time to grieve. And if the tears began to come sitting in the pew at church, knowing that he wasn't sitting behind me and remembering the last day that I saw him, in that church, in a casket, I let them come and I say "Good job, Lindsey. You are such a good griever. Now let's get ourselves together and on to the next thing." 

If you have experienced loss of any kind from a bad breakup to loss of health or a death, you are familiar with this question: "How are you doing…?" and if you hesitate even a moment, that is the invitation for a followup question: "No, how are you really doing?" My answer has been steadfastly "I'm doing ok, I really am." And I really thought that was true. I was doing ok. I was missing Dad, I was grieving appropriately, I was taking time for myself in the midst of the chaos of life. But then I realized if I am fine, then why can't I talk to anyone about the movie "Saving Mr. Banks" or tell Emmabeth what I thought about "The Fault In Our Stars?" Why can't I sit in my pew on Sunday? Why can't I cry uncontrollably and just feel? 

"Pain demands to be felt."

I was the dutch boy with my finger in the dyke, keeping the world at bay behind the wall I built with purpose and determination and strength. But the world needed to come in. I spent weeks feeling conflicted and confused and distracted, all of my energy and resources being used up just to keep that hole plugged up, by myself. And then I realized this truth, before I read it, and maybe not in these exact words, but my pain was demanding to be felt. And I let go. I felt pain. 

I went back and I read my journals from the last days of Dad's life and I remembered them. I cried, I laughed. I listened to a voicemail from him that I hadn't been able to bring myself to hear before. I heard his voice. I hugged my sweet husband and I said the words that made the dam burst: "I miss him." 

I am still working through this on my own. I am still working to balance my two personalties and bring them into accordance with one another. The one girl who is "real', strong, determined, on top of it all and has an unending amount of energy. Then the other girl who used to love fairy tales and believe in the principles behind them, the girl who cries and hopes and who is sometimes disappointed. They are both me and I need to let both be a part of me. And that will take some time to be whole again, instead of fractured. And part of that is feeling the relief and the anguish of the pain, the hurt, the loss. 

Pain does demand to be felt. It insists that it is acknowledged. It will boil inside of you if you try to suppress it and it will only hurt more. 

Is pain hopeless? No, I don't think so. I think that pain is a part of change and that in every pain, physical or emotional, there is hope in Christ. He bore all of our pain and suffering and sin and carried it, balanced on a wooden cross through the streets. He died for our redemption from pain and our hope in eternal joy. He rose to conquer pain and death. He lives to give us life. He lives to give us hope. 

Feel pain, but also feel hope. That is my personal goal today. 

And we can cry with hope

We can say goodbye with hope

'Cause we know our good-bye is not the end

And we can grieve with hope

'Cause we believe with hope

There's a place where we'll see your face again

SCC "With Hope"

Love.

A Little Peek: Someone Sharpened A Crayon In The Pencil Sharpener

I read a hilarious blog post HERE by Jen Hatmaker, in which she is the self proclaimed "Worst End of School Mom Ever." It is a must read.

We are so there in the Kelley/Cheney house.

Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up: Emmabeth, AJ and Min are home schooled and participate in a local tutorial one day a week. Hopie is in preschool at home. Jr goes to the local middle school (they have an excellent special needs program). Gigi, Paye and John John go to private school close by. It's fun and not at all crazy to have 8 children with 5 different school schedules.

Homework has turned into a ridiculously complicated game of "Find the Only Pencil In The House" followed by "Cry Because You Couldn't." You would think that if you use a pencil EVERY DAY, you would be able to find one when you need it. It just isn't so! Maybe we're doing it wrong. Gigi, Paye and John John have built-in homework helpers in Emmabeth, Min and AJ, respectively. (Child labor builds character?) The older girls get wrapped up in the mad hunt for pencils and then painfully check over Word Boxes and listen to first grade reading. They rock.

While the littles were all at school, AJ was trying to find a pencil (yeah, good luck with that). She eventually DID find a pencil, a dull pencil, a pencil with no point, that was broken. So she did the mature thing, and instead of crying or stealing one, she went to sharpen it. Like any good homeschool family, an electric pencil sharpener has been a staple in our home for as long as I can remember. Old Faithful. And then this happened.

"Lindsey, someone sharpened a crayon in the pencil sharpener."
"Why?" (Brilliant question on my part)
"Umm, I don't know. It's just all junked up. Can you fix it?"
"Do you need a pencil right now?"
"Kind of…"
"I guess dig the crayon out of the pencil sharpener if you can…"

She did. And the pencil sharpener now sharpens pencils. And turns them purple, so it's kind of a win-win.

:-/

As AJ called down the hall with her fantastic headline, I just laughed. Because I think that that one sentence sums up our lives better than anything I have heard. Sure, I would have loved for it to be something cool like "Live together, die alone" or "And they lived happily ever after" but it just isn't. It's "Someone sharpened a crayon in the pencil sharpener."


Love.

Infertility Identity (When You're Not Expecting Part 4)

Me, Myself and Infertility

I am not my infertility and my infertility is not who I am.

I am not broken.

I am not ashamed.

I am not a victim.

I am not be defined by the fact that my body is cannot reproduce and I will not let that rule me.

I will not be held by my old mindsets that say that something is missing or wrong with me.

I will explore unconventional family building opportunities and follow God's leading.

I will not become captive to my own misgivings and self loathing.

I will love my husband even more because he loves me completely and doesn't find me lacking.

I will not compare myself to others.

I will encourage other women who are dealing with infertility.

I will encourage women who are dealing with raising children.

I will not obsess about my cycle.

I will continue to count the days.

I will not become defeated.

I will always be hopeful.

I am a child of Christ and I am in Him.

I am whole, complete, wonderfully made.

Love.

Written by a woman with silver eyes, freckles, and infertility. 

Infertility Identity (When You're Not Expecting Part 3)

Continued from here…

6. "I can't talk to anyone about this" results in isolation.

7. "It's not fair that she is pregnant" results in resentment.

8. "I would be a better mom" results in judgement and pride.

9. "I deserve a child" results in a false sense of entitlement.

10. "My life is incomplete without children" results in discontentedness.

6. Isolation. When I was younger I used to think of isolation as an island in the middle of the ocean. An incredibly small island like I drew with markers as a little kid. With a palm tree and coconuts right in the middle of a perfectly round beach surrounded by blue water. There was the occasional shark. As I grew older, isolation became something different. Isolation became a girl with dark hair sitting in a glass box in her public school cafeteria. She could see the world happening, and people could see her, but she lived in her glass box, unable to interact with anyone, keeping everyone where they couldn't hurt her. You see, I used the think that isolation just meant alone, but it means so much more. Alone means "having no one else present." It's deep. Isolation is defined as "to cause (a person or place) to be or remain alone or apart from others." Synonyms for alone include "by oneself, solo, single" while the list for isolation has words and phrases like "segregated, cut off, detached, shut away." There is a vast difference. Isolation is a willful act to bring aloneness upon yourself or someone else in the ugliest way possible. 

As women who struggle with infertility, we often find ourselves out of words. We are tired of telling people that we do want kids, adding the tried and true "someday, hopefully" or "if that's God's plan for us" with the awkward end-this-madness-now smile as you make for the nearest exit. I jokingly told my husband that if people keep asking me when we are going to have kids that I am going to tell them that we are having sex on average 3-5 times per week, ovulating right on schedule and hoping to conceive any day now! He said no. We can't openly talk about our struggles because…well…it always comes back to sex. "Have you tried this or that position?" "Er…I don't know what you are talking about…" and exit stage right. "Well are you having sex regularly?" "Umm…" RUN AWAY! I literally have had people asking me if I'm "sure I'm doing it right?" What? Yes. Pretty sure. Even close girlfriends don't seem to understand what you are going through right in front of them. They have "things" too, so your lack of offspring isn't as pressing to them as their lack of husband, lack of job, lack of means to pay off student loans, etc.

So is it hard to talk to people about infertility? Yes. Is it impossible? No. When we decide that our infertility is too personal or too embarrassing or too exhausting to share with anyone, then we close ourselves off from the world. We build our own glass boxes and the world passes us by at time lapse speeds while we sit, eating alone, and watching. It is imperative that we find someone to let into our glass box. We have to find a Bible study group, a support group, a friend, a counselor, someone.

7. Resentment. Ah, resentment. I don't think that there are any infertile women out there who have not dealt with resentment. We resent ourselves, we resent our bodies, we resent our doctors, our families, our genes, our upbringing, our dreams, some of us resent our husbands, and oh how easy it is to resent THEM. Those pregnant women. From the time we see their little ultrasound picture or pee stick selfie on Facebook through the months of belly profiles, morning sick posts, cancelled plans and weight gain all the way to delivery, first tooth, first word, first step, first grade, first communion, first love, we resent them. We love them, for the most part, (well we love the ones we care about. Random coworkers or old high school friends are resent-able without most of the guilt.) but we still struggle to squash the nagger inside of our hearts that says "It's not fair" and "Shut up about your *@#% ruined body/furniture/car/day!" Because we want it. All of it. 

There is no pill. No cure for a heart so hurt that it can feel all of the unfair cruelty of the world in the conception and birth of a little wonder being. No rationale for the dark thoughts and moods that we will fall into so easily. But the best defense is a good offense and we do have that. See, I believe that filling yourself with something positive won't leave room for the negativity. Challenge yourself to become an encourager. A babysitter. Become a helper to the woman that you would normally spend hours Facebook stalking and frowning at the parenting choices she is making. Make her dinner. Get to know her and her baby. Resentment is hard. It is unmalleable. It takes going into the hottest fire, the places that are the most likely to burn you, to melt that down into something else. Something that can be molded by your character and decisions into compassion, love, kindness, others focused. It hurts, but the longer you hold onto the resentment, the harder your heart will become. 

8. Pride. This is something I don't really talk about because it is one of my biggest struggles with my infertility, but my heart is changing and I wanted to include this, just in case there is someone else who struggles and would like a hand. In a world where we feel self conscious and our own purpose and self worth is called into question daily…by ourselves…for women in general, and specifically women with infertility, pride seems to be something that we should never have to worry about. How can we be full of self loathing and also struggle with pride? It happens, my friends, and it's way too easy. Any woman who wants a baby and doesn't have one has felt this: I would so be a better mom than her. We have all met the teenage moms, the workaholic moms, the single moms, the lazy moms and the whiny moms. The moms who say "I didn't even want to have children this soon" and "This was a total surprise, we aren't sure what we are going to do" and "I'm too old or too young to be raising a kid" and "I was on birth control and everything, but you know, it happens." No, not for me. It doesn't happen for me. And those women are undeserving. Undeserving because they didn't try hard enough. They didn't want bad enough. They didn't even have to hurt over years of uncertainty and grief over the life they hadn't carried. Those women are going to be terrible mothers. They are going to use cheap diapers, generic baby food, too much (or not enough) scheduling. They won't be the kind of mom's to sign up to be Room Mom or make the fancy cupcakes or know the best schools/preschools/church nurseries/grocery stores/parks in the area. They don't have what it takes, you know they don't. And you do. You, without a child, you know all of that. You know what sales the stores run on baby items and you are primed and ready to start stocking up. You have already bought a house in the right neighborhood (you know, with a cul-de-sac and a pool), perfect for raising a family. Your dog is hypoallergenic. Just in case. 

Do you see how easy it is? Easy to judge others? Easy to pride ourselves on our would-be accomplishments? But I have learned that I am wrong. Almost all the time. I have seen a teen mom push herself to finish college while going a darn good job of parenting the most amazing little girl. I have seen that the "workaholic mom" is really just trying to provide for her family and that she still manages to make time for the important things. I have seen numerous single moms who are running a household, being both parents, often to multiple children, and still showing up for every recital. No, they may not run things like you or I imagine that we will one day, but I had to realize that I would not be a better mother to their children because of it. I'm not the best person for the job, that mom is. She is doing a great job and I need to understand that my judgement is a result of my pride which often comes from the overall feeling that I have left at the end of the day: It's just not fair. But that has nothing to do with other moms and so we need to stop holding it against them when they get (sometimes so easily) what we so desperately want. 

9. Entitlement. This one goes hand in hand with pride, so I'm not going to spend a lot of time here, but I think it is an important little piece of my puzzle. Honestly, I do feel like I deserve a kid. I have put in my time working with kids, serving people, following all the rules and staying sexually pure. I deserve it. I have to fight this feeling  every day and I don't have a quick fix other than that I know that it doesn't make me feel better, it doesn't bring me closer to Christ and it doesn't make me pregnant, so it's really not something that I need to spend my time focusing on. So for me, as a Christian, it's a conscious effort to refocus onto what I deserve (hell) and what I have been given (life). Perspective is important. 

10. Discontentedness. 3-2-1 Penguins was a Big Idea production (the same folks who brought us Veggie Tales) in the early 2000's. One episode was about being discontent. I don't remember all of the details, but the theme was about not complaining about the things we don't have and the accompanying Scripture verse was Phil. 2:14 "Do everything without complaining or arguing…that you may shine like stars in the universe." The theme song had the lyrics "Don't be a seed if a seed is what you are. You need to be a bright and shining star!" That song has stuck with me over the years when I have really found myself becoming discontent or complaining. Do everything without complaining or arguing. Does that really include living with infertility? Am I really expected to live this way without complaining to anyone or arguing with God? I have spent a lot of time in Phil. 2 during the past year. Sometimes I am not sure how to play all of the roles in my life well and the words that Christ "emptied himself and took on the very nature of a servant" has encouraged and challenged me daily. (Recently I read that chapter in the light of infertility and I found that God had a lot to say to me, enough for another post, but I think maybe you should check it out yourself, if you feel led.) To answer my question, yes. I think it does mean that I should strive to live without complaining and without becoming a seed of discontent, wearing down those around me and filling with resentment and selfishness when the discontentedness drains me and leaves me empty. Instead, I should put my focus on other things and find fulfillment there. Ultimately I should be fulfilled in Christ, and then in serving my husband, friends, church and community, in encouraging others, in my work. I should begin to find that my life, my family, and my heart is and can be complete with or without children. Only when I accept this, not as giving up or as failure or a plan B, but as Truth, can I be free from the discontent and emptiness of my childlessness. 

Love.

Infertility Identity (When You're Not Expecting: Part 2)

So two of my Bible study buddies have had beautiful baby girls and another has found out she is expecting in the last 10 days! I am so truly happy for them, even with the pangs of longing, I have been taught so much about rejoicing with those who rejoice through my own experiences of mourning and having friends and family (and total strangers) mourn with me. As always, I struggle with my own feelings, but I am learning to replace the selfish desire with selfless love, and am able to live more fully because of that.

There are a lot of things out there that become "us." Not a part of who we are, but our everything. Our obsession, our knowledge base, our time, our private thoughts, our public outbursts on social media or blog, our conversations: our identity. Sometimes these identities are negative feelings (bitterness, anger, the feeling that life is unfair), sometimes they are just interests, or passions, blown into extreme proportions (healthy eating, fitness, parenting, work, good food or wine, Dr. Who), sometimes we become our cause (missions, politics, adoption, marriage, affordable health care) and sometimes we become our emptiness (infertility.) I personally believe that we are to be imitators of Christ and that our identity should be nothing more and nothing less than the redemption at the cross. I believe that idolatry is most simply defined as anything that we allow to become our identity that is not the cross. But, that is a different blog for a different time. For now I want to talk about what happens when infertility becomes who we are, what we are about and why we are living. That's not healthy.

That's a problem. It's a problem that a lot of women who struggle with infertility have. Because infertility touches so many levels and emotions, and centers around the one thing that most women (fertile or not) desire, a child, it is easy to allow infertility to become the center of our world. Here's why that's not a good idea:

1. "My infertility is something that I am ashamed of, therefore my identity is shame."
2. "I cannot fill this emptiness inside of me, therefore my identity is less than I should be."
3. "I feel that my infertility is unfair, therefore I am bitter."
4. "My infertility defines who I am, therefore I am nothing."
5. "No one understands my infertility therefore I am alone."
6. "I can't talk to anyone about this" results in isolation.
7. "It's not fair that she is pregnant" results in resentment.
8. "I would be a better mom" results in judgement and pride.
9. "I deserve a child" results in a false sense of entitlement.
10. "My life is incomplete without children" results in discontentedness.

As you allow your infertility to define you or to become your identity, these are the things that become your reality, and none of these things are good. Let's start with the first 5.

1. Your infertility is nothing you should be ashamed of. The inability to conceive is not something that you have control over. It is not a curse. It is not a punishment for some sin, even sexual sin. Some of you may be living with the natural consequences of a sexually immoral lifestyle (disease, scarring, treatment side effect), but that does not mean that God is punishing you, or that you should be ashamed. Do not become your shame.

2. You are everything that you are. If you are in Christ, you are a new creation in Him and you are being sanctified daily. You are justified before God through the saving work of Jesus and that MUST be enough for you. Because you aren't pregnant does not make you less of a person, less of a woman or less of child of God. Aside from that, you have so many things to offer. Some of you are musical, some of you are wonderful teachers, some of you are communicators, some of you are writers, artists, dancers, motivators, managers, the list goes on. Find a way to plug into your church or community and fill your emptiness with acts of service. See value in the things that you CAN bring to the table and enjoy the opportunity to do so.

3. Bitterness is such a dangerous thing. It is a seed that, like a tree, develops deep roots before it really even shows up in your active life or appearance, and by then, it is so hard to uproot. Beware of growing bitterness if you struggle with infertility, or if you are struggling with anything. It is so easy to think "This or that is unfair," and before you know it, "this or that" has become a deep hurt, a wound so messy and covered by such a thick layer of anger, resentment, frustration and unforgiveness that it can take a lifetime to recover from. Your infertility may not seem fair. Mine doesn't. But I am not the creator of life, and I have to believe that a God who created me and knows me has a reason for not choosing me to physically conceive and give birth to a child, at least not for now. Find rest in the love of the One who created you and take your hurt and anger to Him, don't let it grow inside of you forever.

4. "All I want is a family." "My life has centered around building a life for my family." "My heart and passion is to have a big family." All things are things that I have heard, or read, from infertile young women. All things that I have felt and said to friends, family members, and my sweet husband. Take away the "family" and you are left with "All I want is *nothing*," "My life has centered around building a life for *nothing*," and "My heart and passion is *nothing*." When our dreams and plans and passions circle around raising children, and we are left with an empty womb, we find ourselves with nothing. It is a place that every infertile woman I have spoken with has been. The thing is, you can't stay there. You can't continue to let nothingness define your life. You are more than the plans that you made that haven't come to fruition, and you have to become that "more." Find new passions, serve, share your love with foster children, needy women in your church (you know the ones) and the elderly. Build a life with your husband. This was something crucial for me to be able to move out of my nothingness: my husband and I are a family. We can work and live and love and serve together and have a wonderful life, as a family. I could be happy and find joy and fulfillment, but I had to let go of "nothing" and become a part of something else.

5. You aren't alone. First of all, you have a friend who sticks closer than a brother, and he didn't have children either. Cast all of your cares onto Christ, because he care for you. He cares for you truly and deeply. When you feel alone, run to Him. Secondly, there are hundreds of online blogs, forums and chat groups of women who are in your shoes. There are 6.7 million women between the ages of 15-44 with some level of infertility. There 1.5 million married women who are officially infertile (12 consecutive months of unprotected sex with hubs without conceiving). Just because your closest friends may not be struggling with this doesn't mean that A) no one else is, or B) that they aren't struggling with something else. People with infertility do not have the only claim to struggles, loss or hardships. Realizing that other people go through things equally as difficult as infertility is important to moving outside of yourself and staying a part of the human race. Be a friend, reach out, share your sadness, ask for prayer and be there for others. Do not fall prey to the lie "You are alone." Create a world with people in it and interact with them!

None of these identities are healthy. They aren't Christlike and they won't result in positive thinking or living. Take your thoughts and attitudes captive and turn the sad train around. You have to play an active role in who you are, if you just "let it happen," you will be lonely, bitter, nothing, empty and ashamed, I guarantee it.

Stay tuned for points 6-10 coming soon to a blog near you!

Love.