Beautiful Mess

We’re at 26 weeks now and our little Noah is doing excellent. I am overjoyed that we are in a place of getting ready for him, as opposed to wondering if he’ll really get here. I stare at the furniture we just bought for the nursery with wonder, and smile that soon it will be occupied with my little boy. It’s hard to believe in 14 weeks or less we will finally be welcoming a child into our home. What a long awaited day.
I’ve been thinking a lot about this journey we’ve been on, and especially our current situation with surrogacy. For those that have been following this blog lately you know I’ve been really struggling with being at peace with my situation; finding space to feel some of my pain and frustration, and yet be thankful for all that I have and look forward to. How do I celebrate the process without dismissing my emotions that go along with it? Truthfully, I never anticipated how hard it would be to see someone else carry my child. I assumed I’d only feel joy and relief because it meant I could still bring a child into this world, albeit in a little different way. But as our surrogate entered into the phase of the pregnancy which I never reached, the painful reality crept in, “you can’t do this.” It started to nag me, overwhelm me; and I found myself grieving more for an experience, than I remembered why we had decided to take this path in the first place. I couldn’t see what was right in front of me…a beautiful mess.
There is an awful lot of pain in people lives right now other than my own. One in particular breaks my heart every time I think about it. And yet she finds joy in my life? She has celebrated with me every step of the way, and here I am unable to do so myself. Granted, my reason for grief is justified; but if my life is bringing someone else who is experiencing great pain, joy, shouldn’t I too be able to enter into that with her? Not to mention all the others who I know are praying daily and anxiously anticipating Noah’s arrival. It’s like what our pastor was talking about on Sunday, we’re a part of The Kingdom here, and it grows and blossoms best in our mess. It may be a bit heretical, but I realized my situation was like “compost” for the kingdom, and I should embrace it.
I know I’m still allowed to be sad, but I also know intermixed with my sadness is real joy. There is an abundance of love and grace surrounding a little boy who’s on his way. I may experience grief from time to time throughout this process, but that just makes me real. My “mess” gives me credibility, so my story can bring hope.