Polar Bear

Not every day can be a good day. Today was one of those days.

100 days ago, our church embarked on a challenge: pray for something only God can do. Make it personal, make it big, make it whatever you wanted. Just make it something only God could do so there was no question about where the answer came from.

Today marked the 100th day. So to see what God did in our lives, the service was devoted to sharing our stories. No sermon. Just sharing God's work in answering prayers.

That's when my tears started.

My prayer? For us to get pregnant. Obviously at this point, it's only God who will make this happen.

I sat and listened to testimony after testimony in tears. I had nothing to share. No answered prayer. No prayer of thanks. A whole lot of nothingness. And the tears fell faster. And harder.

Like I said, not every day can be a good day.

Have you ever been to the zoo? I have. Lots of times. I absolutely love it. I am a huge animal lover.  All kinds. Well, except the creepy crawlies. One of my favorites was the Polar Bear. He was big, playful, and loved to swim or just lay around. He seemed to have the perfect animal life.

Have you ever wondered how it would feel to be one of the animals, like the polar bear? Day in and day out you live in the same room. The scenery doesn't change much from fake south pole and a small pool. It's the same old stuff around you to interact with, like rubber balls and fake ice. Every once in awhile, there are people on the outside looking in and staring. You might feel self conscious. You might feel resentment that they're on the outside and you're not. You might just feel resigned. All you know is that you'll never be on the other side of the glass. You're on one side, the rest of the world is on the other.

That's me.

Day in and day out, my life stays the same. Same house, same job, same sadness. No change. I know there's this wall of glass that separates me from the rest of the world. There's something "wrong" with me that will never allow me to be on the other side with everyone else. Some days I'm self conscious. Some days I'm resentful because I know I'll never get there. Some days I'm resigned.

I'm the polar bear.

Inspiring

I teach 8th grade. It's... challenging to say the least. But there are moments and students that make you realize that there's a purpose. And that you're not only the teacher but the student.

This year, I have two students that have medical issues and are now being tutored at home for math because of them. They come to school on an abbreviated schedule and miss my class. These medical issues are rare and they are frustrating for the girls. They are prone to exhaustion, headaches, dizziness, and muscle weakness among MANY other things.

I don't have the medical condition they have, but I do know what it's like to have something physically ail you that you didn't ask for. To wonder why you have something to deal with that others don't. But these girls are inspiring.

They don't allow their condition to define them or limit them. They are conscientious and responsible. They are humble and kind. They refuse to give up. They push through their weaknesses to find greatness.

How humbling. How inspiring. It amazes me how two 14 year girls can inspire me and give me a different perspective on.... everything.

What's fair?

Is there such a thing as "fair" when it comes to God?

We had a major blow today - we found out our precious miniature dachshund has cancer. It hurts my heart to type it, but there it is. A lot of thoughts run through your mind when you get the diagnosis, but the one that keeps coming to the forefront is this:

With everything we've been through in the past 3 years, why this? And why now? Haven't we been through enough?

Phoebe has been with us since 2011, just 3 months before we started trying to have kids. The timing was odd - we didn't want a dog until after we had kids and a house with a yard. God had a different plan as we are still child-less and yard-less.

I cannot tell you what this dog has meant to us. She came to us at a time when we were at our most vulnerable. When we needed love and compassion. When we wanted to love something, but our arms were empty. She filled our lives and our hearts with love and excitement. We love her more and more each day.

Yes, I'm talking about a dog.

A dog who doesn't judge me when I'm having a bad day and just feel like crying. A dog who follows me and squishes herself next to me because she just wants to be near. A dog who turns on her back to expose her belly, trusting that my husband won't hurt her and will play with her until she's had enough. She gives me love with no reservation.  She gives me joy without even trying.

Losing her will be the most difficult thing we have to do.

So this begs the question: why?

Why now and not in a few more years?
Why didn't God save us the heartache and give her to us at all?
Why can't we just have her since He won't give us children?

There's not an answer to any of these questions. The standard answer is: "Because God said so."

But still, why put us through double the heartache if He knew we wouldn't have kids AT THE SAME TIME we have to watch our beloved pet decline in front of us?

The real question then becomes: would I have wanted Him to do that? Would I trade these 2.5 years with her because I knew how it was going to end?

The answer is a resounding NO. I would never trade a SECOND of this time with her.

Then shouldn't I say the same for the fertility?

God knew what He was doing when He gave us Phoebe at a time we didn't want a dog. He knew more than us, clearly, since we didn't want a dog, let along a small dog and an older dog.

So even though I don't get it and the timing sucks and it's just more heartache....shouldn't I trust that He knows more than us about the fertility? And layering heartache upon heartache?

The question from non-Christians is often about God not being a fair God. Is it fair that we are now dealing with an ailing dog upon our infertility? In a word?

YES.

Because this is not my world. This is not my place. Of course I wish things were different, but they aren't. I have no master plan sitting in front of me telling me what's going to happen.

But I have the Master in front of me.

And I'm required to trust Him.

And it's not easy.

The bridge of one of my favorite songs from college goes like this:

"And even though I've been so lonely
Like I have never been before
You never said it would be easy
But You said You'd see me through the storm."

I pray He sees me through this storm and the next.

Ignorance might really be bliss

It came to me while I was opening tuna.

I kid you not.

I was in the middle of making one of my favorite comfort foods. It's an easy, go -to recipe for macaroni and cheese with tuna fish mixed in.  A childhood favorite that I've never quite grown out of. 

After making the pasta and putting the cheese sauce on simmer, I grabbed the tuna can and the can opener. My brain did what it does best: lilypadded from thought to thought. 

(I should interject here by explaining that my brain isn't normal, at least I don't think so. Something I am doing or seeing sparks a thought or idea which causes another thought which leads to another and another, which eventually leads to something totally unrelated to the first thought. I have deemed this lilypadding. My brain ends up so far away from the original spark it isn't funny. But I digress....)

I put the can opener on the can of tuna and began to turn the dial. As I opened it, I started to wonder why tuna comes in the cans it does. I've only ever seen it in the flat cylinders. Never tall cylinders. Never plastic cups. Always flat cylinder cans.

This leads me to think about the fact that tuna is a fish, which leads to how they get tuna in the small cans, which leads me to picture the canning process with the real live animal. 


This thought makes me stop and I immediately thought "in this case, ignorance is totally bliss."

See, canning tuna is something I'd rather not know the details about. I'm better off not knowing how they can it, because I find it creepy. I have a weak stomach and an active imagination (shocking, I know).

I lilypadded one more time. After I realized I'd rather not know about canning tuna, it made me think about my life and how there are probably a lot more important things that I'm better off not knowing. 

It's funny. I've lived most of my life searching for answers. As a math teacher, I teach my students how to problem solve. How to analyze a problem from different angles, how to set up a plan to find an answer in numerous methods. I like to find answers. I like to fix things. I like to make life make sense. I like efficiency.

But maybe that's not healthy in every situation. Maybe it's not what I need. 

How many times have I asked myself why? Why did God allow me to have such a terrible high school experience? Why did He allow me to live through a hellacious year after college? Why did He allow me to befriend people who were unhealthy for me? Why did He allow us to be infertile? 

I've spent most of my life trying to figure it out. My life, that is. Asking why. ALL. THE. TIME. I've driven myself crazy, sad, etc trying to figure out God. Never did I take the perspective of maybe it's in my best interest to stay out of the know. 

You can't unsay something. 
You can't unsee something. 
You can't unknow something. 

Maybe God knows me better than I realize and is keeping me in the dark for my own good. If I knew the reasons behind why He has chosen this particular road for me, I might not be able to handle it. It might be a burden that's just too great for me to bear. David says:

"Praise be to the Lord, to God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens." Psalm 68:19

I'm going to let it go. I'm going to stop searching for answers to why life is the way it is. I think it's safe to assume that in most of life's difficult situations, ignorance might really be bliss.