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Understanding the Infertility Struggle

I spent some time focusing on my fertility issues and the loss of identity of ever being a biological mom in “He’s Not on the Cross” and was, today, thinking about those very topics again. At my age, it makes sense that my Facebook newsfeed sees a myriad of creative pregnancy and birth announcements, and it causes me think back to when I saw all the engagement and wedding announcements while I remained single. But this is somehow…worse.

 

As most of you know, the majority of people, even extremely good friends, will call you (or text you) with a pregnancy announcement and expect excitement. I mean, why shouldn’t they? They are excited, rightly so, and, as their friend, you ought to be, as well. Plus, a baby on the way is an exciting thing, in general! And you are excited, but…

 

“I know you’re happy for me, but I want to be sensitive to your feelings. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through, especially every time you hear about someone’s new pregnancy. So while I’m happy you’re excited for me, I don’t ever want you to think that I don’t care about you or what you’re going through. Are you ok?”

 

Those words—you long to hear them.

 

What’s amazing to me is that I have heard them. I have one friend who, with all three of her pregnancies, has been amazing regarding my feelings, which makes it much easier to be genuinely happy for her.

 

It’s not that I wouldn’t be happy anyway: this is my best friend we’re talking about! But the fact that she recognizes that I’m not always going to be super cheery about someone’s pregnancy because it hurts to think about it is amazing to me. That she takes the time to think about how I’m feeling, even though she’s obviously extremely excited, will never cease to amaze me.

 

 

Alyssa is an author trying to break into the field, but willing to go where God wants her to with her writing. She writes Young Adult Christian novels in an effort to bring the truth back into the lives of young people in which it is often so severely lacking.

She has overcome 13 brain surgeries, 4 spinal cord surgeries, and countless others since 2009 alone, and battles two organic brain issues, a traumatic brain injury (TBI), Bipolar II, two different anxiety disorders, and more mental illnesses. Her goal is to reach others with the Gospel and what God’s taught her through her ailments.

Alyssa lives in Central Florida with her husband, part-time daughter (a blessing that came with marriage!), and three fur babies.

Check out Alyssa’s blog: http://teacupsandpaperroses.wordpress.com/

And check out her author Facebook page: http://facebook.com/teacupsandpaperroses

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When Mother’s Day Changes

This Mother’s Day was just like any other: my husband and I took my mom and dad out to eat; our daughter spent the weekend with her biological mom and step-dad but still called me to wish me a “Happy Mother’s Day”; my husband got me something most people would laugh at as a gift but was something I not only loved but needed.

 

So yes, just like any other.

 

Except…

 

It wasn’t.

 

This was the first Mother’s Day that I didn’t need to find the perfect card for my grandmother, someone who was really more like a second mother and thus deserved a card befitting that. I didn’t need to scour the shelves, hoping to find a card that said “Mimi” instead of “Grandma” or “Nana.” If fact, I avoided the card aisles in every store. I couldn’t even bring myself to buy a card for my mom because it would’ve reminded me that Mimi didn’t need a card. Even if I had gotten my mom a card, she would’ve just cried, thinking about my grandmother.

 

This was the first Mother’s Day I didn’t grab that bouquet of pink roses right before checking out with a card, the first Mother’s Day I didn’t have to frantically try to remember if we or my parents had a vase for the flowers, the first Mother’s Day I didn’t buy a jumbo Hershey bar for my Mimi. The first Mother’s Day without her.

 

But this was also a Mother’s Day of firsts for her. I’m not positive on what my great-grandmother’s beliefs were, but if she was a believer, this was Mimi’s first Mother’s Day with her own mother in over fifty years. I know this was her first Mother’s Day with three of her children—her twins, Mary and Joseph, one of whom was stillborn while the other lived mere hours and another baby that no one knows the gender of…except my Mimi now. I also know that she is spending her first Mother’s Day with her one grandbaby that my mom miscarried—she’s spending a Mother’s Day with my sibling before my mom has even gotten that chance.

 

And it was Mimi’s first Mother’s Day spent in the literal presence of God.

 

So, with all that, how can I be sad? Don’t get me wrong: today was hard. All these firsts without her are going to continue to be rough—her birthday coming up, Thanksgiving, Christmas. But she is without pain; she is happy. I’m sure she knows we miss her, but she’s experiencing things we’ve only imagined at this point.

 

So, I prayed a small prayer, that God would wish her a Happy Mother’s Day for me. No, I don’t know how all that works, so I don’t know if that’s something God does—but I like to think it is.

 

If you have your mother here, or someone like a mother, don’t take her for granted. One day, you’ll be avoiding card aisles and crying because you don’t need to pick up the roses.

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He’s Not on the Cross

With Easter approaching, the Cross is heavy on the minds of many. But as it’s been pointed out time and again in the church I attend, we really ought to focus more on the empty Grave. Christ is not on the Cross, and He’s not in the Grave. He’s risen and ascended, and that is where we can find our power—or rather, God’s power to live the lives He has for us.

 

I’ve been trying to rest in this power lately. My husband and I have been struggling with infertility since the beginning of “us.” On top of that, I have Bipolar II, along with a double dose of anxiety disorders (and a myriad of other issues that can be passed on). I often wonder if I’m barren because of my health issues. God has yet to see fit to bless us with a child. You see, I am a mom—I have a beautiful step-daughter, whom I never feel the need to use the phrase “step-” for—but we’ve not been blessed with our own child.

 

Knowing I’m infertile has its own struggles and grief. I never realized you could mourn a child that never was and never will be—a child of imagination. At best, the grief that accompanies knowing you will never bring life into this world is hard to deal with. At worst, it feels impossible. In a late-night fit of anxiety, I turned to my laptop before I began to write this to look up verses on anxiety and uncertainty of the future.

 

And I am glad I did.

 

There are so many promises in the Bible—promises that are possible because Jesus isn’t on that Cross anymore, and He isn’t in that Grave. Promises of a Heavenly Hope—one that is far different from earthly hope.

 

I’ve always believed earthly hope to be paralyzing. We spend time hoping for things that may never come to pass, and our hope often turns into worrying about things over which we have no control. We often get stuck, unable to move because we want something so desperately it infiltrates every area of our lives, immobilizing us.

 

But our God is a great God, and He is a God Who keeps His Word—that is, His promises. (Which are found in His Word—capital W. And I don’t see the meaning of that phrase and the use of the capital letter to be coincidental. God works out even the smallest of details. And if He can do that, how much more can He work out the bigger details in my life and the lives of others?)

 

Here are just a few verses that really stood out to me tonight, as I grasped for a shred of anything that can give me Godly, Heavenly, Eternal Hope:

 

“When I am afraid, I put my trust in You.”

–Psalm 56:3 (NIV)

 

 

“You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You.”

–Isaiah 26:3 (ESV)

 

“Come to Me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.”

Matthew 11:28 (NLT)

 

“For I am the Lord your God, Who upholds your right hand, Who says to you, ‘Do not fear, I will help you.’”

–Isaiah 41:13 (NASB)

 

Did these verses magically melt all my trepidation and anxiety? No, they didn’t, but they helped immensely. I pray that they’ll help you, too. God does have a plan (Jeremiah 29:11), and He will bring it to pass.

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Waiting for Her to Die

Waiting for her to die,
Should we be happy or sad?
Should we be sorry or glad?

No more treatment.
No more meds
Those doctors have lost their creds.
No more stuff,
She’s had enough.

“Let me go!
You all must know
I’ve had a good life.
I’ve been a good wife.
And a loyal mother.

“I’ve been a good sister to each dear brother
A little demanding, yes that is true,
But, I’ve always been there for each of you.

“Unhook the tubes.
Detach each wire.
Bath me and put on a fresh gown.
Comb my hair and lay me back down.
It’s time for me to retire.

“I’m going home
No more to roam.”

Should we be happy or sad?
Should we be sorry or glad?

 

 

Anna J. Small Roseboro, a National Board Certified Teacher, wife of fifty-two years, mother of three, is a published poet and author of fiction, and non-fiction texts, but is primarily an educator. She has over forty years experience in five states teaching English and Speech to students in middle school, high school Education Theory, Curriculum Design, and Oral Rhetoric to those in college.  Now retired, she coaches new writers and early career educators across the nation, and emerging leaders at her home church, New Community Church of God in Kentwood, Michigan. Her website is http://teachingenglishlanguagearts.com/

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The State of Numb

“Numb (adjective): unable to think, feel, or react normally because of something that shocks or upsets you”

 

The above is one of the definitions of numb, as stated in the Merriam-Webster online dictionary, and, although it makes complete sense, no one ever warned that a state of numbness would overcome me during the loss of a close loved one.

 

I had figured I’d cry relentlessly, whether sad tears or happy ones from sweet memories. I knew I’d feel as if a piece of me were missing. What I didn’t know is that I would get to a point at which I didn’t feel anything.

 

At first, I thought I was suddenly heartless, and there are times I still feel that way, although I’ve been told by multiple people that this is normal. No one had mentioned that a stage of the grieving process can be complete numbness. Not even peace—just nothing.

 

Navigating the waters of nothingness is difficult. When you feel nothing and keep praying for peace or even more tears that don’t come, it’s hard not to feel like you’re a monster for not feeling something. There’s a song out by Lady Antebellum that states, “I’d rather hurt than feel nothing at all,” and how true that is! But when you don’t feel anything, you still need to live.

 

My life verses have been such a rescue in this time. For just about everything in life, I go back to Isaiah 55:8-9: “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts” (KJV). No matter how hard it may be, I must keep reminding myself that God doesn’t act like us humans: He doesn’t even think like us! It’s frightening in a sense but comforting because when I can’t see the road ahead, when I can’t even see the next step, He’s there and already has it figured out in His way and timing—which is nothing like mine.

I’m still walking through this uncharted land in which nothing makes sense because I’ve never lost someone this close to me. What makes it more difficult is the fact that, at the time of writing this, the person has yet to go home and see our Father’s face. I’ve been watching this person actively pass for a week now, in a mostly comatose state, and numbness was the last thing I thought I’d feel.

As I continue on my way, I’m learning. I’m learning (again and again) that God is faithful, that He doesn’t leave us or forsake us, that He is love, that His grace is sweet and sufficient, that His mercies are new every morning. I cling to Him as my rock because He does know what He’s doing and simply wants me to be still as He does His work.

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We’re All Hurting. So Why Don’t We Talk About It?

Let’s be real: we’re all hurting. If not, then I maintain you’re in the minority.

 

After starting the recovery process years ago, I noticed how many people around me were hurting. I saw the benefits of recovery for myself and realized most people would also benefit from recovery and/or therapy.

So why aren’t we more open about our problems? Why aren’t more people in therapy or recovery groups?

For one, there’s still a stigma around therapy and recovery. For many people, if you tell them you’re in recovery or therapy, they immediately wonder what’s wrong with you and if they should even be around you. Your reputation is instantly tarnished. This is despite the fact that those same people are hurting inside because of a break up or the death of a loved one.

We want to display a good image of ourselves. We want people to think we’re smart, we’re beautiful, we’re upstanding, we’re successful, we’re godly. In short, we don’t want others to think we have problems.

But that’s the thing: we all have problems. We’re all trying to look perfect for each other, yet none of us are. It’s a big masquerade.

Many of our problems simply come from hiding behind these masks. We’re lonely, depressed, anxious, grieving, hurting. If we’d just open up and receive support, we’d feel better. Many of our wounds would be healed. We’d be happier.

Instead, we feel crushed by the pressure to appear perfect—like we have it all together. We feel trapped because we’re terrified of others knowing the truth. And it eats at us. Because of this, some feel they can’t go on another day, which is one reason why seemingly perfect people fall from grace overnight or take their own life.

I pray that our society—including churches—would be more transparent about personal problems. I pray it would become more “mainstream” for people to discuss their issues. I pray we would throw away the masks and be real with each other. I pray hurting people would feel less terrified of coming out into the open. I pray the stigma around therapy and recovery would end. I pray we would truly connect with one another.

 

There’s freedom in honesty. There’s freedom in true connection.

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My Son, Bob

          Military men had come,

with news no parent expects to hear,

“Ma’am, yesterday in Sasebo, Japan, Navy officers

found your son in his apartment…

 dead.

 

“He didn’t show up to the ship.

They went to his apartment.

They found him…

dead.”

 

“My son is dead?

He’s never coming home!”

 

My son , Bob, is dead!

In the twilight, I reel in limbo

In that haunting ground

Between dread of awake and terror of nightmare.

 

Tension tightens my neck

Flows down my back

Becoming a fiery fist

at the base of my spine.

 

   That night…I lay in bed praying to process the news.

         Fingers clutch the fragrant bed sheet;

         Thighs stiffen into planks

         And toes tingle like ice cubes.

 

      (An image appears…)

 

       A doorway opens…

       I recognize the place.

       Bright light streams around two figures.

     I recognize the people.

 

     Standing there is Grampoppa,

     Haloed by light

     Light streaming all around

                                              Extending his hand in welcome.
                                              “Come on in, son!” he says.

 

                Behind him, is Grammamma,

                Peaking over his shoulder.

                Light streaming all around

                               Her welcome smiles from her eyes.

 

                “Come on in, son!” he beckons.

 

                The voice is familiar.  I’d heard it over the years.

                Grampoppa said that when the uncles were home for Mother’s Day Dinner.

               “Come on in, son!”

                He said it at Father’s Day and birthday gatherings.

               “Come on in, son!”

 

Grampoppa and Grammama are there to greet my son!

                 To welcome him home with them

                 In heaven.

                 I believe it.  

 

Heaven is home.

So, I’m content.

 

                 I sigh and breathe.

                 I believe it.

                All is well.  

 

Bob is with Grampoppa

Bob is with Grammama,

All is well.  

 

               I sense another voice,

               “Anna, my child. Your son, Bob, is home.

               All is well.

               See, he’s with family.”

 

At peace,

I drift into healing, comforting sleep.

 

 

Anna J. Small Roseboro, a National Board Certified Teacher, wife of fifty-two years, mother of three, is a published poet and author of fiction, and non-fiction texts, but is primarily an educator. She has over forty years experience in five states teaching English, and Speech to students in middle school, high school Education Theory, Curriculum Design, and Oral Rhetoric to those in college.  Now retired, she coaches new writers and early career educators across the nation, and emerging leaders at her home church, New Community Church of God in Kentwood, Michigan. Her website is http://teachingenglishlanguagearts.com/

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Why Rejoice Over Suffering?

In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the end result of your faith, the salvation of your souls.

Concerning this salvation, the prophets, who spoke of the grace that was to come to you, searched intently and with the greatest care, trying to find out the time and circumstances to which the Spirit of Christ in them was pointing when he predicted the sufferings of the Messiah and the glories that would follow. It was revealed to them that they were not serving themselves but you, when they spoke of the things that have now been told you by those who have preached the gospel to you by the Holy Spirit sent from heaven. Even angels long to look into these things. (1 Peter 1:6-12)

 

Why would we “greatly rejoice” over “suffer[ing] grief in all kinds of trials”?

Scripture tells us in many places that trials can strengthen our faith. Think about it. Do you grow the most when life is easy or when life is hard? The hard times often make us press closer to God. We need His help; we are dependent on Him. The easy times don’t encourage as much dependence.

Scripture often refers to the purification process of metals: “when he has tested me, I will come forth as gold” (Job 23:10); “For you, God, tested us; you refined us like silver” (Psalm 66:10); “The crucible for silver and the furnace for gold, but the Lord tests the heart” (Proverbs 17:3). As the NIV Cultural Backgrounds Study Bible puts it, “Ores of precious metals (the most precious of which was gold) would be melted in a furnace to separate out the impurities and produce purer metal” (note on 1 Peter 1:7). The analogy is fitting—like precious metals, our impurities are purged and our character is made more beautiful, so to speak, when we go through the furnaces of life.

Peter sticks to the metal analogy and affirms that our faith is even more precious and enduring than gold: “These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.” The reason or end result of trials, he says, is “praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.” Our faith and growth through trials glorifies Jesus. This is great news because God deserves the glory and we get to contribute to His glory. Indeed, our joy is interconnected with His glory—when His glory increases through our lives, our joy increases. We become more heavenly creatures.

Peter tells his readers they are even more blessed because “Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy.” Peter was with Jesus, but he commends his readers’ faith for believing even though they weren’t with Jesus. As Jesus said, “blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed” (John 20:29). Jesus and Peter both imply that future generations who don’t physically see Jesus are blessed for not seeing yet still believing. This is especially difficult during hard times. However, it is also another reason to rejoice during and after hard times. If you cling to Jesus during trials, there is always reason to rejoice.

 

Question: Do you rejoice during hard times? How do you see God working in your life during those times? How can you learn to rejoice even more and serve God more during those times?

 

Prayer: Thank you for the trials in my life and how you’ve used them to make me more like you. Give me the vision to see how trials are changing me. Help me to have Spirit-filled joy at all times, especially when it’s hard. Amen.

 

This is an excerpt from a devotional book I’m writing on 1 Peter – W.R. Harris

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Yelling at God

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” – Matthew 27:46

“God, always the last resort of the helpless—God is sometimes so slow to act!” – Lew Wallace, Ben-Hur

This is a subject I want to address because I think people sometimes feel guilty about it. As with anxiety and depression, this can be sinful, but it can also be perfectly fine.

I know I yelled at God more than once during my bouts of depression and OCD. Sometimes you’ve been bent so much you feel you’re about to break. The natural response is to question God and/or yell at Him. Perhaps you’ve been in the same situation and you yelled at God and now you feel guilty. It happened to me. On top of all the other shame and depression and guilt I felt, I felt guilty about yelling at God. I thought He was looking down at me saying, “Jeez, will this guy ever get it together?”

Granted, you can hate God from the bottom of your heart and curse Him. That’s sinful, and perhaps some of you reading this book have been there. The good news is God always offers forgiveness. But you can also yell at God in distress, opening up to Him about your deepest thoughts and fears and frustrations. You can honestly question God to His face and tell Him why you don’t understand His reasoning. You can scream at Him to look at you and help you—you can even tell Him you’re frustrated at Him for not helping.

The sort of uber-spiritual, fundamentalist, puritanical theology discussed in the previous chapter would probably tell you you’re sinning and you wouldn’t do this if you actually trust God. But that’s a lie from the pit of hell. How do I know? Let’s look at Jesus.

On the Mount of Olives in the most difficult situation in history, Jesus prayed to His Father. Jesus knew what was about to happen; as God, He knew the future, so He knew He was going to follow through and hang on the cross. But the weight of punishment for humanity’s sins was so distressing that He prayed, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done” (Luke 22:42).

Jesus cried to God in His distress. What a wonderful Savior He is. He didn’t stroll happily under the guise of “I trust God, so I don’t need to be stressed.” Our Savior is not the spiritual guru of unattainable spirituality that you can’t relate to. He does not look at you in your struggles and say, “Ah, humans…” with a smile and a shake of His head. You are not alone in your suffering. Christ does not just understand your suffering, He has suffered with you. I wouldn’t want the savior of the uber-spirituals.

And look at David in the Psalms. He questions God and lays his heart bare before Him. He doesn’t always understand God’s ways.

I think God wants us to be completely open with Him. I’ll even go as far as to say I think God wants us—at least sometimes—to question Him. There is little in life that brings us closer to Him.

Talk to God. Open up to Him, even if it’s ugly. He can handle it. And if it’s done with a good heart, don’t feel guilty. Don’t let anyone else make you feel guilty about it either.

This is an excerpt from my book Anxiety and Depression Are (Not) Always Sins, which can be bought on Amazon at this link: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B075Z17W11