Painting the Waiting Room: Adding Perspective | a guest post by Sarah Morgan

This waiting room is not solely reserved for adoptive parents. Couples dealing with infertility are also in this pattern of waiting...hoping...and waiting some more. I've always thought that there is not much that separates the infertile mom from the adoptive mom (some of us are both!). We are all waiting to hold our children. We are all totally in love with our babies whether we know who they are, or not. I have known Sarah for years. It astounds me how seamlessly God has guided our friendship from nights sleeping on the floor of Sarah's dorm room as giggly college students to afternoons spent commiserating over infertility treatments in a coffee shop as adults. I feel so blessed to share her perspective on a different aspect of this waiting room.

~Dani

Adding Perspective

The “Parenthood Waiting Room” isn’t fair. Couples aren’t always called in the order they arrived.  Some peek their heads around a corner and sneak their way in. Some seem to just be walking by the door minding their own business when an attendant grabs them by their collars and drags them inside. 

Then there are the infertiles – those who, like us, have waited for years in the same room, feeling overlooked, angry, foolish, and at times, desperate. 

Waiting is hard.  But, this is a unique kind of waiting. Our wait is fraught with uncertainty, and it assaults our sense of self.  The gift of pregnancy and childbirth – a gift which most of the world's population takes for granted (or tries to avoid) – is a seemingly unattainable goal for us.  Infertile couples like us feel like we're waiting for our lives to start. We feel put on-hold – as if forces beyond our control are preventing us from becoming the very people we were meant to be. 

The pain inflicted by infertility cuts much deeper than mere disappointment.  It is a continuous cycle of grieving.  Those affected endlessly circle through the first four stages of grief – through denial, anger, bargaining, and depression.  Proverbs 30:15-16 rightly describes the never-ending longing which accompanies infertility by including the barren womb in its list of “three things which are never satisfied, four which never say enough.”

When I share my experiences I long to find someone who really understands and sympathizes, someone who will say "I’m sorry”.  Instead, well-meaning listeners quip: "You can always adopt”, or, "You have lots of options", or, "Don't worry, it will happen".  All of these answers are a Band-Aid smacked onto gaping wound, but the most maddening thing I’ve heard is "At least you haven't actually lost a child".

The barren road of infertility is lined with many losses – the lost dream of what I thought my life would be (highlighted by passing birthdays without a little one in sight), loss of control (perceived or actual), and the loss of hopes raised and dashed during fertility treatments.

But, I (and others like me) am not alone (even though it can often feel that way!).   There are now scores of infertiles online who have created blogs ranging from informative to heartbreaking to hilarious. 

Most importantly, as a Christian, I have the love and presence of my Heavenly Father to comfort me.  I often struggle with feeling overlooked as He blesses everyone around me with children.  He patiently and gently reminds me that His ways and timing are perfect, even when they don't look like mine. 

I find comfort in the disproportionate number of Biblical accounts of, and references to, barren women.  They show me that He not only sees me, He understands my hurt and longing.   

Recently a familiar story about Abraham and Sarah touched my heart in a new way.  It was the second Biblical account of Abraham lying and saying that Sarah was his sister.  In this case, God appeared to the foreign king in a dream and told him that he, and everyone with him, was as good as dead if he didn't give Sarah back to Abraham!  Wow.  And, that's not all; God closed every womb in that land until Sarah was safely back with Abraham. 

As I read this, I was acutely aware that this happened while Sarah was still waiting for Isaac.  It seemed so amazing, and truly awesome that God would close every other womb for her.  It struck me as so loving, so compassionate.  When I shared my thoughts with my husband he remarked that it was so personal of God to do that.  It was as if God was proclaiming to me "I DO see you, and I do care, very much. 

Furthermore, there is even more proof that God sees and cares for me and women like me -

He gives the barren woman a home, making her the joyous mother of children. (Ps 113:9) 

She who was barren has borne seven sons! (I Sam 2:5)

 For you have delivered my soul from death, my eyes from tears (Ps 116:8)

 He who searches our hearts knows the mind of the spirit and intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express...in accordance with God’s will. (Rom 8:26-27).  

 Nothing can separate me from the love of Christ (Rom 8:39)

As I wait, it gives me great comfort to know that He is with me every moment.  I may not see the end of this road, but I know He’s holding my hand.  

Romans 8:18 says it best – I consider that [my] present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in [me].