In parts 1 and 2 of this series, I wrote about Eli and Hannah Abrahams’ (not their real names) thirteen-year wait for a child, followed by the physical and emotional trauma of ectopic pregnancy and therapeutic abortion. When I asked them how others help or hinder their infertility journey, Eli and Hannah offered some insightful answers. They know it’s hard and awkward for others to navigate this road with them, but they are helped by and thankful for friends and acquaintances willing to sit in that awkwardness and who let them share their story.
“We don’t know how to navigate it any better than anyone else does,” Hannah says. “But having so many people in our community willing to allow us to figure this out openly and not require us to hide this pain away so they can be more comfortable demonstrates what support looks like. There are no magical words that could possibly fix things, but the friends that can be present in this pain have been a healing balm to our spirits.”
I was surprised when Eli and Hannah didn’t offer a long list of ways people have done or said hurtful things. I half expected a catalog of “things not to say.” Instead, they shared the following.
“There are few things people have done that have been unhelpful, but if we needed to put a finger on one that has been the most baffling or draining, it’s those who find our story too painful to engage with, yet still expect to stay close friends. They want access to our hearts without letting us share our full lives.”
I asked Eli and Hannah what happens in their hearts when others receive the gift they long for. I love their honest answers. Hannah admits that baby showers and pregnancy announcements have been difficult to navigate with grace and with socially acceptable facial expressions. For a while, she even had a hard time celebrating Christmas because it represented the birth of Jesus.
“I have a hard time going to baby showers. Partly because it’s awkward to be the infertile one at a celebration of fertility. Some aunty always asks how many kids I have or when we’re planning on having kids. That bruise is deep and can still zing. The joy in hearing the announcement of new life coming is real, though.”
“We’ve both found a place inside ourselves that can be purely joyful at the prospect of new life coming, even if it isn’t our announcement. There are still things that are hard.”
I love how, even in the middle of all their questions, Eli and Hannah have learned to rejoice. When I asked what “rejoicing” looks like for them, I wasn’t surprised when Eli’s answer came from the heart of someone who has studied scripture in its original language.
“The word rejoice means to be ‘favorably disposed to God’s grace.’ That’s a funny way to picture this, considering our circumstances, but it sure takes the pressure off. Hannah and I have been favorably disposed to God’s ability to do what He says. Wow! That makes me happy right now. But the playful part for me is to be reminded that my wife’s name means grace. So it’s this double whammy of God being extra favorably willing and inclined to do what He does.
“I can picture God paving a road, putting us on it, then taking our hands as we walk into joy with Him (and even a few little ones I can see now and then with us). This can happen daily. This can happen when I need it to. That doesn’t mean we don’t face trials or troubles on this road. But, in all this, there is a hand firmly gripping ours attached to the words, I am willing.”
Next week, we’ll wrap up the Abrahams’ story with Part 4.
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