When your Heart Really Hurts at Christmas

I’ve debated writing this for many reasons – one, is that I feel like most of my writing and even my everyday communication with others has been pretty depressing lately. There have been so many ups and downs with fostering, and other journeys we’ve been on. It’s been a hard season, and it’s seemed to last into three years now. Being childless is especially hard during Christmas. And for me, being motherless is so painful during this time because of my mom’s love for this time of year, and because she died shortly after Christmas two years ago. My heart feels heavy most of the time and although I’m striving to trust and know God’s goodness and nearness, I struggle.

I notice that I sometimes try and veer away from sharing the hard stuff, but I also have a deep conviction that it’s important to be vulnerable in this life. It’s important to be truthful, honest, and real. When you’re suffering, it doesn’t help to ignore it or pretend like everything is ok. It doesn’t help when other’s ignore it, either. I’ve been reading a lot over the years to help with my healing of grief and loss. There’s a theme that continues to come across to me and I believe I’m called to live by it. Parker J. Palmer wrote a book called “A Hidden Wholeness”, and in it he writes;

“Thomas Merton claimed that “there is in all things…a hidden wholeness.” But back in the human world-where we are less self-revealing…Merton’s words can, at times, sound like wishful thinking. Afraid that our inner light will be extinguished or our inner darkness exposed, we hide our true identities from each other. In the process, we become separated from our own souls. We end up living divided lives, so far removed from the truth we hold within that we cannot know the “integrity that comes from being what you are.”

“Wholeness does not mean perfection: it means embracing brokenness as an integral part of life.” 

Another theme in my life over these last few years: Brokenness and Beauty.

As we’ve been on this adoption journey for about five years now, we’ve encountered a lot of brokenness. From broken systems in international adoption, money-driven agencies in the United States, false pregnancies and thousands of dollars lost. Then as we entered the foster care system, we knew we’d be walking into a very heartbreaking world of loss and trauma, hurting families, a struggling system, and many hellos and goodbyes. After trying so many ways to begin our family, we came to a place of willingness to explore something new and pretty unique. We had heard years ago about “snowflake adoption”, which is a program where couples who struggle with infertility can ‘adopt’ frozen embryos that are leftover from IVF cycles. These frozen embryos can then be placed in the adoptive mother’s womb, and she can give birth to her ‘adopted’ child. It’s crazy, it’s wild, and some people might think it’s strange (you can read more here). But to us – we saw it as hope. Maybe this was the way we’d finally start our family. We met a wonderful family who this year and we ended up ‘adopting’ their remaining embryos to start this journey. Earlier this month the big day arrived for my procedure. We were excited about this possibility and although a little timid with our hope, we felt good about this one. Why wouldn’t this work? Maybe this was the reason God had us waiting for so long and why none of our other adoptions had worked out. With weeks of medications, hormone shots multiple times a day, and some big nerves, we ended up in California for the big day. We had a successful transfer and waited two weeks to see if the babies implanted. My first test came back positive meaning one or two started to implant and grow! But two days later, the blood test or ‘beta’ as we call it in the IFV world was lower, meaning we had lost the babies.

This crushed us.

We had so many why questions with no real answers. The biggest “why”, we take to God and wonder why He’d allow yet another loss in our lives. Why He would allow another Christmas without children? Why would He allow us to walk down this path (among so many others) that seemingly leads to a dead-end? For those that know and love us, they, too, are asking these “why?” questions with an ache alongside of us.

On top of this loss of the early miscarriage, we also said goodbye to our foster baby this week. Our fourth boy this year and the second one that we became very attached to. We loved him and even through sleepless nights, lots of sicknesses and struggles with tummy issues, those four months grew our hearts for him in a deep way. I held it together as I put him in the car and kissed his soft chubby cheeks maybe for the last time. Then I closed my door and broke down in tears. I don’t want him to go. I don’t want him to start over with another family. I don’t want to say goodbye.

I honestly don’t share this to gain sympathy or to make people feel weird around us. That why I was so hesitant to share in the first place. I share because I want my pain to be the source of someone else’s strength. I want my hurts to be turned into something meaningful and helpful to others. I know that when I’m suffering, it brings me comfort when friends who’ve gone through something similar can reach out and say; “I know.” There’s a deep comfort in knowing you’re not alone.

So for those who have been on a journey for kids, and nothing seems to work. You’re not alone. For those whose hearts are hurting. For those who’ve lost someone dear to them or who are experiencing another aching Christmas without the children you’ve hoped for for years. Maybe you’re hurting because you want a significant other to celebrate with. And everywhere you look you see others so seemingly happy. Maybe you just lost your marriage or maybe your kids are suffering and that crushes you. Maybe you’re just sick and tired of being sick and tired. Maybe you just cant’ beat that addiction that has stolen your life from you, and you don’t know what to do.

I don’t have the answers and I can’t relate to all of these stories. But I do know that the Creator of the Universe knows. He knows and He sees. He’s sovereign and yet grieves with you. He aches for humanity because He’s also allowed his people to be free and that leads to brokenness. And although I don’t understand it, and although my heart hurts most days from all the loss and grieving, I have to keep believing. Many days my prayer is like the man who encountered Jesus on the road and asked if he would heal his dying son.

“I believe, but help my unbelief”.

So during this Advent season, the time when traditionally people who follow Jesus take time to reflect and wait upon his coming, we wait with ACHE and HOPE.

The ache is obvious to many of us. We’ve been through it. We feel it deeply. Sometimes it feels like too much to bare.  Even if the ache isn’t personal, we see it throughout the world around us. The racism and wars, the hate and the evil, the suffering of so many. The hope might be less obvious, but it’s nonetheless real and true. And we HAVE to hold on to hope. And if we can’t? We ask others to hold on to it for us.

When Jesus was on earth encountering this same kind of brokenness and pain, he quoted from this ancient text in the book of Isaiah:

“The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me, because the Lord has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God,                       to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion—                               to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor.”

So when your heart hurts this Christmas, my hope is that you’re able to find some peace in the one who can bring true peace “SHALOM” to the deepest places of your heart. (It’s my prayer for myself, too). May you be able to feel what you feel, to allow the ache but also somehow, keep hoping.