How many of your Sundays look like this?
You show up, and parking lot attendants greet you. Faithful teachers instruct you. Ushers find a seat for you. A well-practiced worship band leads singing for you. Your pastor preaches a faithful, God-glorifying sermon to you. Childcare workers care for your children. And after all that, you pick up your kids and simply return home.
Walking from small group to the worship service on Sunday, I bumped into a fellow church member. We somehow got onto the topic of kids.
“So how many kids do you have?”
“One for now, huh?”
“Yeah. One for now. We’ve been trying for the past five years though.”
“Well, you could have a surprise later in life, like your mother and father-in-law did.”
I am learning to be honest during simple conversations like these. Not to garner sympathy or even empathy but in an attempt to talk about the path God has my wife and I on.
The feelings that infertility brings out feel selfish at times. Even gross. I’m learning to communicate those thoughts and feelings out loud. Even if only with my wife.
Staying silent is frustrating.
Staying silent kills.