Name Meanings

So, just in case you are thinking I think of myself as a light and a prophet ;-), I thought I better write a post explaining the name...

My hubby and I picked boy and girl baby names. 'The prophet' is for the boy's name. We chose 'Samuel' for a boy; Samuel was an Old Testament prophet born to an infertile mother (Hannah) as an answer to prayer: "Lord Almighty, if you will only look on your servant’s misery and remember me, and not forget your servant but give her a son, then I will give him to the Lord for all the days of his life." (1 Samuel 1:11.) When the baby was born, "She named him Samuel, saying, 'Because I asked the Lord for him.'" (1 Samuel 1:20). Hannah dedicated the baby to God after his birth. The Lord said of Samuel: "I will raise up for myself a faithful priest, who will do according to what is in my heart and mind. I will firmly establish his house, and he will minister before my anointed one always." (1 Samuel 2:35).

'Light' is the meaning of the girl's name we picked (which is remaining a secret!).

Name meanings are really important to me. My name means 'pure' and I love it. Hubby's name means 'rock' (he is the rock Jesus built his church on!!!) and it perfectly sums him up; he is steady, thoughtful, dependable, considerate, and terribly loyal. My husband is about the most unshakeable person I know. I'm not sure I am pure (lol!!!) but my name really speaks to me of having integrity deep down, seeking the truth, and also of all that Jesus has made and is making me - who has such a tarnished past.

I love the name Samuel because of how it came to us. We chose Samuel because it fits nicely with our surname... And we wanted a 'normal' name, but also a serious name, for a boy. I looked up the meaning after we thought of it and saw it means 'God heard', which is perfect, so we knew it was for us. At the time I was starting a Bible study plan. A couple of months later, we were finally referred to the IVF clinic, and that weekend I had the story of Samuel's conception in my Bible plan. It was a complete revelation as neither of us had any idea it had anything to do with infertility! The whole thing fit so perfectly, and it made this little boy so real to me, because I knew God is intending him. And then I knew that if we have a little boy at any point, we will call him Samuel - that it is a name given to us for a son - because God heard, and He is faithful through the ages - the same God that heard and spoke to Hannah all those years ago hears and speaks to me :). To be able to dedicate my son to the Lord, and to have him grow up knowing the Lord and to stay true to Him as Samuel did, is all I would want for my son. It was quite strange reading about Samuel in the Bible because I felt I was reading about my son!!!

I love my name and I wanted a name quite like mine - quirky and old-fashioned, with a beautiful meaning - for a girl. The girl's name came to us after a lot of to-ing and fro-ing (I liked 'Connie', my hubby did not like Connie!), and when I looked up the meaning, it felt right, because 'light' is God, 'light' is Jesus, 'light' is hope, and 'light' is everything I'd wish for my daughter... That she wouldn't experience the darkness I have; that she would know the light, and be a light to others around her. Since we chose it, I keep hearing this one song called after her, and then recently a second song has popped up, so I think it is for us... But I don't feel we have had the confirmation we have had with 'Samuel', so I don't want to 'wed' myself to the name but leave it open for God (hence keeping it a secret!).

I don't know whether we'll have our babies or not, but God showed me earlier this year that they are really real and living with Him, waiting to see if they come to us or not - and that the reason they might not come is because we live in a fallen world, and not because God didn't intend for us/me to have children. And since He showed me that I have been able to see them so clearly. I really wanted to remember that they are real and commemorate their existence, even if only I know they exist, which is why I so named the blog. Even if they never come to earth, I will always remember them and think of them living with Jesus... And maybe one day we would meet in heaven, and they will be everything I hoped for them :).

Happy-Sad

Earlier, hubby and I took the dogs (we have Mum's dog staying at the moment, hence the plural) for a walk. We kept intersecting paths with this same couple out walking with their primary-aged kids. One of the little girls called, "Mummy!", and ran to catch her mother up.

Watching this family, I thought, "This is so normal to them. They're just walking about and this is everyday life. Having children is as normal for them as having a dog is for us."

And when the little girl called 'Mummy', I thought, "Will that ever be me? Will I be 'Mummy' one day?"

This is such a strange time. We have so much to be happy and thankful for, and I am noticing that every day at the moment; much more than I normally do. I feel lucky. Everybody has things that aren't as they'd plan them in their lives. So I wouldn't plan to be infertile. I'm still an incredibly lucky person. I met, fell in love with, and married the love of my life; all in my early 20s. That's pretty darn lucky. I'm part of an exciting, exciting church; and I follow an exciting, exciting Jesus. I had some inheritance, so we were able to buy a house. We didn't even have to scrimp and save to do so, the money was just there. And I have the cutest little dog in the world.

I am so thankful for the basic things, the things I take for granted: I'm white, I'm educated, I'm middle class, I was born in England, our healthcare is paid for. I worry that we can't conceive - not that I will be raped, catch AIDS, die in childbirth, or that my child won't have enough to eat. We have more than enough food every day, and that's something I take for granted. We have clean water on tap. We have enough money to live comfortably. I am free to marry the man I choose, and I am free to be a Christian. I have opportunities, and I have options. My life is very much my own.

The world is a beautiful, beautiful place for me. I am lucky enough to enjoy it, and, as I said, I feel lucky at the moment. Really, truly, incredibly lucky and blessed.

But at the same time, there's this sadness. I have everything I need. But I can't do everything I am biologically intended to and designed for. I love my husband, I love children, but I can't give him a child.

I'll get over it, if I have to. I feel sure of that at the moment. If it's not to be for us, it won't kill me. So I don't feel panicky, desperate, or engulfed - as I did earlier in the year, and in the years immediately after learning about the translocation.

BUT. But. I feel sad. I'm grateful for the things I have, I recognise that they vastly outnumber and outweigh the things that I do not have, and I mourn the things I do not have. Sometimes, I mourn the loss of my teens and early adulthood; the years I spent battling with my mental health. I'm grateful things are better now. But I mourn the loss of life I had during those years and the impact that has on my life. And I mourn the babies. Oh, I mourn the babies.

Whether we are able to have a family or not, our lives will never be the same; will never be unaffected by my infertility. And so I accept it; I talk about it; I even embrace it as part of me. It wasn't chosen... And yet, it is welcome. You see, had I not had the mental health battles, I would not be the person I am now: maybe not have met my husband, not have questioned my conditions of worth, not have faith. I'm very glad to have those things.

And so, this unchosen passenger is welcome, here, with me.

Happy-sad.

Six years ago I dreamed a dream

Nothing much to report, IVF-wise. We are in a lull at the moment, not taking any particular medications. I am loving it :). I'm finding it really easy to switch off and forget it's all happening - am loving 'savouring the moment' (a phrase my counsellor loves!) and taking the time to enjoy all that we have together. I feel really OK about IVF at the moment. I feel OK knowing that this may lead to a child or it may not. I feel OK knowing that things might happen that I do not understand. I feel able to trust God in the way that I used to, and am really enjoying being in a good place with Him. I feel close to Him again, and that is the most important thing for me. Feeling distant from Him over the summer was like losing a limb, all felt so wrong with the world.

The feeling of hope I wrote about last week hasn't left. I've really enjoyed it's presence; it's like a curtain has been lifted, and I can see through to all the stuff beyond, which is all sparkly and lovely. I am standing in the open doorway to a jewellers, and everything inside is already mine. The future seems really exciting, and I'm not thinking anywhere near as much as usual about whether we will have children or not. I am thinking about it, in relation to IVF and the fact that we are about to undergo our first cycle, but I've stopped obsessing all the time about whether I am going to be 'picked' to have children. It no longer feels like waiting to see if I've made the team. I've already made the team. I've already got the good stuff.

It's almost exactly six years at the moment since this whole journey began. That's important to me. Six years ago, I was sick, wondering if I had a brain tumour or MS, and wondering what my life was going to look like. I was so scared. I didn't know God, and I didn't feel loved. I read a book called 'The Time Traveller's Wife'; I stayed up all night to finish it; and God planted the desire in my heart to bear a child. I didn't know Him then, but that sweet and precious moment was as magnificently Him as anything since.

I didn't not want to have children because I don't like children, or didn't yearn to be a parent. I didn't not want children primarily because I was afraid of labour, or because I was worried about the genetic condition I knew I carried, although these both played a part. I didn't want to create children because I was brought up to believe that the world is coming to an end, well within my lifetime, and I was very angry that my parents, believing this, had chosen to have my brothers and me. When I looked at my half-brother, who's ten years younger, I didn't understand how anyone could choose to create something so innocent knowing what they did about our world. At this time I believed the things my father taught absolutely.

I always wanted to parent. I guess that started when my half-brother came along - I had no idea the depth of love I could feel. He is and always has been so special to me, and to all our family. So I had this deep desire to parent, combined with a sense of anger about the world (and the choices my parents had made) and a passion for social justice, and I decided I would adopt. That way I wouldn't be responsible for bringing the life into this broken world. I was actually terrified of falling pregnant and going into labour long before I was sexually active. My whole life was a mess of fear.

And so, when God planted that dream in my head, it said so much more than 'Seek to bear a child'. It said, 'It's ok to dream', and specifically, 'It's ok for you to dream'. It said, 'You don't have to punish yourself for the sins of the world'. It said, 'You have a hope and a future' (because, ultimately, my choice not to have children came out of a belief that there was no future for me at all). It said, 'Walk with me'.

When I had this special moment with God about bearing my own child - during which I saw a vision of a little boy, toddler age - I was still completely uneducated about the condition I carry. I didn't even know it's name! And so, as a result of this hope and vision, I asked to be referred for genetic counselling.

Eight months after that moment with God, I found out that the odds of me having an affected pregnancy were 1/2, and my world fell apart. That tentative hope I had been offered had been snatched away, and it was worse - much, much worse - than not having it at all. Everything changed, and everything grew much darker. I lost hope.

Over the years since that initial moment with God six years ago, I have tried to walk away and give up hope so many times. Each time, I have been offered a morsel; an offer so supernatural I remember God, and remember that this is not in my hands. He has spoken to us (and particularly to me alone - which is important to me, as I was the one to doubt the procedure) so clearly, and in so many ways, about doing IVF PGD that I have to trust and keep walking. Maybe we will have a child, and maybe we won't. But either way, I know that the only hope I have ever been offered is in the Lord. For the girl who had no hope, making that decision is a no-brainer. I go where He takes me, and I trust in His ways. Who am I to think I would have no life without children, or no hope without children? He gave me hope from dust and ashes before!

When I think back over the journey I've been on these long six years, I am reminded of how little hope rests in our physical circumstances. Six years ago, the world was just opening up for me, and yet I had never known hope. It took a miracle for me to taste hope - a drastic intervention by Jesus in my life. My physical circumstances may change with time, but nothing can take away that hope Jesus gave me. He will always be.

On why babies are also OK

So right after I posted last night, I realised I needed to write a follow-up post, because babies aren't only a source of pain for me; far from it.

When I read stories, such as this one, of hope and triumph over infertility - whether the couple has biological or adopted children - these stories bless me, give me hope, and a deep sense of joy for the family, even though I don't know them.

I have online friends in the infertility/genetic cyber worlds, and hearing of one of these friend's pregnancies  gives a much greater sense of joy even than a pregnancy in the 'real' world, even one I am really happy about; because I have an idea of what that person might have experienced (only an idea, because my experiences are really different both to genetic friends and infertile friends), and all seems right with the world. A genetic friend announced a very early pregnancy last week and it is this that prompted me to write this post, because for her there was only excitement and pure joy. To be honest, being human about it, I think a lot of whether I am happy or jealous at a pregnancy announcement in these circles (as with any other circle) depends on how well I know and like the person.

But even 'normal' babies aren't always a source of pain. Our small group leader has a tiny baby boy and I have never felt sad holding him or being around her when she was pregnant. I don't know why that is. There are friends I am much closer to whose pregnancies and babies cause pain, so it's not that I especially know or feel close to this woman or her baby. I just don't feel sad around them.

By contrast - smallest niece, and hubby's best friends' youngest baby... Source of joy and pain intermingled. Maybe because I'm closer to them. Maybe because some of these couples' children were 'accidents', I don't know.

But again there is no rule, because 'accidents' aren't always upsetting. A friend fell pregnant with her now son in her first year of marriage by accident and I was only happy and excited for her. They live overseas so I've only got to spend time with him one time, over a few days, but once again he did not prove a source of pain at all - loved spending time with him (he was a baby then).

I don't know why for some women I can only be jealous, while others provoke a mixture of joy and sadness, and others again I am only happy for. But it has been the case. There seem to be no hard and fast rules in my fertility zone.

I heard today that the genetic friend has lost her baby, so I wondered about writing this, as obviously that sense of joy for her as gone, and I am left wondering why these things happen: she 'deserves' a happy pregnancy and another child so much. But there you go; these things do happen. Ours not to reason why, even though we try.