The night before I left, I made sure that I had my favorite blog posts printed out, my newest children's story edited and finalized, and my suitcase packed with my most "conference appropriate" outfits. For the first time this summer, I felt myself truly distracted from my worries and sadness.
The morning I left, I swam laps in our public pool. As the sun beams cut through the water, and the rhythm of the swimming strokes and breathing lulled me into my daydreams, I fantasized about all that I could be blessed with on this trip. What if I met a publisher who loved my story? Would someone teach me how to become more technologically talented so that I could better join the blogging world? How empowered would I be by joining these 800 women who all love my most-favorite hobby?
What I did not expect to happen, occurred within the first hour on Friday morning, as soon as I sat down at a table, introduced myself to the women around me, and the worship music began. The lights dimmed, we all stood, and the worship leader led us through new to me, but beautiful songs.
I looked to my left, and saw a woman wiping tears from her eyes. In front of me, a girl was dabbing at her cheeks with tissues. All around me, women were singing the words with their whole heart and soul, as the music soothed and inspired everyone. But it was the tears...the tears of the unmet friends by my side that stirred the feelings of healing in my soul.
For the first time this summer, I did not feel alone. I know that there is pain in this world, and that everyone is experiencing it in some form. They might be healed, in the recovery process, or just entering a season of hurt. The truth is I wasn't believing that this summer. I felt alone in my grief, isolated in my infertility, and for lack of a better word...different.
This is not reality. Reality is that life brings us struggles, all of us have trials. I met a woman who was abused for 12 years of marriage, and left her husband with her boys to stay in a shelter. I met a lady who almost died giving birth, and the trauma of that time changed her forever. I spoke with a woman who lost two babies, then spent 49 weeks of her life on bed rest, alone and scared for her unborn children. I met a woman who lost her father in a car accident that she was in, and then later endured another accident that burned 40 percent of her body. I met a LOT of women who had struggled with infertility, and almost every speaker shared struggles with depression, anxiety, or issues with food. Every single lady at this conference had a story to tell.
I shared my story, but only in little snippets when people asked me about my blog.
"Well, it's really just been a way for me to heal through writing, as I struggle with infertility and losing my little brother," I said over and over and over this past weekend.
I definitely didn't hold back, but I spent a lot of time listening to the stories of others, and gaining wisdom and strength from all of the beautiful women.
However, at dinner on the last evening, I was truly broken down. Since I was by myself, I found a table and asked if I could join the women sitting there. We were all alone at the conference. We chit-chatted, and made get-to-know-you conversation. Then, the woman next to me mentioned that she had adopted her son because of infertility. The woman across the table joined in with the exact same story. I shared that I was currently in the fertility struggle. The second woman spoke some type of beautiful, encouraging words of love to me. My eyes started to well up. Another girl across from me tuned into the conversation, a beautiful girl with red hair and red lipstick. She had the kindest, most compassionate look on her face.
"Is that you struggling with fertility?" she asked me. "Is your body healing? Do you have a diagnosis? God will bring new life, just take care of yourself...heal," she said. "Where are you in the process?"
"I...I....we are are getting ready for our second attempt at IVF," I said. Then it all spilled out.
"And I lost a pregnancy in May. And my brother died in October....to addiction."
"Oh Lord," the woman across the table said.
The beautiful red-haired girl jumped out of her chair. She came straight to me, wrapped her arms around me, and rocked me back and forth while praying for me. The whole table sat and prayed with her.
Honestly, it was beautiful. I cried hard. Then I healed a little bit more.
How were all of these women at my table able to show me such compassion and grace? They had all been through some sort of struggle themselves, the types of challenges that teach us compassion and grace, that make us want to reach out, support, and love those around us. By the grace of God, I sat down at a table full of women who all had a heart for those struggling with fertility, because they had endured it or could connect to it in some way. They were all on the other side, but better for it, and God redeemed their struggle by putting them in my life, to comfort and love me.
This is what will happen if we share our struggles and are real with one another;
The pain and hurt will be redeemed as we use it to encourage and love those who are in need.
Did I leave this past weekend encouraged and inspired as a writer? Absolutely. However, what I did not expect was to leave the weekend encouraged and inspired as a woman. God did some major work on my soul over those three days, and he used the stories and love of real women to do the counseling for Him.
