This semester, we are reading a story about a little girl who is homeless. She lives in a car with her mother and little brother, and their situation is dire. The little girl, in an attempt to make money for a home, devises a plan to steal someone's dog and then collect the reward money when the owner notices their beloved pet is missing.
Yesterday, I sat in my director's chair in the reading corner of my classroom and read another chapter of this heart wrenching story to my class. Twenty-two faces looked up at me from their spots on the carpet, etched with sadness and pain, as I read the part about the little girl washing her hair in the sink at Walgreens, fighting with her mother about how hungry she was, and deciding with finality that she was going to steal a dog.
As I closed the book on that particular chapter, I asked my class what their thoughts were about the girl and her plan. Almost every hand shot up in the air.
"No matter what, it's not right to steal someone's dog."
"She is being so mean to her mom, her mom is just trying to do the best she can."
"It would be so terrible to be homeless and hungry."
And then the most important comment, "Just because you are hurting, it is not ok to hurt someone else."
As their teacher, I felt proud. They were picking out the main themes of the story, a reading skill that we are currently working on. More importantly, they are turning into empathetic and kind individuals.
As an adult, I felt convicted.
The parallel of this little girl's life and my own is not too abstract of an idea.
Two weeks ago, Jeremiah and I had a healthy egg retrieved, our first one. It fertilized, was given a high grade, and on a snowy Thursday morning was transferred into me. As I lay on the doctor's table, the nurse handed me a picture of our embryo. Jeremiah told me later that I had clutched it to my heart throughout the entire procedure. I watched on the ultrasound machine as the doctor did our embryo transfer and told me that it couldn't have gone better.
It doesn't take long for a woman to connect to even just the idea of a baby. I had a name, I thought I knew what the gender was, and I began to feel like a mom.
However, in the days leading up to the pregnancy test, I started to lose my footing. I didn't think it worked. I lost hope. I got emotional, stressed, worried, and afraid.
Fear is a common theme for me lately. I'm still afraid of drugs fifteen months after losing Matt. I fear failure, change, infertility, childlessness, pain, hurt...I am afraid of a broken heart.
In my fear, I acted badly. I was highly sensitive to any words that were said, I cried a LOT more than is normal for me, I shut down, and I pushed away the people who love me. I didn't answer any phone calls, and I barely responded to texts from girlfriends and family. I fought with Jeremiah, I snapped at my mom, and I was distracted at work.
I was trying to hold it together and be tough. By Thursday morning, the day of my pregnancy test, I was pretty low.
When my phone rang Thursday afternoon, in the middle of a science lab on cell diffusion, my heart skipped a beat. When I heard the tone in the nurse's voice, my heart sank. There was no baby.
Then I walked back into Room 211, and my twenty-two fifth graders, and continued with our science lab.
"This is f*&#ed up," my friend Jessica said when she checked on me after the 3:30 bell. I couldn't have said it better.
Still in shock on Thursday night, and not thinking clearly, I did things that I hadn't been able to do for the last month. I ran and ran and ran while blasting music, and had a glass of whiskey. Then, Jeremiah took me to dinner to distract me. But when I woke up to the dark and cold of Friday morning, the reality was too painful. There was no baby.
I don't know if that gives me a free pass to be highly sensitive and emotional for a few days or not. But I do know that my fifth grader saying, "Just because you are hurting, it is not ok to hurt someone else" struck a chord that is still resonating with my soul this Saturday morning.
I wanted that baby so badly. I wanted to grow it inside of me, nurture and love a new life, and feel that connection with a child. I'm so ready.
God said, "Not yet."
So, while I am waiting, I'll run a few more miles, have a couple of drinks, and rest my mind. I'll try to laugh a little, not be so sensitive, and take deep breaths. I'll be grateful to take a break from the massive amount of hormones I was taking...and I'm guessing that will help a little too.
I'll hold onto the sweet and innocent words of my fifth graders and apologize to the people I love.
There is no baby, but the moon greets me every night, and the sun rises every morning. Matt is safe in Heaven, and my family and friends still love me. There is no baby, but our life is still blessed.
Just because you are in pain, it's not ok to miss God's hand in your life.
