It’s funny how quickly my emotions can shift.  One day I’m plugging along with life, happy with my place and station and circumstances.  The next day I’m weary from the crying, from the wondering, from the frustration of it all.

It’s my husband’s fault, really.  He’s the one who chose the scripture for prayer service this evening.  He’s the one who leads us through this lectio divina practice of meditation and prayer.   He’s the one who read these words over and over and over again this evening:

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning?
O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer,
and by night, but I find no rest.

Yet you are holy, enthroned on the praises of Israel.
In you our fathers trusted; they trusted, and you delivered them.
To you they cried and were rescued; in you they trusted and were not put to shame.
-Psalm 22:1-5 (ESV)

I closed my eyes, and tried to meditate on these words – tried to glean what God wanted me to from them.  All I could think about was the fertility situation we find ourselves in.

Six and a half years of trying with no success. Four miscarriages. Countless nights of anxiety and worry and wondering and WHY? The better part of a decade spent welcoming babies belonging to siblings and friends – giving away pieces of my heart to each of them wondering each time if I will have enough heart left for any children of my own.

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning?”

Matt and I both feel confident that God has promised us a family.  It’s been years since we both heard this promise, but aren’t God’s promises unchanging?  To be counted upon? Is our God not the same yesterday, today, and forever? Our faith should not be moved! But then there are nights like tonight.

For months I have felt myself thinking thoughts like, “If we never have kids, that’s okay. I like it just being the two of us,” or “I’m so glad we don’t have kids. Our life would be so complicated!” With each thought I have been carefully arranging stones in order to build a wall of resolve.  I have been resolving my heart to our current circumstances – steadying myself for the future my “what-ifs” have built for me. What if we don’t have kids? What if this never works out? What if we can never pay for an adoption or expensive fertility treatment? What if we become that couple who never had kids? What then?

“O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer, and by night, but I find no rest.”

Tonight in prayer service, I felt like God was making me look at that wall, and recognize it for what it was: Me hardening my heart against him and his promises – one rocky statement at a time – heaved with great sighs and plaintive resignation.

So this is where I am tonight. Weary from crying it out with God and talking it out with Matt. Sore from the hauling of stones never meant to be thrown. Still very unsure about where this road takes us, but certain again that God has our route planned.

“Yet you are holy…”

More prayers. More faith. More leaning on the promises.  Perhaps it’s time to knock down this wall of stones, and build an ebenezer instead? Hither by thy help I’m come…