Detour

- For he does not know what is to be, for who can tell him how it will be? -

So - where have I been.

The more astute readers may have put two and two together. Katie and I had another failed IVF transfer. We got the results on February the 5^th.

It has been a difficult couple of weeks. I didn’t have any posts in waiting, and I certainly didn’t feel like writing.

Many times throughout this process, I’ve been able to bounce back. A failed this a failed that doesn’t upset me. Surely, God is still good!

I guess all the blows pile up after a while. First punch? Barely felt it. Punch 5? I’m not seeing straight.

Let me explain. Katie and I have been on this journey for over three years. First year was just trying. Year two was working through a process called IUI and some minor surgeries.

The last year was going through IVF. We got four embryos from that process. We’ve transferred them all and each one did not result in a pregnancy.

This is very rare. An 1/8^th women struggle with infertility (this can be as mild as having a chemical pregnancy once). Out of those, a certain percentage will need IVF to conceive.

By the third transfer, 95% of those women have conceived. We are the 5% of the percent who need IVF of the 1/8^th of the population.

Exclusive, but not a club we ever wanted to join.

We don’t have good options. All we can do is keep trying, which is all consuming.

I think I personally gave Katie over a hundred shots last year. Everyone packed with hormones that alter her mood and bruise her body.

By the time we are ready for a transfer, Katie’s body is covered in a patchwork of bruises, blues, yellows, and greens.

The hardest part in this whole trial is getting the embryos. The shots must be given in Katie’s belly.

One of the shots burns. These shots severely affect her emotions. I have to give her 4+ a day at the same time for weeks.

This also means we are months from trying again. Maybe a year or more before we have a child? I’m already 31.

On the day we drove for our transfer, I published the post on Eccl. 8:7. I wrote that day that tragedy may come in our lives, and God, who knows it is coming, doesn’t say a word, and He is still good.

That is a hard thing to believe. I can assure you, it was harder that day than most.

Now, I’m sitting on the other side, knowing my fifth child has passed from this world without me ever getting to hold him.

Do I believe what I wrote?

Perhaps God should be corrected for not warning us about the tragedies in our lives. How about a heads-up big guy when the next person we love is going to die.

We have two options. We can either accept God’s failure or we can deny ourselves (our nature) and explore with our minds why He may act in this manner which appears cruel on the surface.

What is the answer to our conundrum? God has something to teach us through the raw experience He knows (because He indeed knows the future) we cannot learn by being told.

My week was full of God moments like having the chance to write about this verse. It’s wrong to take everything as an omen, but it’s good to see God working.

Listen, I’m hurting. I don’t know if I’ll ever be who I was again, and quite frankly, I think I was a happier more productive guy.

I think God could get more from that guy. I think he served God better. I think he woke up most days with that at the forefront of his mind.

Why am I getting picked on? Why am I the 5% of the percent of the 1/8^th? I don’t have a clue. I cry a lot for the memories I’ll never have with my children.

I am so thankful that I will see them again. I am thankful that there is a purpose here, even if it is not for my own life.

I’m thankful to know the brokenness of this world that I may love it better, that I can love its people better.

Even in my grief, not only is God good - He is the only good.

I live in His kingdom, not mine.