Far as the Curse Is Found

Searching for God in Infertility, Miscarriage, and Stillbirth

Waldron

• Publisher: Resource Publications
• Year: 2016
• ISBN:
  9781498221054
• Topic: Teologia e religione
• Subtopic: Religione

Abigail Waldron always knew she wanted to be a mother. What she didn't realize was how difficult the journey to motherhood could be. After struggling with infertility and then experiencing a second-trimester miscarriage, she's left wrestling with questions about the God she's loved since her childhood, wondering, How could a good God permit such painful suffering? And, How can I keep trusting Him in the face of such great loss?Far as the Curse Is Found explores these questions over the course of a year in Abigail's life, as she continues her quest to grow her family while seeking God for answers. To help with this process, she interviews eleven other couples on similar journeys, couples who've also had their faith tested by experiences of reproductive loss. The stories in this book, characterized by tragedy and heartache, are difficult. Yet as Abigail engages with them, her sense of isolation is replaced with an awareness of the community that surrounds her. More importantly, she begins to see glimpses of a God who is mysteriously present in our darkest moments, a God who is always at work creating beauty from our brokenness.

Part One

2009–2012

If I could be anything in the world, I would be a mother.

—Third grade journal (1988–1989)

Chapter 1

It’s early Sunday morning, and CJ and I are driving out of DC. I’m in the passenger seat, watching the cars nearby on the familiar but unusually empty Beltway. My youngest brother Nate and his wife Ashley are in the backseat, telling us about their new hometown of Philadelphia. We are all newlyweds: Nate and Ashley married last May, followed by CJ and me in August.

The four of us have been awake for hours already. We struggled from bed before sunrise in hopes of beating the crowds and capturing the elusive beauty of Washington’s cherry blossoms. Instead, we found every path to the Tidal Basin blocked by a morning race and swarms of cheering fans. We settled for distant glimpses of a few trees and the occasional scatter of delicate pink petals on the grey sidewalks.

But we hadn’t minded much. Away from the race, on the wide gravel pathways of the vacant DC Mall, we walked and talked and soaked in the tranquility of a city still asleep. Last year at this time, we’d been bonding over wedding planning binders, but this visit is more relaxed. Since Nate and Ashley live nearly three hours away, CJ and I haven’t seen them since Christmas, when we gathered at my parents’ home along with our middle brother, Joel. I don’t call either of my brothers regularly, but I cherish the times when I see them, times that are always characterized by laughter and deep conversation.

Now we’re headed west, toward the Northern Virginia townhouse CJ and I bought last summer, months after we finished our respective grad school programs and weeks before our wedding. Our conversation turns to the future, to the idea of children.

“I think we might start trying once we’ve been married for a year,” I announce, very aware that this milestone is only four months away.

“You’ll definitely have a kid before us then,” Nate says. “We are so not ready yet.”

“Definitely not,” Ashley adds, and laughter fills the car.

I’m surprised by my deep sense of relief. I know Nate’s comment was casual, unplanned, but it feels more like a welcome promise. Children are coming. You’ll be a mother soon.

˷

It’s a testament to my own mother that for as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted most of all to be a mom. Growing up, home felt like a warm blanket wrapped tight, and on some level, I must have always known that my mother made it this way, that in her bread baked from scratch and summer adventures and story-time snuggles, there was a safe, grounding love. When my brothers and I hurt ourselves, she would draw us close, kiss our wounds, and tell us, “There’s medicine in Mommy’s lips.” And long after I knew that wasn’t really true, I also knew it was true.

More than anything, I wanted to be this kind of mother to my own little brood. I had other goals—goals that motivated me to graduate from high school as valedictorian and from my university’s honors program magna cum laude, but my desire for motherhood was my longest and most constant ambition. As I worked hard on my studies and experienced the resulting successes, I developed an expectation that my familial goals would be achieved with similar simplicity. I’d do what I’d watched my mother and many other women I knew from church do: get married shortly after college and have kids within a few years.

Instead, I found myself graduating without even a boyfriend. Unlike school, where if I followed directions and put forth effort, I was rewarded with the high marks I craved, romantic relationships didn’t come as easily to me. I’d assumed that if I followed God and sought to live a good Christian life, I’d be rewarded with marriage and children. But it wasn’t happening.

I spent my early and mid-twenties single, praying regularly for a husband and struggling as I watched friend after friend get married, including many of the younger girls I’d mentored in college. I loved my work as a middle-school English teacher and forged deep connections with many of my students, but I longed for the day I would have a family of my own.

Looking back, much of my pain seems almost laughable. I was so young, and I had so much going for me: a job I enjoyed, excellent friends, and a loving, supportive family. But for the first time, I was facing the reality that my life was not in my control, that I couldn’t achieve what I wanted simply through hard work and good behavior. It was a reality I didn’t like.

When CJ and I became engaged after a year of dating, I found my excitement tempered by nervousness. I’ve always been anxious about big decisions, and I worried about making a life-long commitment to one person, about whether or not we were truly right for one another. I worried that we were too different, that my emotional ups and downs would eventually wear on him, that the steadiness about him I loved would also make it difficult for us to connect deeply. But one thing I didn’t worry about was starting a family together. I’d seen him with children of all ages, and I knew he’d be an amazing dad.

We were twenty-eight on our wedding day. I was well aware that by the time my mother was twenty-eight, she’d already birthed all three of her children. I felt behind before I’d even had a chance to begin.

˷

It’s Thanksgiving weekend, seven months after our cherry-blossom outing, and CJ and I plan to celebrate the holiday with my family at my parents’ home in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

I’m tired. I’ve just returned from a weekend at Duke University, where a few colleagues and I presented a conference paper about teaching business writing during a recession. The end of the semester is nearing, and the piles of papers I need to grade for my freshmen can be measured in inches. CJ and I have been living in chaos for the past few weeks while navigating the process of hardwood floor installation. This is all normal life stuff, and I know that soon enough the papers will be graded and the house will be back to normal. But there’s something else too: I’m not pregnant yet, even though we’ve been trying for three months.

It shouldn’t bother me. As CJ keeps reminding me, there’s nothing to worry about. I’ve done my homework, of course: it takes the average couple six months to conceive, and doctors don’t usually express concern about fertility issues until a full year has passed without a pregnancy. But I’m frustrated. I’m getting antsy.

Each month, I’ve allowed myself to anticipate the possibility of having a baby. Each month, with the start of my period, I’ve cried—deeply disappointed.

Despite my growing feelings of concern, I’m looking forward to celebrating the holiday with my family. Though my parents know we’re trying, I don’t plan to talk about my pregnancy-related fears on this trip. I want to enjoy being with people who love me, to put aside my worries for a few days of relaxation and homemade food.

Shortly after CJ and I arrive, we settle into the small living room of my parents’ city row house: Mom and Dad, CJ and me, Nate and Ashley, and Joel and his girlfriend Jen. We’re packed in snugly, nestled in couches and a few antique chairs, our chatter relaxed.

Joel and Jen are telling us about their campus ministry work at Penn State, and my dad makes sure CJ has packed everything he needs for their post-Thanksgiving hunting trip. There’s a lull in conversation, and Nate’s voice, suddenly serious, fills the silence. “Well, now that you’re all here,” he says, “we wanted to tell you guys something.”

He pauses, and I hold my breath. I think I know what he is about to say, but I hope I’m wrong.

“Ashley’s pregnant,” he announces.

A physical weight presses against my chest. I glance up and see my mom looking in my direction, and I note the gentle concern meant for me before she brightens and turns to congratulate my brother and his wife.

There’s momentary relief to know someone besides CJ understands that right now I am struggling. I offer my own congratulations to Nate and Ashley and register details about the due date and potential baby names, but I’m mostly thinking about what, at the time, feels like an injustice.

˷

I’ve been dreading this day for months now, hoping that I’ll be pregnant before it arrives, that my experience of this holiday will be joyful. But on Mother’s Day, I don’t feel like celebrating. It’s been ten months, and there’s still no baby.

I’m two months away from a clinical diagn...

Table of contents

• Part One
• Part Two
• Epilogue
• Acknowledgments
• Appendix
• Bibliography