Day 1

Alright all my writers! Where you at?

Today is day 1 of 7in7.

So far today I have…nothing.

Planning on writing tonight.  I’m going to shoot for 300-500 words written from the point of view of my dog describing his day today.

Yup.  That’s right.

Nothing Jesusy.  Nothing profound.

I’ll post tonight, but if you’re with me in this, either post your stuff in the comment section, or post a link to it so we can encourage each other!

Love you guys!

12 thoughts on “Day 1

  1. I no longer have a blog. So I will just paste my 1 of 7 right here! It’s quite a bit longer than 300-500 words. 1,047 to be exact.

    When I was 19, I knew it was a possibility. The doctor said so. My mom had that look in her eye. A sad, but still wishing sort of look, a look that said, “Let’s hope for the best.” Everything else had been ruled out. No brain tumor. No chromosome irregularity. And yet I was still “one in a million,” as my doctor euphemistically put it. I would just have to wait and see.

    So I did. I waited. I put it out of my mind for as long as possible. I avoided talking about it. When it came to mind, I wished it away. I chose to be a cheerful optimist, you know the kind of soldier who says, “We’ll be home by Christmas; we’ll be home by Easter; we’ll be home by summer,” and then kills himself because he can’t accept the brutal facts that no one’s going home anytime soon.*

    Seven years later, it was confirmed.

    I told myself I shouldn’t be surprised. But telling yourself “you shouldn’t do that” never works, and I was still surprised anyway. Things like this didn’t happen to me. The worst news I’d ever received up to that point was the fact that I had to move to an unfamiliar and very peculiar place called Texas. But even that bad news came with amazing news: I was moving there with my brand new husband. So really, not bad news at all.

    But this was bad news. For both my husband and I. The doctor, a specialist, knew right away. After looking over my medical records and asking me a series of rather personal questions, he called it a “slam dunk.”

    “You have no eggs.”

    He paused for maybe half a second before adding, “Of course, we can get you one. We’ll make sure to find a woman of similar coloring, intelligence, height,…” Blah. Blah. Blah.

    What?

    My head was reeling. This was actually happening. What I feared for seven years. No even longer. Ten is more like it, from the moment I first realized I was abnormal. My nightmare was coming true.

    I would never have children.

    Guess what? A broken heart hurts. A lot.

    Guess what else? A broken heart isolates. It makes you feel like you’re the only one in the world who has one…which means a broken heart is deceiving, conniving, and destructive. A broken heart, over time, corrodes the soul.

    At first my heart was broken for my husband. He had wanted to have kids even longer than I had. His childhood was more difficult than mine, so his desire for a family defined by one dad, one mom, and a few of their “own kids” was strong.

    I could never give that to him now.

    It was a burden, my broken heart for him. I kept apologizing, saying I was sorry. He said to stop apologizing; it wasn’t my fault.

    But it was my fault. I was the one with no eggs.

    I grieved for the loss of the three kids I never had. There was always three when I pictured them. Don’t know why. Two boys and a girl, or two girls and a boy, I was never quite sure. But three nonetheless. I grieved the loss of the dream of them, the chance to say, “He gets it from his Daddy” or to hear someone else say, “She has your eyes.”

    I became bitter toward families in the supermarket or Starbucks. I could hardly look at obviously biological kids and their parents. I hated them. I hated what they stood for – the ideal family unit. (Of course, at the time I could not think rationally – like that maybe their life wasn’t all unicorns and rainbows even though they were related by blood.)

    It was after one of those experiences, when my stomach dropped at the sight of a family at H.E.B., that God showed up. Like He always does. Into the darkness and the void, into the hurt and the pain, He spoke. Not in an audible voice, but directly to my spirit. Our conversation went something like this:

    God: You think I didn’t give you biological kids because you don’t deserve them.

    Me: Yes! That’s it! I must not deserve them. Otherwise you’d have given me eggs.

    God: That’s a lie.

    Me: [Burden on my heart begins to lift.] So you didn’t withhold this to punish me?

    God: No. I do not do that to my children. I have given you all things in Christ.

    Me: Then why?

    God: You will see. For now, trust Me.

    As I slid into my car that day, my Heavenly Father began gathering the scattered pieces of my broken heart. Little piece by little piece, He knit them together. He is still knitting them together today.

    People encouraged me in the midst of all of this to pray for a miracle. “God can give you a child. Pray in faith. Believe!” At first I scoffed. Why would God give me this burden if I wasn’t meant to carry it? This is mine to toil under the rest of my life.

    But I had missed the point. I wasn’t meant to carry the burden at all. Christ carried my burden with him on the road to Calvary! My burden weighed Him down as He hung on the cross! And this burden was overcome when He rose from the grave! In light of this truth, 1 Peter says, “Cast all your cares upon him, for he cares for you.” And so, with feeble faith, I pray. “God, if you want to give me eggs, you can. But do whatever you will in my life, that your love and power might be displayed. To you be all glory and honor forever and ever. Amen.”

    To say I don’t struggle with my infertility anymore would be a lie. So I won’t say it. What I will say is that God is good and his love endures forever. I can trust Him, His Word and His plan. And I can agree with Dr. Russell Moore, who says, “There is more joy in walking through fire with God than walking on beaches without Him.”

    *This example was taken from Good to Great by James Collins

  2. [I’m posting this on behalf of an ‘anonymous’ pal… I LOVE HER AND I LOVE IT!]

    Somewhere along the way the wheels really came off the bus for Tierra.

    No one really knows for sure. Well, at least not any of the people in my house. That’s probably because we have only really known her for a grand total of less than 10 hours. And, to be fair, all of our information flows from the notoriously sensational throws of reality television, which has a tendency to make the normal seem crazy – and the crazy seem downright pathological.

    Nonetheless, even with all the advances in modern editing, Tierra doesn’t need any help letting her crazy flag fly. Emotional outbursts, laser-precision manipulation, clearly premeditated personal accidents, and catfights that would make Nikki Minaj and Mariah Carey blush are all part of our girl’s everyday, dating life.

    Of course we watch this train wreck week after week and assume that she isn’t human. Surely she is the spawn of some sort of evil witch and Voldemort, with unusually arched eyebrows. But she is a real person. She has a real story.

    What is one possibility on how we got here? Let me take a stab at it…

    Her parents meant well. They thought that if they gave her everything that she ever wanted and spent day after day affirming that she was perfect – she would grow into a strong, confident woman. They thought the gifts would lead to sharing– the compliments to noticing the nice things in others. They thought if they told her there was a certain sparkle of magic within her that it just mighthelp her believe she had the power to bring change, to bring good.

    Boy, were they wrong.

    Every intention her parents had to shape her into the kind of woman they wanted her to be was thwarted by the unfortunate reality of who she already was: a girl with a heart that worked against every aim of good,beating in her own chest. The constant shower of attention and praise fed her dark heart like a rabid dog – never satisfied and always snarling for more.

    She never learned the gifts she was given in life were meant to be shared and used for the benefit of others. She never learned that herworth couldn’t come from the affections or attentions of a bachelor. (She certainly never learned that falling UP the stairs always looks fishy, no matter what)

    Because of that she learned to hoard every thing for herself. She also learned to view anyone else receiving attention or gifts from others as dangerous – a self-proclaimed threat to her sparkle within. (The very phrase made me throw up a little in my mouth)

    When you think about the way she acts now with this possible scenario in mind – her behavior doesn’t seem all that crazy. In act, based on her worldview, it makes all the sense in the world. If you don’t know of a better, more secure love – you will always grab for the love you can get. And most of the time, you’ll do whatever you can to make it happen. No matter how crazy you look to millions of people.

    Me and Tierra really aren’t all that different.

    When I forget all the things God has spent my life revealing to me – like where my value is and where I can be most satisfied – I grab for lesser things too. And it ain’t pretty, either. And if even a fraction of my craziest, most embarrassing grasps were captured and immortalized on national television – I would move to Canada.

    They’re nice to everyone there.

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