I'm not angry at God. Truthfully, I wish I was; I wish I felt emotion that prompted dialogue and interaction. Instead, I find myself numb to the influence of God in our journey to parenthood. Empty.
When it became pretty clear that miscarriage was imminent in our second pregnancy, I texted my best girlfriend these words: "All signs point to losing this baby without a miracle and I'm afraid to ask for one." For what it's worth, I did ask. But just like the first pregnancy, it didn't change the outcome.
What do you do when you've given up on asking for the thing your heart most desires? How do you regain faith when it seems as though no amount of prayer will make a difference in what, seemingly, is going to happen anyway?
The answer, I think, is tied to the fact that faith is just one of a trio of God's most precious gifts. For though my faith falters, the love in my life is stronger and more important than ever. Even as I struggle to pray for the family life we want, I feel the love of my Father in every look from the man who has been entrusted with my heart. And I think it is love - the greatest of these - that gives me the ability to hope. And in the end, faith is the substance of things hoped for.
So I will focus on love. In joy I will celebrate love and in pain I will seek it. I will choose to see God's love in the ordinary - those moments that remind me that life is filled with small, good things. And I will cherish the love God has brought into my life - from the wagging tail of my dog when I get home from work, to the group text with my family that makes me laugh, to the friend who is there to challenge and listen. And most of all in the arms of the person who reminds me that even when my own faith is weak, God has plans of good for me. Perfect plans.
In the glow of that love, I will hope. And through hope, God will restore my faith. That much I know to be true.