hurt

Born a Momma

/ Gina Haney / 7 Comments

I’ve never forgotten the pleading and howling. I’ve never forgotten the lamenting and groaning and yes, sometimes – whining and pouting.

I haven’t forgotten the day the stick said I was, but I said it couldn’t be, I couldn’t be, and I chuckled like Sarah, because I’d like to tell you I’m full of faith bone deep, but that’s not me. No, I had to have a nurse… and a doctor confirm it.

There is an ache soul deep when a momma needs to be a momma. No, I didn’t misspeak. It’s a very common thing to be born a momma. It’s also common in our broken world to give birth and never be a momma – really.

I spent 3 years asking God why not me. Then He gave me the marvelous wonder of motherhood, and I’ve spent every day since asking God why me.

You know where I see pretty babies all the time?

Pinterest.

And Instagram.

And Facebook.

And Twitter.

There is a constant stream of adorable babies. Have you noticed? I promise you the 6.7 million women battling infertility notice.

No, battling wasn’t a poor choice of word either. There are people battling cancer, poverty, Aids, depression, addiction and… infertility.

Don’t think cancers the only thing that can eat away at your insides, or that addictions or depression affects you neurologically but not infertility. And don’t think for a minute that Aids and poverty are the only socially isolating issues.

Becky said, “our hurts seem so small comparatively.” Haven’t we all been there? It’s not a bad place to visit. We all need reminding of how blessed we are. Thank God He isn’t into comparisons. There’s enough God to tend to the cancer, Aids, and us without compromising the other.

Social media can be a hurtful place for those battling infertility. Lucky for me, 8 years ago social media wasn’t a thing. Or at least wasn’t a thing I knew about.

I snuck in for a bath in the jacuzzi the other day. That’s where I shed most of my tears and whaled most of my infertility prayers. I stared up at the ceiling and memories came flooding back.

Memories of how I felt so alone and forgotten as everyone else was having their first, second… fourth babies. I felt like I was forgotten. God where is mine?

Infertility left me feeling broken and ugly. If I was fearfully and wonderfully made then why am I broken, and unable to conceive?

I felt like I was striped of what made me a woman. Like I slipped down the conveyer belt and missed the quality control inspection.

Forgotten.

Or maybe punished?

Friends and family? Well, the ones I felt comfortable talking to didn’t know what to say. They meant well. It’s hard to know what to say to hurting people period, but especially if you’ve never been there. I would hear things like:

-You want kids? Take mine! -Maybe it’s just not meant to be.

-Don’t worry. Just relax and it’ll happen. -Your trying too hard.

-Why don’t you just adopt?

-It must not be Gods will and you wouldn’t want anything that isn’t in Gods will for you would you?

While there is some truth to some of these, and total truth to the others. Hurting people only hear of one more way they are a failure.

They hear of one more way they weren’t blessed and highly favored.

One more way they are blowing it.

Today is her birthday. But, Inside I feel like it’s my birthday too. Not in a steal your thunder kind of way, but a remembering the thunder that tore me open and made us belong to one another.

No it isn’t when I came, but when I became – the only thing I’d spent my whole life dreaming of being.

So today I’ll celebrate her birth.

I’ll celebrate my becoming Mommy.

I’ll save the wishes for her and I’ll make the prayers. I’m praying that all those women born Mommas find their babies. image

Advertisement

Guilt By Association

/ Gina Haney / 2 Comments

I thought she was a righteous woman. Never mind that I ignored the prompting of the spirit and the pleading of my bored child to hightail it outa there. How could anyone say these things let alone someone I felt an understudy to. I knew what was being said wasn’t kind and I had hoped to sway her to love and compassion. I never intended to get caught up in the heinous crime. I wasn’t even aware that I was guilty by association until I was told to , “not talk so loud!” And if it ain’t about you, and it ain’t about me, and nobody’s having a surprise party… It’s gossip. CRUD! The slippery ugly sin of gossip. BUT— I was trying to speak kind words in her defense. BUT— I myself did NOT say ANYTHING ugly. BUT— I still feel like I did, and I still stayed when God said go. I still laughed at the ugly to fit in. If gossip is murder and the Bible says it is; then I was guilty by association. My heart hurts; partly because she pointed out the singularly most painfully discomfited part of me–my voice. The other part–I’m smack dab in the middle of gossip. The ugly murderous kind that’s in the Bible. I held the tears back until I got to the car, and even then made it a good way home before Josh ask me what was wrong and I outed the whole ugly story between sobs. Particularly broken by how this woman I had admired so much had not just disappointed me but had embarrassed me in an area I had been vulnerable in confiding to her about. The next morning I cracked my Bible. My eyes moved across the words but that was the extent of it. Desperate for peace I took my Bible to the bath (When I am sad I clean; the house, my body. It doesn’t matter I clean it.). I knew Ezekiel was a bust that morning. I needed lighter reading. So it was David. You know how David loved Saul even though Saul hurt him and even attempted to kill him over and over and over? Why on earth would he do that? I mean Saul’s a nut, a bad egg, a hot head. David, you know he can’t be trusted?! All I know is David kept saying Saul was chosen and anointed King by God and that was enough for him. So I pick up my book, and wouldn’t you know Max Lucado cleared it up. Max told of how he had left his dog at a kennel and another dog had managed to get in with his dog nearly killing her. Max wrote a letter to the other dog’s owner suggesting the violent dog be put down. Max took the letter to the kennel and the owner of the kennel said, “I ask you to reconsider. What that dog did was unthinkable, but I’m training him and I’m not done with him yet.” Max explained that sometimes people do unthinkable things, but God isn’t done with them yet. Is Gods forgiveness only big enough to cover my part in the crime? Does this mean this woman is not the righteous, anointed, mentor-worthy woman she was a week ago? David was hurt, scared, lonely: BUT— He knew that Saul was still special, chosen, anointed. I was embarrassed, ashamed, disappointed: BUT— I know God’s no more done with her than HE is with me. guilt by association

A True and Holy Love Story

/ Gina Haney / 6 Comments

Here we are in the midst of the Christmas season; which I have managed to make more about the mass of gift buying than about The Christ, but there is still time to fix and still grace to cover that-another post another day.

While we are talking gifts, I’d like to tell you about a gift I received over a decade ago but just realized a couple weeks ago. Jailyn and I were cleaning the kitchen. She was sweeping while I was wiping down countertops. Broom in hand she morphed into a singing sensation as we all do (let’s be honest here). To my surprise it wasn’t “Let it Go”. Today is was the Little Mermaids “Kiss the Girl”.

I joined in and we were belting it out way too loudly to be pretty. We got to the line where it says,

Yes you want her

Look at her, you know you do

It’s possible she wants you too

There’s just one way to ask her

It don’t take a word, not a single word

Go on and kiss the girl.

 (Flashback) 

I was 12, and my sister, cousins and I were playing basketball at a church down the street; where a bunch of kids would hang out and play. Out of the blue, without warning a boy from school came up and kissed me. There I stood in front of all my peers being kissed without warning  by someone I didn’t like. I felt so humiliated. I played it off until I got home.

I called my friends and told them about how embarrassed and grossed out I had been; only to be told I was being a prood. As if that wasn’t bad enough the next day I learned how fast 7th grade news travels.

That was just one of several times I felt invaded by a boy.

Standing there singing those words I had sang and heard MANY times before but this time was jarring. When headlines are saying the count of women coming forward is now 16 and they have nothing to gain and everything to lose?

That’s when I realized the gift I’d been given. I though of how many times we have laughed about how long it took Josh to get the nerve to just hold my hand. I remembered how respectful he had been; waiting for our first kiss, and I remembered the phone call after he had felt he’d crossed the line.

Josh gave me the gift of a true love story to share with my daughter. A bit of truth to counter the Disney lie with. We stopped sweeping and looked into each others eyes as I shared the testimony of true love. Holy and real romance.

A brave young man who lived a life against the grain and in opposition to everything the locker rooms, magazines, movies and hormones told him. A man who respected a girl who was accustomed to disrespect not because she was someone’s daughter or sister or future wife, but because he knew she was made in the image of God. She was Gods and not his.

So sure we can keep on believing those are harmless lyrics, and kids will be kids, but somewhere something’s going wrong when boys are thinking they have the right to girls and girls are thinking its a boy that will make them alright. Its all mixed up, jumbled up and backward.

I am a hopeless hopeful who believes we care and can change things.

I believe we aren’t ok with the schools or anyone else teaching our kindergarteners about homosexuality. I believe uncomfortable as it may be we would rather tell our children the truth then let them go on believing the lies. Because, we aren’t blind to the cost and we know its more than reputation on the line here—souls are at risk. They belong to God and we are our brothers keeper.

Printable_3