The other night I read "The Giving Tree," to Lincoln per his request. It hit me that the tree was always there waiting for the little boy to come back. The tree was constant.The little boy grew and changed, went through a selfish period, and finally ended up back at the tree. He always knew the tree was there and where to find him. Yes, the tree was constant. It reminded me of infertility. I'm pretty sure that any given topic could be related to infertility in my life. Haha!
For many months, I counted every day only to be disappointed at the end. I became angry, bitter, and spent quite some time in a dark spot. People tried to comfort me, but I refused the help; especially from those with numerous children. I went away from the constant, but I always knew He was there.
I occasionally went back, like the little boy, and told the tree I was too busy to listen but I needed blessings. The Constant always blessed me; even if it wasn't with the money I was asking for.
Recently, I have felt the anxiety that comes with realizing my youngest is a potty-trained two year old; not a baby anymore. And, the anxiety that comes with knowing my family isn't complete. I have felt the anxiety of "oh no! What if my Constant decides that these prayers that seems to be on the Heavenly layaway program finally get paid off when I'm 50, and ready to be a grandma?"
I had an HSG last week, where they gave me valium and lots of Advil. I asked if I could have a prescription for valium because it was awesome. (Consequently irrelevant, it reminded me of when my mom took valium for a surgery one time, and she said the funniest things. She also asked for more.) For some reason neither her nor my requests were granted. Consequently relevant, nothing was wrong with my body. Nothing is wrong with my husband's body. Nothing is wrong! Nothing.
So, I'm back at the tree, ready to stay planted near Him this time. I realize that all I have is because of Him, and He has always been here. There is nothing I can ask for without fully realizing that He has a plan, although, i have often informed my Constant that if His plan doesn't work out, I have an awesome plan He could look in to. No takers on that one either.
It's all in His hands. But, this presents the hard part. When the little boy grew up and realized that he was just going to stay planted by the tree,he sat there. BUT WHAT HAPPENED NEXT? I'm sitting at the tree, trying to be happy, and wondering what I do.
What do I do?
WHAT DO I DO?
Planting myself next to the tree
wondering what happens next
Brandi
Our Amazing Daughter
9 years ago
3 comments:
Brandi I love you. I miss you and I'm so happy that you blog. One reason that I say that right now, after reading your blog, is that you have a way of expressing yourself in writing. I have never been able to do that. When I call you and we talk on the phone, of course, I learn a lot about you too. But nothing compares to when I read your words and you express yourself so eloquently, and humorously. I love you more than you'll ever know. Thanks for sharing you pains and joys with me. Heavenly Father must really love you to be teaching you in such a difficult way.
I am not sure if you will find hope or value in my comments, but I have some things to share. First---I want to say that while infertility has not been a personal struggle of mine, the type of pain, forgottenness, loneliness, and emptiness that you often describe feeling is as familiar to me, daily, as the faces of my children. In a very real way I can relate, even if not by nature of the type of trials I face.
The boy, the youth, the man, and then the very old man, in the Giving Tree, was not happy throughout his life. He spent his life searching to be validated at his core, through what the Tree gave him and what his personal circumstances were.
At the end of the book, when he is sitting by (on?) the stump, he just sits there. You ask the question, What Next? To me, him sitting there reveals that he has realized that his happiness--although realized far too late---comes through something very simple: His relationship with the Tree. He wasted his life mistakenly thinking that the Tree's gifts (blessings) to him were the core, the heart, of his relationship with the Tree. He kept coming back for more, each time missing the boat. He kept missing, over and over again.
His relationship with the Tree had/has nothing to do with what the Tree gave him, or what he could have given back to the Tree (unfortunately, he gave nothing to the Tree). When he sits with the stump at the end of the book, he realizes that his relationship with the Tree is what matters--and the relationship can offer him happiness and peace, and make up for all the voids in his life that now exist. He had no family, no money, no home, no job, no teeth. Nothing.
So, to me, one of the things that does the most for me is strengthening my belief that my relationship with God isn't about me praying and telling him to take away certain parts of my life, or give me certain things I need, but rather it's about me recognizing exactly who I am, to Him. The man sitting on the stump, finally realized that he was the Tree's friend. There didn't need to be a what's next, because he was content in that relationship. He was a sad man, that is for darn sure. He had lost everything by the end of the book, that is what time and mortality does to us. It hurts us, just to be alive. But he had learned to sit with that pain, next to the Tree, and not leave.
In my most painful moments, I think all we can do is to continue to sit by the Tree. We just keep going, by continuing to sit there.
The pain of our particular situation may never cease entirely, but the continued closeness to God and true knowledge of the fact that circumstance is not evidence of his validation of us, can soothe our deepest pains and longings. It can help us to continue sitting, and to even enjoy it.
Brandi, you always make me want to be a better person. You are amazing and we love you so much!
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