"First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in a baby carriage."
Somehow, a juvenile child's rhyme has managed to encapsulate a lifetime of hopes, dreams, and perhaps tears for every generation. It sounds so easy - step one, step two, and step three. Voila! You got yourself a perfect life!
But God doesn't always let things happen that way. Sometimes, He stops us before a certain step, teaching us to reconcile our own visions with what He actually has in store. Sometimes, He lets a season of life linger far longer than we ever expected it to, and we are challenged again and again to thrive where He's placed us, to grow as He wants us to in that particular chapter of life.
After seven years of love and marriage, Tim and I stand at the threshold of a new possibility. Lord willing, we would love to meet the the little ones in my womb, to be given the opportunity to love them and raise them for the Lord.
At the same time, I know this isn't a finish line.
This isn't a man-made "success story" to celebrate or brag about. This isn't "proof" that if you just wait long enough, or want it desperately enough, the Lord will give you what you want.
It's not that. It's not that at all.
Because if the past decade of my life has taught me anything - it's that everything, truly everything, is by His grace alone. And it is entirely up to Him how He wants to write the story He wants us to live out.
It's by His grace that I have a loving husband who seeks to lead our marriage in the way of the Lord. It's by His grace that I have a marriage where we can share our deepest thoughts, hopes, and dreams with each other as we wait for the Lord's will. It's by His grace that we have a church family where we can grow and love and thrive. And it is by His grace alone that we are where we are, waiting to see if He will let us have the chance to raise these miracle babies.
And I know that there is still so, so much more to this story.
I've seen friends who change once they get to complete their nursery rhyme. Suddenly, once love, marriage, and baby carriage fall in line, it just doesn't seem as important to trust or to pray or to keep growing in the Lord anymore. All those things that were blessings in the first place seem to replace the need to seek after the Giver of all things.
I pray, so hard, that we won't be like that.
Because this isn't a finish line.
And, Lord willing, if He allows us to move on to the wonderful world of parenthood, I hope that we will pursue our relationship with Him all the more because of it. May we learn to serve Him, to love Him, and to adapt to everything He gives in Chapter Three, as much as we had to in the ones that came before.
It's happened so often, so many times, that I don't even blink an eye in surprise when it happens. If anything, I try to anticipate it - to brace myself for its inevitability.
But I still blink when it happens. I still need to take a moment or two to blink the tears away.
Because getting left behind feels bad enough once. But it's a whole different story when it's become almost like a routine.
In my heart of hearts, I know - just like those anticipating marriage, or a promotion, or graduation, or grandchildren, or hope for medical recovery - that God has a special purpose for every chapter of our lives. I myself have read and prayed and written thousands of thousands of words on the beauty of God's timing, of the importance of finding contentment in His will, and of seeking after Him with all our hearts no matter our circumstances.
But faithfully waiting for God's plan to reveal itself in our lives can sometimes be a very lonely journey.
I married young, at least within my cultural context. My now-husband proposed when I was still 23. We married when I was 24. In the unfair timeline mentality of the Filipino-Chinese community, I was somewhat "ahead" of my peers. It's as if I somehow managed to get to Level 3 in the Fil-Chi Game of Life, when everyone else my age was taking their time at Level 2.
Early marriage made me think and act differently from my peers. Suddenly, I had household and family concerns that they didn't have. They had career priorities that were different from mine. We were still close and still sisters in Christ, but our stations in life led us to have varying responsibilities and perspectives.
But then I got "stuck" - in a world where it feels that everyone else is moving ahead.
Looking back now, I woefully regret not having been more sensitive to the people around me when I was caught up in the whirlwind of young love. We had friends who had been dating people for years before their relationships fell apart. We had single friends who wanted to get married so badly - who had been waiting for three or four decades of their life without the Lord leading them to that next chapter. I talked about my engagement as if it were the most straightforward thing in the world - not realizing that I was in the minority for having been blessed to find my life partner at such a young age. I was a foolish 23-year-old, and I apologize to anyone who had been hurt by my insensitivity during that phase.
I've since learned what it's like to be on the receiving end.
I know what it's like to see people get married and be pregnant within one, two, or three months while our supposed nursery room morphs into a storage attic. I know what it's like to have friends post pregnancy announcement after announcement and flooding my social media feeds with innumerable daily pictures of their babies. I know what it's like to have a friend get married, talk to me about marriage, become a mother, and suddenly "outgrow" me because I am no longer capable of or comfortable with talking with her about motherhood.
I know what it's like to be left behind, even by people younger than I am.
What I needed to learn - was how to deal with it.
My more foolish and selfish tendencies want to resent those friends for moving on. I am tempted again and again (and sometimes fail to resist the temptation) to let envy poison my friendships with these sisters in Christ. Sometimes, I try to keep up - to be genuinely invested in their chatter about their newborns. But I am also ill-equipped to keep up. There's only so much that resonates with me when it comes to types of baby poop and breastfeeding wailing children in the middle of the night!
I love it when my friends tell me about their children. I love to witness them caring for their children and teaching their kids how to be good Christians. It can be hard for me to keep up, but it doesn't mean I hate any reference to children. I love kids. It's one of the reasons I love being a teacher.
But I have to learn to accept that it's inevitable that my friends and I may have different priorities at different times of life. Our friendships, if they are true, should be able to stretch to include all of our different life chapters and interests. And as I learn to be more open with my friends who may have "overtaken" me in the journey of life, I can also learn to be more sensitive to the people who may feel that I have "left them behind."
No one is ever truly left behind in life. There are times when God lets us walk His way with our peers on our side. There are other times when He lets us walk His way alone - at least, in an earthly sense. But when we seek His way faithfully, we can find comfort in knowing that no eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has conceived what the Lord has prepared for those who love Him. What He has planned is even better than what we think we want or need.
No matter where I am in life - no matter the chapter or the "level" or the station - I can minister to the people around me. I can still show concern to my friends who have moved on to other priorities. I can share insights and encouragement with people who share my current circumstances. I can strive to be more considerate of the people who may feel that they wish to have their life move forward in a way that it isn't.
Because God knows what He's doing - and He's placing each of us where we are for a reason He believes to be best. With Him, we're never left behind. In fact, we're always exactly where He wants us to be.
It's been a year. It's been 365 days since we were told by our somber-faced doctor that the twins in my womb were decidedly, irretrievably gone. We knew about the pregnancy at the 3-week mark. We learned that we were expecting identical twins at the 6-week mark. Then, at seven weeks, our short-lived parenthood came to an end.
It wasn't a simple matter. The products of conception would stay stubbornly in my body, anchored to my system with ironic security, for another two months before we proceeded with a D&C. I suffered morning sickness, including all the sores and vomiting, without ever meeting our children. The journey before and after those three hopeful weeks ran the length of almost an entire year.
It took me time to open up about it. We tried to grieve privately, telling only our immediate family, closest friends, or people whom we knew had similar experiences. We were aware that there were people who would care and offer genuine, godly comfort in the face of our sorrow. But I also knew there would be way too many people who would react (intentionally or misguidedly) in unhelpful ways.
I saw my friends who'd had miscarriages before bombarded with judgment or demands: "Maybe it was something you did or something you ate." "Maybe you didn't rest." "You were too stressed." "You didn't do this." "You should have done that." "You should have known better."
Pregnancy loss is a keen, life-changing sorrow - and all these empty words just sound like "It was your fault. You killed your baby." to couples who are already grieving.
The length to which expecting couples, especially mothers, go for the benefit of their unborn children is immeasurable. It's heartbreaking that their sacrifices and adjustments could be so flippantly discussed just because the Lord has chosen to give and then take away.
So I kept quiet.
I chose not to tell people because I was so afraid of the inevitable condemnation that I would rather sacrifice the potential solace.
Thank God that His grace is always sufficient.
During one session of our shared devotional time late last year, the book Tim and I were using asked us to discuss what the darkest time of our married life was.
To our surprise, we realized that the loss of our twins - our detour into the valley of the shadow of death - was the time when the goodness, faithfulness, and sovereignty of the Lord shone the brightest in our lives.
Sometimes, it takes darkness for us to appreciate the light even more.
Three months after the miscarriage, an older sister in Christ pulled me aside after church. This was a mother of one of our close friends. I figured she might have heard of what had happened to us.
I braced myself for the queries and judgment - for the abundant unsolicited advice so inevitable in our tight-knit Filipino-Chinese community.
What I didn't expect was for her to hug me and whisper, "Wen, I admire you so much. To know what you guys have gone through and to still see you and Tim loving and serving the Lord so faithfully. I appreciate it so, so much. Praise the Lord for your faithfulness."
I cried.
Even now, as I write about the memory, I cry.
We don't know what the next chapter of God's story for us will be. We have our hopes and our wishes - but, most of all, we seek for His will.
And I pray, I pray so hard, that no matter what He chooses to give or to take away in His omnipotence and grace - that we would be able to show with our lives that, indeed, blessed be the name of the Lord.
Dear Ladies,
Yes, it's Mother's Day weekend again. It's that most horrible day in the entire year once more.
It's that day when social media is plastered with pictures of old and new families showing off their first, fifth, or fiftieth Mother's Day in your face. It's the day when every single restaurant is filled with promotions that don't apply to you. It's the day when every single time or place is a reminder of what we want and cannot have.
I've been there, I'm still there, and I will be here for as long as Providence wants me to be.
I'm happily married to a wonderful husband. We get to travel and save up and honeymoon forever in ways our peers who are tied down with kids can't. We have mothers and grandmothers who love us and pray for us, and we celebrate them. Life is good. But still, infertility sucks.
It takes a while for the term to sink in, doesn't it? In-fertility: what a term. It's as if we're rotten, incomplete, or broken. "Single" is a different term from "married" altogether. "Joy" and "sadness" even sound unalike. But "infertility"? That's labeling us by something we don't have. It's like being called abnormal, imperfect, or substandard.
And it stings like crazy.
It took me two years and a gazillion articles before I could accept the label. It takes time to acknowledge that maybe the timeline of my life isn't the norm. And it also takes time to accept that I can be happy exactly where I am.
And then the second Sunday of May happens.
Boom! The floodgates open, and I am a sobbing mess once more.
There's nothing wrong with Mother's Day. It's wonderful to celebrate the love of mothers everywhere, and it's perfectly fine to share that joy publicly.
But for those of us who pine so painfully, try so relentlessly, pray so unceasingly, and yearn so deeply for children - but don't have them - Mother's Day can feel like a slap on the face.
It's like Valentine's Day for singles, I know.
And it's a pain I wouldn't wish on anyone.
I know what it feels like to be mistaken for pregnant at a mall, given a free item, and have that item taken back once they realize I was just fat. I know what it feels like to attend a family reunion where every woman greets the other ladies enthusiastically with a loud, cheery, "Happy Mother's Day!" only to stop awkwardly when they get to me.
I've even stood to the side at church, trying to subdue my tears while all the other women greet each other. Then in the midst of my vehement struggle, a young mom who was formerly facing infertility rushes up to me to say, "Wen! Look! I have a baby now! Come see! Come see!"
For a day so wonderful and warm and full of maternal love, today sure sucks.
But it doesn't end there.
Thank God, it doesn't end there.
Because I am living for something greater than myself.
Ladies, meet Jesus. He is the Lover of My Soul. He is the ever-living God. He is everything I could ever want and everything I have.
And He doesn't love me any less even if I never have children.
In fact, He gives me anything that could possibly be good for me. After all, there is no good thing that He withholds from those who walk His way.
I love Him.
And He loves me.
That is more than the love any throngs of children could give me.
He shows His love in so many ways, including through a devoted husband.
And whether or not I have children one day will never diminish how much I am worth to Him. He will never greet me by an earthly label and then apologize for His mistake. He will never stare awkwardly at me, not knowing what to say. He will also never measure me by how I compare to the expected norms of life.
And because of Him, I can watch others celebrate and not find myself lacking. Because of Him, I can learn to be joyful in all circumstances. Because of Him, I can survive the onslaught of Mother's Day.
Would you let Him do the same for you?
Love,
Wenslyn
I've made no secret of our struggles with infertility. We've wanted kids from day one, been proactively adjusting our lifestyles to make room for children. We've gone through phases of quiet waiting, waiting for the Lord to intervene naturally. We've also gone through phases when the Lord leads us to try doctors, medications, procedures, and tests that poke holes in us and cause mood swings and make the journey feel even longer.
Suffice it to say that so far, neither phases have actually brought us any children.
And you know what? Sometimes, that problem looms larger than it has to because we've just never been conditioned to face failure.
The statistics tell us what to expect. Seventy-five percent of Millenials will marry, and eighty-five percent of couples will conceive after one year of trying. The majority of Filipino marriages withstand divorce, and over half a million people in our country successfully finish college every year.
But we never expect to end up in the minority.
And to be honest? The minority isn't exactly fun.
Valentine's Day sucks when your singleness is shoved in your face. Mother's Day is the worst day of the entire year when you, still, somehow, remain childless. Seeing people celebrate their 20th, 30th, or 50th anniversary can come with a bitter sting for those in broken marriages.
Time and again, people tell me to go to certain doctors who are "so good and have made hundreds of people pregnant." What they don't know is that I've already gone to those doctors. I've been there, done that - and come home teary-eyed and empty-handed. People like me don't tell you success stories because we have don't have them.
And, also, because no one wants to hear failure stories.
No one celebrates the matchmaking session that ended with awkwardly ruined friendships. No one tells you stories of the times they've gone through intrusive procedures and ruthless rounds of medication just to chase that elusive next child. No one tells you what to do when your child's health is confirmed to have worsened rather than improved, despite your every effort to nurture him.
As Christians, when we give ourselves unequal expectations, then we're sometimes not ready to brave the disappointments that inevitably come with this life.
There are 25% of Millenials who will never get married. There are 15% of couples who will not conceive after one year of trying. There are 50% of Asian marriages that will end up in some form of estrangement or divorce. There are millions of people who face the daily reality of health struggles, widowhood, secondary infertility, or inability to finish school.
Only when the Lord is our Rock, our Strength, our Everything - can we be ready to weather those off-chances.
As Christians, we're not supposed to be poster children for earthly success. We're supposed to shine God's light and spread His salt by persevering despite earthly imperfections. Yes, the church can celebrate and give thanks for triumphs, but we can't neglect the realities of stumbles as well.
A truly strong Christian testimony should result in joy in all circumstances. A person dealing with his or her valley of the shadow of death should be able to walk up to other people in church and find true Christian encouragement rather than pity or disdain. We as Christians shouldn't be praying for a smooth-sailing life. We pray for a life of walking with God.
Having that walk is what strengthens us for real life. Having that walk is what guarantees a "successful" life - defined the right way.
"I want to be a mom!"
That was my answer from day one. I was five, having braved half a decade of existence with gusto, when I made that declaration. Over the years, other opinions came and went. I went through the flight attendant stage, the fashion designer stage, the celebrity chef stage, and even the princess stage (Prince William was still single then, okay?).
But the fundamental wish never changed.
I wanted to be a mom. That was my goal in life.
I still do want to be a mom...but that's not my goal in life.
Biology aside, becoming a good mom required being a good wife first. My urgency to get to that stage almost caused multiple stupidities as a single girl. I knew I wanted to be a mom; so I had to find a husband by necessity. At that time, any random one would do.
God, of course, had better plans. It's by His miraculous guidance that I fell in love with my husband and married him as soon as we knew it was His will.
In my mind, step one was done.
Becoming a mom - the ultimate dream - felt only a stone's throw away.
For the first 18 months of marriage, I constantly expected myself to be pregnant. Month after month, I bought pregnancy tests. Month after month, I geared myself up to buy maternity clothes. Week after week, I tracked my body. Week after week, I nodded silently as family members gave me mythic tips on how to get pregnant. Day after day, I sacrificed high heels and caffeine and eating processed food.
Day after day, I cried.
Why wasn't it happening? Upon multiple occasions, I had dear older people in church walking up to me to say, "You should have kids as soon as possible. Don't wait until you're older."
It pained me every single time to say, "I know. I know."
I wasn't waiting. We wanted kids, and we wanted them right away. We even expected to be holding a child (or at least a pregnant belly) by the time our first anniversary rolled along.
God didn't let that happen.
We ran tests. We took medication. We consulted doctors both Western and Oriental in training. We consulted doctors for women, doctors for men. We got masseuses, herbs, vitamins, and a dozen other means of supposedly aiding fertility.
Our bodies aren't perfect. We can have kids, but it's hard to have them.
The thought was sobering.
But God is our sun and shield. No good thing does He withhold from those whose walk is blameless.
He is the strength of our hearts, and our portion forever.
He sent people to cross our paths. A wonderful church deaconess reminded me that having children or not didn't matter in eternity. A pastor's wife shared with me that God's legacy in us reached beyond that of sons or daughters. A loving husband reminds me repeatedly that he will never love me any less even if I never bear him any children.
Don't get me wrong. We received tons of wrong advice too.
Some people said that it would surely happen someday, though they couldn't guarantee it. Some people told me I just didn't have enough faith. Some others claimed that I just "didn't want it enough."
Friends and family conceive - quickly and repeatedly - and I feel that life is just utterly unfair.
They sound silly in my saner days. But whenever I come home after a family reunion where EVERYONE had a kid, I feel lonely and sad and feeling entirely inadequate. When Mother's Day rolls around and a new mother runs up to me to say, "Look! Look! I have a baby now!"...I still go home and cry out half of my body's water content.
It's in those days that I forget what it truly means to be a Christian, and all the wrong advice sounds almost right.
Being a Christian means that there is nothing on earth I desire besides God. It means that despite what society might tell me, my life is not missing anything.
I am complete.
I am complete in Him.
I am not living an unfinished life. I am not in any way less of a person than the person with half a dozen kids. I am a child of a King. That's all that matters.
Hey, guess I did end up being a princess, after all.
When I grow up, I still want to be a mom; but I don't HAVE to be one.
Not having children allows us to study, to shop, to grow, to travel, and to do so many things we wouldn't be able to if we were tied down with any children. Not having kids lets us have so many more years alone to prune and fine-tune our marriage. Not having kids helps me understand what it means to be complete, complete in my God.
I am the child of a King. Nothing else really matters. And even when I forget that at times, it doesn't make it any less true.
