I feel half-baked all over again. Then again, perhaps that feeling never really left me.
There are all sorts of women all over this planet. All sorts with different personalities, lifestyles, gifts, contributions, whatever. There are women with children. And there are women without children. I happen to fall into the latter category. And I keep bringing up the subject of children. Why? Probably because I never thought I would be at a point in my life where I would desire children so much. I never really thought about it, I don't think, when I was a younger woman. As much as I loved working with children during my younger years, I never really thought about being a mother. In fact, I even thought that I wouldn't have children, that I shouldn't have children.
There are also women who never thought about such things until their being withchild came as a great surprise to them. And from then on, their lives changed. And they never looked back.
There are other desires that I have yet to experience -- or fully experience -- and I wonder if I ever will. Something tells me no for that doesn't seem to be the path for me. Or am I being taken away from that path? And if so, who would it be that was taking me away? Myself, perhaps? Yes, I still think, and question, too much. And I have never really come to a conclusion except make up all sorts of nonsense in my head such as what I am doing right now. Stringing words together, trying to make sense of it all.
And I think ... I think ... that I wonder if I am infertile after all because it would be easier to accept being childless. Infertility would be painful to accept, of course, but it would also make it easier. I think. But then again, the truth is, I don't know.
A recent catching up of our lives with an old classmate brought out feelings of envy when she shared family photographs which I viewed online. One particularly memorable one featured my friend reading to her children. It was beautiful and natural. And I wondered why that couldn't be me, why that couldn't be my life. I realised that when I entertained such thoughts, I was in dangerous territory. For it is not good -- not to mention futile -- to be envious. Not good at all.
I have never conceived. I have never given birth. I have never been withchild. I love that word: withchild.
And even these days, Christmas only serves to remind me that a young woman named Mary was withchild with the baby Jesus. These days, I not only see it as the birth of my Saviour but it was also about a woman who gave birth to a baby boy. A mother and child. Four lovely words. I have come to love those very words.
He is moulding me. And should I tell Him how to mould me, what to mould me into? Should I tell Him which experiences I truly desire? Should I tell Him that without certain experiences, I feel half-baked, not fully formed, as if I still haven't fully grown? I am not alone in this and yet that knowledge does not console me.
I have to trust Him. I know that I do. And yet I don't.
It hurts, Father. And here I am once again, wallowing in self-pity. Perhaps I am meant to feel half-baked?
I have given up --- sacrificed -- so much. At least, I think that is what I have done. Or is that part of the wallowing? Or is it that I have not given up enough...? More wallowing... ?
You know what is in my heart. You know what is in my thoughts. You know my dreams and desires, my wants and wishes. Forgive me if I sound selfish and self-centered. I don't want to be. I really don't.
It is not wise to keep everything bottled up inside, that is true, for it helped to reveal some of my heartaches to my husband. And to You. But then You know it all even before I say anything. And whether it's verbally or through the written word, I still seek You. But then I wonder if I should even write about it for I then wonder if I'm wallowing even more, revealing the devastation and self-pity within. But if I can't write about it, then I don't know what else to do.
It has been some time since I wrote the above. I still don't understand it all. Then again, maybe I'm not supposed to. I am older, to be sure, yet still so naive and without knowledge of so many things. I feel half-baked because of the choices I made, the paths that I took. It was me, not You. I understand it better now.
There is still a life to be lived. Please help me to live it well, half-baked and all.