The Supernatural

I’ve never actually prayed for a baby.

I only ever prayed for strength: strength to survive my suffering; strength to face the terror of the unknown; strength to accept my destiny.

I tried my hardest to find the complicated balance between proactively fighting whilst simultaneously surrendering the outcome.

I was trying my best to navigate an esoteric, life-altering crisis, and yet people’s opinions were flung at me with such casual condescension that I found myself withdrawing from such interactions all together.

I quickly learned that discussing my personal struggle with those of more conservative, religious ideations was a losing battle; no matter what I said, I couldn’t win.

If they found out that I hadn’t SPECIFICALLY prayed for a baby – only the strength to survive – I could see their eyebrows raise in concern.

“But God says ‘ask and you shall receive’,” they’d mumble in shock and concern, “If you are not specifically asking for a baby then how can God answer your prayers?”

They would shake their heads in disappointment, with obvious judgement in my “lack of faith”. I could see their eyes light up as though an “ah-ha” moment had just occurred: So THAT is why she hasn’t gotten pregnant – I could almost hear them say – she is not praying the right prayer!

Well, if God is that omnipotent – I wanted to argue in return – then he should KNOW what I want, because actions speak louder than words and I am pretty sure that the almighty God should be able to tell by MY ACTIONS that I desperately want a baby.

But I knew better than to argue, for in these situations I have never won. Besides, IVF is a tricky topic in the religious communities: there are countless videos on YouTube condemning IVF as sinful and “not of God”.

It makes my blood boil.

I have never once faltered at the thought of pursuing ART (Artificial Reproductive Therapies) due to implied “ethical and moral” considerations, but my heart aches for those suffering from infertility who are torn with their desperate desire for a family while ignorant religious folk bombard them with unnecessary guilt.

“If God wants you to have a family then he will perform a miracle,” I have heard them say, dismissing the need for IVF.

“You don’t have enough faith,” was another accusation thrown nonchalantly in my face.

Instead of commencing on a religious rant, I would rather share a short “parable” with you.

There are many versions; this one was copied from truthbook.com.

A fellow was stuck on his rooftop in a flood. He was praying to God for help.

Soon a man in a rowboat came by and the fellow shouted to the man on the roof, “Jump in, I can save you.”

The stranded fellow shouted back, “No, it’s OK, I’m praying to God and he is going to save me.”

So the rowboat went on.

Then a motorboat came by. The fellow in the motorboat shouted, “Jump in, I can save you.”

To this the stranded man said, “No thanks, I’m praying to God and he is going to save me. I have faith.”

So the motorboat went on.

Then a helicopter came by and the pilot shouted down, “Grab this rope and I will lift you to safety.”

To this the stranded man again replied, “No thanks, I’m praying to God and he is going to save me. I have faith.”

So the helicopter reluctantly flew away.

Soon the water rose above the rooftop and the man drowned.

He went to Heaven.

He finally got his chance to discuss this whole situation with God, at which point he exclaimed, “I had faith in you but you didn’t save me, you let me drown. I don’t understand why!”

To this God replied, “I sent you a rowboat and a motorboat and a helicopter, what more did you expect?”

I view IVF as an incredible gift, but there will always be those people who shake their heads in disgust – claiming that doctors are playing “God”. Some of these people also refuse to ever be put under anesthesia as they also believe that as soon as they “lose control” of their minds that the “devil will enter”.

It is futile to argue.

At the end of the day, I don’t really care what other’s belief system is – that is until they try to impose their beliefs on me (or others).

But if I were to be completely honest – painfully transparent in fact – my struggle with people was nothing compared to my struggle with God. As this journey wore on I began to resent God in a way I never knew I could; it was actually so subtle at first that I didn’t even realise it was happening.

As 2017 was wrapping up I hit a new low: I received some news that felt like a king punch – leaving me flat on the floor, struggling for breath. I felt indescribably depleted, weak and exhausted, but then……out of nowhere, I suddenly became FURIOUS.

This new-found fury engulfed me, propelling me into a state of angry ACTION. I stepped back for a moment and viewed this fury with some slight curiosity; this was not an emotion I had let myself experience yet to date – in this whole journey – which surprised me considering we were entering our 6th year of infertility.

The last few weeks I had felt helpless and hopeless, dragging myself out of bed each day, overwhelmed by the heaviness of depression. Suddenly I felt energised in this new state of anger and I decided to put it to good use: we were moving in a few weeks and I needed to start packing. It had been months since I’d felt this kind of energy, so I headed down to the garage where I began to declutter at an astonishing rate.

I fully embraced this fuel of fury. 

My muscles shook in a weird excitement as I threw away item, after item, after item. I would throw them onto the floor with such force that sometimes they shattered – the sensation only fueling me further.

I became ruthless.

Channeling my anger, I decluttered my garage in a matter of hours (a task I had been putting off all year). My heart pumped furiously; my jaw remained clenched and my arm muscles ached to throw, break and rip more things.

Towards the end of the decluttering I opened a cupboard and found stacks of books. Most of them were mine and Jarod’s old books from “Uni” (college): it felt delicious to tear the pages, or even tear the book in half – the adrenaline eliciting some new pseudo strength that I knew would soon dissipate.

I relished the feeling of each book ripping between my fingers. I took out my anger, and the years of pent-up hurt, on these innocent books. It dawned on me that I had never really expressed anger; I had never ALLOWED myself to be angry at the injustice of my situation, or the hurt and pain that I had experienced throughout the years. I had reached breaking point and all this suppressed anger suddenly erupted – no longer able to stay imprisoned in my soul – and the truth is, it felt GOOD.

As I worked my way through the last of the Uni books I came across a stash of religious books I had previously packed away. Seeing these books seemed to flame the fire, and a red hot fury burst from my chest into my face.

I suddenly realised something that I had never allowed myself to admit – I was furious with God.

“You’ve NEVER once been there for me in all these years,” I accused him hotly, silently in my mind. “You’ve NEVER comforted me, you’ve NEVER given me a sign or encouraged me. I don’t even know if you exist anymore!” I screamed at him.

I picked up a book called “Passionate Prayer” and scowled. Yea right, as if prayer had gotten me anywhere!

I threw it furiously onto the mounding pile of shredded books on the ground. Several more religious books followed suit until I reached my stash of Bibles. I had a children’s Bible and a Spanish Bible, a King James Version Bible and The Message Bible – name it, I had it.

“How many Bibles does one person need?” I spat bitterly, as if trying to justify my irrational urge to throw everything away.

I picked up my pale blue “Precious Moments” children’s bible. It was tattered and torn from its years of use throughout my childhood. I didn’t pick it up gently and nostalgically, as you would expect, to flip through the underlined passages in fond memory of my childhood – instead my grip was fierce, angry and somewhat contorted in a clumsy sort of urgency.

I was going to throw it ferociously onto the pile of innocent books – a sign to God of my raging vehement at his lack of presence in my life – when I realised my clumsy clutch had placed my thumb against the pages, causing the bible to fall open in my hand.

It opened to Genesis 18 and a passage, underlined in bright red, screamed out to me.

Then the Lord said, “I will certainly return to you about this time a year from now. At that time your wife Sarah will have a son.”

Sarah was listening at the entrance of the tent which was behind him. Abraham and Sarah were very old. Sarah was past the age when women normally have children. So she laughed to herself, “My husband and I are too old to have a baby.”

Then the Lord said to Abraham, “Why did Sarah laugh? Why did she say, ‘I am too old to have a baby’? Is anything too hard for the Lord? No! I will return to you at the right time a year from now. And Sarah will have a son.”

I blinked hard.

My eyes stung and I felt like I had been slapped in the face by God himself.

My hands began to shake intensely and I thought I was going to collapse from shock.

I trembled as I slowly closed the bible and with a renewed reverence I returned the mysterious book to the shelf with the other bibles. It felt like God had reached down and literally smacked me as I tried to throw the bible away.

Did he retaliate with his own fury, saying “You don’t think I’m real huh? You want a sign then, do ya?”

I couldn’t stop shaking. That moment of intense magic and mystery had deflated me of all my anger and I suddenly felt exhausted, confused, reprimanded and yet elated.

I stopped decluttering.

I closed the garage door and went upstairs; I sat listlessly on the balcony, trying to interpret the mysterious events of the day.

Had God given me a sign?

My logical mind rejected this divination, “That was a fluke,” it tried to reason, “it doesn’t mean anything.” But the sensations in my body said otherwise – I felt like I had had a supernatural experience and every cell in my body tingled in a sort of magical awe.

My logical mind continued to fight in a desperate attempt for an explanation, “You’re reading into it cuz you’re so desperate for a sign – you’d read into anything! It was a mere coincidence.”

In an attempt to appease my logical mind I decided to repeat the scenario the next day. There, that’ll shut him up.

The next morning I returned to the garage to find a disappointing staleness: the supernatural energy that had jolted me into shock the day before was gone. The air hung in a boring stagnation, very garage-like.

I glanced at the pile of broken books, but went straight for the cupboard. I opened the door and clumsily pulled out the bible, trying to mimic the previous day. My thumb didn’t seem to stick to a particular page, so I just opened it to random pages. There was a story of a battle – nothing exciting and nothing was underlined. I tried to read into it (as my logical mind had convinced me that I would read into ANYTHING in my desperate attempt to clutch at any morsel of hope) but nothing stood out to me. I tried this several more times, opening the bible to random passages, but I found nothing that was even slightly applicable to my current situation.

After multiple attempts, I finally let out a deflated sigh and put the bible back.

As I went back upstairs I found that I was actually elated more than deflated. My logical mind had been appeased and there was no other explanation for the supernatural event that had occurred the day before – it was inexplicably magical.

And even though in my soul I knew that I had been given a direct sign from God, I still faltered in my faith, for I was terrified of getting my hopes up.