Wednesday, April 30, 2014


There I was sobbing in our closed bedroom closet.  It had been yet another unofficial Mother's Day in our married student congregation -- a congregation which one visitor quipped "should be renamed the Maternity Ward."  It was true, at any given time, it seemed that at least one third of the ward was pregnant, while at least another third had newborn babies.  It was a very difficult congregation to be in during our child-less "unexplained infertility" years.  The real Mother's Day was hard enough, but at least I knew when it was coming, and could, to some degree, mentally prepare for it.  It was these unofficial Mother's Days, where all the messages shared by the members centered around the blessings and joy of motherhood, and where the Relief Society lesson was centered on the same, that left me in the emotionally crumpled heap I found myself in inside my closet.
I didn't want to come out.  Ever.  I was so tired of this rollercoaster.  I was so tired of hurting; of wanting; of wondering what I had done to render me so completely unworthy.  Emotionally, I felt completely beaten to a bloody pulp.
At some point during my heart-wrenching sobs, my husband knocked on the closet door, and gently reminded me that my Visiting Teachers would be at our home in just a few minutes.  In our faith, each woman is blessed to have two other women who give monthly service by watching over, helping out, offering support, and teaching her and her family.  My first instinct was to have him send them away, but I knew that would draw more attention to me and my "issues" than I could handle; so, I pulled myself together, emerged from the closet, fixed my make-up and greeted my Visiting Teachers when they arrived.
They were newly assigned to me, and we did not know each other well.  During the lesson, one of them shared with me a personal experience she had just had: she and her husband had just realized that she was pregnant!  They were devastated.  How could this happen?  The timing was SO bad!  They were trying to get through school, etc., etc.  And then, they found out that it was a false alarm.  They were SO relieved.
In short, it was The.Completely.Wrong.Message to share with me on that particular day.  Strangely enough, however, instead of feeling further crushed, I felt love.  I felt that these ladies went out of their way to come and visit me, and although the words were all wrong, I had a definite sense that I was being watched over, and that if they had had ANY idea what I had been feeling, not ten minutes before they arrived, they would have shared something very different with me.  But it didn't matter.  God made it all good.  I don't understand how He can make that happen, but I know He can, because I know He did.  A miracle?  Undoubtably.
This actually gives me hope and courage.  You see, there are a lot of trials that I have never experienced in this life (not complaining or asking for more, mind you) and I often feel that I have no idea what to say to friends, loved ones, or acquaintances who may be facing these trials.  But, maybe if I just open my mouth, and am sincere, God will make my WIBS (well-intentioned-but-stupid) remarks into something good-- in spite of my weaknesses and faults.


  1. Thank you for sharing, Les. This life is so painful and messy at times. It truly is a miracle that God can make good out of what seems so wrong, if we let Him.

  2. I can't believe I missed this when you first posted it! I loved this perspective and am inspired to try to be in a place that will allow me to process other's WIBS in a Christ-like way. I think that's a pretty great perspective to gain. I remember getting a VERY small taste of infertility trying for Natalie. I can understand the grieving feeling month after month, albeit not nearly close to the same duration. I remember being so succumbed and sucked into my own trial that looking back, I can see how my VT messages could have had some WIBS in it (relating my trial of not being able to have a second child to a sister who had NO children yet-and not knowing of her personal circumstance if they were even trying or not) and then feeling so guilty about why I couldn't just shut up about myself and why I couldn't just be grateful with the one I got. I can only hope that my WIBS were at least SOME of the time received with the same miracle you experienced. At this point, it's been so long since I've had visiting teachers come visit me that perhaps it will help me from ever being picky in the future about who comes and the messages they choose to share, because like yours-at least they were coming and their intentions were good.

  3. That was truly a miracle. You are a precious daughter of God. Surely He rushed to be there to succor you.


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