Journal entry September 9, 2018
Yesterday I read psalm 127 in my daily devotional reading.
It was about how children are like arrows against the enemy and whoever has his quiver full is blessed.
This was the second time I heard this passage this week. The first was when a friend of mine came over and mentioned she has some friends who believe that having many children are like a command that God gives to us women. (I have another friend that lived with the Amish for a while that said this was also what they believed).
Regardless whether or not it is really a command, that’s you’re own interpretation, I could see how children could be like arrows against the enemy if you raise them up to serve God. I could see how having your home (quiver) full of children could be so joyous.
Halfway reading through the devotional I stopped and cried. I have one child. My house is quiet and not filled with laughter or fighting. My mobile home is small and cannot accommodate a large crowd. I am 38 years old and the grey hairs on my head remind me of my aging body. My c section scar reminds me of a time when I needed my family near me and how far away I am from them.
I felt terrible after I read that devotion. It just never happened for us! I cried. Jason was always sick! I was shouting at this point. I took a deep long look into my past to see where maybe I went wrong and could have possibly popped out more children. There were no windows. Jason had cancer. Once in remission I got pregnant with Penelope. When Penelope was 2, was the perfect time for me to get pregnant again. But Jason got sick again. Then when he got better we were in the middle of moving here across the country. I retraced my steps again to see. When we first got married Jason was healthy but I was busy climbing the corporate ladder. Something I thought I was supposed to do to be successful. Successful; something I thought I was supposed to be. I wasn’t walking with Christ then. Oh Lord please don’t punishment me for the rest of my life because of my sin before I walked with you. Don’t punish Penelope with loneliness for my sin.
All day long I thought and I thought. Perhaps I could get pregnant now? Perhaps I’m not too old? I felt sad. All day long I prayed.
Last night I dreamt that I was with 3 friends; M, T and C. We all wanted to get pregnant. We met somewhere and it was a Wednesday. One of the women pulled out some tiny pieces of paper and read aloud that friends T and C could not have anymore children because they have something called “Peaks”. They were very sad! Then we 4 ladies met again later in the week. I was curious to see if I was pregnant yet and had my hopes up high. Friend M again unfolded and read the new tiny slips of paper. Friend C could not have any more children and wait... there’s a correction, it is Lorraine who cannot have anymore children not Friend T. She read my name! Oh no! This was sad news. I took a walk by myself and tried to figure out my new diagnosis called Peaks.
Am I crying for the things I cannot have? Discontentment?
What is “peaks”? Mountains? The furthest point I could reach/go? Age?