A New Journey, Part 1

When I think back to life a year ago, there's a huge sense of relief that washes over me. I contribute this relief wholeheartedly to God and how He has worked in the mundane moments of my life. Have you heard that quote by C.S. Lewis? 

"Isn't it funny how day by day nothing changes, but when you look back, everything is different..."

From the outside looking in, it may seem like not much has changed for us, but I assure you it has.

We're still living in the same apartment... although I have grown to love it, the sense of community, the location in proximity to church, family, friends, and work, and even just the apartment itself. I'm owning it. This is our home for now and I will do all I can to make it welcoming and comfortable. 

I still work at NHA... although I am now part time and have achieved a much greater balance of work and home life. 

Frank is still self-employed... but now instead of counting any money he makes as "extra income", he's the breadwinner. This is a huge deal to our family; especially for Frank who saw the potential for his dream to become a reality and didn't give up. 

And last but not least, we still only have one child.

But wait. There's no "only" about it. I actually cringe at that word. Only. It feels "less than" in a sense. One dictionary defines it as, "Without anyone or anything else; alone." But that's not Ambrie. Her only sibling may be an old, blind, sweet little doggie, but she's not alone. She's loved, she's provided for, she has friends and cousins and two parents that are able to devote a great deal of time to her. There's nothing "only" about that. And there's nothing "only" about the peace that comes along with being on the other side of the infertility struggle. We finished that race. Ambrie joined us along the way. The medals of strength, character, perseverance, and love are worn proudly around our necks.

And now we're starting a new race. One that I am extremely excited to tell everyone about. It started quite a while go, actually. There was a room built in a garage on the tiny lot of a tiny house in the almost ghetto where a dream was born. That dream was Frank's. His dream was to tell stories through the medium of film. He didn't know how he was going to do it, but he knew he would.

Did he run every leg of this race correctly? No. But that's where we grow; we're not defined by our mistakes but by the number of times we get up and try again. The struggle through Frank's pursuit was almost as intense as our struggle through infertility. But there was one day last summer where it clicked for both of us. We weren't giving this over to God. Frank was doing things his own way, and I was telling God what I "needed". I had a death grip on my life. We had reached a crossroads and I was done. Spent. I didn't know how to support Frank, and I didn't know what my attitude should be. But then, at the exact same moment, in the heat of the same argument we'd had over and over again, we heard God's steady, still, calm voice.

"Give this to Me." He said. 

We stared at each other. What did that mean? It has a lot to do with a friend named Joe, a manager named Julie, and a country in Africa. Stay tuned for part two.