Our Family. . .

If you're not up for a long, personal story about us, you probably shouldn't read this.
For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to be a mom. My little brother was born 12 months and 13 days after I entered the world, so I suppose that's when I began practicing my mothering skills. I can remember trying to mother the stray cats around our yard and when I failed at that, I'd be happy just loving on their kittens. I was just sure those cats needed some help. When I was about eight years old, I "helped" my dad and brothers clean out a grain bin. We found a nest of four or five baby mice minus their mother and I couldn't bear the thought of just letting them fend for themselves. I guess my dad humored me and let me put them in a shoebox and take them home. I put tiny pieces of crackers and a little bowl of milk in the shoebox and watched the baby mice crawl around. I don't remember how long they lived, but I do remember digging a hole near our back door for their burial. Sad, I know.
My nephew Sean was born a few months before my 10th birthday. He's the first child I really remember babysitting. His little brother Suede was born when I was 12. They lived about twenty miles away from where I grew up and I spent hours and hours in their home practicing my parenting skills and enjoying every minute of it.
When I was in high school, I'd spend some Friday and Saturday nights babysitting for my sisters or other couples in my town. I enjoyed going out with my friends, but I loved pretending to be a mom. I was always so happy taking care of babies and toddlers and even the older kiddos.
During my senior year, I had trouble deciding exactly what I wanted to major in once I went to college. Granted, a lot of young adults struggle with that decision, but I was only certain that one day, I wanted to be a wife and mom. Where's the major for that one??
I left for college, unsure of how life would unfold, but excited about my new adventure. It didn't take me long to meet families with young children. During my first semester at K-State, I met a couple from my hometown. They had recently graduated and had a 6-month old boy. I became their babysitter and often took care of Brin while they went to football games and other events. Those nights were some of my favorite during my first year in Manhattan. Toward the end of my freshman year, I went to a student retreat for Christian Challenge and met two little girls, Mary and Suzanna. I spent hours playing with them and then met their parents, Dave and Darla. I immediately offered to babysit for them and was ecstatic the first time they called me. Looking back, I think they were very brave to call, not knowing much about me. For the rest of my college years, I took care of those girls and celebrated with them as they added a brother and another sister to their home. They were like family to me. My relationship with their parents grew immensely and I learned even more about mothering as I watched Darla care for four small children. My desire to become a mom grew incredibly during those years.
My sophomore year I began working at a family practice with six doctors. They all had children and I took care of most of their kids at some point during my three years there. I spent many nights with Jake and Hannah and Kirkland, two kids and a nephew of one of my doctors. I jumped at every opportunity to be the "fill-in" mom. I loved rocking Hannah to sleep and holding her close, wondering what it would be like to have a child of my own some day.
My sister Lianne lived in Wichita with her family while I was at K-State. I'd drive there at least once a month for some real food and great family time. Oftentimes, Lianne and Jeff would go on a date and leave their three kids with me. Sometimes their date was for an evening; occasionally, they'd be gone for two nights! I remember taking all three kids to the mall one afternoon and I was fine that some people thought they were my children. I was really looking forward to becoming a mom.
I remember meeting Kevin for the first time in Village Inn one night, after hours of studying (with hours left to go). His friend told him I was from a big family. . . fifteen kids to be exact. Kevin about fell out of his booth! I think it was that very night that he asked me, "So, how many kids do you want?" Without a bit of hesitation, I replied, "Ten." He almost fell out of his booth again. I think God planned for us to be together earlier than we were, but for some reason, Kevin disappeared from my radar for the next year. Just a guess, but I'm not sure ten children sounded all that blissful to him. The next time I remember talking about kids with Kevin, I think I said six children would be good. We started dating after that. Maybe six sounded more realistic to him.
We dated for a while (another story for another day) and were engaged in May of 2002. I was ecstatic to be marrying the most amazing man I'd ever known. I knew then, and even moreso now, that he was going to be the best husband and father ever. We knew we wanted children right away, but we also felt we wanted a year to get to know each other more deeply. We decided we'd wait one year and then start our family.
My mom was 18 when she married my dad. One year and a day later, my oldest brother was born. Eleven months and three weeks later, my next brother was born. And so on and so on. Most of my siblings are less than 18 months apart, except when my mom had a miscarriage (eight of them). My sister is 17 months older than me and my little brother is 12 months younger. I just assumed I'd be like my mom.
Our first year of marriage flew by. A few months before our anniversary, we decided it was time. We were ready to start our family. One month went by. Another month went by. Three weeks after our first anniversary, my mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. We continued to try to conceive, knowing my mom didn't have much time left with us. I wanted to be able to tell her about another grandchild before she died. My mind was consumed with thoughts of my mom over the next three months. In May of 2004, my mom went to be with Jesus. Another month went by. Then another. I saw a doctor shortly after the death of my mom. He thought, and I agreed, that my body and emotions had been through a lot of stress. Give it a few more months. Another month went by. Then another. With every passing month, my anticipation grew. After several unsuccessful months, I began the process of testing. After an ultrasound and blood test, it was confirmed that I had PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome). I saw my ultrasound and the tiny little cysts that covered my ovaries. The bloodwork confirmed that I wasn't ovulating. I was devastated. The thought of needing "help" to have children had never occurred to me. Never. I was going to easily get pregnant and have babies year after year after year until we had a full house (or at least until we had six kids. Ten was in the back of my mind still.)
Kevin and I prayed together and felt that it wasn't time for us to take the medical route. I wasn't ready. Instead, I chose to start training for a marathon. I was grieving the loss of my mom and grieving the diagnosis of infertility. Running was therapeutic for me. I started running in December of 2004 and ran the Chicago Marathon in October of 2005. During all my training, I kept praying that I'd get pregnant and not have to actually run the race. I loved running, but I was terrified of what it would really feel like to finish 26.2 miles. A few months went by. Then a few more. Sisters were pregnant. Friends were pregnant. My heart was aching. I kept running. I kept praying. I kept crying. October 9th rolled around and we were in Chicago. I heard the National Anthem and then I started my race. I ran for 26.2 miles. I thought about my mom. I thought about our future family. I prayed a lot. I hurt a lot, physically and emotionally. I crossed the finish line, exhausted and ecstatic. I had done it. I had run a marathon. I can't find the words to write about my feelings on that day. It was emotional. I had accomplished something great. I was proud. I was so proud. I was also ready to have a baby. A few weeks after the marathon, we visited a fertility specialist. 30 minutes and $513 later, we walked out of his office with a list of tests that needed to be done before he'd help us anymore. Oh, and a random prescription for Clomid that he never explained. A test here, a test there. Phone calls. Prayers. Months went by. We filled the prescription. I took the medication. Nothing happened. Again I took it. Again, nothing happened. I didn't understand. Why would God give me a desire to have children and then allow it to be so difficult? Did I do something wrong? Was I not fit to be a mom? Why did it seem so easy for people who didn't really even want children? Why this trial? Of all trials, why this one? Discouragement took up residence in my heart. Confusion joined in. Anger, sadness, bitterness. . . they all had a nice long stay. It wasn't every day, but it was more often than I care to admit. Other days were OK. I found some old journals recently. In March of 2006, I wrote, "Through all of this, I do pray that I will be more trusting and confident in His plan. God is near to those who call on him. He is righteous and loving toward me. He can be trusted. I have to remember that He is who He says He is. God, please help me to trust you with this desire." Isaiah 50:15 "In quietness and trust is your strength." A journal entry from April 2006 said, "God, maybe you're preparing us for something or to go somewhere. Maybe that plan includes children of different races or nationalities." Interesting to look back at that. Psalm 37:7 "Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him." We waited. And waited.
One year went by. Then another. After several rounds of medication, we stopped. Our doctor said IVF was the next step. It seemed like such a huge step. I wasn't prepared. I didn't know if I ever would be. We chose to wait. Another month. And another. We took a vacation to San Francisco the end of that summer. We had a great time. I enjoy my husband so much. We hiked and walked and rode the trollies. We stayed up late, didn't sleep in, ate some fun food, took a wine tour, visited family, and went home. Everything felt different about that month. For the first time in a very long time, I really felt that I would be OK. I was at peace, knowing we would be parents someday, but also knowing it would look different than what I had originally planned. We had done what we could do and felt that God really was in control. I journaled that I wanted to desire God himself more than I wanted anything else. God didn't need Clomid or IVF or IUI or any other form of fertility treatments. He is the Giver of Life, and what a precious gift that is. I believed more than ever before that He had a perfect plan for us. Already it wasn't my plan. Shortly after we returned from our vacation Kevin suggested we try the meds again. I agreed. I never liked how I felt while taking the meds. That month was different. I felt good. I was running quite a bit again. I knew I'd be OK, regardless of what happened at the end of the month. On September 15, almost three years after we decided it was time to start our family, God decided it was time. I took a pregnancy test and saw the faintest little line appear. A few hours later, I took another test. Another line appeared. A week later, I took another test. Positive. Positive. Positive. Emma Jae was on her way. Praise God. Three years of us "trying". God knew the day. He knew the hour and minute. He knew her hair color, her eye color, her personality, her voice. He knew. I didn't. I couldn't see the plan he had in place long ago. He knew though. And I think he held me during those years of trying. He can be trusted. Not because I got what I wanted. Not because he finally answered my prayer. Because He is who He says He is, regardless of my circumstances. After years of praying and countless friends and family praying for us, we met Emma Jae for the first time on May 17, 2007. For the first time in my life, the tiny baby I held in my arms was my child. Our child. I had become a mother and it was incredible. All the waiting and praying for that moment. Not a second has passed in her life that I wish I could change anything. Our journey strengthened us. I'm more compassionate, more sensitive. My heart hurts for people who have to go through trials. Everything about the timing of my pregnancy, Emma's birth, and our lives has been perfectly planned.
Words to a Sara Groves song are powerful to me. "I can't remember a trial or a pain you did not recycle to bring me gain. I can't remember one single regret in serving God only and trusting his hand. All I have need of His hand will supply. He's always been faithful to me." He was faithful to me during Mom's sickness, during our years of infertility, during all my years of knowing him.
I'm confident as I write this that God knows my heart. He knows the deepest desires of my heart. He knows when I don't feel like life's going my way. He knows when my heart aches. He can be trusted. Some days I feel that more strongly than others.
After Emma was born, the doctor who discharged me from the hospital asked me what I would be using for birth control. I laughed. He asked me again. I laughed again and told him nothing. He recommended a few things. I told him I'd decide later. I wanted to say, "Listen here buddy, If I get pregnant tomorrow night, I promise you I will not be complaining!" (Not that getting pregnant the day after giving birth was really an option, if you know what I mean.) I secretly hoped I'd get pregnant over the next few months, like my mom did. Sure it would be challenging to have kids so close together, but how awesome would that be! I loved pregnancy, all 39 weeks of it. I loved labor and delivery, all 3.75 hours of it. I loved having Emma naturally. I wanted to talk to my mom about it. I missed her so much. I loved nursing Emma and cuddling her and talking to her and telling her about how long we'd been praying and waiting for her. I loved telling her how perfect she was. I loved being a mom.
Well, Emma kept growing and I kept getting smaller. After I stopped nursing, we called the doctor and he gave us some more medication. Emma was 8 months old. A few months later, I started the meds. Emma turned one. A few more months went by. Then a few more. We found out we were moving to Brazil. We moved. Emma turned two. I took the meds. Then I stopped the meds. Then I took them again. Months and months have gone by.
We watch Emma grow and play. She takes such great care of her little friends (stuffed animals) and she's quite the little helper around the house. We pray every month for her to become a big sister and I long for the day when I can share the news with her. She'll be 3 in May. My plan for my family hasn't quite turned out like I thought it would. It's so much better! Some days I don't really feel that way and I'm jealous that others are popping out babies every year. I'm sad that it's not easy for us. I'd rather deal with something else (or so my naive mind thinks). I look at Emma though, and I never could have asked or even imagined a child as incredible as she is. We are so incredibly blessed. I love being her mommy. I love that I've been given the gift of motherhood. My heart hurts some days because we would love to have more children and I don't understand God's plan for our family. I don't feel bitter though. I don't feel angry. It's just hard to trust sometimes. I heard my brother-in-law say something in a sermon once, something like, "I refuse to believe the lie that God doesn't really care about me."
We've been praying for a really long time for another Baby Schrag. I don't really buy into people's words like I used to. "I know you're supposed to have another baby. I know it's going to happen soon. I know God is going to bless you." Well, he already has. God doesn't promise me that life is going to be easy or that I'll get what I want if I just have "more faith" or "trust him more" or "pray a little harder". The trials in life are what seem to bring us closer to Him. Sometimes trusting Him is difficult, but I know it's worth it.
I've been reading a book recently that's challenged me to acknowledge the pains and disappointments in life, not to ignore them. I don't want to be fake about the hard stuff I'm going through. Infertility sucks. Losing loved ones hurts deeply. Stressful relationships are hard. Way too many things in life are just plain difficult. I don't assume that I'm bearing the greatest burden ever. I also refuse to ignore my pain and say, "Well, at least it isn't as bad as their burden."
Burden - a heavy load. In Galatians, it tells us to carry each other's burdens. Maybe that's why I'm writing. This is a heavy one for us and we're tired of carrying it on our own. We're not sure what our family will look like or how it will grow, but we are praying it will grow. Maybe we'll adopt a little Brazilian baby?? Maybe we'll conceive and have triplets:) Maybe. . . only God knows.
Any day now, my friend Holly and her husband Aaron will welcome their first child into this world and they've asked me to be a part of that experience. I am honored. I am grateful. My heart longs to be pregnant and I wish I were the one giving birth any day now, but God has graciously blessed me with excitement beyond belief for these new parents. I am so happy to celebrate with them and get to know their little boy!!
I was writing a friend recently and said I'm a little sad about my response to women when I hear about another pregnancy. I go through the same emotions each time: jealousy, envy, anger about our situation, sadness, confusion, and finally trust and a peace that it will all be OK. Then I feel incredibly happy for the mom-to-be and I'm thankful she doesn't have to walk the road of infertility. I wish I could just skip the first few emotions and experience true joy for others immediately.
So there's a little bit of our story. We're praying daily for another little Schrag to join our family. We're doing what we feel we're supposed to be doing right now, waiting and praying. Thanks for waiting and praying with us and for our family. And thanks for reading the longest post ever written by me.