All I can think about lately is how my body betrayed us.  HELLO UTERUS, didn’t you get the memo you were supposed to IMPLANT the EMBRYOS because we spent LOTS OF MONEY on this?!

I look at my still-bruised and sore stomach and think what a waste of money those $1,000 shots were.  I still have an unopened box of Menopur sitting behind my dresser, complete with needles and syringes and everything.  I’m not sure what we’ll do with it.

Sometimes I just look up at the sky and think, God?  Are you up there?  It’s me, Jenna, the one you gave the gift of infertility to; remember me?  Because lately it feels like you forgot.  Anyway, remember that IVF thing we thought we were supposed to do?  THE ONE THAT COST US GOOD MONEY!?  Why, why, why did you let it fail?  What is up with that?

Joey and I have had the goal of getting out of seminary debt free.  And we were doing really, really good until about two months ago.  Granted, we don’t have to bear the full cost of IVF, but we’ll have to do at least 10%.  And they’re running tests on some of our embryos and heaven knows how much that will cost.

I hate being a monetary raincloud, but if we wanted to not get pregnant, we could have done that for free just like every other month.  I could have skipped the shots, could have skipped the ultrasounds, could have skipped the nearly daily bloodwork and the fun of having a left arm so bruised I couldn’t even fully extend it.

Julie Powell (of Julie & Julia fame) put a Paypal button on her blog for people to donate to her cooking experiment.  Maybe I should put one up to pay for our failed IVF.

Just kidding.  I’m really not trying to beg for money.

I’m just mad at my body.

I’m mad that we’ll have to spend some of our rainy-day savings to pay for something that didn’t even work.

That’s when I look back up at the clear blue sky and say, GOD!!  We’re getting ready to go into the MINISTRY FOR PETE’S SAKE!  To serve YOU!!!  And you take our savings and leave us barren yet again around Christmas and the due date of the baby we lost.  Can you cut us a break?!

Maybe you read this blog and you’re not a Christian.  Hi.  You’re totally welcome here.  See, up until about two years ago, I thought being a Christian was all nicey-nice with flowers and puppies and nativity scenes and crosses hanging behind the choir loft.  So warm and fuzzy!

But it’s not.

It has taken this emotional roller coaster to make me realize that the nativity scene and the cross represent something many Christians (and people who aren’t Christians) overlook about following Jesus: suffering.

And once I throw that word out there on the Internet I immediately feel hypocritical.  I’m not suffering in the sense that I’m hated and beaten and people are trying to crucify me, but I’m definitely hurting in my heart.  And this kind of hurt, if you’ve never felt it, is deep and intense and I’d say it’s pretty close to suffering.

So what do I do now?

Right now, I’m just a little ticked off at God.  He has hurt my feelings, and I’m OK with admitting that because it’s true.  I am not the kind of Christian who is willing to sit here and tell you that being a follower of Jesus is always my favorite thing.  Sometimes (like right now) I’m not really sure why I do it.  Except that I know it’s true.

And for those of you who aren’t Christians, I’m sure you think I’m nuts.

But the alternative of either believing in nothing, or believing only in myself (which, let’s face it, I suck), sounds more hopeless than trusting a God who has hurt my feelings deeply.

Those of you Christians who have prayed for us over the last few months, thanks.  I don’t understand why the answer was “no”, but it was and it will take us awhile to figure it out.  But I have never felt more supported by fellow Christians, and I’ve never really understood how amazing the church is until now.

And those of you who aren’t Christians and you still prayed?  Thank you; I know that was probably weird for you.  You are amazing and all I can say is that the God to whom you prayed did hear you, and he did answer…but the answer wasn’t what we all wanted.

I wish God was a genie in a bottle and I could have three wishes.

But that kind of god wouldn’t be as powerful as my God is, even though sometimes I don’t like his plan.

And that’s where I am three days later.  I’m about 3/4 angry, and 1/4 numb.  I don’t really want to talk about it, or think about it, or remember that it happened.

Maybe this is called denial.

But here I am.

For now.