May 14, 2015 · Personal


I shish-kebabbed our car bumper this week.  Like a skewer through marinated sirloin.  Even my love of meat didn’t make this comparison humorous to me.  It was sad.  I was sad.  I won’t get into the “how I ended up with a giant hole through the front of our car,” because it was so random and crazy and completely unavoidable that it’s almost laughable.  Almost.

That is, if it wouldn’t have a four-figured price tag attached.

In an instant, funds that I had collected to put toward finally making a home office space for myself were going toward fixing my mistake.  The garage sale that I had organized, advertised and sweated for in 80+ degree weather…the main focus behind doing it at all…was gone before I even deposited the cash.  Goodbye, home office.

The timing of this garage sale was also over Mother’s Day weekend, a very difficult holiday for those of us with no earthly children.  Two days prior?  I was in the hospital for a hysterosalpingogram.

Those of you who have found yourselves on the road of infertility?  You know what this is, and chances are many of you have had one.  A procedure that begins to bridge the gap from regular doctors to fertility doctors when Clomid just doesn’t work like it did in September.

Happy Mother’s Day to me…

This year, it was a painful holiday that fell almost exactly one month before I should have been delivering McSweets in June.  “As if this holiday isn’t hard enough to get through this year, here’s some dye for your fallopian tubes.”

Needless to say, by the time I got home from putting this hole in our car, it wasn’t too hard for me to produce some real tears.  Not because this was the 418,240th thing that went wrong this month.  Or this year, for that matter.  But, because I suddenly began to feel like everything was MY fault.

“It’s MY body that has left us with expensive bills for thyroid specialists and heart tests.”

“It’s MY random health issues that have left us maxing out our medical deductibles every…single…year.  Before we even reach the 6-month mark.”

“It’s MY fault I damaged the car.

“It’s MY fault we now have to hand over a huge chunk of change to fix it.”

“It’s MY fault I have to take this money I worked SO HARD FOR and put it toward some lame purchase…like a new bumper.”

“Why does it feel like everything is always.MY.fault?!”

It was that moment that my husband stepped in and changed my whole mindset.  He could sense the guilt I had for bringing all of this financial burden upon us.  Without hesitation, he scooted close to me on the couch, made sure I was looking him in the eye, as well as I could see him with eyes full of tears, and he spoke with conviction.

“There’s no ‘Y’ here.  It’s not YOUR body.  YOUR health.  YOUR car.  YOUR accident.  It’s OURS, Babe.  We’re in this together.”

I needed that.  Man did I NEED that!  I felt like God was using what Johnny said to speak to me even further.

He was reminding me, “It’s not YOUR marriage, it’s OURS.  The three of us.

It’s not YOUR struggle to have a earthly children, it’s OURS.

It’s not YOUR SimplyTold Photography business, Nicole, it’s OURS.

It’s not YOUR Heavenly Nuggets Shop, it’s OURS.

It’s not YOUR home office in which to run these two businesses, it’s OURS.  A special place for us to minister to others who are hurting.

Just keep it all in My Hands and I’ll show you what we’re going to do with it.”

I think the biggest blessing out of this was my new home office.  Oh ya.  I got my office.  But, not how I was expecting.  I didn’t get to go do what I LOVE like thrifting, garage sale hunting or antiquing.  Instead, I shopped within our own home.  Pulling items from around the house until bit by bit my office came to be.  I didn’t have to spend a dime.  It was like God was saying, “Use the creativity and resourcefulness I gave you and go design something…from nothing.”

 

 

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Click here for the very beginning of our 8 year journey through life, loss and our unexpected struggle with secondary infertility.  Starting with what we shared at our 3-week-old son’s funeral.

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