brian martin
husband to a gorgeous woman.
mender of God’s design.
closet musician.
child of the outdoors.
husband to a gorgeous woman.
mender of God’s design.
closet musician.
child of the outdoors.
There’s a certain romanticism about conception.
I’ve always wanted to have a cool story to tell my kids
about when they were conceived.
Like, “it happened on a tropical beach with a beautiful sunset”
or “during an awesome thunderstorm in the Canadian Rockies.”
Something epic, almost Paul Bunyan-like.
But there was no idyllic story for us.
Jill and I had been trying for more than two years to become pregnant.
What started out as a care-free,
“throw caution to the wind”
plunge into parenthood was
slowly spiraling into a hopeless struggle.
We initially met with Jill’s OB-GYN after several months
had passed without seeing the coveted “blue stripe.”
After a few battery of standard tests,
we were reassured that everything was fine
and that we just “needed to have more sex
and give it some more time.”
What should have been a beautiful, passionate experience
between two people evolved into a sterile, dis-engaged and emotionless exercise.
There is nothing romantic about making love to your wife as
she's crying because she feels the whole idea of getting pregnant is futile.
There is no spontaneity in being called at work to drop everything
and come home to have sex because
hormone levels are peaking & basal body temperatures are perfect.
I felt more like a trained circus monkey -
being asked to perform at the drop of the hat -
regardless of how I felt.
I dreaded the approach of each week in anticipation of
whether Jill would get her period.
I hated walking past the bathroom and hearing the quiet sobs behind the door.
There was nothing I could do or say to make her feel better.
Our house was silent, always.
Infertility is like a wound;
when its just about healed,
someone comes along and
rips off the scab & the whole process starts over.
I was slowly watching her die inside.
She wanted nothing more than to be pregnant.
She wanted to experience that first kick inside her belly, to have cravings;
she even wanted to have morning sickness.
There was no medical explanation for our infertility.
No matter how much we tried, the results were the same -
a barren belly with no baby.
We met again with the specialists and decided that we would pursue
a few rounds of artificial insemination.
It had become quite evident to us that
we were losing each other in this maddening journey.
We were both emotionally exhausted and
Jill was bearing the physical toll of the repeated tests and procedures.
With no guarantee this was going to work,
we made the decision that if artificial insemination failed,
we would stop and get off this hellacious train.
about when they were conceived.
Like, “it happened on a tropical beach with a beautiful sunset”
or “during an awesome thunderstorm in the Canadian Rockies.”
Something epic, almost Paul Bunyan-like.
But there was no idyllic story for us.
Jill and I had been trying for more than two years to become pregnant.
What started out as a care-free,
“throw caution to the wind”
plunge into parenthood was
slowly spiraling into a hopeless struggle.
We initially met with Jill’s OB-GYN after several months
had passed without seeing the coveted “blue stripe.”
After a few battery of standard tests,
we were reassured that everything was fine
and that we just “needed to have more sex
and give it some more time.”
What should have been a beautiful, passionate experience
between two people evolved into a sterile, dis-engaged and emotionless exercise.
There is nothing romantic about making love to your wife as
she's crying because she feels the whole idea of getting pregnant is futile.
There is no spontaneity in being called at work to drop everything
and come home to have sex because
hormone levels are peaking & basal body temperatures are perfect.
I felt more like a trained circus monkey -
being asked to perform at the drop of the hat -
regardless of how I felt.
I dreaded the approach of each week in anticipation of
whether Jill would get her period.
I hated walking past the bathroom and hearing the quiet sobs behind the door.
There was nothing I could do or say to make her feel better.
Our house was silent, always.
Infertility is like a wound;
when its just about healed,
someone comes along and
rips off the scab & the whole process starts over.
I was slowly watching her die inside.
She wanted nothing more than to be pregnant.
She wanted to experience that first kick inside her belly, to have cravings;
she even wanted to have morning sickness.
There was no medical explanation for our infertility.
No matter how much we tried, the results were the same -
a barren belly with no baby.
We met again with the specialists and decided that we would pursue
a few rounds of artificial insemination.
It had become quite evident to us that
we were losing each other in this maddening journey.
We were both emotionally exhausted and
Jill was bearing the physical toll of the repeated tests and procedures.
With no guarantee this was going to work,
we made the decision that if artificial insemination failed,
we would stop and get off this hellacious train.
Push pause.
I woke up one morning and decided to read the Bible.
I just felt compelled to read.
I had tried to do everything myself.
I was at a loss of where to go or what to do.
I felt like my marriage was falling apart and
my life was in a state of suspended animation.
Having exhausted all my options,
I resorted to smashing the glass and pulling the God lever.
While I do not advocate just randomly
opening the Bible in search for some cosmic answer,
that’s exactly what I did that day.
I opened to the book of Isaiah, chapter 42 and this is what I read:
“But I’ll take the hand of those who don't know the way,
who can't see where they are going.
I’ll be a personal guide to them, directing them through
unknown country. I’ll be right there to show them what roads
to take, make sure they don't fall into the ditch.
These are the things I’ll be doing for them -
sticking with them, not leaving them for a minute.”
(verse 16 - MSG)
I wept uncontrollably.
I had been feeling so alone and isolated throughout this whole agonizing ordeal.
My helplessness was stemming from the realization that
I was NOT in control.
No matter how hard we tried or what measures we pursued,
WE could not obtain what we so desperately desired.
Later that week, we were at church.
I had one of those rare moments when I felt like God was speaking directly to me.
The message was that God has a plan for all of us.
While the end goal may be the same, the journey
through which God takes us to get there may be
drastically different than what WE had planned.
I immediately thought about Isaiah 42:16 and again I wept.
Even though, at times, it had seemed like we were all alone,
God had not abandoned us. He had a different plan for us.
I held firm to God’s promise that He would direct us and provide.
Fast forward.
This path led us towards adoption.
The adoption process is both frustrating and overwhelming.
several hours of mandated “parenting” classes.
seminars on building your “profile” for prospective birth-mothers.
submit statements regarding our views on raising children,
opinions discipline and our religious beliefs.
being finger printed at the state police barracks.
application for clearances.
Even down to make decisions about what
characteristics we were longing for in our child.
The whole process was painstaking and took several months.
Optimistic at first,but as time went on,
becoming more cynical and impatient.
There were days where I felt like the agencies were capitalizing on our fragile emotions
I just felt compelled to read.
I had tried to do everything myself.
I was at a loss of where to go or what to do.
I felt like my marriage was falling apart and
my life was in a state of suspended animation.
Having exhausted all my options,
I resorted to smashing the glass and pulling the God lever.
While I do not advocate just randomly
opening the Bible in search for some cosmic answer,
that’s exactly what I did that day.
I opened to the book of Isaiah, chapter 42 and this is what I read:
“But I’ll take the hand of those who don't know the way,
who can't see where they are going.
I’ll be a personal guide to them, directing them through
unknown country. I’ll be right there to show them what roads
to take, make sure they don't fall into the ditch.
These are the things I’ll be doing for them -
sticking with them, not leaving them for a minute.”
(verse 16 - MSG)
I wept uncontrollably.
I had been feeling so alone and isolated throughout this whole agonizing ordeal.
My helplessness was stemming from the realization that
I was NOT in control.
No matter how hard we tried or what measures we pursued,
WE could not obtain what we so desperately desired.
Later that week, we were at church.
I had one of those rare moments when I felt like God was speaking directly to me.
The message was that God has a plan for all of us.
While the end goal may be the same, the journey
through which God takes us to get there may be
drastically different than what WE had planned.
I immediately thought about Isaiah 42:16 and again I wept.
Even though, at times, it had seemed like we were all alone,
God had not abandoned us. He had a different plan for us.
I held firm to God’s promise that He would direct us and provide.
Fast forward.
This path led us towards adoption.
The adoption process is both frustrating and overwhelming.
several hours of mandated “parenting” classes.
seminars on building your “profile” for prospective birth-mothers.
submit statements regarding our views on raising children,
opinions discipline and our religious beliefs.
being finger printed at the state police barracks.
application for clearances.
Even down to make decisions about what
characteristics we were longing for in our child.
The whole process was painstaking and took several months.
Optimistic at first,but as time went on,
becoming more cynical and impatient.
There were days where I felt like the agencies were capitalizing on our fragile emotions
and our desperate longing to be a parent.
Sitting in meetings with other prospective parents,
I found myself “sizing up the competition.”
Sitting in meetings with other prospective parents,
I found myself “sizing up the competition.”
I was struggling with the underlying concept that we were
essentially “buying a child.”
We completed all
the requirements and passed their tests of scrutiny.
We were one step closer to potentially becoming parents.
However, there was one colossal problem.
If we were chosen by a birth mother,
I had no idea where we were going to choke up the money.
I was beginning to second guess God’s plan and direction.
Yet, we submitted our profile, anyway.
And so began the holding pattern of hoping
and waiting for someone to chose us to adopt their child.
A few weeks had passed and no calls.
Jill was invited to go out to dinner with a bunch of women she taught with.
She really didn't feel like socializing, but she went.
That night changed our lives forever.
Nathan.
During the course of that night’s conversation
she learned of a 17 year old girl who was pregnant.
She was looking to place her baby through private adoption to a Christian family.
So we submitted our profile to her family’s attorney and
eventually met Nathan’s birth mother and her parents.
We didn't know what to expect.
The meeting that evening went well and before we left,
Nathan’s birth mom asked us if we wanted to see the ultrasound.
We did, I immediately identified the baby as a boy.
A son, I thought - I could have a son.
I looked at Jill and held back tears.
It struck me as odd that she would show us the ultrasound.
Knowing she was interviewing other prospective families,
why divulge that information to us.
The attorney called, later that evening, to inform Jill & I
Nathan’s birth mom had already chosen us.
She had chosen us even before meeting us that evening.
Our conversations in that small meeting room had confirmed for her
that we were the right people to raise and parent her unborn child.
To our surprise, the attorney explained
the only costs we would be responsible for were her professional & court fees.
(a mere fraction of what the agencies were charging).
We hung up the phone and attempted to process
the whirlwind of emotions that were overwhelming both of us.
I don't think either of us slept very much that night.
What took place between our families and Nathan’s birth family
over the next three months is something that only God could arrange.
We were one step closer to potentially becoming parents.
However, there was one colossal problem.
If we were chosen by a birth mother,
I had no idea where we were going to choke up the money.
I was beginning to second guess God’s plan and direction.
Yet, we submitted our profile, anyway.
And so began the holding pattern of hoping
and waiting for someone to chose us to adopt their child.
A few weeks had passed and no calls.
Jill was invited to go out to dinner with a bunch of women she taught with.
She really didn't feel like socializing, but she went.
That night changed our lives forever.
Nathan.
During the course of that night’s conversation
she learned of a 17 year old girl who was pregnant.
She was looking to place her baby through private adoption to a Christian family.
So we submitted our profile to her family’s attorney and
eventually met Nathan’s birth mother and her parents.
We didn't know what to expect.
The meeting that evening went well and before we left,
Nathan’s birth mom asked us if we wanted to see the ultrasound.
We did, I immediately identified the baby as a boy.
A son, I thought - I could have a son.
I looked at Jill and held back tears.
It struck me as odd that she would show us the ultrasound.
Knowing she was interviewing other prospective families,
why divulge that information to us.
The attorney called, later that evening, to inform Jill & I
Nathan’s birth mom had already chosen us.
She had chosen us even before meeting us that evening.
Our conversations in that small meeting room had confirmed for her
that we were the right people to raise and parent her unborn child.
To our surprise, the attorney explained
the only costs we would be responsible for were her professional & court fees.
(a mere fraction of what the agencies were charging).
We hung up the phone and attempted to process
the whirlwind of emotions that were overwhelming both of us.
I don't think either of us slept very much that night.
What took place between our families and Nathan’s birth family
over the next three months is something that only God could arrange.
Zoe.
Three years later, one of my nurses frantically burst into my office
to informed me that she found us a baby girl!
I was totally taken off guard.
Her father was working as a janitor at a local church.
He had been talking to the church secretary
who was currently caring for her niece's six month old baby.
Her niece had been having some health & relationship issues
and could no longer care for the child.
The secretary and her husband had agreed to care for the baby short-term,
The mom had recently made the decision
to place the baby with Catholic Charities for adoption.
Knowing my situation, she told her father to ask the secretary
if they would consider a private adoption.
Through another series of events that only God could orchestrate,
Zoe came into our lives and completed our family.
Nathan and Zoe’s adoption stories are SO much more detailed.
Her father was working as a janitor at a local church.
He had been talking to the church secretary
who was currently caring for her niece's six month old baby.
Her niece had been having some health & relationship issues
and could no longer care for the child.
The secretary and her husband had agreed to care for the baby short-term,
The mom had recently made the decision
to place the baby with Catholic Charities for adoption.
Knowing my situation, she told her father to ask the secretary
if they would consider a private adoption.
Through another series of events that only God could orchestrate,
Zoe came into our lives and completed our family.
Nathan and Zoe’s adoption stories are SO much more detailed.
Initially, I feared I'd regret not having an awesome story to pass on to my kids.
I was wrong.
God’s story for my kids far surpassed any story I could've ever imagined.
My children have a truly epic account of God’s love.
His faithfulness. His provision.
They have a story of parents who struggled with their faith,
who wrestled with God, but persevered, even when the world seemed like it
I was wrong.
God’s story for my kids far surpassed any story I could've ever imagined.
My children have a truly epic account of God’s love.
His faithfulness. His provision.
They have a story of parents who struggled with their faith,
who wrestled with God, but persevered, even when the world seemed like it
was imploding and all hope was lost.
They have tangible examples of how God loved them even before they were born.
I have now been a father for 12 years.
It’s an ongoing process of trial and error (lately more trials).
I’m really trying NOT to screw up my kids.
I’ve had countless failures and I certainly would fall short
of receiving the father of the year award.
There have been days where I’ve asked God
if he was sure I was the right choice for these kids.
Then I’m reminded of the journey He’s walked with me.
He’s been my guide and light along the paths that seem unfamiliar and dark.
He’s never left me and He continues to
accompany me on this excursion of life and parenting.
follow brian on twitter: @prophead23
& instragram: @foosa2322
wayfaringweasel.blogspot.com
They have tangible examples of how God loved them even before they were born.
I have now been a father for 12 years.
It’s an ongoing process of trial and error (lately more trials).
I’m really trying NOT to screw up my kids.
I’ve had countless failures and I certainly would fall short
of receiving the father of the year award.
There have been days where I’ve asked God
if he was sure I was the right choice for these kids.
Then I’m reminded of the journey He’s walked with me.
He’s been my guide and light along the paths that seem unfamiliar and dark.
He’s never left me and He continues to
accompany me on this excursion of life and parenting.
& instragram: @foosa2322
wayfaringweasel.blogspot.com
