Not long ago I walked by the bathroom mirror and did a double take. Seven months pregnant and it shows. In November I will give birth for the third time.
Yet for about half of my twenties I grieved the reality of infertility and the possibility I would never have children from my womb. There were some dark nights and deep sobs.
But God healed in those hollows
And I began to see and believe that life was still life even though I was barren. That children didn’t have to be in the picture for true healing, full laughter, and a refrigerator calender bursting with God’s blessings.
God made the fullness of spring in my soul and then He added children to my story.
My newest motherhood poem, Bedtime Story, was inspired by that double take in the bathroom mirror. I used to dream of being pregnant. I cried and prayed for this! And here I was seven months into my third pregnancy. It took me nearly 24 hours to figure out what I really wanted to say in Bedtime Story, but I think I’ve said what I’ve felt these last seven+ years.
So here we go…
I used to dream of this, but it was a mirage, yet I learned to breathe again in the shadow of my dream’s death.
So I found myself just laughing when leaf fell from weeping sky to me, and this was the miracle of new life.
(I prayed and grieved in hollows, yes,
but still at peace
I lived.)
I used to dream of this, the mirror catching my silhouette, and soon I will deliver–a third time I will deliver–and now I sit in a garden breathless while leaves swirl in autumn air, piling down below in the great abyss of my valley there.
But most of all I see the gold where nightmares used to dwell, and then I taste twice over the goodness of the Lord in the mirage and in the mirror from shadow to silhouette…here I am, here I am…and not once left for dead.
(I believe You,
I believe You. I breathe at last
again.)
That’s the thing about broken dreams and the dreams which come to pass–it will always, always be true that it’s the land of the living for us, and that is why I can say no monsters hiding there, nothing lurking behind the closet door, nothing scary beneath your bed.
We lie down in peace to sleep, we wake up safe to play, and beside His still waters we will see and taste and know life to our heart’s content!
(Their breathing calm
and heavy now,
I whisper softly
Good Night.)
-S.V.F., Bedtime Story
I bask in the joy of motherhood and treasure closely the gold I found in the hollows of those bitter, barren years. My children were not my true healing from infertility, but they certainly expounded on the spring God was already doing within my heart, life, and soul.
God was and will always be the Source of my healing, my completeness.
Not my children. Not my circumstances. Not His yes to my dreams.
So my children are going to know that story. The one where healing is possible in every season and circumstance, that dreams needn’t come true for a fulfilled and rich life.
With night shadows on their walls I’m going to show my children the shadow of God’s wings and the still waters in His Presence. I’m going to teach them that whether by nightmares or by dreams, God will always lead His children into the land of the living.
Always.
read more:
In Hope Gives a Eulogy I share intimate poetry about my journey through infertility and how God made spring in my soul even before a baby was in my womb. This collection of 96 poems explores how infertility impacts faith, friendship, marriage, and womanhood. available on Amazon
Sierra V. Fedorko 
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