The following reflection was written by Forsythia.
April 2013: My husband and I had been through a plethora of tests and doctor-visits that hadn’t brought us any closer to answering the question that burned in our hearts: can we have children?
At last, we were on the brink of something that was going to give us definitive information–it would, it must, how could it not? We were going in for a biopsy. On the one hand, we were eager for the procedure and the answers it would give. On the other, we knew that it could be bad news as much as good news.
As the date approached, I felt I must prepare for the worst. We had so many dreams about our children–what they would look like, who they would take after, what we would name them. These dreams felt dangerous to hold onto. I decided that I would do something symbolic and purposeful to help myself let them go–something I’d been thinking about for a while. The idea was “better to let go of my own volition than have these desires ripped from me in our doctor’s office.”
I planned it all out. I would walk a local prayer labyrinth, giving myself time to meditate and grieve as I walked slowly to the center. Once there, I would light candles to represent those dreams that were hanging by a thread: the names of our wished-for children; the vision of us as parents…And when I was ready, I would snuff them out, walking the labyrinth out with my heart prepared for “come what may.”
The story of what took place that night can be found on my blog Leavingteaching.wordpress.com. In vague language–I was not open about our infertility at the time it was written–the voice of my 2013 self shares about wild hope. It does my heart good to revisit that narrative, to be reminded of the unexpected gift I was given in a moment of great need.
My purpose for the labyrinth that night was reversed on me. I felt clearly in my spirit that I was not meant to snuff out my dreams–that it was not my job to determine which desires for my life would come to fruition or when or how they would happen. Instead of blowing out candles as I let dreams go, I found myself lighting candles as I dreamed. Each time I blew the flames out, it was to light more. I dreamed and dreamed on into the night, with exuberance and gratitude. I lit a candle for each of the children we wanted, and those we never imagined; for the places we would live and things we would do; for our marriage.
It became clear to me that cool April night that it was safe for me to dream. I had meant to let go of these things because they felt dangerous to my heart–what if they didn’t come true? But an understanding was given to me through this experience: that dreams are only dangerous if I rest the weight of my soul on them. The same is true of anything finite in this world–fame, money, power, even relationships, love. If I chose instead to entrust my heart and my life to the unchangeable, powerful God of the Universe who loves me like a daughter, then nothing was lethal to me–not the death of a dream, not even death itself.
Looking back–my 2016 self reflecting on my 2013 self–I see that God has been faithful to the revelation that he gifted me that night. That even in my darkest moments, even when I couldn’t believe in hope, my dreams, my very heart, was safe in his care.