Walking in Darkness

“Does that look like a line”?

“Yep, that’s a line.”

So began our joys that would turn into sorrows. My wife and I had been married for four years, and while we had been seeking children, we’d been unable to conceive. In the grand scheme of things four years isn’t that long, but it’s certainly long enough to start asking if we’d ever conceive. We’d already gone through many moments of struggle, riding the rollercoaster of hope and dejection with each pregnancy test, wondering if this was going to be the month only to find that wonder replaced with the feeling that maybe there’d never be a month. And so, my wife asked with a sense of trepidatious disbelief, “Does that look like a line”?

The joy and anticipation grew with every week, and each step along the way. But it was not to be. In maybe the strangest of providential twists, we were on the road, 1100 miles away from our old home and still 300 miles short of what was to be our new home, when my wife’s water broke. We’d stayed the night with a pair of friends and were planning to drive the rest of the way that next day. Instead we found ourselves headed to the emergency room. It was only then that we found out we had twins! Over the next 48 hours we found ourselves hoping, praying, that one or both of our children would make it. The pregnancy wasn’t far enough along, the twins were born to their tear-filled parents, one, a girl, was still-born, the other, a boy, was born alive long enough to be baptized before he passed.

Why? Why were these children that we prayed for for so long taken away? Why in a foreign land, where there were only two people we knew in the entire state? Why in this moment of upheaval in our lives? And yet in all of this God made his presence known. The outpouring of grace and love was unimaginable. Total strangers opened their homes to us. A couple we never met, picked up our moving truck and drove it five hours to our future home, where others were waiting to unload it for us, all while we waited for doctor’s clearance to travel. While the sadness was immense, there was a blanket of peace and comfort through it all.

However, the real trial was yet to come. We had a funeral and buried the twins, and moved into our new place, but nothing was the same. Nothing could be the same. The apartment we’d rented was supposed to be organized for a coming child. We were supposed to be busy with preparations, and anticipation. Instead it was silent.

Just silent.

There was an emptiness, a loss that could not be put into words. The feeling of love and support had faded, and now we were once again alone to face the reality of it all. Did God have a plan? Did he really want us to be happy? Were we going to trust in the peace and comfort we recognized in the moment of the twins’ passing, or buy into the darkness of despair that enticed us at our lowest moments? Could we be faithful to God? Was he faithful to us?

There was an added element to all of this. We still didn’t know where our fertility lay. After four years of trying to “get things right,” had things finally settled into a rhythm where we’d have more children, or had these twins been the one “miracle” pregnancy that we were ever going to be granted? This fear could not be separated from the grieving of loss. As each month passed, yet again failing to conceive, it became not just a grief of the loss of these children, which was very much still present, but also a grief for the loss of children in general.

As a husband, my challenges were different. I sought to defend and protect my family, yet there was no dragon to be slayed, no evil to ward off. I sought to support and comfort my wife, and yet I couldn’t tell her “it’d be alright.” No one knew the future. I could only hold her and tell her that she was loved, knowing often those words were not enough. Everything was out of my control, and yet here is where one finds God. I had one recourse, and that was to pray. Pray, and pray, and pray. This greatest darkness that threatened my family, I was powerless to stop. Only by grace would we ever make it through.

I do not want to pretend that we simply gave it over to God, and everything worked out. It was a long, arduous, rocky path. One that we at times fell far from. As we sought to come to terms with the grief, and for places of solace, the desire to conceive again became greater and greater until at times it was all consuming. We’d already studied NFP, but we decided to hire an NFP consultant and become trained in yet another method. We started regularly seeing a NaPro doctor and implementing NaPro technology. But through it all there was a certain level of uneasiness. It was not that we’d tried any fertility treatments that were outside of Church teaching. Exteriorly our actions were entirely good, and within Church teaching. The problem was in our hearts. NFP and other morally licit medical technologies are never problematic in and of themselves. But like all good things, they can be turned sinful with a wrong intention. The further down this path we went, the clearer it became, we’d given up on God. Deep down we’d given into the lie that God was the obstacle and the Church had approved a means to overcome him. If he was unwilling to grant us children, we’d turn to NFP and NaPro to be our savior. It was an entirely irrational sentiment, and yet, this is where we found ourselves. We’d given into the shadows, and they’d used our good desire for children, and even our affirmation of Church teaching, to turn us away from the God who loves us.

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light. Is. 9:2

Only by God’s grace, by prayer (lots of prayer!), and by constant fleeing to the sacraments were we able to recognize our faults and return to Christ. Throughout it all, God did not abandon us, even when we faltered in our trust of him. We had to come to terms with so many things. God must be first, in every way. The darkness was not and could not be overcome by pulling away from him. There was no solution, no resolve, no reconciliation apart from him. Only he could bring us the peace and comfort that we desired. God must be enough for us, and if he is not, no medical method, no child, not even ten children, would ever fix that. There is only one savior, and it is Christ the Lord.

There’s no way to explain why God allowed us to lose our twins. And yet, now four years later, I have no doubt that it is an intrinsic element to the path of our salvation. I still cannot write about these events without tears welling up in my eyes, yet simultaneously, with God, there remains a peace and forward-looking joy that ever hopes in the things to come. We still use NFP, and elements of NaPro technology, but now with an attentive interior examination and a desire to remain in love with God every step of the way, because without him, we can do nothing.