A Piece of Me

Waiting for an Angel


Disappointment on a timeline
it's feeding all my fears
2 by 2 and 4 by 4
the months pass into years.

'Cause I'm waiting for an angel
I keep praying for the sign
I'm hoping for the time to come
to see that second line.

The empty space that lives in me
is longing for a chance
to escape its shame, to prove its worth
and feel love's creation dance.

Another round, my heart feels cold...
the calendar resets,
A ticking time bomb starts again
I try hard to forget

That I'm waiting for an angel
a miracle to come,
An answer to my daughter's prayers...
so I won't feel so numb.

And when He finally answers me
and I recieve my call,
my heart will soar and faith will reign
only joyous tears will fall.

'Cause I'll be waiting for an angel
I'll feel new life begin
a precious gift that's sent to me
I'll know that hope again.

I'll feel my Father's warm embrace
and know he's there with me
He'll lay perfection in my arms
at last I'll come to see...

That even in those darkest days,
when hope eluded me
He was working on a masterpiece
and he'd remembered me.

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Even though I struggle with this blog, it is possible for me to occasionally put my feelings into words. I wrote this in an IF journal that I started about 2 years into trying. Every once in a while when I'm feeling brave, I open its pages and remind myself of why I keep doing this.

Every month it seems that I can't help but voluntarily torture myself with grandios daydreams of what I will do when, THIS month, there is no lonely line but instead, the glorious site of two lines starting back at me. How will I tell DH? How we will tell our parents; will we tell anyone at all? And then there's my cruelest vision... how our daughter will finally get the answer to her prayers.

Once another weight of 'failure' is added to my shouders, this entry tends to be the one I go to. I wrote it during one of the darkest times in my life. My daughter had seemed to grow up overnight, leaving behind any ounce of baby she had left in her. My husband was not yet in the pits of IF depair, but was instead at the point of "You're overreacting. Everything is fine." Everyone treated me as if I was so selfish for wanting another baby so badly. How dare I when I already had a beautiful little girl and there were so many still waiting? I felt more alone than I ever had, and the only outlet I had was my journal.

The finished entry surprised me. I had meant for it to be dark and depressed; exactly how I was feeling. Somehow, it didn't go that way. Before I had finished, I felt buoyed, hopeful, and like I actually had something to gain from all I was going through. Somewhere within me, deep deep down, there was still a bit of hope.

So now, when I'm feeling low and defeated, I sometimes pull out this poem and remember that I'm not finished yet. One day I WILL see what my heart longs for most; My beautiful daughter holding a miracle with a smile on her face that the whole world will take pause to see.

It will be SO worth the wait!