Part 3: The Reflections
This is the final of three posts (along with Part 1 and Part 2) that I’m sharing reflecting on my ultimate decision to freeze my eggs after a cancer diagnosis. Below I ponder the principles that guided my decision making and what they say about how I believe in approaching life with God, and His character. Please feel free to share your thoughts on this post!
Decisions about fertility are personal and yours to make.
Maybe this is an obvious statement, but, because fertility is a topic that people often enjoy giving advice on — solicited or unsolicited(!) — there can be a lot of pressure associated with making fertility decisions that can unduly influence our choices.
I have mixed feelings about getting — and giving — advice (although arguably this is post could be seen as “advice,” lol, I’d say it’s more sharing reflections from my experience and principles I follow for people to take, tweak or leave — and not as the only viable approach). While I definitely think a lot of advice is often well meaning, it tends to fall short of its potential.
The part I don’t like about a lot of advice is that it’s often people giving you an indiscriminate download of their thoughts on something regardless of your circumstances, what you may have already thought about, or what’s actually helpful to you. On the other hand, I think advice is good when it’s thoughtful and contextualized — which usually requires first listening and asking questions before providing perceived solutions (which a lot of people skip!).
What has helped me process even advice seemingly in left field is recognizing the underlying value or belief that it’s based on, which allows me to dissect it into parts and evaluate it more objectively, and be more thoughtful in responding to it. I also try to appreciate the personal element to a lot of advice — it can often be attempts to help you avoid something negative that the advice giver — or someone else they’re connected to — experienced (although also whether or not it’s something you see the same way, lol).
Before I made the decision to freeze my eggs, I got a lot of advice about it — both for it, and some against it. As I alluded to earlier, a lot of the advice for it was based on a sense of urgency about biological clock limitations. I often heard the underlying value of that advice to be any preservation of a chance to birth a child with your own eggs is worth it — at almost any (or actually any) cost. In those circumstances, it was often viewed as the only smart thing to do, and almost an essential ingredient for God to provide children after a certain age. As I noted in a previous post, I don’t view egg freezing as essential in that way. It was more important to me that, whatever decision I made, to wrestle with not obsessing over my fertility, confronting my fears and being open to other options for motherhood that may not involve my own eggs — and to weigh the benefits against the costs. Before my diagnosis that led me to make the decision, I can’t say I definitively would have done it. After my diagnosis, the benefits and costs analysis definitely shifted — the benefits went up, and the costs went down. I also viewed it as an answer to my prayer about what decision to make — it alleviated all of the concerns I had prayed about.
Some good advice I got: a reminder about the personal element of fertility. Although as women we’re generally encouraged to freak out about our fertility (especially as we get “up” in our reproductive years), not every statement about what generally — or can — happen for women at a certain age is necessarily determinative of your experience at your age. As a lot of us women know, although there are definitely trends, women’s fertility experiences do differ — especially in the 30s and 40s.
To be sure, there are reproductive limitations that catch up to everyone at some point. And, as discussed, egg freezing isn’t something you can do forever — there are cutoffs that medical professionals impose. However, not being able to freeze eggs also doesn’t necessarily mean you can’t have a child (nor does freezing your eggs mean you necessarily will). I think it’s best to ensure you have the right conversations with the appropriate medical professionals and people in your life timely to help determine what about your reproductive health you can address under your circumstances, and the options you have (to make whatever choice you’d like).
I also knew that, whatever decision I made, I wanted to own it and minimize regrets later. Before my diagnosis and decision to freeze my eggs, I also tried to think about how I might feel a decade from now about the decision I ultimately made. Obviously, I can’t fully predict how I’d feel about my choice that far down the road — but I at least wanted to ensure I was thinking long in the process. I see my limits on considering the future as a part of what prayer is for — petitioning to the God who sees what we can’t to direct us today.
Truly trusting God is an ongoing process.
If you’re still waiting to have children for any reason, trusting God to provide in this (and any other) circumstance is a continuous act that we have to keep re-committing to daily, as life happens. In this case, egg freezing is just one potential tool toward a broader goal — and prayer — of parenthood. If there’s any information most of us retain from human biology class at all, it’s that an egg needs sperm, lol, and that sperm has to fertilize the egg(s) into the miracle of pregnancy, and that pregnancy has to carry for long enough that a baby is born, and with all of the human body parts necessary to survive. I say all of that because we know that, practically, things could go wrong at any point in that process. It’s also possible to have the best statistical odds for pregnancy (naturally or with reproductive assistance), and still not get pregnant — it happens to people every day. Seemingly impossible pregnancies also happen. God is in those details too.
In many Christian circles, there’s a debate about whether freezing your eggs is trusting God. I think it’s a red herring — I see it as ultimately more about the posture that we approach elective decisions like egg freezing than anything else. We can plan with a tool like egg freezing, or we can choose not to plan in that way, and we can be trusting God in either of those decisions, or not trusting Him — the factors determinative of trust are beyond just that decision. Elective freezing of eggs (or in some decisions to bank sperm, such as before cancer treatment) is one potential option to attempt to plan in an unpredictable world, where life happens very differently than it did centuries — or even decades — ago. We make all sorts of elective decisions for planning purposes that we don’t give the same scrutiny, such as getting elective life insurance or even some forms of health insurance. In many ways, it’s no different — just newer. I do actually think that, as with online dating, these kinds of questions will dissipate as elective freezing becomes more common (but will probably always be present in some way).
Trust is also about recognizing that we may not know the outcome of any step we take until way later, down the road. As they say, hindsight is 20/20. It’s often looking back that we see how God was at work, as we took individual steps, even though at the time we were in the dark about the full picture beyond taking a step.
There are times when God can be super clear about an outcome from the beginning, but I don’t actually think that’s how He works most of the time — otherwise, there would be no need for faith. I like how my pastor says, “Clarity comes with commitment.” Learning to make decisions without certainty is a way that we grow in wisdom and see God move in the process.
Ultimately, trusting God is truly about how we live daily in the face of uncertainty. Trusting God is the accumulation of how we approach daily choices and all the pieces connecting them, including in fertility. Our trust (or lack of it) is also gauged by our hearts — including our motives and attitude, which we also need to address in our decision making.
God’s not bound by a biological clock.
If there are still a handful of truths that I learned from the purity movement (which has gotten some justifiably negative scrutiny), it’s the statement that God doesn’t have a biological clock — i.e., He’s not bound by human predictions or timetables for when a pregnancy must happen. He is obviously aware of our limitations — including how long we have to birth a child, raise a child — and live. One of the most amazing truths about scripture that’s readily relatable to today is that God “opens wombs” (as the more literal translations say), even for women believed to be irreversibly infertile. There’s so much of the Bible that we have to contextualize for a modern audience to get, but infertility is not one of them. It was experienced by many women in the Bible centuries ago, and still is today. And we have many real-life stories of a God who worked pregnancy miracles, even when doctors didn’t think it was possible. As the Great Physician with all the resources in the world, He can accomplish pregnancy in any way — He can choose modern medicine, or He can work without it. And often, it’s when things seem impossible that He acts. If you’re meant to carry a pregnancy and are still waiting, God has proven in the past — and present — that He can make it happen. So-called fertility perseveration isn’t essential for God to move.
Don’t knock desire, but maybe it needs redirecting.
One of the ways that I think we can end up trying to deal with the challenge of waiting — in fertility and beyond — is by trying to disengage from the unmet desire. A phrase I’ve heard over and over again from Christians, in too many contexts than I can count, is suggesting a prayer that God “remove a desire” that hasn’t been fulfilled, and may not ever be. I’ve heard it used most often in the context of an unmet desire for a spouse or children.
Frankly, the prayer to “remove the desire” has always rubbed me the wrong way — even made me cringe — although I hadn’t thought through it enough to actually express a verbal reaction to it. It’s also often said in emotional circumstances, where speaking up in response could cause more harm than good.
I understand the sentiment, at least to a degree — an emotional fatigue with the current state of having to live amid an unfulfilled desire, and also wanting to ensure the desire isn’t a waste of emotional energy and time that could be better spent elsewhere. That is a very real, honest feeling. However, I find it somewhat misguided.
For some reason I started thinking about the idea of God removing a desire pretty hard after I last heard it, in a discussion in spring. What I finally came to expressing is the fact that, often, I don’t think it’s the desire in itself that’s wrong. There are, for sure, bad desires — e.g., if you desire to do something illegal, it’s probably something that you should try to avoid (which should go without saying, lol)! However, a desire for something such as marriage or children are perfectly normal and good things. And often, good desires such as parenting or companionship are not just connected to the specific area for which you’d want the desire removed — e.g., your desire for companionship also manifests itself in pursuing other types of relationships with friends, family and colleagues. To that extent, it can be really hard — perhaps near impossible — to remove the desire for just that one context that’s unfulfilled without having it affect other contexts where you are fulfilled. And, if we’re seeing the whole picture — we wouldn’t actually want to do so. Desires are at the core of our humanity. They’re a big reason we’re motivated to do really anything — wake up, shower, get dressed, go to work, hang with friends, spend time with family, support causes — everything, really. And when we’re missing desire in something we should have it for, we notice it, and often try to fix it.
I believe that, with the idea of wanting to remove the desire, the root of the problem often isn’t actually at the underlying desire level, but instead at the surface: the issue may be the object of our desire, which may need to be redirected — meaning, we may need to let go of our conception of how we have our desire fulfilled — or at least be open to it being fulfilled in a different way — in order to see it happen.
As I alluded to earlier in my egg freezing story, one of the things that helped me approach it in a healthy way is better comprehending that there’s more than one way to be a parent, and being open to different ways expands the possibilities for how a desire can be fulfilled. God had first brought this to mind years earlier, but it was a reminder in the weeks between when I was connected with a fertility doctor after my cancer diagnosis, and when I actually started the egg freezing process. I was reading much more about all of the different options for infertility, including the use of donor eggs. I’d heard of those before, but I hadn’t really processed the context as much. It was explained that they’re actually often recommended for women 44 and older, and other women use them too. It had me thinking about some of the reasons we focus so much on birthing children with our own eggs. Some of them are fine and practical — they already come from us, they can be readily identifiable expressions of our love, it could be easier and safer to name a few.
But I also had to admit that a good part of it is vanity. We say things like “it would be so cute to have a mini me” — or “I deserve a mini me.” I don’t see wanting a mini me as wrong — I wouldn’t mind one either, lol — but that’s not actually essential to fulfilling a desire to be a parent. That’s just one means of becoming a parent (albeit often a natural one). Maybe parenting a child who isn’t a mini me — or even a biological one at all — can be the biggest blessing to a child and a parent. I have seen so many adoptive parents just be grateful to be parents — the child’s biology paling in comparison to the joy of getting to be mom or dad, often after a long struggle.
Being open to a redirected desire doesn’t necessarily mean that we must always let go of the preferred manifestations of our desires — we should keep giving them and our frustrations to God — He can handle them, and direct us — it just means we leave more room for Him to work by being open to other ways of Him fulfilling the desire than we may have imagined. It’s possible that if you have only one way of having a desire fulfilled that you’ll accept, you might miss out on a miracle. That relates to the next point.
Make plans with a pencil (or an open hand).
We like never handwrite anymore, but you get the idea, lol.
If you’re anything like me, you like planning. But the story of my adult life has been God upending my vision for how my post-high school life would go. Pretty much every plan my 18-year-old self had was not the way my life went. However, as I’ve said before, many other things have happened — in great ways I never would have imagined either. I don’t think my plans were bad or wrong, nor do I mourn them not happening the way I envisioned — they were just different, based just on what I could see. Nor do I think planning is bad — and I still plan. It’s good to have goals and work toward them. But the reality was that, as always, God is thinking way bigger, and I am so glad He is — because my life is so much more expansive — and the possibilities so much larger — than I thought they would be.
A lot of our disappointment in life is from unmet expectations. If we’re not careful, our unmet expectations can be the basis for resentment that can lead us not to see the beauty in what we do experience, even if we didn’t plan it. If you’re a follower of Christ, God is always purposing our experiences for our good, and developing us in the process (Romans 8:28). Proverbs 16:9 says we can make our plans, but God determines our steps.
In this context, I think about Rachel, Jacob’s wife, in the Bible, who planned to have children, as expected. She couldn’t conceive for many years, and, at one point, she told Jacob, “Give me children, or I’ll die” (Genesis 30:1). She did eventually birth children — two of them, in fact — but she died delivering the second. She got what she wanted, but never got to live to see those children grow up.
I raise Rachel’s story because it’s an example of getting some of what you wanted planning (and desire) wise, but not how you predicted it in your planning. Rachel felt she would die without birthing children, but, the irony is that she died because of them. If she were alive today, I wonder if she’d think dying in childbirth was worth it — if she’d known she was going to lose her life, would she have wanted another child? Perhaps she would have — but perhaps she would not have.
God knows more than our plans, and there are times when Him not allowing something to happen as we’d like it could be protection. I’ve seen God’s protection in my life in many ways, but it’s often in hindsight. Like the two times to date that I didn’t get jobs I was in the running for and thought I wanted, and it turned out later that both of those large organizations imploded seemingly out of nowhere, both within a year after my interview. Situations like this remind me that God is looking out for us in how He responds to our prayers, even when the answer isn’t what we’d hoped. He’s simply seeing more than we are.
I still plan (and pray) — even with not having all of my plans happen — I just remember that my plan may not be what a loving Father sees as best for me. I also try to anticipate what He can do with my plans and desires and pivot where I need to — to practice resilience, and roll with the change of plans as the God who knows all directs.
We can’t avoid every uncomfortable situation, and sitting with it — and our values — is how we grow.
Discomfort is an unavoidable part of life, and it’s easy to attempt to avoid it. But even when we do, at some point it’ll outrun us. How we respond to discomfort in any challenge determines what we gain from it.
Facing any reproductive health challenge of course isn’t easy, and it’s not something almost anyone would choose, just like many other challenges (cancer included).
An educated guess says the vast majority of cultures — including our own — place some premium on youth — especially women’s youth — as a measure of fertility. Women who pass a certain age without children are often viewed as less marriageable candidates — in our culture, I think it’s fair to go with about 36, the beginning of what is still often called the “geriatric pregnancy” years, a term we women especially know well (despite the growing number of women having children in their mid-to-late 30s and into their 40s). We have a culture that validates this way of thinking.
I remember several years ago being in a conversation with a mother and her single son, who were talking about him finding a partner and getting married (well, the mother was, anyway!). The son was in his late 30s or early 40s. His mom was encouraging him to date a “mature woman” who was ready for marriage and children like he was (or should be), and had suggested he date someone closer to his age, rather than pursuing women several years younger.
Immediately, he had a negative, visceral reaction. “I don’t want any woman over her early 30s, and, preferably, she should be younger,” I recall him saying.
“Why?” his mother asked.
“Because I want to have kids, and I don’t want any problems,” he replied.
As appalled as I was by that conversation, I realized later that I apparently was the naïve one. I remember relaying my disgust to a small group of single women in their 30s later on. After, one woman replied, “I don’t blame him. If he wants to have kids, shouldn’t he marry someone who won’t have trouble having them?” I remember looking around and seeing if anyone would back me up or say anything to the contrary, but I got nothing.
I later learned stats also supported those opinions. For example, at least as of a few years ago, more than one dating industry study had shown that men who want to have children limit their online dating search criteria to women age 36 at the oldest. (This doesn’t necessarily mean all those men wouldn’t ever date women over 36 in real life — but, if they had to choose, that wouldn’t be their preference.)
While I accept that people think this way — and I can’t say I was ever surprised that at least some men hold this view, I find it troubling in many ways — and not even as something I take to heart personally based on being over 36 (and, at the time I heard the mother-son discussion I referenced, I was under the so-called “past prime” demographic).
On the one hand, I don’t think there’s anything wrong per se with taking practical considerations for marriage such as whether someone wants to have kids — or even, to some extent — if they can have kids. I also don’t think age is a completely irrelevant consideration — although I would argue that it’s more of an issue when there’s a significant age gap between two people, and one is still at a young enough age to raise kids and wants to have them, and one is pushing retirement. Nonetheless, we are also allowed to have preferences — and, like any other human, I also have mine.
But, on the other hand, the idea that you can package your life so that you avoid having to deal with infertility is not actually something that you can be sure of completely avoiding. Many people who go through infertility never expect it. And it often doesn’t fall on predictable, neat lines like family history. It can also happen at any age. For a lot of women who experience infertility for years, it started in their 20s. Even if you were to, say, fertility test your potential spouse (in which case I might suggest hiring a breeder instead), there are situations where infertility can’t necessarily be explained on paper. As other women who have been around for at least a few decades know, stories of infertility are numerous, varied, personal — and unpredictable.
Further, the pretty glaring problem is the assumption that infertility is necessarily, and always, a woman’s problem — when, in fact, it’s often a man’s problem. In some cases, such as the second birth of a child, it’s the man’s infertility at least half the time a couple can’t conceive. As was widely reported in entertainment news and highlighted in his latest Netflix comedy special (I’m a fan!), Hassan Minhaj shared needing to undergo a varicocele repair surgery in order for his wife to get pregnant. Him sharing his experience was an important opportunity to shed light on the very real reality of male infertility. Phrases such as “sperm regenerates, but women are born with all the eggs they’ll ever have” get used to reinforce to women that their fertility is precarious because of their “biological clock”, while men’s is immune to any potential issues, which further heaps pressure on women and can obscure the reality of male infertility.
I also wonder what the approach of trying to assure someone can give you biological children a certain way — i.e., with her own egg and his sperm — means for actual love in a relationship. Obviously, if you want to have kids (which we’ve established is a perfectly fine and good desire) it’s not at all unreasonable to be with someone who wants to have kids. But if having kids is a prerequisite for the relationship, what happens if, for whatever reason, that person ends up not being able to give you that? Does that person become less lovable? Do you divorce them for their failure to deliver on your happily ever after? Divorce definitely happens for this reason — as well as when some couples become empty nesters and they realize that, at some point, the kids became the only thing holding the marriage together. I’d posit that if your love is dependent on what someone can give you, it may not be love at all — or at least it’s not unconditional love that can withstand time. If children are a requirement for love, maybe it’s a house of cards.
I’d say that in an unconditional love relationship where kids are desired, getting them is a blessing, but they aren’t an essential ingredient for a love recipe. Personally, I’d want a love that can withstand disappointment — of any kind.
I also find the approach of trying to ensure someone can have kids as, again, presupposing that there’s only one way to have children — or at least only accepting that one way as valid. As I’ve noted already, there may be times when our desires — and plans — may get redirected. The question is whether we’re open to a change of plans, or if it’s just our desires, our way, or bust. That, to me, is a recipe for unhappiness.
In my mind, if two people really want to have children, even if one or both of them can’t do so physically, there are still other options — options that usually require some resources — and may not happen overnight — but they can happen. As a follower of Christ, I believe God can and does make a way — ways even — when conventional wisdom is that there aren’t any other options. Miracles of God aren’t practical or rationale — faith isn’t. By the biblical definition, it’s being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we don’t see (Hebrews 11:6).
Many real-life people have tangible stories of being told they’d never have children — biological, adopted, otherwise — but somehow, they have them. I love a God who’s bigger than my ability to reason and knows the beginning, middle and end.
Further, if we’re followers of Christ, whatever our preferences, our attitude toward challenges shouldn’t be avoidance, but presence — a presence through which we learn and develop as people — and believers.
Life is a series of waits.
When we talk about unfulfilled desires, they’re often seen as just an “in between time” before we get to our “miracle destination” — this sense that somehow, when (and if) we get the thing we desire most, we’ll be done waiting. Reality, however, is that waiting is always part of life. Life is often wonderful and terrible at the same time. We are constantly waiting, then hurrying up, then waiting. Every stage of our lives requires some aspect of waiting. And how we wait matters — it determines if — and how — we grow from the experience.
I remember seeing the story of Hannah in 1 Samuel in a new way during a read through the Bible several years ago. As I’ve noted before, I’ve been reading through the Bible perpetually for more than a decade. It’s helped me see the Bible as less of a “rulebook” or “roadmap” and more of a story involving a beginning, middle, and end — and, in this context, a lot of waiting in between.
I’ve most often heard Hannah’s story portrayed as a singular wait — she prayed and waited years to have a child, and she eventually had Samuel, a key prophet of Israel in the Old Testament. But, that actually wasn’t the end of her waiting. After she dedicated Samuel and left him at the temple with Eli the Priest, she’d visit him and brought him a robe each year. Each year Eli would give Hannah and her husband a blessing, and it says he prayed they’d have more children, and then they would go home (1 Samuel 2). It doesn’t say how long — or even whether Hannah herself prayed for more children — the focus of the book is Samuel. But I think it’s worth noting that Hannah’s inclusion in the story didn’t stop with her birthing Samuel and her thanking God after — it’s also noted that she did the same thing she did before she had Samuel — go back to the temple, year after year — and, at some point, after doing that however many times — and years — over, she ultimately had three sons and two daughters (1 Samuel 2:18–21). Even after she got her “miracle,” she kept doing what she knew to do — connecting with God, and taking care of the son she’d dedicated to him. Getting what she wanted didn’t change the core of how she lived — she stayed faithful to God and lived in gratitude for what He’d done for her, even when she continued waiting after the first miracle.
From a Christian perspective, we know that God uses waiting to grow us, and give us hope. Romans 5: 3–5 says:
3 We can rejoice…when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance [or “perseverance” in some translations]. 4 And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. 5 And this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love.
Experiencing waiting can build our character and make us hopeful. We have a choice to lean into the process, or try to avoid it. When we avoid it, we miss out on the chance to grow from it and gain the comfort that helps us overcome challenges well.
Romans 5: 3–5 also highlights the symbiotic relationship between growth and having hope — as we grow through challenges, we become more confident in what God does, and we can have an anticipation that what He does is best for us and not merely accept it, but have the confidence to thrive from it.
I wouldn’t call myself a masochist — I’m not in love with going through discomfort or challenges, but I’ve come to appreciate what God does through them. The more I confront — and embrace — life’s challenges, the greater repository I gain for dealing with the unexpected — including challenges such as the unknown. And the more our character grows.
God does amazing things through us.
One of the most quoted Bible passages in Christian circles is how God can do “exceedingly abundantly” beyond what we can ask or imagine, from Ephesians 3:20. (“Exceedingly abundantly” in the classic KJV — some of the more modern versions translate that “infinitely more” (NLT), “immeasurably more” (NIV), or “above and beyond” (CSB). Sometimes I laugh at how old school church talk stays in the lexicon, lol.)
Several years ago, I was listening to a message in which the pastor pointed out how a key part of that verse is often left out — the fact that God does those “exceedingly abundant” things through His power at work in us (The whole verse (in the NLT): “Now all glory to God, who is able, through his mighty power at work within us, to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think.”) And that clause is pretty consistent across translations. I see it as critical because it’s an indication of how God chooses to do the unimaginably great things He can — as He works in us. This doesn’t minimize God’s greatness in my mind — it just highlights how we are involved in God manifesting the mind-blowing things He does.
Without that emphasis, the connotation can easily be that God is over somewhere separate, pulling surprises like a genie. The recognition that God is doing things while at work in us highlights an integration between the Christian life — including the mundane, daily grind — and God’s movement. It also means He uses us in the process. To me that’s encouraging, because it should set our expectation for what God can do in our lives — even through the most challenging times — including times when we may not get what we want. It also indicates that what we may perceive as best may be far less than what God is envisioning for us. For me, that has me resting in His power — and goodness — even if it may redirect me from the most ideal path that I can envision. It also makes me anticipate God’s surprises as He works in me. There is nothing better than Him at work!
Be grateful for every stage of life.
These days, I spend a significant amount of time with young adults in their 20s, through professional and informal avenues. I especially remember a conversation last year with a recent college grad who I met on the Metro and later had coffee with (and, from what I gathered, thought I was younger than I turned out to be, lol). She asked me about how I navigated my 20s post college. Reflecting in that moment and later, it reminded me of how much more unsettling I felt life was in my 20s — filled with a lot more angst and emotion over uncertainties in life. I wouldn’t have called it an emotionally tumultuous time back then because practically speaking, my life was pretty conventional — even within the definition of “successful” for someone in my age range — graduating from college and law school, starting my career and building some other aspects of my adult life. However, I could recall that I had a much greater fear of the unknowns in my life, including about marriage and family. In my head I could turn almost any occurrence into some existential question about what it meant for my broader future. It honestly made me thankful that I’m not back there again. I was later talking to other friends my age, and we collectively agreed that we were very glad to be past that decade, lol.
That said, when I was in my 20s, that was my time to experience that decade, and I did. I also recall the experiences of my 20s as where I started to gain the mindset that led to more emotional growth for me into my 30s. I remember a moment when my mom had called me (again) and being annoyed because I had been expecting a call from some guy at the time. I recall rolling my eyes and thinking, “uh, another call from her!” But in that moment, it was like an audible voice almost said back to me, “You should be grateful your mom cares enough to call you, because there’s a lot of people who wish their mom could call them, but can’t” — for whatever reason — death, disease, discord, distance. That moment truly reminded me to be grateful when she calls me — and it profoundly changed my outlook for the positive, and it’s stuck with me. (And my mom is good on the phone — we live near each other, and she’s quick and just wants to check in — which works for me!)
I believe in being grateful for where I am at every point in my life, because every aspect of my life has something new to experience and learn. The better I embrace where God has me in life in the moment, the better I live in that moment and experience the beauty — and brokenness — it has to offer, and also prepares me for the next. I’m grateful — and proud — to be 41, because I didn’t just pop out of the womb and end up here — I had to live two scores — or four decades — to get here. My life experiences are part of my story and what I have to offer the world.
When I consider what it means to live fully and with gratitude where I am right now, I think about a passage that I hope to always be practicing throughout life, 1 Thessalonians 5: 16–18:
Always be joyful. Never stop praying. Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus.
The grace God gives for today is all that’s needed right now.
I remember some time ago, also in my 20s, when a friend of mine had repeated this phrase — “Grace for today” in discussing how it helped her navigate singleness at the time. I recall her mentioning that someone had shared the phrase with her, which was based on 2 Corinthians 12, where the apostle Paul talks about the oft-debated (and unknown) “thorn in the flesh” that he asked God to remove, but He had not, and Paul had a revelation from it:
8 Three different times I begged the Lord to take it away.9 Each time he said, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me.10 That’s why I take pleasure in my weaknesses, and in the insults, hardships, persecutions, and troubles that I suffer for Christ. For when I am weak, then I am strong. (NLT)
“Grace for today” is recognizing that, at this moment, even in uncertainty — or a hard no — God gives us what we need to face that day. A lot of our worries are often about the unknowns — things that may never happen. Granted, there are things we actually experience that can cause us pain, as in Paul’s case. In any circumstance, God promises to give us the strength, through His power, to face uncomfortable realities.
I like the phrase — and the relevant passage — because it reminds me that I don’t have to be worried about where I’ll be if “x” thing doesn’t happen by “x” date, or if I experience something undesirable. I just have to trust that God has me for today, and know that, as I walk with Him, whatever happens He’ll give me the courage I need for that situation. And, if I do experience the thing I don’t want — or even fear — I’ll be ready for it when it happens. But I don’t have to be ready for it today. It encourages me to take each day at a time.
I also like to see “grace for today” as the manifestation of God being responsible for me, as He also promises in Philippians 1: 6 — that He’ll finish the work He started in saving us. Each day we’re on the earth is part of that process, until we reach heaven. It frees me from a need to have everything together right now, and helps me trust a God who is bigger than the “nos” — and the unknowns. Each day I show up and lean into God for strength, I am getting stronger — I am being transformed. And that, in itself, is glorious.
