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Heidi block wrote a "rant" about what she's tired of as she awaits her 7th child. Spoiler alert: she's mostly just sick of people not getting why we might be open to God's will--including for our fertility.
I don't feel quite so much anger or maybe just frustration as Heidi seems to. Honestly, I haven't had to face too much animosity or too many snarky comments from strangers. Really, almost none.
In fact, I've often encountered the opposite.
An older man was seated next to my then 12-year-old daughter on the plane back from the Southwest, after one of our annual visits to our family there. I wasn't allowed to take my baby plus a toddler into the bathroom (I think there was a quota on numbers, for safety). My husband had a "lap child", so he wasn't permitted to take a second on his lap. So I thought fast and dumped my plump infant into his big sister's arms. When my potty-trained girl was safely buckled back in, I slumped into the seat next to my big girl and took my baby back. Phew.
"You have a really nice family," commented the old man. "I was impressed with how your older child took care of the baby, really working to make him happy."
I probably said something like "Oh, thank you, they're good kids." I'm pretty used to these types of observations, usually compliments...and sometimes I just wish we weren't always so noticed. But it does make me happy.
The old man continued: "We had five children and I probably didn't enjoy them enough. We sort of just couldn't wait for them to get out of the house."
My heart ached a little at the sense of regret that I heard in his voice. It was a reminder and an encouragement to me. It's not like I always feel so lucky to have 8 children clamoring under the same roof. I mean, I believe they are my greatest treasures, but sometimes I feel...stressed. It was reminding me what I think of so often: that with children "the days are long but the years are short."
"I'm trying to do better with our grandchildren," he said, "to really enjoy them."
"Yes," I encouraged, "that's so wonderful!"
I've encountered so many people with this same regret. In their golden years, they seem to discern that they bought into a lie.
Heidi wrote:
"But more than tired, I feel sorry for you. I pity you because you carry a load on your back of anxiety, future regret, unsatisfied longings, and unverbalized resentment to which you have no name. To which you can’t for the life of you figure out why, since you’ve made all the right decisions, all the adult financial choices. But here you are. And here I am. The more full my womb becomes, the more you need me to reassure you that what you’ve done, what you’ve chosen, what you’ve given up, has been worth it. That the suspicion, that ache in your gut, is quite possibly your conscience whispering to you that you’re living a lie. That your fertility has nothing to do with your plan, and everything to do with God’s. That you’ve been asking the wrong questions all along.
I'm not here to suggest that everyone, or anyone, has such regret. Except for the people who actually tell me as much. And for them, I'm happy.
I'm happy because for them, there is hope. They can love again. There is always a second chance. There might be grandchildren. There might be the chance to open their lives to more children of their own! There might just be an increase of appreciation for human life, in general, in all of this world. And in that appreciation, in that love...is great occasion for joy. This world needs more joy, and there will be more just as soon as we can open our hearts to love and life.
As Mother Teresa of Calcutta said: it is not the world that is too small, it is our hearts.
Let's open wide the doors of our hearts. Whatever we do to the least of these, we do to Him. And St. John Paul II told us to "open wide the doors to Christ". Let's begin by opening our hearts to His "least of these". Why not be open to joy?
"Where there is life, there is hope"--Cicero
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