A Soldier of My King

This Lenten retreat just keeps getting better and better. St. Ignatius is amazing! I want to share a reflection I did the other night and how I related it to our current struggles with infertility.

The reflection is broken up into a series of points. The first point asks us to reflect on the qualities of a wonderful human king, the kind of king who all people respect and obey. It was clear to me that this king would have all of the qualities of our Lord. He would be just, yet merciful. Strong, but with a heart for the weak. Smart. Honest. Compassionate. Joyful. The list could go on and on.

The second point instructs us to consider the following address from the king: It is my will to conquer all the lands of the infidel. Therefore, whoever wishes to join with me in this enterprise must be content with the same food, drink, clothing, etc. as mine. So, too, he must work with me day by day, and watch with me by night, etc., that as he has had a share in the toil with me, afterwards, he may share in the victory with me.

The third point asks us to consider what kind of answer the faithful subjects of the king would give. A loyal subject would give a resounding "yes!" to the king and willingly follow him into whatever horror and suffering awaited.

Ignatius then draws our focus to the true King, Jesus Christ. Jesus gives the same address to his faithful subjects as did the earthly king. He asks us: Follow me in suffering so that you may follow me in glory. Wow. It didn't take long for God to clarify in my mind my calling to suffer with him. I am a solider, Christ is my King. If I contemplate on the duty and calling of a soldier, I realize it is anything but glamorous. They sleep on the ground, they eat simple meals, they keep watch throughout the night. They endure broken bones, loss of limbs, traumatic brain injuries, and worse. And they do not complain. They willing fight and die for their country and they do so without complaint. If they chose not to suffer, they would have no share in the victory.

If I expect to share in the victory of Christ, if I expect to share in the glory of heaven, I must fight beside him in the battlefield. I must suffer with him on the cross. We are all called to be suffering soldiers in the army of God. And, perhaps as a reward for my faithfulness to him, God has appointed me to this particular mission, to this particular suffering. Just as a faithful soldier would be chosen to carry out a top-secret and very dangerous mission, I have been chosen to bear a heavy and sorrowful cross. The soldier may tremble with fear as they board their jet and prepare for their mission, but the glory that awaits them in the victory is far greater than the fate that awaits the soldier who cowardly hides in the back of the line. If I truly want to share in the victory of Christ's cross, I must pick up my own, suffer along with him, and do so without complaint.

And just as the soldier who was chosen for the top-secret mission, I should be honored when I'm presented with a burden that I can return to the Lord, especially one so great and heavy. I have been blessed with infertility so that I may offer my sorrow to Christ and share fully in his glory at the end of my life. And more than a medal of honor or a purple heart, this soldier will seek to be rewarded with the words: Well done, my good and faithful "soldier".

In Memory of Rose

I know it's late. I typically don't EVER make it past 10:00, but I've gotta get this post out before the end of the day. Today marks the 10 year anniversary of my Grandma's death. She developed Alzheimer's when I was only 6 or 7 years old and died when I was 14. Most of memories of my Grandma Rose are sad ones, because she suffered for so many years of my short life. But there are plenty of happy ones too. [mom, don't read this at work.] The following is a random assortment of memories in no particular order.

Grandma Rose and Kaitlin Nicole (I think. She did have 24 grandchildren.)

My Grandma and Grandpa had eight girls! All of them spaced evenly apart by two years. One set of twins, one of which is my mother. (Come on God-with that in my gene pool I should be pregnant with number two by now!)

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Grandma Rose owned her own beauty shop inside of her house. It had a chair that spun and could be pumped up and down along with two dryer chairs. She never minded us grandkids playing in her shop. We pretended that the hair dryers were part of our space suits and acted like we were astronauts.

In Grandma's bedroom was a globe on a tall stand, an organ with two full rows of keys, and a sewing closet. We had a lot of fun playing in her bedroom too. She didn't mind this either.

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Grandma made beautiful quilts. She always added a little extra strip of fabric at the top so they "could be tucked under the pillows" and put one of those cute "made by Rose" patches on them. My mom got an extra quilt when they cleaned the house after she died and gave it to me as a wedding gift. In front of everyone at my shower, I cried.

My Grandma also painted. Her entire house was decorated with her paintings. There was one painting in particular that I really liked. It was of a pond at sunset. When I was in fourth grade I asked Grandma if I could have it when she died. She said of course and took it off the wall and wrote my name on the back of it "so that everyone would know it belonged to me." A few weeks later, at my 11th birthday party, she gave it to me as a gift. When I unwrapped it I got really concerned and asked her, "are you dying?" I think she just laughed.

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She taught me how to draw fall trees using the letter "Y" and how to make Barbie clothes from a coffee filter.

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She hummed and sang ALL the time. It was never a real song, she made it up as she went along. They were always happy.

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She and Grandpa owned a parrot once. It hummed too.

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When I was in maybe 4th or 5th grade I remember going to the library with my mom. She had a stack of books that she was checking out and I remember one that she was keeping hidden from me. I thought that it was probably about sex. Later, I found the book on accident on top of the fridge. It was called "What to do When Someone You Love Has Alzheimer's" or something like that. I didn't know what that was exactly, but I knew it was a disease and I knew it was bad. My mom was downstairs doing laundry and I went and asked her if she had Alzheimer's. She told me that she didn't but that Grandma did.

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I remember walking to Grandma's house after school in 5th or 6th grade with my cousins to help her rake leaves. I didn't know it at the time, but we did that so my Grandpa could take a break from her. By this time, the Alzheimer's was rearing its ugly head. I remember that she was really concerned with what to do with the leaves after we raked them into the piles. She didn't trust that the city would come pick them up if we left them on the side of the road. I didn't understand why she was so concerned about this.

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One year she came over to our house while we put up our Christmas tree. All of our ornaments were wrapped in paper towels. She took each paper towel after we removed the ornaments from it and folded them up in the exact same way. I remember thinking, "what a waste of time, we're just gonna unfold them after Christmas." But I also remember knowing that it made her happy.

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My mom and I visited Grandma Rose in the nursing home one day and when we got in the van to leave my mom turned on the radio and You'll Be In My Heart by Phil Collins was playing. She put the van in park and we just sat there and cried together.

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I remember the last couple of days of her life, knowing that it wouldn't be much longer. I remember one morning before school I woke up at 5:54 am (my alarm was set for 6:00). I looked at the clock and went back to sleep for 6 minutes. A half hour later, my mom called from the nursing home and told me Grandma had died. "She died at 5 minutes to 6:00," she said.

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I was in 8th grade when she died and had absolutely no control over my emotions (even on a good day). I thought this was the end of the world and the worst possible thing that could ever happen to me. I was also very concerned with what I was going to wear to the funeral.

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At the funeral, two of my uncles sang Hail Mary, Gentle Woman. Three months later, in May (the month of Mary) our church choir sang that song nearly every Sunday. It made me and mom cry. It still does. Last year, my uncles sang it as my wedding as we presented flowers to the Blessed Virgin and to St. Joseph. I think that might have been the only time I haven't cried upon hearing that song. I was too happy.

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I read a petition at her funeral Mass. I remember being very proud of myself for not crying when I read it and thought, "Grandma would be proud of me."

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In high school, when I was thinking about (or actually doing) something I knew was wrong, I thought about Grandma and the fact that she was watching me from heaven. This often made me change my behavior, sometimes even more than thinking about Jesus. I was very embarrassed for my Grandma to know any of the bad things that I did.

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When I was a teenager my mom told me about a time that her boyfriend stood her up and she was so mad she wanted to scream. "Scream!" my Grandma told her. "Who cares if anyone hears you!" And so my mom screamed. That story always made me think that my Grandma was a pretty cool mom.

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Well, that's not a complete list, but it highlights some of my best and worst memories of my wonderful Grandma. It's hard to believe it's been 10 years. Tonight, on my way home from the retreat at Church, I reached to turn on the radio but hesitated. It is Lent after all, I need to make a little more peace and quiet in my life. I hadn't driven but two blocks when I realized I was humming away and making up the tune as I went along. It made me smile from ear to ear, so I did it even louder. Then I tried to hum the tune of Hail Mary, Gentle Woman but it made me cray and you can't hum when you're crying. I went back to making up the song as I went. I'm not sure where the tune came from, but it sure was happy.

Rose Bohnert

April 22, 1928-February 23, 2000

Faithful wife to James "Chink" Bohnert. Devoted mother to eight. Energetic Grandma to 24. Heavenly Great-Grandma to 7 (hopefully 8 soon!)

"Just" Me and Ted

When you're blogging about trying to have a baby and it never happens-your posts aren't very positive or uplifting. Those readers that have never me may get the sense that I'm always sad, frustrated, and on the verge of despair. And although I do have all of those emotions at some point or another, I'm usually pretty up-beat. I can contribute the majority of that to my sweet, wonderful husband.

So for this post-no grumbling, no complaining, and no questioning 'why'. This post is dedicated to telling the world how wonderful my husband is. If lovey-dovey stuff makes you sick-feel free to stop reading right....now.

My husband Ted is 6 feet, 4 inches tall. I'm only 5 feet, 1 inch tall. I LOVE how much taller he is than me. It makes me feel feminine and protected. I have never wished that our height was closer, although I do complain about the neck cramps from time to time.

My husband is unbelievably patient. I am not the easiest person to live with (even when I'm not having mood swings from the Clomid). I'm very strong willed, opinionated, and can be bossy. Ted never lets me walk all over him, but he does calmly and quietly put me in my place. I don't think I would stand a chance at heaven without him.

Ted is a man's man. He hunts, fishes, works on his boat, changes the oil in his truck, plays every sport imaginable, drinks Bud Light, and isn't afraid to fart in front of me. I wouldn't have it any other way. Ted is the same person to his family, his friends, and his co-workers. He knows what he believes and why he believes it. He isn't afraid to speak out against (or for) something just because it's unpopular. Ted defends the Church like he defends his own mother.

When other guys talk about girls like they're objects for their visual pleasure, Ted calls them out on it. When they reply with, "Well you can at least look!" Ted replies, "No, I can't." I do not tell him to be like this, Ted respects all women and treats them like sisters in Christ.

My sweet husband is without a doubt the funniest person I know. He has an incredibly witty sense of humor and can always come up with a great one-liner or punch line. He is never at a loss for a sarcastic comment and can dish it out to anyone he meets all day, every day. He's very sweet, however, and tries to make me feel like my jokes are as funny as his, but I know they're not. Every moment spent with him is full of surprises.

Ted is very, very practical. He's good at budgeting, making tough decisions, and keeping a level head in all situations. I would go crazy without him.

He gives the world's best hugs, even if he has to squat down or get on his knees to do it.

Ted's is such a hard worker. He gives everything he has to the project of the moment, whether it's school, his job, or just fixing something around the house. As I'm spending time online when I should be doing my holy hour, he's in the kitchen writing a paper for a class.

Ted's moral convictions are, perhaps, even more absolute than mine (is that possible??). He does not waver or bend when it comes to Church teaching or morality. I'm not saying he's perfect, he makes mistakes like the rest of us. But he always tries to educate himself on the issues and pushes himself to constanly be better than he was before.

Ted wants to be a daddy as much as I want to be a mommy. He dreams about all of the things he would teach his son and all of the ways he would keep the boys away from his daughter. He's willing to drive long distances to meet with doctors, sacrifices financially to pay for all the testing, and prays harder for children than even I do.

Despite the sadness that consumes my heart at the thought of never being a mommy, the happiness I receive just from being Ted's wife is enough to get me through even the biggest struggle. The greatest single blessing in my life has been to share it with my wonderful husband. And I promise you, there are so many, many days in which I think, If we can never have children, I'm sure glad I picked him to spend the rest of my life with. My life will be filled with lots of laughter, many great memories, and a house full of love. Even if it's "just" me and Ted.

Waiting...

Lent is here and I actually feel ready! I usually have no solid direction when Lent begins and end up choosing something to give up about midway through the season. Not so this year! I actually decided upon a few things to give up that I feel will help quiet my heart and assist me in gaining some much needed self control. I'm also participating in an extended retreat through our church, St. Joseph. Our priest announced the retreat two Sundays ago and I was excited from the moment the words left his lips. The retreat is based on the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, which a book I've wanted to read for a long time. It's been recommended to me by priests in confession and I'm excited to be reading it with the guidance of a priest rather than on my own.

After a Mardi Gras party at St. Joseph's on Tuesday and a fully packed Ash Wednesday Mass, I'm starting to feel in Lenten "mood". With that comes some reflection on waiting and what it means to wait with "joyful hope" as we always hear during Mass. Lent is a time of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving and of waiting with expectation of our Lord's resurrection on Easter Sunday. While Lent is a difficult time if observed correctly, the "hope" part of it is especially difficult for me to understand because it's already been realized. It doesn't make sense for me to "hope" for Jesus' resurrection because I know it's already happened. I know that Easter Sunday will fall on April 4th this year and that the Easter Season will follow after. I'm waiting and hoping for something that I'm already confident will occur.

This isn't the case with our waiting and hoping for a baby. April 4th will come and go with or without a baby having been conceived. Lent will occur every year from now until the end of the world, and I may struggle with same sadness of infertility during every last one of them. There is no way to know what God has in store for us right now and, if I'm being completely honest, I REALLY don't like that. I'm resisting the urge to even use the word "hate". It is so very difficult to have no idea what the future holds. Ted says it's good for me to not have control over this situation and I know that he's right. But that doesn't mean I like it. And it doesn't make it any easier to deal with my lack of control.

Right now I'm in the "waiting" part of the month. I've done this so many times before and it's the same almost every time. My period came and went-we knew we weren't pregnant. Then there are always a couple of days that follow with no cramps, being absolutely certain you're not pregnant, and having no pressure to try to conceive. (I usually make it a point to enjoy a nice cold Bud Light during this time.) After that comes the trying, which is so emotionally complex I could spend 10 posts attempting to lay out all of my emotions. After the first couple days of trying come thoughts of: if we conceived this month, it might have happened by now! I don't feel any different, but that's ok because it's too early to notice anything anyway. I start treating my body like it's pregnant on the rare chance that is actually is. No alcohol and virtually no medicine-depsite my nasty sinus infection right now. I take my prenatal vitamins and hope that they're actually going to help a real baby this month.

Then comes what has affectionately been called the "two week wait" in infertility circles. The Lent of the woman's cycle. If we're going to get pregnant this month-it definitely would have happened by now! I think I'm peeing more than usual-maybe that's a sign. I don't think this is just gas-this feels different. It's getting close to the time to start my period and I don't feel any cramps yet-we're probably pregnant! I calculate my due date and make a mental note that it's the best possible time to have a baby, even though I thought the same thing last month. I start daydreaming about ways to tell Ted and announce it to our families. I find myself standing in our spare bedroom thinking about ways to make a crib fit for nearly 10 minutes before I even realize what I'm doing. Every day that goes by I grow more and more confident that it actually worked this month! Then comes the back pain and the funny feeling in my lower stomach. Even though my period is still days away-I know I'm not pregnant. Sometimes my nurse will suggest I take a pregnancy test at this time, but I know it's pointless. I just know. By the time my period actually arrives it's no surprise, although it still hurts every time. Some months I cry, some months I shrug it off and act like it's no big deal. But I'm always disappointed.

I don't know how to relate this "waiting" to the waiting of Lent. I wish I had some awesome insight to share with everyone about what I've learned from this experience, but I don't. I just have frustration and confusion. How do I "joyfully hope" for a baby when I have little reason to believe it will actually happen? How do I remain joyful in this waiting when I really just want to cry? I can only hope that Lent will be a time for me to get better at offering up this pain to God and finding a deeper strength in Jesus to help me through the seemingly endless cycles of the "two week wait."

Mary, will you hold my hand extra tight over the next two weeks?

My New Friend Luke

Very few times in my life have I heard God's voice clearly and distinctly telling me what to do or where to go. At the moment, I can actually only remember one such time. [If you're curious, I was on a retreat and in the middle of spending an hour of prayer in Adoration. I was trying to stay focused on Jesus and keep my eyes on the Eucharist but, as always, I was having trouble. I complained in my prayer, "God I can't keep my eyes on you! I can't just watch you for an entire hour!" And I clearly and plainly 'heard' him reply, "If I were a television you would keep your eyes on me for an hour." Point taken.] But usually God's voice comes to me through the words of my friends, a passage in scripture, or the quiet, gentle nudgings of everyday life. That is how I came to know my new friend Luke.

1. It seems that the during the last few weeks the majority of readings from the gospel at daily Mass have been from the Gospel of Luke, or at least during the daily Masses that I've managed to get myself to. I've found myself smiling when I look up a bible passage for a blog posting and discover that it's from Luke. Also, for an extended retreat that I'm participating in at my church, I was instructed to read an account of Philip in the Acts of the Apostles. I read the account and an explanation in my Navarre Bible. Luke is the author of Acts, so I ended up reading a lot about Luke when I was supposed to be reading about Philip.

2. Ted and I have been talking about baby names. That's nothing new-we've been talking about baby names since we met. We decided upon a boy name and a girl name within the first few months of dating. We've moved on to discussing names we like for our third child, fourth child, fifth child, etc. Maybe this isn't healthy, seeing as how there are no foreseeable babies in our future, but we can't help it. And it's fun. A few weeks ago I mentioned the name Luke. Ted liked it-so did I. It has stuck with me longer than most names.

3. The combination of the two seemingly insignificant events left me with Luke on the brain. Last night, during my hour of prayer for the extended retreat, I stuck an extra book mark into my bible to get it out of my way. At the end of the hour, I remembered the book mark and decided to check to see where it ended up, always hoping to come across a passage that really speaks to me. Where did I find it? You guessed it. Luke. And not just anywhere in Luke, but the very first page. I'm getting the hint that God wants me to get to know this saint and his gospel.

Knowing that I should get to know Luke isn't enough for me though. I immediately started analyzing the situation to determine WHY I needed to get to know Luke. My first thought was: we're pregnant, it's a boy, and we're going to name him Luke. That one didn't last long because we already have a boy name and it isn't Luke. (Twin boys perhaps...."Beggars can't be choosers," Ted said.)

I then remembered that Luke is the patron saint of doctors. We've been blessed with a wonderful (even saintly) doctor and we probably don't pray for him as often as we should. God sent me Luke to remind me to pray for our doctor. Alright, we'll add him to our nightly litany!

But, as with so many other things in my life, it took my sweet husband to bring it all to light. On the way home from Mass yesterday we were discussing the gospel (which was, of course, from Luke!) and I told him about my increasingly strong devotion to Luke and the book mark in the bible incident. "Isn't Luke the gospel that tells the most about Mary?" he asked. Of course!! How could I have forgotten? Most of the stories from Mary's life are told in the Gospel of Luke. I had a flash back to a youth group meeting from my sophomore year of high school during which Fr. Mark said, "If you want to know Mary, start with Luke." That is my goal isn't it? To know Mary and become more like her. Thanks Ted! I think I'll start with Luke!

And it doesn't end there. Last night I started from the beginning and discovered that Luke's gospel is the only one of the four that relates the story of Zechariah and Elizabeth! Elizabeth is the mother of John the Baptist and Mary's sister. She was barren for many, many years until God blessed her with John. If it wasn't for Luke, we would never have known about the miraculous conception of John the Baptist or have Elizabeth as an example of woman struggling with infertility. Just another reason why I love Luke!

I'm so excited to begin Lent with the Gospel of Luke. I also hope with all my heart that God will someday bless us with a (second) son who we can name after this wonderful saint. But even if this never happens, I'm grateful that God has shown me a clear way to get to know my Blessed Mother more fully and given me a new friend in the process!

St. Luke, pray for us!

Redemptive Suffering and Mary's Role

Thanks for the emails and comments on my last post about offering up our sufferings. Advice from those with the same goal of heaven is always appreciated! God found his own way to give me some advice as well. For the last week or so I've noticed a book sticking out farther than the other books on our book shelf in the living room. When I would sit on the couch to watch TV or read I would glance over at the book and become a bit annoyed by it. (This is a typical OCD Kaitlin reaction.) But for a week straight, by the time I would get up from my chair I would have completely forgotten about pushing the book back in its place. The next day I would sit down again and the cycle would continue.

Yesterday I did some deep cleaning on our apartment and finally remembered to reorganize the books on the shelf (lining up perfectly is very important you know). When I tried to push the previously mentioned book in, it wouldn't move. There was another book shoved behind it causing it to stick out. That book....Redemptive Suffering by Fr. Samuel Tiesi. I just sat there for a second with a smile on my face and kind of looked around to see if anyone was watching, although I knew I was home alone. "Yeah, yeah-I get it," I said to God. The book was given to me by a friend in Missouri (as a loaner, not a gift-oops!) and I remember reading the first couple chapters but never went any further. I have no idea how the books came to be up against each other like this. I assure you I haven't dusted that shelf since before Christmas. This small little incident may seem trivial and coincidental to some, but it meant a lot to me. It reminded me that God provides us with the answers we need when we need them. Not the ones we WANT, but always the ones we need. I also found it somewhat humbling when I realized that this book was waiting for me to find it for over a week-even before I wrote the last post with all its complaints and grumblings about not understanding redemptive suffering. Oh Jesus, you're so patient with me!

Another issue that's been pressing on me lately concerns the title of this blog. I knew when I started the blog that I had to have a purpose in creating it. It couldn't just be the ramblings and daydreams of my mind. If I was going to put so much effort into it, it needed to lead me closer to Christ. I really believe that God led me to blog about becoming more like Mary because he wanted me to BECOME more like Mary. Since I announced this to world, however, the concept has been very tough for me. Mary never had to worry about not getting pregnant-she got pregnant without even having sex! Much less without surgery, NFP charts, and prescription drugs! She and Joseph never spent a day of their marriage worried that they wouldn't be able to start a family. Knowing that, I'm having a hard time figuring out how to relate to her. I realize that the qualities she possesses are qualities that I should emulate if I want to get through this experience and come out on the other side with a closer relationship to Jesus. But in the day to day struggles and pain, I'm not just sure she "gets" me. I've actually been worried that I won't even be able to continue this blog because I can't keep up the idea of becoming more like her when I'm not a mother and don't know if I'll ever be one.

What does God do to help me through this? Just re-read the previous section about the mysterious little book that showed up right when I needed it to! Not only have the first few chapters answered some of my questions about the value and purpose of suffering, but it answered one major question about my relationship with Mary through my struggles with infertility. This answer came in a chapter on the necessity of suffering when it comes to salvation. The author writes, "Do we not know that if Jesus and his mother, God the father's favorites, had to suffer and die in order to enter into glory, we his followers have to do the same in order to enter into glory?". It's true that, although Mary never knew the pains of infertility, she suffered greatly while on earth. At the Presentation of our Lord the prophet Simeon told her, "And you yourself a sword will pierce." She watched her only son suffer at the hands of the people and die a horrible and painful death on the cross. While she may not know my pain, she is no stranger to pain. The last line of the chapter really hit me. "And just as Mary suffered with him to the end, we can trust that Mary, our Mother, will suffer with us until the end."

Mary doesn't need to have gone through what I'm going through to be able to help me through it. She can suffer WITH me. The same can be said for my many wonderful friends who have been blessed with children but are still willing to suffer with me and help me in their own way. Mary is a heavenly version of the Ashley's and Alisha's I have on earth. And just because these friends haven't experienced the pain of wanting a child and not knowing if they'll ever exist, doesn't mean that I value their friendship any less, or that I don't still turn to them for help, advice, and prayers. God gave me heavenly examples of women in my position in Hannah, Sarah, and Elizabeth. He gave me earthly examples in Pat, and Debbie, and Kathy, our nurse that teaches us NFP. And even though Mary doesn't understand my pain the way that Kathy and Pam and Debbie do, doesn't mean that she's any less willing to help me through it. As Fr. Tiesi said, "our Mother will suffer with us until the end."

Offer It Up WHERE?

I admit it-the last couple days have been rough. I started taking the Clomid and it hasn't liked me very much. My doctor told me to expect mood swings, breast tenderness, and hot flashes but I haven't had any of those. I've just had headaches. Constant ones. Thankfully I've been blessed with a life mostly free of headaches and I've NEVER had to suffer through a migraine. But right now that just means that I'm a pretty big baby when it comes to dealing with the tiny little hammers tapping away at my brain. On top of that-I'm getting a cold. A fellow SLP put it well today when she said, "How are you supposed to keep from getting sick when these kids are sneezing IN your MOUTH??" "They don't make hand sanitizer for your mouth," I replied.

I say this not to complain (ok maybe it's a little bit of a complaint) but to bring up a question. What in the world do people mean when they say "offer it up"? I don't know if this is common in non-Catholic circles, but Catholics are always telling other Catholics to "offer it up". I've heard this my entire life but I still can't wrap my mind around how to do it. I understand from an intellectual perspective that there is redemption in suffering. If suffering didn't serve a purpose, if it didn't lead us to Christ, then there would be no hope in suffering. But we know that there IS hope in suffering and that offering it up is one way to accomplish this. We can offer up our injuries, set backs, sorrows, and pains for the greater glory of God's Kingdom. We can offer up our suffering for the conversion of sinners, for the poor souls in purgatory, and for all those who don't know Jesus. I get that part-I just don't know how to actually "do it".

I remember having a revelation a few years ago about the immense amount of suffering I had endured since having my very first period and how I basically just "wasted" it. All of that suffering could have been offered up for mothers suffering the pains of miscarriage or for the conversion of abortionists. Did I do that? No. And just in case anyone reading this thinks that I'm this holy person who has it all figured out-I STILL don't do it. This amazing revelation caused me to do....absolutely nothing. Every month when I'm in bed with cramps I cry and moan and complain about how much it hurts. No "offering it up" at all. When the pain goes away I usually think to myself, "dang, I should have offered that up." But by the time the pain returns, the thought escapes me. The same goes for the emotional pain I deal with from our infertility. I'm sure better people than me use this exact situation to offer up prayers for thousands upon thousands of souls. I just wallow in it and pray that God grant my request.

Part of my problem is the level of selfishness I have when it comes to my situation. I want the pain (physical and emotional) to GO AWAY and I can't get to the mental or spiritual maturity it takes to see outside of myself and think of others. Somehow, offering up a prayer of, "Lord, I offer up this pain for the salvation of souls," just doesn't really seem to DO anything. Is that seriously all you have to do or am I missing something? I don't "feel" anything afterwards. The pain isn't suddenly bearable because I know I'm suffering through it for a purpose.

I hope I can figure this out because a lot of pain is being wasted and a lot of suffering is being suffered in vain. Anyone out there have any suggestions??