Today is “Leap Day,” a date that only happens every four years.  In this spirit of ephemera many bloggers are posting about loss; pregnancy loss particularly, but the losses pile up for us and it’s not for me to discern among them.

For me that is five IVFs, 16 embryos lost in various ways, one chemical pregnancy and one ectopic pregnancy.  It hurts too much to think of the babies that were, or might have been.  It also hurts to think of the “why?”  So many questions we can’t get answered, but still must face.

I’m swept away by Kate’s post.  Go and read it if you can.

I began trying to conceive with confident, church-sanctioned faith in God and the Bible.  Completely untested faith.  My circumstances and experiences have left me with something wholly different.  It is still faith, but it is full of giant, gaping holes.  Mystery.  Confusion.  The elements that I learned as solid, proven, and logical are none of those. 

What I have now is a pile of feelings: anger at God, fear of Him.  Disappointment.  Betrayal.  Love that I feel both for and from Him in moments when I don’t expect it.  In the pile there is also a stubborn healing, a shoot of grass poking through concrete reminding me that beauty and grief and joy are so mixed up sometimes that I can only surrender to them all.  (“Can surrender” not necessarily the same as “will” or “do” surrender – I am no better at that than anybody else). It is harder to love and trust a pile, a jumble of conflicting experiences and thoughts, than it was to live under the whole cloth where I started my faith.

But this faith is the one that Kate describes; it’s a faith of choice.  I don’t have good reasons to believe.  I just believe because I want to, I need to.  I choose to believe.  I choose to be the fool who might be wrong, because I’d rather be that fool than the hard-hearted person I used to be, who didn’t believe in God or miracles or angels even though secretly I wished to.

As I lay on the ice last Wednesday I realized that my ankle maybe wasn’t broken and I felt foolish.  But I was oh, so glad to be wrong; to be the foolish girl who called an ambulance that I probably didn’t need was better than to be the girl who was going to be wearing a cast until spring.

Similarly, I am glad to be this fool of faith because of the ephemera, the whisper of hope and unconditional love that I feel for and actually find some days, like a fresh breeze on a still day.  Great lives have hung on much less, I am happy to hang my small life on it, and so I do.