By: Melissa Mensavage
Disclaimer, this is about my personal faith. This is not directed toward anyone or their faith choices.
Lately, I’ve been attending church on Sundays with Max. I am driven to go for that inspiration or strength that can help me get through the week. It’s a total drag having to get up early on a Sunday, when lounging around the house seems so much more relaxing; however, knowing the benefit I receive from my attendance and participation is, on most days, worth it.
I was born and raised in a traditional Catholic family. One of the biggest and oldest Catholic churches in Chicago is where my family started almost a century ago (grandparents’ marriage). Growing up I had no appreciation for the church, I just grumbled each and every Sunday. After college I elected not to go, arguing that I didn’t see how the church will help me find a job, pay off my debt, bring me a husband or children. My mother would get so angry with me.
When I was trying to get pregnant a couple of years ago, and I would give my half-hearted prayer each month of ‘please let this work’, I couldn’t understand why my prayers were never answered. I would cry each month, convinced this would never work, I would never become pregnant, nor be a mother. My mother would always say, ‘Be positive. You have to have faith and believe.’ I would just roll my eyes at her.
When I finally did become pregnant, and delivered, I felt something come over me in the delivery room, as the nurse moved the curtain for me to see Max. I felt the power of believing. Looking at my son, all wrinkly and a cross between pink and blue, crying, I was overcome with emotion that I couldn’t believe he was here. I was overcome with emotion that my very little faith that was hanging on by a thread came through for me.
For the last 18 months, every morning I wake and walk into Max’s bedroom and say a prayer of thanks. I get to spend another day with Max. I get to see with my own two eyes that my faith is true.
So I sit here tonight on the eve of a big test tomorrow. I am nervous. I am optimistic. I have been praying. My faith has been helping me build up strength.
I’ve always believed that the fertility doctors can only take the conception process so far and after that it’s all up to God, the universe, or whatever was meant to be will be. And with this, I believe my test results will only provide me with the answers of what I was meant to have.
(But I am still nervous! Keep your fingers crossed!)
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Originally published on The Seattle Lesbian
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