Day 27: What's a Closed Door?

Closed doors.
Closed.

The first truth that comes to my mind is that I will no longer be able to give birth to a baby.

Three pregnancies. I have had three pregnancies and I was diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum each time. The hyperemesis left me utterly sick, weak, and miserable for months on end during which I would loose weight, not gain it, and simple things like the smell of water boiling or the sight of the word "ginger" would send me into a state of nausea.
During this time, Big Strong Man repeatedly cleaned up vomit from our bed, the floor, and all over the bathroom. In one pregnancy, he had to give me a bath because I could no longer stand the way I smelt, after not bathing for a week and having no strength at all to do it for myself.

After Zeplin was born, my first son, I swore he would be an only child...until he finished nursing at 12 months and I knew he needed a sibling. Demetri was born 13 months later, and Thatcher, 27 months after Demetri.

With each pregnancy I questioned my sanity, my mothering, my health.
My sister-in-love and I would share our mutual misery over the phone while she was pregnant with her last and I, my second.
In some ill-tasting humor, we would joke about just wanting to die and what a relief that would be.
To be put out of our misery.

But it wasn't a joke to me and I ended up doubling my depression medication after my second son was born and I was suffering from Postpartum Depression. During the nine months I carried him I was seen regularly by my ob-gyn because she had to check my mental health as well as his and my growing bodies. On more than one occasion I told her that I felt as though dying in a car accident might be the best release for me. I had no intention of inducing an accident, but how great it would be if it happened to me?

It is scary to be that sick. That far gone.

When Thatcher was born I received an operation which removed...something. It's lame and irresponsible of me to not know the actual body part which was removed from me, but I truly don't even care. Something was taken away, preventing me from being able to get pregnant and carry another child ever again. I took a drastic measure because I knew that I had to be available, sane, and healthy for the family the Lord had given me.  I needed to chose them over what could be, and in doing so, a door closed. 

The door to that time in my life was made permanently closed.

My three utter delights

I know this may not be the same thing Annie speaks about. Hers seems to be the doors God closes with little or no inquiry on our behalves. Whereas I wanted this surgery, what about those surgeries no one asks for? What about the life dreams and goals and the doors which close on them?
Where they ever even open to begin with?

"Closed doors can be confusing", writes Annie. "...life happened...you found yourself...realizing that the door...didn't seem to be something you could do anymore for some reason.
Whatever it is, it happens, and when it happens, you can be brave."

God has not forgotten our dreams, our sorrows, the desires of our hearts, the way our hearts break.      He has not forgotten to open a door...or to close one.

It is wise to remember that doors closing are not always God saying "no". It could be a "not yet" or a "not this way". It could be a "here's a better door" or a door to a dream you haven't yet dreamed. Maybe there are a series of doors one must go through to get to "the door". The door of healing, acceptance, forgiveness.

When doors close, or look closed, we are still very present in our stories. Other doors are also present. When the only door we want is the one we cannot have, we are choosing something outside of God's will and it is wise to remember that we are not God, but -good thing- because God is good at being God.

Be Brave: 

This may be a bit painful or scary,
but write about a door you know God has closed on your life.