Broken Dreams

Children were always a big part of my life as I moved from my preteen years into young adulthood.  My strong maternal instinct was the result of growing up in a nurturing environment.  My parents were always there for my siblings and me.  Mom was the heart of our home and her tireless energy was channeled into us along with her love. My earliest knowledge of parenting was formed against this backdrop and I looked forward to the day when I would have my own children.

With adult supervision during my preteen years, I began babysitting.  I especially loved the babies and toddlers.  As the years went by, I secured a job at a public library working with children while finishing high school.  The job lasted into the third year of my college education, at which time I transferred to a western university to complete my degree. During my 20’s, I began to pray for my life’s future mate and, above all, desired to marry a man who was committed to living for Christ.  I fell in love a couple of times, but sadly the relationships ended so I began to wonder if marriage and a family were part of God’s plan for my life.

At the age of 30, my friend, Grant,* arranged a birthday party for me, inviting several co-workers to join in the celebration.  His kindness touched me and I wondered how he could celebrate when his own life was falling apart.  Although he never spoke to me about his problems, I was aware that his marriage had ended. I saw how consumed he was trying to be a good father to his two young children, Curt* and Laura.* He shared custody of the children with his former wife and both were very involved in co-parenting.

I watched Grant live out his faith in Christ, and his honor and integrity moved me.  As time went on, our relationship grew into love as we encouraged each other’s faith journey and enjoyed common interests.  Curt and Laura, who were four-and seven-years old at the time, became part of our outings. Both children had been traumatized by the events in their young lives and I wasn’t sure that I had the skills to help them cope. Yet, I had love and believed that with Christ we could become a family.  I had become more secure with the thought of sharing the parenting tasks between the three of us, still giving room for Grant and me to have our own children.

Within one month of our engagement, we found ourselves in unexpected legal proceedings involving the children.  The hearings and depositions went on continuously and nine months after we were married, Curt and Laura came to live with us full-time.  While there were holiday and summer visitation schedules, the course of our lives changed dramatically.  My dreams went by the wayside as we tried to sort through the profound grief issues the children were facing, while still building a new marriage.

In God’s infinite wisdom, He sent people who offered us support and encouragement.  My relationship with Grant’s former mother-in-law, born from a sense of duty, turned into a deep and lasting friendship.  Several women from the elementary school welcomed me into the fold, and were supportive of my willingness to volunteer for extracurricular activities.  Families from our church congregation invited us to their homes, drawing us into their lives.

While I knew the Lord’s hand was under-girding this new foundation, I still could not comprehend all of the changes that had occurred in my life.  Shortness of breath along with radiating pain in my upper chest, left me wondering if these symptoms might be early signs of heart problems.  With negative cardiac history in my family, the cause of my health issues baffled the doctors.  Rather than pursue a further diagnosis, I learned to work my life around the symptoms for the next three years.

On the surface, life was going in a positive direction and my days were full. I thoroughly enjoyed family life and loved being a part of the children’s routines, yet something within me was just not right.  My relationship with Grant was changing too as the busyness of parenting and our jobs drove us.  We no longer seemed to take the time to talk about the future and the possibility of having our own children.  I told myself it didn’t matter and that I had a responsibility to these little ones who had been placed in my care.  Yet, I knew I was not being true to myself and the rationalization of my feelings changed nothing.

I continued my life in this fashion for another year until a late night phone call forced me to face reality.  My sister-in-law’s father, his voice choked with emotion, called to inform us of the death of a much longed-for baby.  After trying for many years, this was his daughter’s first child and because of surgical complications she would be unable to bear any more children.  At that moment, I could not imagine the suffering my sister and brother-in-law were experiencing.  Comforting words escaped me when we met face-to-face at the funeral.

As Grant and I took our place beside the tiny white coffin, the room seemed to fade. I felt separated from all that was happening around me. My body shaking, I found the nearest bathroom and on my knees wretched in front of the lavatory.  Every emotion of grief and loss, every thought that I had suppressed for nearly four long years, began to surface.  Memories of dreams of being pregnant that had awakened me in the middle of the night were suddenly before me. The level of emotional intensity was nearly unbearable. Only God’s mercy could have picked me up from that floor and ushered me into the sorrowing presence of my extended family.

Driving home from the cemetery, Grant and I spoke of lost dreams and for the first time he heard my brokenness verbalized.  He was not at the same place in his goals, and had difficulty understanding my sorrow. In Grant’s mind, he was too old and additional children might strain the fragile thread of security that Curt and Laura clung to, besides divide his loyalties. No more words were said and in that defining moment, I resolved to leave my family.

Once at home and on my knees seeking God, I asked Him to bless my decision. For the next several nights, I poured out my emotions to Him. I could no longer accept my life as it was. In the stillness of that prayer time, a gentle voice whispered: But if you leave, Dianne, they will never understand. They are just children. Trust Me, please trust Me.  No judgment, no condemnation, merely words that lovingly conveyed to me the consequences of the decision I was about to make. Repeatedly, I heard the Lord ask me to trust Him and in the days ahead, I began to search the Scriptures for the reassurance I so needed. I read in Hebrews 11 a stunning narrative of God’s people who lived and died courageously “by faith;” many who never had their dreams fulfilled nor did they receive the things promised. Yet, they continued to walk closely with their God, having a sense that their lives had a specific destiny, and that they were strangers and aliens on this earth. 

And so began the journey of acknowledging and living in a place of profound grief due to broken dreams. I came to realize that my circumstances had the power to destroy my life, if I let them. On an intellectual level these principles made sense, but I still had to apply them to my wounded heart.  As the Lord and I walked through my anger, resentment, and sadness, the respiratory difficulties disappeared.

The ensuing months and years were both a process of forgiveness, strengthening a godly marriage, and learning about the faithfulness of God. Our marriage has entered into its richest season. Today, I have a deeper level of empathy for those who have lived through the “dark night of the soul” and have emerged with a hope in a promise.  Our earthly lives are but a precursor of an eternal reality where there will be no more tears or suffering. Until that day, I live with gratitude, expectancy and joy; believing that all my days are engraved in the palms of His hands.

*Names changed to protect identities.

~ By Dianne Geiger