The ultrasound probe hurts today. Sara, the ultrasound tech, is chasing follicles, left and right, on both ovaries. There are so many! “Twenty three on the right,” she states. Click click click. A faint groan escapes me as we dig deeper in my abdomen for the left ovarian check. My abdomen feels pressurized, like a subcutaneous needle poke could cause a “boom” and my abdominal cavity contents could be plastered on the droptile ceiling. The days of Follistim and Menopur began easily enough but nearly overnight everything has become so swollen, inflamed, and pressurized. The ultrasound checkup confirms that my ovaries have been working hard to super produce as many follicles as they can, at the demand of the medications I inject every night.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” Sara says. “This is not fun.”

“Mmm.” I don’t want to talk. I am as busy counting the follicles on the screen as she is.

Earlier she had tried to elicit from me how I was feeling. I deflected and said, “Tell me instead about your weekend.” Now I counted follicles with one ear and listened to her weekend stories that morphed into her personal history.

“You know it wasn’t easy for me to get pregnant either. I have endometriosis. In my twenties I took medications to mimic menopause because I wasn’t ready to have children yet. My ovarian reserve was really low, so we had to protect it. It’s no fun being menopausal in your twenties. And then it was a struggle to get pregnant when we were trying. I’ve been doing this for twenty years. I used to do ultrasounds on all these people, and you know, you shouldn’t wonder this, but I did: how do these people get to have a baby? People who weren’t happy they got a girl or didn’t seem like they’d be fit parents.”

“I think it’s human to doubt.”

“You know, I think it is.” We finish the exam. I’ve been grateful for her dialogue. My next stop is with the clinic nurse, who confirms that I will take Pregnyl and Lupron tonight at 11pm sharp and an egg retrieval procedure is scheduled for two days from now.

I drive home in silence, thinking about the nature of human doubt. I was taught to fear doubt. “All doubters will have their place in the lake of fire,” I can hear the red-faced visiting preacher beller from my childhood. Even as an 11 year old child, I didn’t like him and his hooting and hollering. There’s no need to be angry when you’re teaching the Bible. I imagined he was a difficult person on the daily.

As an adult, I am confronted with doubt often. I have made peace that doubt can take her turn to speak, as can hope, and fear, and all other emotions of the human experience. Doubt does not rule me, but she gets her opportunity equally with all the others. I credit the movie Inside Out with the vivid imagery of all my emotions.

Weeks later, I am drawn to John 11. I journal:

When God’s waiting doesn’t make human sense.

Jesus knew Lazarus was deathly ill–He did not perform an early intervention. Lazarus had been dead and buried for x 4 days + possibly dead for 5 before Jesus walked the short 2 miles from his place to Lazarus’ place.

Martha, the more outspoken sister, states “Lord, IF you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

What is speaking? There is faith, disappointment in Jesus’ actions, perhaps even an accusation–“Could you not have gotten here sooner?”

When Mary, whose grief had immobilized her, saw Jesus, she collapsed but also choked out, “Lord, IF you had been here, my brother would not have died!”

I think grief, disappointment, + doubt as to Jesus’ intentions are human responses in times of deep suffering.

For Martha, Jesus’ response was a reminder of His identity–“I am the resurrection and the life.” Martha says “Yes, I do believe that You are the Messiah, Son of God.”

Martha’s cry of “Lord IF” existed simultaneously with a deep faith. She was one of the first humans on the planet to state Jesus’ divinity as Messiah.

Jesus’ response to Mary was different. He did not give her the same reminder of His divinity–instead, He demonstrated His humanity. He wept.

Our pain becomes His pain. His eternal life becomes our eternal life. It’s not a fair trade.

Jesus response to Mary was “Where have you put him?” Show me your loss. Bring me to the presence of your pain.

I imagine Jesus’ prayer to the Father was through a streaming face of tears. He brought Lazarus back to life while His own tears were still drying.

I am still living in the days of loss. I am waiting for a miracle rescue that does not rush to the scene. Like Mary, I am immobilized by my loss. I see the Lord, + rather than gratitude at His arrival, I too have only veiled accusation: “Lord IF!” Where were you?

Here I am, awaiting His response.