IAN & LARISSA

Yesterday my friend Amber sent me this video. In a nutshell, a girl named Larissa married her college boyfriend, even though a terrible accident 10 months into their relationship left him severely mentally and physically disabled. I encourage you to watch it; it’s extremely inspiring, upsetting and challenging. Plus, this entry will make a lot more sense if you know the context of their story.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Larissa and Ian — how sad it makes me that such a vibrant life was turned upside down by tragedy. Why would God allow it? It’s such a childish question, but nevertheless one I keep coming back to as I wrestle through my own pain of not being able to conceive.

But Larissa is the one who really strikes me in this pair — someone so young who chooses a life of sacrifice and selfless love, without much prospect of receiving anything in return. She has to give up so much of what she would like to do in order to take care of her husband and all the household chores and expenses — cooking, laundry, groceries, bills, pushing Ian’s wheelchair, managing his meds and falling asleep every night next to a man who can barely speak. It’s so counter to everything our culture says about love and romance and self-actualization. It’s so counter to my own comfort level.

Their story has challenged me on a number of levels. First and most obviously, it opened my eyes to how much about Philip I take for granted — that he is full of life and energy and opinions and wit; that we run together, blood pumping and lungs heaving and feet coming down on the hard pavement and it hurts so much but we can DO it and then when it’s over we feel dizzy with delicious endorphins; that he teases me and makes the most inappropriate jokes; that he works impossibly hard at his job in order to provide for our family; that he plans for our financial future; that he chips in with the household chores usually even more so than me; that he follows his passions and interests with enthusiasm and joy; that he listens to me and gives me back rubs; that he sits down with me to prepare for our small-group Bible study; that he supports me when I want to do weird things like acupuncture and extreme diets; that he plays with our cats; and even that we fight with such emotion — two strong wills locked in opposition, able to form arguments and assert our positions.

Secondly, Larissa’s selflessness makes me embarrassingly aware of how selfish I am. That the moment Philip fails to do any of the above or I perceive that I’m not his number-one priority and focus, I’m displeased with him. How rare it is that I’m actually thinking of his needs first and dreaming up ways I can serve him better. This self-obsession has only gotten worse as our issues with fertility drag on; I see myself as somehow deserving all his sympathy and care because I’m hurting inside, rather than rising above my own personal sadness to still be a loving, serving wife who thinks of others first.

A third thing that struck me about the video was all the other gorgeous, healthy couples and families that surround Ian and Larissa. I mean, just really good-looking, stylish, hipster people with beautiful children. And here are Larissa and Ian, not withdrawing from all the perfect-looking families, but living right in their midst, experiencing community with them. This has been by far one of the hardest aspects of our current frustrations with fertility — being surrounded by good-looking, stylish people with big, round, adorable bellies and beautiful children. My jealousy is so intense. It’s just really intense. And it’s not just jealousy; it’s an in-my-face reminder of everything I want but don’t have, and it intensifies my heartache. My response so far has been to slowly withdraw from fertile friends, to quietly excuse myself from baby showers and get-togethers where there’ll be a lot of parents and kids, to pretend like I never got the email about takethemameal.com. But I was so amazed by Larissa, who, rather than being envious of and avoiding her friends with normal marriages and cute-as-pie kiddos, instead welcomes their friendship; she embraces what they do have in common, rather than what they don’t.

Lastly, Larissa’s hope and thankfulness are beyond humbling to me. She hopes that Ian will get well, that they’ll someday have the marriage and family they see others enjoying. But even if her earthly hopes never materialize, she clings to the hope of heaven — knowing healing and fullness there is a sure thing — and she remains thankful for the small blessings in each day on earth. As the months wear on, I feel my hope receding, and in its place is growing a resignation, a bitterness. I forget to be thankful of the blessings I do have; I’m tired of the good things in my life, when I should be fully living into and relishing every childless opportunity that comes my way.

These are all hard lessons, and my soul is not very teachable during this season. Even today, full of the knowledge that God is at work on my heart, I feel self-pitiful and resistant to transformation. But maybe He can still grow me into someone a little more like Larissa, a woman five years younger than me but infinitely more humble, selfless and wise.