much they can do yet about male infertility.
As long as he could pretend it was MY problem, he could be gracious and sweet about it. But now, it’s like his self-esteem is demolished. I keep trying to tell him that the ability to father a child isn’t what makes him a man, but he snapped back that “That’s not how I was raised. You don’t understand the expectations about farming. I’m supposed to produce a kid to take over the farm. That’s how it’s done around here. I’m the fourth generation on this farm—and if I’m the last, then I’ve failed not just myself but my entire family.” And ever since then, he’s refused to talk about it at all. I don’t know what to do!
I called a few adoption agencies, but when they found out that 1) I’m 24 and Darren just turned 28, and 2) we have a 7-year-old daughter, they all told me we’re too young and not qualified because we have a child already. And even if we did get chosen by a birth mother, we could never afford the adoption. Did you know that some private adoptions cost as much as $25,000 to $30,000 because of “birth-mother expenses”? That’s outrageous!
But even sadder is that we could adopt a biracial or African-American baby for a fraction of that amount, because they aren’t as “placeable” as Caucasian babies. That’s a nice way of saying nobody wants them. Isn’t that horrible? I want them! But the problem is, I live in a community that still sees absolutely no problem at all using the “N-word” and routinely makes racial jokes about sending all of “them” back to the cotton fields. I’d never want to raise a black baby around here—poor kid would be miserable!
So I checked some international programs on the Internet. Some of them are as low as $12,000 to $15,000 and a few of them would even let younger couples adopt. But I just don’t know how we could afford even that, or if Darren would be willing to consider it. Stubborn male pride!
Anyway, you always make me feel so much better about all this. I really need you. Please write to me. (And please, PLEASE don’t share any of this with anybody else. Darren would just kill me if he knew I told you. But I had to talk about it with somebody, and you’re about the only person I’d trust with any of it.)
Your friend,
Brenna
* * *
From:
P. Lorimer
To:
Dulcie Huckleberry
Subject:
Stop Sulking!
* * *
Dearest Dulcie,
I love you very much, but I want you to take your head out from under that self-imposed rain cloud and quit pouting. I know…you “are NOT pouting!” You feel an obligation to deprive yourself of friends and any sort of potential encouragement because you don’t deserve to be happy. How do I know? Because I did the exact same thing after Jonathan and I slept together when we were dating—even before I realized I was pregnant with Julia. In fact, for a while, I thought Julia was my “punishment” from God for sinning. (Don’t you EVER tell her that!) It was very hard to accept her as the blessing she really was. She brought me so much joy, and I didn’t think I had a right to feel that way. So I DO understand why you are avoiding us. Obviously, you are trying to stay miserable, and you know that we, your loving friends, will make you insanely happy instead. :) Am I correct?
I discovered something else through what happened with Jonathan and me. It’s oh-so-easy to ask forgiveness from someone you’ve wronged. It’s a relief to accept their forgiveness. It’s also relatively simple to forgive somebody else, at least for me. But it’s a bear of a chore to forgive yourself. Don’t you think?
You are already repentant for what happened. You’ve probably even already told God how sorry you are and asked Him to forgive you. However, you’re not going to be able to move past this until you deal with yourself first. When Jesus said, “Forgive, if you have anything against anyone, so that your Father also who is in heaven may forgive you,” I personally believe He would have included yourself in that “anyone.”
I’ve come to realize that refusal to forgive yourself is basically pride. It’s as if we’re saying, “God, I know better than You do about myself. You may think it’s okay to forgive me, but You’re wrong. So, I’m just going to handle this