Hey, Mountain of Infertility
by Bree Keel
Bethesda Administrator
(part 1)
For too long, many hearts have died at the base of your mountain. They’ve been told they’re unable to conceive & don’t have the financial position to attempt to scale your mountain via fertility treatments. So they’ve stood at the base of your mountain, felt the sting of their tears against their face, suffocated by hopelessness, heads tilted back as they stare up at your peak - the holy ground they’ve been told they’ll never be able to reach.
For too long, many hearts have died after brief ascent up your mountain. Full of energy & optimism, they dig their cleated-boots into the freshly ground dirt, as they begin fertility pre-testing. Clothed in hope, hydrated by curiosity, they take the first turn up your mountain and feel the sun on their faces. A few more curves up the mountain, a few more tests at the clinic, and conditions suddenly change. Flash rain hits the mountain side; footing gets slippery. An incurable diagnosis; missing body parts; incompatible reproduction; “unexplained” causes; irreversible damage; low levels; inactive sperm; inflammation & polyps. Unable to resume your climb; forced to go back the way you came. Holy Ground sits, untouched.
For too long, many hearts have died on the face of your mountain. They’ve breathed your crisp air of hope, they’ve touched your soft soil of promise, they’ve tasted the rain drops of joy, wombs freshly filled with life. When suddenly, the side of your mountain gives way - feet slip... hands loose grip... head meets earth. Little lives lost in the womb; big hearts broken, forever. Bloody knees & scarred hearts lead their descent back to the start, hearts hardened having never touched the holy ground.
(part 2)
Bloodied and bruised, banged up & black-eyed: I’m returning to you, Mountain. You did your worst to me. You sent your howling winds; you shook your mighty fists, hurling your boulders & propelling your Pines; you cracked & you snapped with your lightning bolts; you hid the sun beneath darkened skies. But I’ve returned, my weapon in my pocket. I grab it & I ball my fist, as I pull it from my cotton-lined jeans. With confident articulation I open my hand, revealing the small seed & speak: “Move from here”.
For far too long you’ve occupied this land. For far too long we’ve walked away, heads hung low. Perhaps I was born for this. Perhaps I needed to taste your crisp air & touch your rich soul & feel your Earth slip away from my hands... all so I could have the burning in my heart, the fiery will to say “No, not again.”
MY GOD IS TOO BIG & MY GOD IS TOO GOOD.
He could have told you to move - the rocks and trees obey His voice, so would you. But in His immense goodness, He put the fire in MY throat - the blaze in MY heart - and with a proud smile He set ME before you. You’re MY mountain & down will I take you. I tell you to bow - I will feel your head beneath my feet; the sweet Holy Soil in-between my toes. Where no feet have previously trampled, we’ll dance. Where sights have previously gone unseen, we’ll gaze. Where no voice has echoed, we’ll shout with praise!
My mountain... you’ll move. And forever more you’ll be Holy Ground - fertilizer & soil for seeds to come. All will remember what you once were & all will see the Glory that made you what you are - Holy Land for the children of God.