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Surgery waiting rooms are sobering places. As I wait, watching for my wife's obstetrician/gynecologist to come out of the room down the hall with her report on the laproscopy, I reflect on the two-year journey that has brought us here.

As with most faith-stretching experiences in our lives, this isn't a journey Amy and I would have chosen. But it is certainly one that has caused us to come face-to-face with a succession of hard questions.

Infertile? How could that be when we already have two children? Although neither of our boys were conceived exactly on our schedule, getting pregnant hadn't been difficult. So, in planning for a third child, we discussed the time of year we wanted the baby to be born, how far we desired him or her to be spaced from the older brothers, and how we wanted to make sure we met that all-important school cut-off date. As the pages of the calendar turned past each of those carefully laid plans, the truth became real. The when and if of having another child was out of our hands.

"You sure look good holding that baby!" a mom would say as she watched Amy holding an infant in the church nursery. "When are you going to have another one?" Amy would smile politely and respond, "Oh, we're thinking about it." But then the baby went home with someone else and Amy went home to ponder the emptiness and "think about it" some more.

"You need to have a third one," a dad would say as he and I discussed the joys and activities of our children. And I would simply reply, "Maybe someday," then later pray for that someday to come. Feeling somewhat barren, I would remember the times I had made similar comments; and I'd wonder how many infertile couples I had sent home feeling the same way.

During our first year of trying to conceive, it was fairly easy for us to say it was all in God's hands. We didn't allow ourselves to become consumed with the issue. The "trying" was fun. Our concerns about conception would fade as we would become lost in the laughs and roughhousing of our boys.

But as we moved into the second year, trying to conceive threatened to become routine. And each new menstrual cycle would bring with it a time of anxiety and a new set of questions. Why is this happening? Are we trying to force something that isn't to be?

As a marriage counselor, I've worked with couples as they agonize over infertility. I have tried to comfort those who have spent months and years and thousands of dollars attempting to have their first child. I began to wonder if our desire for a third child was born more in selfishness than in God's design. Shouldn't Amy and I be thankful for the children we already had? The truth is we are immeasurably thankful for our sons. But that doesn't take away the emptiness we feel or our desire for one more child. How could wanting another child to raise in a loving, God-honoring home be purely selfish?

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