deep joy and immense hurt

Small update:

I had a pre-op yesterday in Winnipeg for an upcoming laparoscopy I'll be having in January. A laparoscopy is a surgery where they make a small incision by my belly button, inflate my stomach and go in with a camera to look around and see if there is anything wrong that would be causing infertility. At the same time they will be pumping a dye through my fallopian tubes to see if there are any blockages there. I'll be under an anesthetic the whole time, thankfully. This will be my first ever surgery, and though it is a minor, small procedure, I am still quite nervous. 

Yet, honestly, I have been really happy the last few months. It feels kind of strange and unfamiliar for me, to be happy. I don't even know if I would call it "happiness". I hate the word happy. To me, happy has selfish, circumstantial, and evaluative roots. Joyful is perhaps a better word to describe my emotion. To me, being joyful is beyond any evaluative form of thinking, beyond circumstance, and sometimes even beyond what we would call a "positive" emotion. It is about one-ness with the universe, having soulful connections, and finding gratitude in things small and large. I'm joyful, content, grateful, mindful. I've been reading a paraphrase of Julian of Norwich's book "Revelations of Divine Love", and it's been quite inspirational. I'm only a few pages in, but keep re-reading them because they offer so much to dig into.
"Christ is everything we need
He is our clothing, 
wrapping us in love.
Christ embraces us,
shelters us,
surrounds us,
with His tender love.
Christ will never desert us"

"For as the body is clad in clothes
and the flesh is covered by skin
and the bones in the flesh
and the heart in the body;
so are we,
soul and body,
enclosed in the goodness of God"

And in the same hands that this joyfulness rests in, there is also a deep, aching hole of hurt. The hole of my pain only grows deeper. I am often caught off guard with the thought "how would life be different, right now, in this moment, if I had a baby?" It's often a sharp, stabbing awareness that causes immense grief. There are many moments in the day when tears appear from any reminder great or small, that we don't have kids, that we want a baby, that we're trying to get a baby, but our arms are still empty. It's in these reminders, in a moment of deep awareness, that my arms have never felt emptier. The work of turning the mind from emptiness to gratitude is a hard skill to master. All the while, validating and affirming my emptiness, my sadness, my longing. For these are beautiful emotions, even if they feel uncomfortable, or painful.
This is my work.
This is my world.
To hold joy and hurt in the same open hands.
To cling to neither.
To receive and release.
And to trust, that no matter what, "all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well" (julian of norwich)