Faith is a word that makes me take a step back. Its religious connotations are immediate and make me uncomfortable, but it's more than that. As a general, aspiritual concept, it is simply something with which I am not personally acquainted.
When we started trekking the infertile trails, those very few people who knew of the hike insisted that we should have faith--faith that we'd get to the top, faith that it would work out for the best. My regular doctor said we should have faith that our bodies knew what to do and would do it eventually (the futile path of charting and sex that this sent us on, I will not go into here). My first RE said we should have faith in medicine, faith in his skill and faith in the power of positive thought.
A friend in San Francisco said we should have faith in fate.
A friend in Texas said we should have faith in Jesus, and she prayed for us.
When waiting for that first beta, I wanted to have faith in the possibility of simple possibility. When The Bad Test came back, I wanted to have faith in the odds. Since The Good Test came back, I have wanted--badly, badly--to have faith that she will keep growing and kicking and that, one day in early April, she will come home with us.
I've realized, though, that it's just not a part of my internal makeup--that there are only two things in my life to which I might, even tentatively, apply the concept of faith. One is Jeff, whom I love and trust beyond measure, and of whom I believe all good things in a way that may or may not be wholly rational. The other is that I have no idea what will happen next.