The Hike of My Life

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life… Ps. 23:6

This past summer my family and I spent two glorious days in Yosemite National Park. Our first day there we hiked up the Misty Trail, which leads hikers to a lower and, then, upper waterfall. My husband and I made it to the lower falls and then let our son continue on to the upper falls without us. It was a strenuous climb for us middle-aged flat-landers from Indiana. Much of it took place on slippery steps straight up and alongside the lower falls. “Just keep moving…a few more steps…don’t give up now…” said my silent mental coach whenever I felt like collapsing.

After our son went up and back down again to meet us, we chose to take a different route back down to experience different scenery. Little did we know that the path led up significantly higher before it finally started descending. But at the peak of our trail we took time to stop and enjoy the view. It was spectacular.

We had several opportunities those two days to look down on Yosemite Valley and point out where we’d been and how far we’d hiked. The points of interest didn’t seem so far away, but we knew that they were miles off in the distance. From where we were, looking down on all the elements together—massive rocks, golden meadows, white water, verdant treetops—all with a backdrop of blue sky and spotlighted by the summer sunshine, you could not help but be in awe of our wonderful Creator.

It was appropriate that we took this trip just a few months after I turned 50. I have felt this year as if I’ve stopped for a rest on a mountainside and taken the time to look around me, down the windy trail of my life, and back through the hills and valleys of joys and sorrows. And I cannot help but be in awe of my wonderful Creator.

Those dark valleys don’t seem so dark or frightening from where I am now, for I see they were not what they originally appeared.

Hide me under the shadow of Your wings. Ps. 17:8.

Because of the darkness I passed through, days of depression or pain or overwhelming responsibilities, my eyes craved the light and searched for the safest way out.

For my eyes have seen Your salvation. Luke 2:30

Your Word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path. Ps. 119:05

I see the rocky stages of my past where friends and family came alongside and helped carry my load by giving hugs, listening, praying, and advising.

Now as they came out, they found a man of Cyrene, Simon by name. Him they compelled to bear His cross. Matt. 27:32

I see the forks in the path where I was confused and uncertain about which way to go, and I remember the pastors who preached, counseled, and pointed out the words of Scripture, clearly marked, to show me which way to go.

How beautiful upon the mountains
Are the feet of him who brings good news,
Who proclaims peace,
Who brings glad tidings of good things,
Who proclaims salvation,
Who says to Zion,
“Your God reigns!” Is. 52:7

I am grateful for the refreshment offered to me regularly along the path when my soul was weak, weary, and thirsty for forgiveness and strength.

How much more shall the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered Himself without spot to God, cleanse your conscience from dead works to serve the living God? Heb. 9:14

What I’m trying to say is that, just like the Psalmist, what I see most of all as I look behind me down that windy trail of my past is an overflowing, gushing abundance of goodness and mercy following me each step of the way.

Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think…Eph. 3:20

I did not realize at the time that I was gaining strength throughout this journey. I was also gaining confidence. I’m not so hesitant now to call out when I see a hiker further down below me who’s about to take a wrong turn. I’m not as afraid when dark shadows loom ahead; I know there is bright sunshine behind those trees. And when I come upon another rocky patch, this time I’m able to pick up someone else’s load and ensure they make it through.

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Phil. 4:13

So if you, dear reader, ever hear someone call out to you from the mountainside up above, I urge you to stop and listen. I (and others like me) want to make sure you know what’s up ahead. For if overflowing goodness and mercy have been following me, that means they are just up ahead, on your path, waiting for you.

The Same Yesterday, Today, and Forever

by Katie Schuermann

I was unprepared.

I mean, I understand how it works. Eventually, ovaries run out of eggs. Every girl knows this from her very first period onward, and she somewhat cheerfully anticipates the ending of the diva-like cycles that storm onto the stage of her life, punch her in the gut, cramp her style, and make a mess of her dressing room.

She also knows that these cycles are part of God’s mysterious, marvelous design, and that amidst them, Lord willing, comes the opportunity to conceive and bear children.

No wonder our cycles stomp and shake their fists when there is no child in the womb! Even our periods know what is good and groan with the rest of creation under the burden of sin.

But back to my ovaries.

As the decades wore on, I somewhat began to welcome the idea of the Great Change, even managing to greet the manic, perimenopausal shifts in my menses’ quantity and quality with humor if not actual grace. For amidst my hot flashing, I could recognize God’s mercy to me in granting my petition to make it through the remainder of my estrogenic years without needing another surgery. This mercy was no light thing for me, this being granted enough health to exit the stage the scripted way, with all of my props still in hand.

But though I could celebrate God’s good gifts of an intact uterus and floatie-free ovaries, I was unprepared for the death-sentence that is menopause.

A few years ago, when a nurse, giggling convivially, announced my post-menopausal status to me over the phone as if it were my greatest triumph, I could not return her laugh. My lips, my tongue, my lungs, my heart, my very cells were frozen and immovable like some vast tundra. A horrible, tomb-like cold was emanating from my womb, and my very soul frosted over.

I tell you, it felt like I was gestating an ice pack, and the rivers of my blood froze in my veins.

My fertility was dead. It was laid out before me as if in a casket. I was viewing the dead, and my mortality shivered from the frigid reality of my barrenness.

Barren forever. Barren forevermore. For all eternity.

Never before had immortality seemed so terrible, so final.

It took me awhile to recover my wits that day, for my womb taunted me on repeat: “I am the same barren womb yesterday, today, and forever.”

And I would have despaired — would still be despairing today as I write this post — were it not for the fact that my eternal barrenness is washed and redeemed by regenerative Baptismal waters.

In this alone I have hope.

For my barren womb is not the only thing in my life that is the same yesterday, today, and forever. Jesus the Christ — the Righteous, the Fruitful — also is the same yesterday, today, and forever, and when Pastor Newman poured water over my head and said, “I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,” I put on Jesus the Christ, the Righteous, the Fruitful. In my Baptism, Jesus took my barrenness upon Himself and gave me His blessed fruitfulness in exchange.

Which means, though my cycles have made their final bow and exited the stage for good, I am more than just a closed show. I continue to walk this earth as one fruitful. Jesus’ blessed goodness, mercy, love, hope, peace, and joy remain the same in my life yesterday, today, and forever.

And when I no longer walk this earth but rest from my labors in my grave, Jesus’ omnipotent sameness will call my name on the Last Day and raise my barren body to new life — to eternal vitality and fruitfulness — never mind my womb.

Fruitful forever. Fruitful forevermore. For all eternity.

Reasons We Never Used IVF – #7

by Katie Schuermann

In all my years of barrenness, I knew never to enter my doctor’s office alone. Jesus always came with me, and so I never bore the pain nor the panic nor the problems apart from His wisdom and support. Always, His wise Word was at hand to guide me and to bless me.

If ever I was unsure of what to think of any particular assisted reproductive technology offered to me by my doctor, I knew that I didn’t need come to a conclusion about it that same minute. In fact, rushing any big decision into a 15-minute time slot seemed unwise. Surely, Christ’s wisdom in praying “not my will, but Yours, be done” shapes my own understanding of the importance of pausing and praying and considering God’s role in all matters concerning life and death.

And so, I would tell the doctor, “Thank you for caring for me. I know you are giving me your best advice. I would like to take a few days to talk to my husband and think about it and pray about it. I will call you soon.”

Then, Jesus and I would walk out of the doctor’s office together.

The moment we were safe behind the locked door of my car, I would lament aloud to Him. I would confess and complain and cry, pouring my grief into His ear.

For that is what barren women do when they are given hard choices. They grieve their hard lot. They sweat and weep with Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane, praying, “Father, if You are willing, remove this cup from me” (Luke 22:42).

Or, specific to my situation, “Father, if You are willing, heal me through this technology offered to me by the doctor.”

The thing is, whenever I prayed that prayer, I was immediately reminded that there was one more question in need of answering first: “Father, is this technology even healing medicine?”

For if it is, then — Rejoice, O daughter of Zion! — it is part of the daily bread God provides to support my body and life. I am free to use it!

But if it is not …

The trouble is, IVF is not healing medicine, for it heals nothing. It only separates and puts asunder the parts of our bodies God created and joined together in marriage. It bypasses the very procreative act God designed for bringing children into the world, and it does so never minding our health. It does so never intending to heal any disease.

In fact, IVF not only doesn’t heal any disease, it does harm to others. The very children we wish to create must suffer isolation from their parents and the indignity of being judged worthy or unworthy of life by sight and statistics alone. They also can be subjected to physical abuses such as enduring genetic testing, being withheld from their parents’ physical, emotional, and spritual care, and being frozen and stored in liquid nitrogen indefinitely, all without their consent. Some children are even disposed of in the clinic or selectively terminated in the womb.

No, IVF is not healing medicine.

Understanding this, I knew all of those years ago and still today that IVF was and is not for me to use.

If your conscience is burdened because you used IVF, know that you are not alone in your regrets. The apostle Paul teaches us in his letter to the Romans that “none is righteous, no, not one” (Rom. 3:10). He also writes that “there is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Rom. 8:1). Please, talk to your pastor or a trusted Christian friend about your regrets, and put your faith in Jesus’ words from the cross about His work of salvation on our behalf: “It is finished” (John 19:30). Because of Christ’s mercy, we can live our lives looking backward in repentance yet forward in hope.

Reasons We Never Used IVF – #6

by Katie Schuermann

While our hearts grieved at not being given the gift of children by God, our consciences were burdened at the thought of manufacturing children for ourselves. To utilize IVF would be taking matters into our own hands, quite literally. We would be trying to promote ourselves from mere creatures to creators of life, and such an action stank heavily of mutiny against the Creator.

All we needed to consider was the harm that came to the world from Adam and Eve’s own self-promoting in order to be convinced of the wisdom in waiting on the Lord for all good things, even children.

And in waiting on the Lord in this particular matter, we knew that He would never leave us nor forsake us (Hebrews 13:5), even if He never gave us children.

Put another way, our unimaginable pain would be met by His unimaginable comfort, always.

If your conscience is burdened because you used IVF, know that you are not alone in your regrets. The apostle Paul teaches us in his letter to the Romans that “none is righteous, no, not one” (Rom. 3:10). He also writes that “there is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Rom. 8:1). Please, talk to your pastor or a trusted Christian friend about your regrets, and put your faith in Jesus’ words from the cross about His work of salvation on our behalf: “It is finished” (John 19:30). Because of Christ’s mercy, we can live our lives looking backward in repentance yet forward in hope.

A Blessed Exchange

By Melissa DeGroot

Adam and I are hosting our second exchange student this year, something we decided to do partly at Knox’s request after our first experience hosting five years ago.

Whenever the subject comes up, people sometimes say, “Oh gosh, that’s such a big job. That’s a big responsibility.”

And yes. It is.

But so are a lot of things that involve caring for other human beings.

I’ve been thinking lately about why we said yes in the first place. There wasn’t one main reason. Instead, I think several little things came together that made opening our home to another teenager an open and willing endeavor, knowing full well the ups and downs that can come along the way.

For one thing, it was familiar to me. My family hosted an exchange student when I was in high school, and I grew up in a larger family. There were already plenty of people, personalities, schedules, needs, noise, and activity in our house.

So perhaps there’s still a little bit of that mentality in me:

What’s one more?

There’s also something wonderful about welcoming someone from another country into your home. We may not be able to travel across the world and immerse ourselves in another culture, but suddenly another culture can walk right through our front door.

You learn about someone else’s food, language, family, customs, assumptions, humor, and way of seeing the world. And they learn about yours. It’s a remarkably immersive experience without ever leaving home.

But there was another reason that mattered deeply to us.

Knox is an only child.

Hosting an exchange student gives him, at least temporarily, the experience of having another teenager in the house. Someone his age is suddenly sitting at the dinner table, riding in the car, sharing the bathroom, navigating family schedules, joking around, getting annoyed, helping out, and generally participating in all the ordinary chaos of family life.

In a small way, he gets to experience something resembling a sibling relationship. And, of course, that means it isn’t always sunshine and roses.

There are communication bumps. There are cultural differences. There are parenting moments and misunderstandings. There are house rules and expectations that have to be explained. Sometimes a lot. Adding another person to a family changes the dynamics of the family.

The initial hospitality morphs over the weeks and months into real life, working to understand and care for each other through our worldviews. And perhaps that’s one of the things I appreciate most about the experience.

As Christians, Adam and I are also very aware that when we invite someone into our home while raising our own son in the faith, we are inviting them into our actual life and not some polished version of it.

We aren’t hosting an exchange student in order to convert them. There are appropriate rules and boundaries surrounding these programs, and we respect those. But we have also been intentional and honest about who we are as a family in the application and interview process–while the students also share in their applications how open they are to participate in a host family’s religious practices.

Our Christian faith isn’t something we can simply remove from our household for a year. Church, prayer, conversations about faith, and life together as Christians are part of the rhythm of our home.

Both of our exchange students have happily attended church with us, and when questions or conversations about faith naturally arise, we talk about them.

What an interesting privilege that has been.

By God’s grace, another young person from another part of the world gets a little glimpse of the faith and hope we cling to every day.

But it gets real, y’all.

Christian hospitality doesn’t always look like sitting around the dinner table having profound conversations about Jesus.

Sometimes it sounds like:

“Whose turn is it to empty the dishwasher?”

“Where are you going?”

“What time will you be home?”

“Did you do your homework?”

In other words, it looks a whole lot like family.

And maybe that is precisely the point.

God so often does His greatest work through these ordinary vocations-the mundane, repetitive acts of feeding people, driving them to practice and appointments, washing dishes, setting boundaries, forgiving misunderstandings (especially my own!), sharing meals, going to church, laughing together, and learning how to live with people who aren’t exactly like us–biological or otherwise!

Hospitality isn’t merely entertaining someone in your home.

It is making room.

Room at the table. Room in the schedule. Room in the refrigerator. Room in the car. Room in your patience. And sometimes, by God’s grace, room in your heart for someone you might never otherwise have known.

Yes, hosting an exchange student is a big responsibility.

But so is loving any new neighbor.

It teaches us to love someone new as Christ has loved us.

And after doing this twice now, I think we’re discovering that making room for one more is a gift each time.

So far, it has been a great experience, since other doors like foster care and adoption have closed to us. That’s a post for another time.

In the meantime, this teenage addition to our family has been a blessed exchange.

Reasons We Never Used IVF – #5

by Katie Schuermann

When I imagined the joy of announcing to my parents that they had become grandparents, I could not also imagine joy in explaining to them that their grandbabies were being kept in a clinic until further notice.

The very thought of such an exchange checked my ambition, for it drove home the point to me that children belong with their parents. To try explaining anything otherwise highlighted the absurdity of IVF.

Put another way, parents cannot parent children stored in a clinic, and grandparents cannot help raise grandchildren they never see nor touch. No-one in the family can live out their God-given vocations in IVF, for creating children apart from their parents stunts and disorders basic human vocations.

If your conscience is burdened because you used IVF, know that you are not alone in your regrets. The apostle Paul teaches us in his letter to the Romans that “none is righteous, no, not one” (Rom. 3:10). He also writes that “there is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Rom. 8:1). Please, talk to your pastor or a trusted Christian friend about your regrets, and put your faith in Jesus’ words from the cross about His work of salvation on our behalf: “It is finished” (John 19:30). Because of Christ’s mercy, we can live our lives looking backward in repentance yet forward in hope.

The Older Mom

By Kristi Leckband

That’s me, the older mom. Our first child was born when I was 30 years old. Yes, 30. By the time we adopted our little girl, I was 40 years old. Yes, 40. Two months later child #3, a newborn, was adopted into our family. I was thrilled to be adding to my family. We had waited a really long time for our daughter to have siblings. And they both came to us, two months apart.

But there are times when it is no cakewalk. I had loads of energy when our firstborn came along. I was in good shape. I could run beside her as she learned to ride a bike. I could keep up with her and her teammates as my husband and I coached their softball teams. I could ski with the high school youth and walk up the long hill after sledding.

When the next two joined our family, I was ten years older. I was also ten years wiser as a parent. I knew what to expect from little children and how to nurture them. I had more patience and could bend a bit more when learning took a while. The physical challenges weren’t so noticeable yet. I could keep up with the “littles” as they toddled around the house and played in the swimming pool. I could get to the softball in the outfield while they ran the bases. Our family also had the added benefit of a sister who was ten years older. She had loads of energy to spend on her siblings, and the laughter in our house proved it.

The physical challenges of being an older parent are coming to light. I’m in my 50’s now, and there are still two teenagers at home. We hike through the woods, but they are content to go off on their own for that. Sleeping on a camp pad is just not fun for my body anymore. I don’t ride all of the water rides because my body can’t handle the motion. I have become more of the cheerleader for my teenagers. I suppose it has helped them become more independent, but I know that I’m not as active with them as I was for our firstborn. Our family worked together to plant 50 tomato plants in the spring. That night, I needed a heating pad to provide relief from the ache of bending over while planting the little seedlings. I can’t even imagine how Sarah of the Bible felt when she birthed Isaac at 90 years of age. Isaac would have been a teenager when she was in her 100’s. How did she do it??

My vanity has taken a hit as an older mom. I don’t have the hour-glass figure that youth provided. When my firstborn wed, the gray hairs were visible. If the Lord should grant spouses to my next two children, gray will be the featured color enveloping my head.

Being the older mom, I have the benefit of being a better listener for my teenagers. I can listen to them lay out their case for something, and I can do so without wanting to interject my opinion immediately (although I still want to do that). I have more patience to let the conversation flow and guide my teens to good resolutions for problems.

As an older mom, I find myself engaged in many conversations with the moms of my children’s friends. I have the added bonus of already sending one off to college and into married life while those moms are just starting to contemplate post-high school life for their children. By the grace of God, I am able to provide some helpful advice and be a sounding board for their thoughts.

It makes me feel pretty good to be running a 100-yard race with the teenagers and other 30-40 year old moms at a track and field event. I don’t win, but I can still compete. I’m so thankful that my body allows me to do that. I can play pickleball much easier than I can play tennis. (Thank goodness for a smaller court.) I’ll still climb on the rocks in the river, but I won’t venture quite so far as the rest of the young moms. God has taught me to recognize my limits in this area.

Do I regret that I’m an older mom? That probably is not the question to ask. Is it okay to be an older mom? Absolutely yes. While the human body is more capable of handling the physical challenges of parenting when in her 20’s, it does not mean that being an active mom in her 50’s and beyond isn’t going to be possible. I know that my teens will be in college when my husband and I near retirement age. That doesn’t bother us. We are blessed with good health and plan to be active participants in our children’s lives, and even our grandchildren’s lives.

I wish our children could have come into our lives sooner. I listened to the cultural pressure to “enjoy marriage without children” for a few years before starting a family. That advice to wait, dear sister, is hogwash. Enjoy the children as soon as you can. Those girls and boys are gifts from God. We should gladly receive them.

Each day, God gives me the privilege of spending time with my children. No matter my age, I have the blessing of being a mom. (And even being a grandma.)

That will never get old.

The Hysterectomy

by Rebecca Mayes

There is a strange phenomena in Western medicine that if an organ is diseased you should just cut it out. This seems to be our best method of “healing” after thousands of years of practicing medicine. Much of our society is walking around without gall bladders, a kidney, a scrotum, part of their intestines, breasts, and, of course, a uterus.

It was recommended early on in my reproductive health struggles that I have a hysterectomy. This was the best promise for relief, they said. But I refused.

So why keep it around? Why not get rid of it? This organ was supposed to be healthy for me, and getting rid of it could put me at risk for cardiovascular issues, a decrease in bone density, or a messed-up metabolism. But most importantly, if it actually performed the way it was supposed to (and there was always the chance it could) then I would have a child, and that would be worth every minute of pain and discomfort and unpredictability. If I let them cut out this organ, I knew they’d be removing hope along with it. To let go of one meant letting go of the other.

So I kept it, despite the fact that it could not contain or control its own endometrial lining, but allowed parts of it to go astray inside my abdominal cavity, creating webs of tissue that would sear with pain when hormone levels changed.

I kept it, even though its partners-in-crime, the ovaries, would regularly spawn cysts that sometimes grew until they burst, causing me to go into shock and rendering me lifeless on the floor (once in the bathroom at work, where the EMS kindly extracted me).

I kept it, regardless of how disappointed my OB/GYN always looked when I handed in my fertility tracker, which was supposed to have green, yellow, and red baby stickers lined up and color-coded, in an obvious pattern. Mine looked more like a traffic light gone haywire.

I kept it, though its unpredictability and lack of punctuality pushed me to the brink of insanity by producing monthly (I use this term loosely) signs and symptoms that gave hope of a pregnancy and then dashed them to pieces, over and over and over again.

I kept it, and simultaneously detested it, when it neglected to nurture my one biological child and instead allowed him?/her? to die.

I kept it, though the amount of blood it was producing in my 40’s was enough to make me anemic.

Until one day, I finally told this uterus of mine (figuratively) and my OB/GYN (literally), “Cut it out.”

This was not, of course, without first praying about the decision and talking to my husband. I felt like a hypocrite, having denounced so many times over the years the over-prescribing of hysterectomies to women who were done having children. It’s true that this was (still is?) a flaw in our medical system, and few physicians or patients recognized the important role this reproductive organ serves beyond reproducing. But my doctor, a Christian man whose joy in life was to help couples bring children into the world and and also lead healthy, pain-free lives, could truly do nothing more for me. It was time to let go.

Seven years later, I can tell you that this surgery completely changed my life. My wise doctor left the healthiest ovary to help me gently transition through menopause, so there was no sudden hormonal shift. My physical pain was completely gone. The optimistic voice in my head that chanted “but what if??” incessantly each month had ceased to haunt me. I was no longer afraid of sudden, conspicuous leaks in public places, or of having a cyst episode while away from home. I could finally have an entire month where I was fully present with, and taking care of, my precious family. My heart had always loved my family, but my body had prevented me from taking care of them consistently. Now this cross had been lifted, and I “rejoiced with great joy.” I still do.

My story is not your story. My decision is not recommended to all who share my medical issues. Sometimes surgery does not provide the full relief a woman is looking for. I knew that going into it, which is one reason I was hesitant to do it earlier. There are no guarantees. The idea of intentionally removing all hope of conceiving probably sounds insane to those of you still without any children, but I was not in that position. I was at a place where I was ready to let the surgeon take both the hope and the pain together.

After our first adoption, someone gifted us with a beautifully framed poem, which read as follows:

“Not flesh of my flesh,
nor bone of my bone
but very remarkably,
all my own.
And never forget,
for a single minute,
that you weren’t born
under my heart,
but in it.”

I read the poem to my oldest son when he was around 5 years old. He looked up at me, bewildered and confused, and said, “That’s a big heart.” Maybe it was time to remove my uterus so I could have more room for the heart.

The Sisterhood of Suffering

by Kristi Leckband

The apostle Paul writes these words in 1 Corinthians 12:26 — “And if one member suffers, all the members suffer with it; or if one member is honored, all the members rejoice with it.”

There is so much suffering in this world. We, the members of the body of Christ have suffered much. We have not suffered all, for Christ took that upon Himself for us. We should have suffered death, eternal death. God, in His mercy, sacrificed His own beloved Son, so that we might not suffer eternal death. God is gracious!

And now, dear friends, we can help carry the burden of suffering with our sisters in the faith. It’s sad to hear that a friend’s pregnancy has failed. Your sister in Christ tries to be strong, but it hurts so much. The birth mother chose to care for her child rather than place the little one in your dear friend’s arms. Your friend’s arms are heavy with sorrow but empty of children. Your friend’s children despise her as a parent. She questions where she went wrong.

What, as the Body of Christ, can we do? What can happen within the sisterhood of suffering? I have some ideas.

The sisterhood of suffering is one where you can…

  • NOT offer her false promises.
  • NOT tell her to simply “get over it.”
  • NOT dismiss her pain.
  • NOT ignore her tears.
  • NOT judge her sorrow.
  • NOT look the other way.
  • NOT leave her to drown in her despair.

The sisterhood of suffering is one where you can…

  • spend time with her.
  • hug her.
  • sit quietly beside her.
  • cry with her.
  • acknowledge her pain.
  • speak truthfully to her.
  • pray for her.
  • share God’s Word with her.

We are called to care for one another, and I’ve listed only a handful of ways we can do this. When one sister suffers, many suffer. We can only help bear the burden when we KNOW one another. Thus, we spend time together. We ask questions. We listen to one another. By the grace of God, He will help us share the suffering of a hurting sister. Can we take the hurt away? No, but perhaps we can be the hand of God to hug her. Perhaps we can be the voice who reminds her that God loves her and does not forsake her. Perhaps we can hand that pens a note of encouragement to her.

St. Paul exhorts us with these words from Romans 12:15 — “Rejoice with those who rejoice; weep with those who weep.”

Dear sisters, let us love one another in the sisterhood of suffering.

Reasons We Never Used IVF – #4

by Katie Schuermann

I could not fathom asking my children to spend their earliest days away from the warmth and safety of my womb’s embrace.

To be created in a petri dish means living in an environment that cannot sustain life. If I used IVF to create my children, then their first home would be in that unsustainable, dangerous environment. They would be far away from me, and I would be unable to protect, defend, or nurture them at their weakest and most vulnerable state. I would be unable to mother them.

It would be a hired clinician, not me, overseeing my children’s initial cell-division. This means that my children’s earliest caretaker in life would be a stranger tasked with grading them by sight alone for their viability, determining which of them should be transferred to my womb and allowed an attempt at implantation, and, if any remained behind in the petri dish, which of them should be frozen and stored at the clinic in liquid nitrogen.

Subjecting my children to such indignities and clinical abuses seemed the very opposite of parental love to me.

If your conscience is burdened because you used IVF, know that you are not alone in your regrets. The apostle Paul teaches us in his letter to the Romans that “none is righteous, no, not one” (Rom. 3:10). He also writes that “there is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Rom. 8:1). Please, talk to your pastor or a trusted Christian friend about your regrets, and put your faith in Jesus’ words from the cross about His work of salvation on our behalf: “It is finished” (John 19:30). Because of Christ’s mercy, we can live our lives looking backward in repentance yet forward in hope.