by Katie Schuermann
I do prefer that you call me barren over infertile, for infertile sticks me right in the middle of some cold statistic. Infertile classifies me by a limited human standard — a term of science — that does not tell you the whole story about me, my Creator, my marriage, my vocations, my doctors’ visits, my family life, or my existence.
Infertile also feels like a misnomer to me, for while I, to my knowledge, have never been pregnant, no doctor has ever been able to diagnose any causation in my or my husband’s bodies for our ongoing childlessness.
It is the word barren that succeeds in communicating both what I am and who I am: I am a married woman from whom God is withholding the gift of children.
To be infertile is to be diseased. To be barren is to be created and disciplined and loved by God.
An infertile woman seeks the help of a doctor. A barren woman calls upon the very Creator of life.
In truth, I am barren, so please, call me barren.
