Author: Katie Schuermann

I believe the Holy Scriptures to be the inerrant Word of God, inspired by the Holy Spirit and fulfilled in Christ Jesus, our risen Lord and Savior. Therefore, I have faith that children are exactly what God tells us they are in His Word: a heritage to receive from Him. Children are not a prize for me to earn, a commodity for me to demand, nor an idol for me to worship. They are a gift which my Heavenly Father only has the privilege to bestow and to withhold. If God makes me a mother, then I can receive His good gift of a child with all joy and confidence in His love for me. If God does not make me a mother, then I can still know with all joy and confidence that God loves me completely in His perfect gift of the Child Jesus whose sacrifice on the cross atoned for my sin and reconciled me to my Heavenly Father. I am God’s own child, purchased and won by the blood of Jesus, and God promises in His Word that He will work all things - even my barrenness - for my eternal good. For this reason, I can in faith confess that my barrenness is a blessing.

It Does Get Better!

I have heard it many times from women who are past the age of fruitfulness in the womb, who have never been given the gift of children: “I often feel that I am not the person that most ladies going through the thick of the infertility journey want to hear from, since I represent the person who no one wants to wind up being!”

“But I want to hear from you,” I usually whine. “What you say comforts me!”

So, indulge me a little and read Joanna’s joyous account of what life is like “on the other side.” I think you’ll find yourself cheering and rejoicing with me in God’s good gifts at the end:

I’ve realized a few things with age. As I look back on how my experience of infertility has changed with the years, I want to let you in on a little secret from further on down the road: In God’s mercy and timing, it does get better.  While you’re in the throes of waiting for children (or waiting for more children), life can seem somewhat brutal. But when the door of fertility finally closes without any living children, the world doesn’t end. In fact, here are just a few of the many ways I’ve found that things got better; actually, much better after fertility passed:

I stopped putting life on hold

I spent the vast majority of my earlier years putting my life on hold while waiting for children. Don’t get me wrong: I was walking with God, and trying to do my best to profitably fill my days, but there was a part of me that was just, well, on hold. I wouldn’t consider taking a professional position because I thought I might get pregnant and would need to quit. I remember a period of about 10 years when I wouldn’t take an aspirin if I had a headache, or a cold remedy if I had a cold because I thought I might be pregnant and would hurt the baby. I planned my days around “What if’s” instead of “What is.”  When the fertility door closed, I found that there is a whole new freedom to fully engage in the life that is, and not in the one that was only hoped for. And it’s a great place to be!

Friendships became much easier

When I was younger, the world seemed to revolve around having babies. My friends were having them, and I wasn’t, and it made me feel very left out of the loop. I remember one year I helped hostess eight baby showers! Conversations at social gatherings inevitably revolved around pregnancy and birth stories, and I never had anything to say. Then, once the initial flush of pregnancies were past, the women begin to coalesce around their children. Their lives revolved around play dates, and then soccer games, and quite frankly, I never could really find a way to fit in. But it has gotten better. Once my friends’ children began to leave home, they began to come back to an equilibrium. They may be moms, but that started to no longer be the center of their days or their perceived identities. They have more time, and we have begun to find we have more in common. In the meantime, though, I learned to cultivate single friends, and older friends, both of whom are a source of great joy to me!

I’m free from the constant hope/disappointment cycle

If you’re an infertile woman, I’ll bet you’re intimately familiar with the scripture that says, “Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.” (Prov. 13:12) The desire I had for children was never fulfilled in the way that I hoped. It may sound really strange to say this, but finally being free from the hope of having children is liberating. Why? Because when you’re not constantly hoping for something, there is no corresponding disappointment. I’m free to thankfully enjoy my life…just the way it is.

I’m free from obsessing

After the fertility door closed, I was finally free from obsessing about what I should or shouldn’t be eating; about whether or not to try this or that fertility treatment; about whether or not to adopt; about what I might be doing wrong. And I was free from constantly being on the lookout for a way to fix whatever was wrong. What a relief!

People stop intruding

In my experience, when you hit your forties, people kind of stop intruding. You stop getting the “When are you going to have kids?” questions. You stop getting the “Why don’t you adopt?” questions. You stop getting the “If you would just relax/adopt/try-this-or-that-home-remedy/pray more/have more faith, you would get pregnant” advice. I still get asked whether I have kids, and I still get asked why we chose not to adopt, but other than that, it eased up a lot.

My personal life went back to being personal

Let’s see, how to say this? Your marital relations come out from under the microscope, and go back to being the loving expression of intimacy that they were meant to be. ‘Nuf said? 😉

I realized that fruitfulness and fertility are not the same thing

“I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.” (John 15:5)

“For this very reason, make every effort to supplement your faith with virtue, and virtue with knowledge, and knowledge with self-control, and self-control with steadfastness, and steadfastness with godliness, and godliness with brotherly affection, and brotherly affection with love. For if these qualities are yours and are increasing, they keep you from being ineffective or unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.  (2 Pet. 1:5-8) 

In the kingdom of God, being fruitful is not equivalent with being fertile. Being fruitful is simply an outgrowth of abiding in Christ, and it’s available to everyone. Fertility can be an expression of fruitfulness in Christ, but it is only one expression. Being fertile doesn’t guarantee that you’re fruitful. Only abiding in Christ brings fruitfulness. And the fruit that we bear in Christ will remain for eternity. I think I always knew this with my head, but now that my fertility is past, my heart has begun to really grasp it, and let me tell you — it’s a very good place to be!

My relationship with God changed

When the door of fertility closed for me, my relationship with God changed. It stopped being so much about me trying to find ways to get Him to do what I wanted, and it became more about me trying to find ways to do what He wants. I still have a long way to go in this, but it’s very freeing to begin to live life on His terms instead of trying to get Him to order my life on mine.

So what did I find on the back side of the infertility door? Depression? Emptiness? Loneliness? Despair? Heartache? Actually, that’s not what I found at all. By God’s grace —  and in His timing, I found joy, peace, laughter, love, life, and fruitfulness. Do I occasionally feel wistful about what I haven’t been given? Sure, there are times when I do; but most of the time they happen because I’ve decided for some reason that I want myself to feel that way (and I’m guessing I’m not the only one who’s ever done that). The overwhelming majority of the time I feel incredibly thankful for what I have been given, and filled with anticipation at the wonderful adventure that God has laid out for me each new day in the second half of my life! The Lord is good!

Joanna Barnes

Here We Come!

Won’t you come out and meet us?

Rebecca Mayes and I, God willing, are getting behind the wheel next Tuesday in hopes of meeting YOU. We will be presenting on the topic “Caring for the Barren Woman” at Concordia University Chicago, Concordia Theological Seminary, and various churches in Michigan and Indiana. And – Best of all! – my husband is coming with us. Rev. Michael Schuermann will be available to answer any questions you may have regarding how to care for the barren man.

Location and presentation details can be found here.

If you would like any of the HeRemembersTheBarren.com hosts to present “Caring for the Barren Woman” at a church near you, please let us know via the “Submit a Question” page on this website.

We can’t wait to meet you!

* Photo by Adriane Dorr

You DO Have Joy!

You have joy.

Yes, you do, even when you don’t feel like it. We carry in our bodies not only the death of Jesus but also His life. This joy is true and present for you even when you suffer in your childlessness.

I commend to you this Issues, Etc. interview with Heidi Sias, author and speaker. Listen to it and be reminded of the joy that is yours amidst your suffering.

Havin’ a Heat Wave!

hot flash noun. a sudden feeling of feverish heat, typically as a symptom of menopause.

Not every girl in her mid-thirties is as blessed as me. I get to take small, frequent vacations to my own, private, tropical resort every day. I can be sitting in a restaurant, standing at my bathroom sink, or even kneeling in church when – swoosh! – within moments I am transported to a hot, humid haven.

Two Sundays ago, I was sitting in a pew when a particularly sweltering climate change hit, and I looked around to see if anyone else in the nave had noticed the equatorial shift. Everyone sat perfectly still, snuggled comfortably in their cardigans and suit coats, while I sat there furiously fanning my sleeveless arms.

“I remember those days,” a woman in her fifties leaned over to whisper conspiratorially.

She was not the only one to have noticed my steamy situation. A cluster of women standing in the narthex after the service grinned at me and confided, “The night sweats are the worst!”

Even though most of these women are twenty-plus years my senior, they welcomed me – Lupron-induced-menopausal, little me – into their circle. I felt oddly special to be included in their conversation, like a youth at the kids’ table suddenly being invited to dine with the adults.

The most touching show of camaraderie, however, came later that night at our monthly Bible study.

“Here,” Gretchen smiled, handing me a canvas-covered fan painted with delicate folk art. “I used this during the worst of it.”

I fingered the wooden handle and raised the fan to test its canvas sail. My lips parted in sweet relief as the most delicious, refreshing breeze moved across my feverish cheeks.

“Isn’t it the best?” Gretchen exclaimed. “You can keep it.”

Yep. I am one, blessed girl. Bring on the hot flashes!

Great Is Thy Faithfulness

My soul is bereft of peace; I have forgotten what happiness is;
so I say, “My endurance has perished; so has my hope from the LORD.”
Remember my affliction and my wanderings, the wormwood and the gall!
My soul continually remembers it and is bowed down within me.
But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:
The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
“The LORD is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him.”

The LORD is good to those who wait for him, to the soul who seeks him.
It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the LORD.

For the Lord will not cast off forever,
but, though he cause grief, he will have compassion according to the abundance of his steadfast love;
for he does not willingly afflict or grieve the children of men.

Who has spoken and it came to pass, unless the Lord has commanded it?
Is it not from the mouth of the Most High that good and bad come?

I called on your name, O LORD, from the depths of the pit;
you heard my plea, “Do not close your ear to my cry for help!”
You came near when I called on you; you said, “Do not fear!”

You have taken up my cause, O Lord; you have redeemed my life.

Lamentations 3:17-26, 31-33, 37-38, 55-58 (ESV)

Let us pray…

Most High, You bid us in Your Word to wait on You. As the days turn into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years, remind us that Your mercies are new every morning. Assure us of your abundant, steadfast love to us in Jesus, that we might rejoice in the waiting, knowing You to be our Portion, our Hope, and our Redeemer forever, no matter what it is You may speak to come to pass. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

(It is our privilege to pray with and for you. If you would like to submit a personal petition to be included in our prayers, please send your request via the “Submit a Question” page on this site.)

Proof of the Promises

I know you have days filled with doubt. I do, too.

Does God really remember childless, insignificant, little me? Will He really sustain and keep me through all of this grief and loss?

Yes, my sister, He does, and He will.

My pastor told me about your blog just yesterday. I’m just beginning to get familiar with it, but I can tell from the brief time I’ve been able to spend here so far that it is a wonderful site. The name alone rings so very true! I didn’t have a resource like this as I walked through my 20+ years of actively hoping to have children (and having one miscarriage), nor did I  really know anyone who had been, or was also going through, the pain of infertility. It was a lonely road most of the time, and a resource like this would have been so very comforting! Thank you for opening your hearts to provide comfort to others.

At age 46, having had a hysterectomy several years ago, the door of motherhood is now closed to me for good. I can tell you that through it all, God has sustained and kept me, and has never forgotten me — even when it sometimes really felt like it! His plans for me were different, but they were not less. I am 46 and childless, with all that entails, but I no longer consider myself to be barren. Our dear Lord provides daily opportunities for me to bear fruit as I abide in Him. And in what seems to me to be this very “late” season in my life (which is really all in His good timing), He is even opening the door for me to put my mothering instincts to use in caring for the elderly folks at our church as a volunteer staff member while I pursue deaconess training. He is so very faithful, and there is not a single one of our days that are not in His keeping!

I’m not sure why I’m telling you all of this, other than to say from the perspective of someone who has reached the end of the fertility road without any (living) children, that God is faithful. He loves you dearly, He has not forgotten you, and He makes all things beautiful in their appointed time. May God bless and keep you all as you walk this difficult path. I will be praying for you, dear sisters!

Joanna Barnes

The Evening Void

My husband and I do not have any children to feed or bathe or comb or tuck into bed at night. We do not have any pets to walk or snuggle or groom or take to the park on Saturday mornings. We do, however, have bushes.

That’s right, bushes.

Five to be exact: three rosemary, one knockout rose, and one Russian sage, and they offer us endless hours of entertainment, occupation, and satisfaction. What do they do, exactly? Well, they grow. They blow in the wind. They turn deep-and-lush shades of green, silver, and red in the rain. They flavor our food. They pump fresh oxygen into the smoggy air. They provide quiet beauty amidst the urban assault of car horns, airplane engines, and construction work. They share our space while we relax on our patio, and (Best of all!) they give us something productive to do at home in the evenings.

When you are childless, the time between dinner and bedtime can be a restless, directionless, anxious time void of activity and purpose. There is a great temptation to fill that void with television, internet surfing, Facebooking, and other mindless activities that overrule the silence, that numb the harsh reality of childlessness. Yet, numbing never nulls the pain. It just pushes it away for another time.

That is why I need my bushes. They keep me active during the inactivity of my barrenness. They require my time and attention, putting to use what would otherwise be idle hands and painfully-childless hours. They do not numb my pain nor do they make it go away, but they do give me pleasure and purpose in spite of it. For, there is great satisfaction in caring for something, even if that something is not a child.

So, turn off the television. Get out there and take care of something other than yourself. I think you will find that you can’t help but be reminded of how faithful your Heavenly Father is in caring for you.

Excuse me, I need to go check on my bushes.

Collect: March 13, 2012

It is our privilege to pray with and for you.  If you would like to submit a personal petition to be included in our prayers, please send your request via the “Submit a Question” page on this site. 

Collect of the Week:

Let us pray…

O dearest Jesus, You have given us Your living and active word, which pierces to the division of soul and spirit and discerns the thoughts and intentions of my heart. I thank You for this gift, even though often when I hear Your word I can think of nothing except how sinful and unworthy I am. Please do not remove Your word from me, for even though it may cause me great pain and distress, I believe that I cannot know and be assured of Your love and grace without it. You bring me low, so that You can bring me up from the pit. Lord, remember me in my need, and bring me at last into Your kingdom of grace which has no end. Amen.

(composed by Rev. Michael P. Schuermann)

Nikusubila

Nikusubila is an African name. It means “hopeful.”

A year-and-a-half ago, I was walking through Hobby Lobby – piddling, really (a.k.a. wandering aimlessly about with no life goal other than to admire hoards of other peoples’ things I cannot and should not own) – and I came across a figurine of a young boy wearing a safari hat. His expression was sweet, like he was watching something of interest across a field, happily forgetting his present task at hand. Just like a boy!

I picked up the figurine and fingered the boy’s round cheeks. I liked the color of his skin, the shape of his scrawny arms and chicken legs. Everything looked and felt just right. He reminded me of…

No! I quickly set the figurine back down. Silly. Ridiculous, even. I did not need a figurine of a boy in my home. I loathe dusting, and this would be just another item to collect dust.

I escaped around the nearest aisle to look at picture frames and candles. Yes, that was safe. But, even as I checked prices on frames and sniffed waxy confections my mind was on that boy. His posture was just so charming and familiar. He had rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbow, and he was resting his right hand on a hip as if he was waiting for someone to catch up with him.

That settled it.

I walked back to the figurine, picked him up, and paid for him at the cash register before I could chicken out. This was more than an impulse buy. This was hope in action.

For, you see, this boy looks like my son. I have never actually met him. I have only seen him in my head and in my heart, but that afternoon in Hobby Lobby I saw him with my eyes.

Nikusubila now stands in his bare feet on my fireplace mantel where I can look at him and keep hoping that, God willing, I may someday catch up with my son.