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.

Thank You, M

Today is Life Sunday. Today, we remember the estimated 54 million Americans who have died from legalized abortion. Today, we also remember and thank God for the brave, selfless M’s out there.

Thank you, Sandra, for sharing your M’s story with us:

M is probably the bravest woman I know. She has done something I know, without a doubt, I could not do. She gave me her child.

She was twenty-two and already a single mother of an 18-month-old daughter. The result of poor judgment, she readily admitted. And then she did it again. She wasn’t even dating the guy, just a hook-up.

He wasn’t going to be any help, he barely knew her. She knew what this was going to be like, she’d already been there, done that, and had the spat-up-on, peed-and-pooed-on T-shirt that goes along with it. An abortion was the simplest solution. Lots of women get them, multiple times. Just get it over with and move on with your life.

At the clinic, they did an ultrasound to see how far along she was. I guess it was to figure out which type of procedure to do. I don’t know if she watched. But after that first part was over, she realized she just couldn’t do it.

She got up off the table and walked out of the clinic. She had NO IDEA what she was going to do now, but she knew one thing she wasn’t going to do. On the way back home, she saw a billboard placed by a pro-life organization. On it was a firefighter who rescued dozens of people from the Twin Towers on 9/11 – thanking her birthmother for choosing life and placing her for adoption. Because of that decision decades earlier, many other lives were saved.

That was it. Adoption. But how? That’s just not what you DO as a young, pregnant, black woman. You take care of your own. You don’t give them away. Or you just don’t have them.

Knowing her family and friends would try to talk her out of the decision, she told them she had taken a job in a far-away city. She made excuses why she couldn’t come home for holidays. In reality, she moved 15 minutes across town with her young daughter to a pregnant women’s home run by an adoption agency. She essentially went into hiding for the better part of nine months. She was sticking to this decision and no one was going to change her mind.

She got to pick the people who would raise her baby. The family she picked was great – so loving and happy. Everything was going as planned. Right up until month 8, when the wonderful adoptive mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. Surgery and chemo would have to begin as soon as possible. There was no way she could take care of a newborn and go through treatment and recovery. They had to back out.

Just a few weeks to go and everything had just fallen apart. But no. M was presented with a few other potential adoptive families. After meeting us in person, she made her decision. She chose us. She chose me to replace herself in her baby’s life.

It was easy to get caught up in the whirlwind of baby preparations, giving notice at work, etc. We had just finished our homestudy a couple of weeks earlier. To be placed so quickly was just unheard-of. People asked me if I was worried she’d change her mind. No. That was something I have never worried about. Not once. Not for even a moment.

She called a week after we had gotten home from meeting her, 6 days actually. She was in labor and on her way to the hospital. We quickly packed and hopped in the car and hadn’t even made it from Minneapolis to the Iowa border when she called to say that she had given birth to a healthy baby boy.

The hospital, very thoughtfully, had moved her to a general surgery floor rather than the maternity one, and had even given her a private room. She walked us down to the nursery, and the nurses brought the three of us to a family waiting room. Another nurse wheeled in the bassinet holding the tiny boy. M walked over and picked him up.

And then she handed him to me.

M had gotten pregnant so easily. Twice! I had been through every humiliating test and procedure, being poked and prodded six ways to Sunday. Repeatedly. I took pills, gave myself shots, barely knowing from day to day which way was up from all the hormones coursing through my system. All in the futile attempt to accomplish what she did without even trying, even while trying NOT to.

It’s easy to say, “I’d never have an abortion,” when you’ve never faced an unplanned, unprepared-for, unwed, unsupported pregnancy. And maybe the decision to at least not have an abortion would be an easy one to make. I wouldn’t know.

I do know, that even now, if I should happen to suffer from a serious lapse in judgment and miraculously become pregnant as a result, I would not be able to give that baby to another family to raise. I would not be able to do what M has done.

She not only chose life for her baby, but she chose what she hoped would be a better life for him than one she could provide. She gave him life, knowing she wouldn’t be the one he spent that life with. And that makes her the bravest, most admirable woman I know.

Sandra Ostapowich

Auntology

auntology [an-tol–uh-jee] noun. 1. The science of being the sister of one’s father or mother, the wife of one’s uncle, or an older woman who is respected by but not necessarily related to the speaker. 2. The sum or characteristics of the mental states and processes of an aunt.

The system of auntology is difficult to explain, but aunts around the world clearly understand and universally practice this science upon the arrival of nieces, nephews, godchildren, and children of dear friends. Perhaps auntology can best be defined by listing a few of the classic tenets and principles that are upheld by its most devoted students:

1. Arms were made for snuggles and hugs.

2. Always wear clothing suitable for bending, jumping, running, climbing, spinning, sword fighting, skipping, shooting, and wrestling.

3. Quarters and candy are the best bribes for catechismal memory work. Have plenty on hand at all times.

4. Secrets whispered by nieces and nephews must be taken to the grave.

5. “I wish you were my mommy” really means “Aunts are rockstars!”

6. “Amen” is your special word at every baptism. Say it loudly.

7. No song or dance is too silly for the moment.

8. Narnia books always sound better if read aloud with a British accent.

9. Prayer lists only get bigger, not smaller.

10. Ice cream really does make it better.

11. Silly face pictures. Every. Time.

12. You will climb the tree when no other adult will.

13. Never get out of bed before your nieces and nephews have a chance to wake you.

14. You don’t smell like milk, so help a mother out and take the crying baby.

15. Fight for the right to be Yoda instead of Vader. Being the oldest in the room has to count for something.

16. Your lap will never be big enough.

17. Pretend play is always more fun if you use medical terms.

18. You can do no wrong in the eyes of the child you love, so make sure you do only right.

19. In the inevitable moment that you break #18, be sure to admit you are wrong and apologize.

20. Your nieces and nephews are never too old to hear you say, “I love you.”

And that is auntology. Further questions may be directed to an aunt near you.

Hawaii

I’ve had many expectant mothers talk to me about the special kinship they feel with the mother of our Lord, especially during the Advent and Christmas seasons: the shared Magnificat upon learning of their pregnancies; the similar joy of telling the good news to their relatives; the pondering of the miraculous in their hearts; the reality of having to labor and birth in unsavory conditions (or opposite to original birth plans); and the joy of holding and naming their children.

I have to admit, I tend to listen to such musings as one might a recounting of a recent vacation to Hawaii. I’ve never been there, but it sounds wonderful. I even hope to go there someday.

But, as much as I admire Mary and want to be like her, it is the shepherds with whom I can most relate, for I am just like them. I am poor and rough around the edges, not expecting much of anything. Yet, God in His mercy reveals His Good News to me – lowly, unworthy me:

“For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.”

Oh, the joy! The blessed, holy noise of that multitude of heavenly hosts singing! My heart almost faints within me.

And, so I run. I run with the shepherds to the manger to see this thing which God has done, and I marvel that it was done for me. Glory to God in the highest, indeed!

I may never get to Hawaii, and that’s okay.

Is Our Family Complete?

Erica Heinecke reminds us in her reflection on “Advent and Barrenness” that though we may feel our present family size is incomplete, we are presently complete in Christ’s family:

I wonder if I am capable of writing such an article [on barrenness] because with two children, I am obviously not barren. I do know, though, that I have struggled mightily with what God desires for my life in regards to our family size. Is our family complete?  Every month, I wait to see what God has in store for me. It is frustrating. My cycles are not regular so I am left hoping that maybe this time, I might finally be pregnant again. Maybe this time, it is not my crazy body, but a gift of God. I am itchy with anticipation until I feel confident enough in the time lapse to actually take a pregnancy test, followed by the nervous dance that lasts as little as 3 minutes, but no longer than ten. My feet start to drag when no pink line is there to quicken my steps. Again, it is a disappointment in my book, but that is because I forget that God is writing my book. He has written my name in His book, the Book of Life. Lord, not my will, but yours.

I look forward to the time when we are released from this world of pain, of longing, and of sadness. I rejoice that one day I will celebrate with the angels and all the saints. I find comfort in the truth of God’s Word and in knowing that there will be a day when those I know who have experienced truly awful losses will be at the feet of God with the children they lost in miscarriage and tragedy. We will sing together, as the angels heralded the shepherds, “Glory to God in the highest!” Our family will be complete, and perfect.    

As we live out our time on Earth, we struggle to find peace and contentment. I feel like a baby would make all the difference in the world to me; but that is not the truth. A baby is my desire, but only Jesus Christ, the One born of a virgin, would change the world forever. He came to live a perfect life and then to sacrifice Himself on the cross before rising again in victory over death. In His family, I am complete. Advent reminds me of Whose I am in baptism; I belong to this Baby Christ, to the Holy Child.  

Erica Heinecke

The Fact of the Matter Is…

Kelly Stout reminds us in her reflection on “Advent and Barrenness” that we do not wait for the Lord in vain:

There are many ways the word “wait” is used in the English language. I could be “waiting” for a bus, as in expecting something to happen soon that I know will eventually happen. I could be “waiting” for the day I pay off my student loans, as in looking forward to something spectacular. I could be “waiting” for my friend to arrive off the plane at an airport, as in being in a state of readiness for something to occur.

As a couple who lost our first child in a miscarriage, had our second child through domestic infant adoption, and had our third child through conception and birth, we have learned to use the word “wait” sparingly. It can have a glaringly awful connotation to those going through any of these life events.

“Just wait, it will happen for you eventually!” – A comment said by many (who mean well) to those who are barren or have lost a child to miscarriage (when in fact, it may very well not happen).

“Now that your documents are completed, we just wait for the courts to approve this.” – A sentence every adoptive parent trembles at in anticipation of having an adoption finalized.

“We need to wait for the next ultrasound results before we can make any recommendations.” – A scary statement for any couple “waiting” for a child through pregnancy.

The fact of the matter is – sometimes waiting is excruciating.

In Advent, we wait for our Lord. “Wait,” as in expecting something to happen soon that I know will eventually happen…as in looking forward to something spectacular… as in being in a state of readiness for something to occur.  Oh great, again, we wait. But why does the wait of Advent have such a different connotation than the waiting associated with miscarriage, barrenness, adoption, and birth? That is simple.

First, there are no questions about what WILL happen. I don’t have to wonder what is coming at the end of this wait. I know that my Lord – the baby born in a manger, the God man who died on a cross for me, the creator of heaven and earth, the God who gave me all three of my wonderful children (one being a child I am waiting to meet someday) – I know that my Lord IS coming. The assurance of what WILL happen is a gift from our Lord.

Secondly (and the best part about this type of waiting), my Lord already comes to me through Word and Sacrament. I don’t have to endure this wait without Him. His faith is brought to me by hearing His Word. His true body and blood are present for me in Communion. Kneeling at His table, I have a piece of the heaven I have been waiting for all this time. The Christ Child we speak of during Advent provides comfort, forgiveness, and eternal life through His death and resurrection. These gifts are enough to sustain me through all the waits I have in this life.

To make the moment at the Communion rail even sweeter, I also know that my child who endured an earthly death is there with the angels, the archangels, all the company of heaven, and me.  We are joined in perfect communion with all the saints.

The fact of the matter is – sometimes waiting is heavenly.

Kelly Stout

Promises That Bring Eternal Life

Heidi Sias reminds us in her reflection on “Advent and Barrenness” that though God does not promise all women will bear children, He does make promises – and He keeps them:

“Elizabeth was barren, and both were advanced in years.” In Luke 1, we hear the story of Zechariah and Elizabeth. God made a promise to them that they would bear a son, John. John was to be the forerunner for Christ, and he leaped in the womb when he heard Mary, the mother of our Lord, approach with a greeting. Even as a baby in the womb, John recognized the advent of our King. This was John’s first proclamation of the Messiah, whom Mary carried in her womb, as he recognized this babe who had come to be the sacrifice for the sins of the world and bring salvation to all who believe.

When God makes promises, He keeps them. Elizabeth had a promise from God to finally bear a child even in her old age, however women today don’t have that same promise. They may bear a child, or they may not bear a child. Those who are barren suffer because of the broken world of sin that we live in where everything doesn’t go perfectly. There’s not always a “happy ending” when it comes to having a child of their own. Women who have children of their own also suffer because of the broken world of sin through the heartache that comes with raising a child when everything doesn’t go perfectly. Each woman has her own cross to bear. Though God does not today promise women that they will bear children, He still has many promises for us–promises that bring eternal life for all who believe.

First, in 1 Corinthians 12, God promises that those in Christ are members of one body. In this we depend on one other, rejoice with one another, mourn with one another and comfort one another. Through this, barren women have many children in the family of God. We care for one another and help one another, especially children who need this help. Though a barren woman does not have a flesh and blood child to care for, she does have children in the body of Christ, family, godchildren, orphans and those who are needy, whom she gets to care for as a servant of Christ.

Most importantly however, everyone who is in Christ has His promise of salvation. This includes those who are barren and those who are fruitful. This promise is for you! Elizabeth says to Mary upon her visit, “blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from her Lord.” Women today are also blessed in believing this promise given to us in God’s Word. Jesus Christ fulfilled this promise when He took on flesh and came down to earth as a baby. He grew up to die on a cross. He rose from the dead to conquer death once and for all. He has won salvation for us, this tiny babe of Bethlehem. We can lift up our heads with confidence in His victory for us, as we through faith await His return in the second advent of our King. On this last day He will take us to be with Him, where He will wipe away every tear from our eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore. (Revelation 21:4) Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly!

Heidi Sias

The Gift of Forgiveness

Jennifer Larson reminds us in her reflection on “Advent and Barrenness” that the most important gift we receive from God is not children but the forgiveness of our sins:

Today, I underwent a diagnostic laparoscopy procedure in hopes of discovering the reason for my excruciating pelvic and back pain during my menstrual cycle, which is now occurring every other week. I recently met with my primary care physician and then an obgyn who both felt the pain may be caused by endometriosis.  The good news is that [the procedure] may answer why we have yet to conceive.

At this point, we are not certain if we can conceive or not. We know my husband has a low sperm count, I have innumerable fibroids, and we’ve been trying for two years.  However, we are hopeful.

The timing of this experience got me thinking…Not only does this surround Advent and ultimately Christmas, but it also follows the blessing of the birth of my niece, Clara, on December 7th. Sometimes, it helps to have these reminders to focus me on what I am so very grateful for.

Another recent blessing for us was our engagement this spring, the counseling we received from our pastor, the opportunity to live apart again prior to marriage, the gift of being forgiven, and the final culmination – our marriage.  We repented and have been forgiven for living together prior to marriage.  We are now able to focus on our marriage and our continued hope for a family with this peace.  However, none of this would have been possible if Jesus had not been born.  This is a time for preparation and celebration. I will take comfort in focusing on this and rejoicing in Christ’s birth.

The doctor met with me after the procedure to reveal that the cause of my pain was not endometriosis. Instead, I have a large fibroid that is fighting to win a size contest in comparison to my uterus.  I have an appointment for December 29th to have it removed by a fertility specialist.  Until then, I plan to pray for the courage to stay emotionally strong and to thank and praise God for one of the most important gifts one can receive – forgiveness through Jesus Christ.

Jennifer Larson

(Let us pray…Heavenly Father, in this hour of anxiety we pray for Your divine presence and aid. As the time of Jennifer’s operation draws near, she needs a staff on which to lean. To whom shall she turn but to You, gracious Lord? You have created, redeemed, and sanctified her. She is Your baptized and beloved child in Christ. You will not forsake her as she cries to You for strength in her trouble and pain. We confess to You our unworthiness, our many weaknesses, and our transgressions. You mercifully forgive us for the sake of the sacrifice of Your dear Son, our precious Savior. Give wisdom and skill to the doctors and nurses, that all they do will bring about a speedy recovery for Jennifer in keeping with Your good, fatherly will. We commend her into Your hands. While she slumbers and sleeps, watch over her. Take every fear out of her heart. Comfort her with the assurance of her salvation through the blood of Your Son, Jesus Christ, and grant her a faith that clings only to Him, who is the great and eternal cure for all sin, sickness, and death. Your name we praise, O Lord of life and death. Hear our prayer for the sake of Your dear Son. Amen.*)

* The Lutheran Book of Prayer, 232-3.

He Comes

Mary Moerbe reminds us in her reflection on “Advent and Barrenness” that while God may not cater to our own plans in this life, He eludes all expectations in His perfect provision for us:

In Advent, we focus on the comings of Christ. It is a time to ponder the Incarnation of our God, His final coming, and of course His coming to us in His Word and His gifts of Baptism and the Lord’s Supper. He comes and we wait, still we cannot anticipate His movements.

Every morning we wake up in a sort of personal advent to prepare ourselves for what is coming. We wait. We have our expectations, but they falter. Everyday a portion of trouble, a series of reality checks, exercise our patience. 

When real life comes to call, patience is often more exhausted than fit. Our strength gets tested and proves thin. All sorts of things bubble up to the surface: our disappointment, anger, bewilderment, and more reflect our inner desires, needs and instability. Our weaknesses and lack of control either lead to despair or point us once again to what is needful: God, salvation, His stability, His strength.

Ours is a God who eludes expectations. He takes decisions out of our hands and often leaves us choices we don’t want, but He does provide. We wait and when our desires do not come, He comes Himself:

“The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance. But the day of the Lord will come like a thief, and then the heavens will pass away with a roar, and the heavenly bodieswill be burned up and dissolved, and the earth and the works that are done on it will be exposed.” (2 Peter 3:9-10).

He may not cater to our own plans, but our Lord takes amazing care of us. Like a thief, His presence is often hidden, but He can enter through locked doors, pass through walls, and slip right into our souls. He is closer to us than we can dream. His day will come and alter everything.

As our Savior, our Strong Man, our hope and our brother, Jesus Christ takes our guilt from us and, on that final day, He will steal our last vestiges of grief! He will clear out the places and reminders we fear. He will delete our debts from every ghost file, even those hidden in the minds of others. He will take our identities and replace it with one of His own crafting.

When Christ comes to us in that final Advent, He will, quite literally, clean us out of house and home. Even as He washed us in the cleansing, sanctifying waters of Baptism, He will clear out every closet of lingering guilt and shame. Even as He feeds us with the very embodiment of forgiveness in His Body and His Blood, He will evict our worthless trophies of self-righteous thoughts and deeds.

Our new home may have little to do with what our current lives do. It will not be about working for a living. It will not be about debt or struggles. It will not be about growing up or longing for the pitter patter of little feet. It will be about us as children, once more receiving from the bounty of our heavenly Father. We will be in His home, His kingdom, in the house He has prepared for us. It will be about gathering as brothers and sisters around the one Brother, who brought us into our holy, heavenly family. Thanks be to God, and “Come, Lord Jesus.”

Mary Moerbe

At Home in the Waiting

Kristen Gregory reminds us in her reflection on “Advent and Barrenness” that there is joy amidst our grief:

I’m reading Jayber Crow, a novel by Wendell Berry; I read and enjoyed it five years ago.  The peaceful cadence of his writing is good reading in winter, I think. A line stuck out to me this time–one I hadn’t even noted in my previous read: 

“This grief had something in it of generosity, some nearness to joy. In a strange way it added to me what I had lost. I saw that, for me, this country would always be populated with presences and absences, presences of absences, the living and the dead. The world as it is would always be a reminder of the world that was, and of the world that is to come.”

Reading it this time, immediately I reflected upon my own personal loss.  I’ve not experienced true barrenness, but I have felt something akin to it: I have buried my firstborn child.  I have known grief beyond explanation; wanting to die so I didn’t have to feel another minute of it; the shame of hating God for taking away what I thought was my deserved right–to be a mother; and so many more feelings that I will never be able to put into words, things that I couldn’t even explain to my confessor when I went for private confession and absolution. But things God knows. 

And then I read the quote again.  In the three years since Vivian’s death, God has given me enough peace to see the meaning of this beyond myself.  Or maybe I can only understand it because of this suffering He has allowed.  In grief there is joy…I’ve no idea how.  I have no advice or sweet words on how to live through loss or grief.  But somehow there is a joy in grief. 

I think that is why I love the Advent season. I feel at home in the waiting.  The sadness over our present losses to sin, death, and the devil; and yet our proclamation that more is to come. Our hope isn’t in the lives we live now or the children that we have lost or never had, but in His real promise: release from darkness, forgiveness, healing comfort, His death for you, and life eternal.  

Vivian, among other things, is my reminder of the world that is to come.  Each year I hold more joy in my heart than grief (could it be the healing effect of other children God has given us–some who have lived and some who have not?); but Advent especially reminds me that I have not expected too much from my God–I have expected far less than He has promised.   

Kristen Gregory

“Advent and Barrenness” Contest Winner

Reading all of your submissions for the “Advent and Barrenness” writing contest was like receiving Christmas cards from all over the nation. You shared your lives with us; you encouraged us; you exhorted us; you gave us pause from the gift wrapping to ponder the gift of our Lord Jesus, Emmanuel. Thank you for taking the time to reflect on “Advent and Barrenness” with us this holy season. It truly was a joy and honor to read your words.

We received too large a number of submissions to be able to name a top five, so, instead, we thought it would be nice to share a week’s worth of our favorite posts, starting today with our winner, Emily Olson. Congratulations, Emily, on winning a free copy of He Remembers the Barren, and thank you for allowing us to share your beautiful post below.

A blessed Christmas,

Your HRTB Hosts

Advent is a strange time. On the one hand, we’re surrounded with the bedazzling sparkle of a brilliantly adorned commercial culture. The vivid colors, the mouth-watering smells, the warm and appealing auras tantalizingly promise us comfort and happiness. On the other hand, our days are dark and often cold, the natural world shriveled up in dormancy and death. We don’t like to think about this. It’s too stark, too cutting, and too real. It reminds us that we—and all of our dazzling façades—are dust, and to dust we shall eventually return. 

This Advent is a strange one for me. As I write this, my unborn daughter twists and rolls in my uneasy form. Her birth is forthcoming; she will show her face to us any day now.  And a lump comes to my throat and hope rises in my soul at the thought of seeing her, of holding her tiny hands and form. My body prepares to bear her, to care for her, and my heart longs to do this. 

But my anticipation is checked by constant, awful reminders of reality. Wombs of family members and friends remain achingly empty. Dear friends grieve for their miscarried child. Others suffer in the silences left by the death of a stillborn child, a weeks-old child, a terminally-ill nine-month-old child. And my family marks the sixth anniversary of the due date of our first child. That this child I now carry has followed the timeline of her sister so closely, I count as loss and as blessing. For what we have lost I cannot forget; what we have been given I own as pure gift. But I cannot rejoice in this gift as I should because I am afraid of losing a daughter again. I am afraid of facing dying and death, of the barrenness of loss.

Yet I am reminded precisely during Advent, in the very starkness of darkness and death behind the attractive façade of the secular holiday season, of Who came to bear our losses and barrenness. Isaiah foretold of the coming Christ: 

Surely He has borne our griefs
   and carried our sorrows;
yet we esteemed Him stricken,
   smitten by God, and afflicted.
But He was wounded for our transgressions;
   He was crushed for our iniquities;
upon Him was the chastisement that brought us peace,
   and with His stripes we are healed.

And this, I think, is the real paradox of Advent—a time of watchfulness, preparedness, and hopefulness, and yet a time of penitence, solemnity, and mystery as we prepare for our Savior’s birth as a mortal, finite child who is God Incarnate. This time reminds us of that Child’s life for death, that His tender, soft baby skin will be marred by scars and thorns. And lest loss and emptiness, dying and death, leave us with pain and fear, we see—again—that in Christ’s death we have life, that in His loss we have hope.   

With His stripes we are healed. We are all healed. Christ comes to us, passing through His mother’s birth canal, passing through the trials of emptiness, loneliness, fear, pain, suffering, and death. He indeed bears our grief and our barrenness in Himself. And He brings us hope—of holding hands we never held, of holding Hands that were scarred for us. Gloria Dei. 

Emily Olson

(Coda: Clara Mary Evangelina Olson was born on December 7th and baptized into Christ on December 8th. Praise be to God for His precious gift of Clara to the Olson family and for His precious gift of new life for Clara in Holy Baptism!)