Author: Melissa DeGroot

My Only Son with Type 1

By Melissa DeGroot

June 9, 2023, is a date seared into my soul.

My one and only son, Knox, had lost fifteen pounds in a span of two weeks. He was frail. He was going to the bathroom constantly. Then, he started telling me his eyesight was blurry and that he thought he needed new glasses—even though we had just been to the optometrist a few months earlier. He was sleepy and sluggish. His eyes looked glossy.

Something was clearly wrong. But I had no idea what.

Was he anemic? Was he going through a growth spurt? Was there some vitamin deficiency? Like any concerned mother with access to Google, I was running through every possibility I could think of.

Finally, and thanks be to God, my husband and I had enough sense to take him to urgent care.

The doctor took one look at the situation and immediately sent us to the emergency room. Then, he was taken by ambulance to the Pediatric ICU.

Knox was in full-blown diabetic ketoacidosis.

He was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes.

The New Normal

I knew almost nothing about Type 1 diabetes. I had heard of it, of course, but I didn’t understand what it actually meant to live with it. No one in my immediate family had it. There was one relative on Adam’s side of the family who had it (and died from its complications more than 40 years ago), but Type 1 had never been something on our radar.

Suddenly, it was something we would think about every. single. day.

To say the diagnosis was traumatic is an understatement.

Knox spent a week in the hospital. I slept and held vigil on the little uncomfortable couch beside his bed while he was poked and prodded, hooked up to IVs, subjected to constant glucose checks, and given insulin as the doctors worked to stabilize his body.

And then we were sent home to begin what everyone calls a “new normal.”

Except it wasn’t.

Those of you who live with Type 1—or have a child who does—know the deal. From the moment of diagnosis, everything changes.

Food changes.

Sleep changes.

Sports. School. Travel changes.

Even the simple act of sending your child to bed changes.

For months, Adam and I woke up at 3:00am to check Knox’s blood sugar. Even now, more than three years later, a glucose monitor alarm in the middle of the night can still send one of us scrambling out of bed. A dangerous low isn’t something you can just ignore.

Current technology has given people with Type 1 diabetes exceptional tools to manage the disease and live incredibly full lives. I am profoundly grateful for them.

But the disease is still there.

And for a mother, that reality has been difficult to accept.

Unexpected Grief

After Knox’s diagnosis, all three of us grieved.

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Eventually, some measure of acceptance.

Watching my son go through those emotions, too, broke my heart. I couldn’t take the injections for him. I couldn’t make his pancreas begin producing insulin again. I couldn’t guarantee that he would never experience a dangerous low.

I couldn’t fix it.

That helplessness nudged another wound I had carried for years.

Knox is my one and only child—not because we planned it that way. I spent years carrying the sadness and inadequacy that can accompany secondary infertility.

My body didn’t give me another child. And now I couldn’t fix the body of the only child I had.

We parents spend so much time trying to protect our children that we can almost convince ourselves that it is actually within our absolute power to do so. Then something happens that reminds us how little control we really have.

I could count carbohydrates, calculate insulin, advocate at school, educate coaches, pack emergency supplies, stay awake at night, pray, worry, research, prepare and watch.

But I could not heal my son.

Why Him?

Knox and I have talked about this. Why did God allow this? Why Type 1? Why him?

I don’t know.

And while it hits my pride at times, I have become more comfortable saying those three words.

I don’t know.

I don’t want to give my son some tidy, rose-colored answer God hasn’t given us. I don’t want to tell him that God gave him diabetes because He knew Knox was strong enough to handle it.

Because there have been days when Knox wasn’t strong enough. Neither was I.

And perhaps that is precisely where the faith we confess becomes all the more comforting.

God never promised we would be strong enough for everything that happens to us.

He has promised us Christ, who is the strongest.

In this fallen creation, bodies fail. Pancreases stop working. Women experience infertility. Children get sick. Parents discover there are things they simply cannot fix.

The one true faith doesn’t say that suffering itself is good.

Death is still an enemy. Disease is still part of a creation groaning under the consequences of sin.

And though suffering carries meaning of epic, spiritual proportions, it does not get the final word.

Jesus, who took it on the cross, died, and rose for us, does.

Not Mine to Save

This is the lesson I keep learning as a mother.

Knox was never ultimately mine to save.

God revealed that truth to me when I was young, even if I wasn’t fully prepared to accept it in every stage or context of my life.

On January 15, 2011, when Knox was just days old, God gave me something to cling to that would become infinitely more precious twelve years later.

Knox was baptized.

Water and God’s Word were poured over my tiny son, and the Lord placed His name upon him: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Long before I knew the words continuous glucose monitor, insulin-to-carb ratio, ketones, or diabetic ketoacidosis, God knew Knox.

Before I ever heard an alarm warning me that my son’s blood sugar was falling, God had already made a promise to him.

Before I discovered how helpless I was to keep my child safe, Christ had already done what I could never do.

He had died for him.

He had risen for him.

And in Baptism, He had claimed him.

My job was never to be Knox’s savior.

He already has One.

Now

Today, Knox manages much of his Type 1 himself. His teachers understand. His coaches understand. His teammates know. Whether he’s sitting in class or playing hockey, there are people around him who know what is happening and how to help.

God has provided people. He has provided medicine and technology.

He has provided other parents of children with Type 1 who understand the strange world we entered that June day.

And He has slowly given our family something resembling normalcy again.

Not the old normal. A different one.

I still wish I could take Type 1 diabetes away. I still wish I could have given him brothers and sisters.

But God is teaching me that motherhood was never about my ability to control the outcome. It was always about stewardship.

This child was entrusted to Adam and me for a time. We love him, feed him, teach him, protect him, advocate for him, laugh with him, worry about him, watch him play hockey, wake up when the glucose monitor screams, and do every ordinary thing parents do.

But ultimately, we entrust him to the One who loves him more than we ever could.

June 9, 2023, taught me how little control I have over my son’s life.

January 15, 2011, reminds me who does.

My one and only son belongs to Christ.

And when I cannot fix what is broken, when I cannot control what happens next, and when I cannot protect him from every suffering this fallen world may bring, our Lord returns me to that promise.

Knox is baptized.

Christ has claimed him.

I often parody-sing Stevie Wonder’s line, “Signed, Sealed, Delivered… He’s YOURS!” as a humorous, yet true reminder.

And that is a comfort no diagnosis can take away.

Fearfully and Wonderfully…Hormonal

By Melissa DeGroot

When I turned 41, my body entered the Twilight Zone.

Up until then, things had been clicking along pretty well. I was eating low-carb, going to the gym, feeling pretty good, and generally thought I had figured out what worked.

And then, seemingly overnight, my body said . . .Nope.

My thyroid tanked. My metabolism, pshh, what metabolism? seemed to pack its bags and leave. Things that had worked for years suddenly stopped. I gained 50 pounds despite continuing to exercise and trying to adjust my diet. I felt anxious, depressed, angry. . . and let’s not even get into libido. As far as east is from the west did I even want to think about that. I remember feeling so disconnected from my body, yet thinking, What in the world is happening to me?

Welcome to perimenopause.

Thankfully, I eventually found a doctor who helped me sort through some of what was going on. With medical care, supplements, hormone replacement therapy, and a few other things, I slowly began feeling more like myself again. The weight eventually came off—slowly, but surely—and over the last few years, I’ve managed to maintain some semblance of normalcy.

And I use the word normalcy loosely.

Because, apparently, perimenopause also means if you “do the supplemental things,” you may discover hair growing in places where hair has absolutely no business growing. Sorry. Just the truth! Then PMS sometimes decides to become PMDD—and other months, nothing at all. Thankfully, I haven’t struggled with hot flashes yet. Sleep, however, occasionally goes off the rails, though certain supplements have helped tremendously with that.

And by the way, if you are low in testosterone and do take a supplemental version of it, both you and your husband will thank you. Wink. You’re welcome.

Story time: One of the more surprising episodes happened last year shortly after I began a new vocation as a deaconess. I was settling into this new job and a completely new season of life post-homeschooling when suddenly my period was two weeks late.

I thought:

Oh. My. Gosh.

What if I’m pregnant?

After years of secondary infertility, there I was in my mid-forties, beginning a new chapter of life and wondering whether God had decided to throw the ultimate plot twist into the story.

Breaking news: I was not pregnant.

Just perimenopausal.

And honestly, that story pretty well sums up this season of life. It is a wild ride of hormonal shifts, strange symptoms, unpredictable cycles, and occasionally wondering, What in the new, fresh H-E-Double hockey sticks is going to happen next?

Thankfully, my husband has been wonderfully supportive and loving through all of it. (Again. Thank you, testosterone.) We understand a little better now what may be happening when I suddenly don’t quite feel like myself.

Sometimes.

Because beneath all the unpredictabilities that is this body of mine, something much deeper is happening.

My body is moving toward menopause. And menopause means that the possibility of conceiving another child will finally and permanently be off the table.

For a woman who has lived through secondary infertility, that realization could have been devastating at another point in my life.

But strangely, now, I think I’m okay.

Somewhere along the way, I learned to let go.

Not because the longing and hurt didn’t matter, but because life has continued unfolding around it. God continued providing. He gave me people to love, work to do, neighbors to serve, a husband and son to cherish, and fulfillment in vocations I never could have imagined. And healthcare to help me feel a little bit better!

There has been purpose, meaning, and even flourishing in places I wasn’t looking. Thanks be to God.

But perimenopause is another reminder that my body is changing. I’m getting older.

That can stir up other fears and questions. What will aging look like? What will happen to my health? What will life look like twenty or thirty years from now? Who will be there? What losses will come?

Some of those questions require practical and faithful wisdom since, ultimately, planning and healthcare can’t answer the deepest problem.

Our bodies are headed toward dying.

Perhaps dramatic for a blog post that began with chin hairs. But there it is.

Our bodies bear the effects of a fallen world.

And yet these bodies are also fearfully and wonderfully made. So much so, they are redeemed.

Christ did not come merely to rescue some spiritual part of us from our troublesome meat suits. He took on a body Himself. He suffered in that body. He died in that body. And He rose bodily from the grave.

Which means my hope isn’t that I can keep this body looking 35 forever.

Thank God, since that ship’s sailed.

My hope is the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting.

So for now, I can laugh (if my estrogen or testosterone haven’t dipped) at some of the unpredictabilities of perimenopause. I can seek good medical care. I can exercise, eat reasonably well, take the things that help me sleep, and occasionally pluck the mysterious hairs that seem determined to spring forth.

But I can also receive this strange season for what it is: another reminder that I am a creature whose life and body belong to God.

Fearfully and wonderfully made.

Currently somewhat hormonal.

And waiting, with all creation, for the day when Christ returns, raises, and restores our bodies.

HRTB Reflections: An Ides of Marching Forward

By Melissa DeGroot

I can hardly believe fifteen years have passed since the beginning of He Remembers the Barren. When Katie contacted Kristi, Rebecca and me a couple months ago to commemorate this blog, it gave me pause to reflect on so many things. Looking back to where this all started, I remember how new, exciting, and nerve-wracking it all felt—the blogging world itself, wondering how people would receive what we were writing, and hoping that ultimately in the midst of it all there would be real talk, real comfort and faithful theological grounding for people who were suffering.

I can also look back at myself and cringe a little. Okay, maybe a lot.

I’m sure most writers (a title I hold very loosely) feel that way when they look at their early work. I was in my early thirties then. I was definitely more immature than I realized. I had professional, diaconal and mental health training and, if I’m being fair to my younger self, some good theology. But I was also a little zealous. Overconfident, even. Ego and pride were mixed in there, too.

Seemingly an Old Eve disease that I am still getting medicine for each Lord’s Day.

The chronology is a little muddled in my head (thank you, perimenopause!) – though I recall talking to Katie about this topic well before the blog took shape and before my son was born. After a miscarriage early in my marriage, I recall having the fear that I was going to be barren, too. Like it was somehow contagious? There was this superstitious, self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts in my head that if I kept talking about barrenness, it was going to be my “fate.”

So much for good theology.

Then, right around the time this blog started, my husband and I had been blessed with a son. Parts of me thought this conversation wasn’t really for me at that point, even though I knew it was still good to spiritually comfort those who were suffering with it.

However, not too long after that, my husband, Adam, and I began walking through secondary infertility. It was a decades-long trek of fear, prayer and wondering whether we would have more children. I spent so many years worrying about it. I put so much pressure on myself.

HRTB hit me from a different angle, and it was one that I needed.

You see, I had high hopes of being a large, Lutheran family. I came from a larger family myself. Bring on the multi-passenger van transporting a gaggle of homeschooled, slightly-nerdy-but-athletic DeGroots!

It was the dream.

It never became a reality.

And here is what made the conversations surrounding He Remembers the Barren so important to me.

During the fretting and faithful reckoning throughout my thirties, I felt this was a conversation our church body needed to have more openly anyway. Within the Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod, I was seeing a renewed appreciation for our confessional and liturgical heritage. There was much good in that. Along with it came a strong and thoroughly biblical affirmation of marriage, children, and family.

Thanks be to God for that.

But I felt pressure, too. It was compelling at times – yet not always in the best way: like there existed a stress to have “all the kids” to not only grow the church but have more joy in your life. I had pious people say some well-meaning yet off-putting things to me (“Just stop working and go have kids,” “Relax, and it will happen”) that simply didn’t fully align with what God says and our good understanding of the doctrine of vocation. I don’t begrudge them or hold any resentments. I certainly held some of those beliefs, too. It just didn’t happen for us that way.

Singleness. Barrenness. Miscarraige. Secondary Infertilty. Adoption. Families that don’t look the way we imagined they would. Our doctrine of vocation is beautifully spacious precisely because the Lord is the One who gives and takes away our callings.

Those were some of the conversations Katie and I began having all those years ago. I was (and still am) grateful to be a cheerleader and small contributor in the arena—to encourage the conversation, to have seen this blog created, and the book published.

And then there were Kristi and Rebecca, whose experiences helped fill in still more of the picture. Different women. Different stories. Different kinds of suffering connected to barrenness and their own way of articulating it. Yet the same need for substance.

Fifteen years later, I think that is what I appreciate most.

Barrenness has a way of confronting us with just how little control any of us actually have. We can enjoy the intimacy of marriage. Make appointments. Try treatments. Change diets. Track, plan, pray and de-stress! Those things can be good and worthwhile. But eventually, we run into the limits of our own ability to make life happen according to our plans.

Which can be terrifying, but also expose some of the false gods we didn’t realize we were carrying.

For me, one of them was the idea that my family needed to look or be a certain way for me to feel that I had somehow measured up. “Image Manager” was a false calling that I created to feel valuable and worthy. I put pressure on myself that God simply had not put on me. Perhaps I even put that pressure on others, too.

And suffering has a way of bringing those things into the light.

I’m 47 years old now. My perspective has definitely changed over the past fifteen years. Marriage, motherhood, ministry, friendships, disappointments, and simply getting older have shaped and refined how I think, speak and serve. As a result, I have let go of so many things. But acceptance of what is doesn’t require me to pretend that all my thoughts, hopes and feelings weren’t somehow real, unholy or unwarranted.

The longing for a child is real. The disappointment is real.

Yet Christ is just as real yesterday, today and forever.

That is where I hope this conversation continues to lead.

Christ does not meet us merely as an idea or a theological explanation for why suffering exists. He comes to us in the flesh. He comes every time His Word is preached and His Sacraments are administered. He surrounds us with sisters and brothers in Christ, with pastors, deaconesses, pious friends, and the whole family of God. Because we still need forgiveness and the Church, no matter what stage of life we’re in.

And sometimes, through those people, He even gives us the gift of feeling some (or a lot) of the comfort He has already promised to us.

What a gift it is when a sister in Christ sits beside me and says, “I know this hurts.” What a gift when a pastor speaks Christ’s promises into suffering. What a gift when another woman’s story reminds me that I’m not alone.

Though, whether we feel it or not, assurance is based on the truth of God’s Word. We are redeemed, precious, and loved. Christ’s death and resurrection has power, even now, to bring us faith to trust that no matter the trial, He is still with us.

So fifteen years later, I’m grateful to contribute to this conversation again. I’m grateful for Katie, Kristi, and Rebecca, and the many women and men who have been willing to speak honestly about barrenness, infertility, miscarriage, adoption and a host of other life issues. I’m grateful that He Remembers the Barren became a place where these conversations could happen.

And I’m curious about where it goes from here.

Maybe fifteen years have given us a little more perspective. Maybe we can speak about these things with greater spiritual maturity—without minimizing suffering, but also without allowing suffering to have the final word.

Because while it’s real, Christ is more real still.

And He has not forgotten us.

Looking back and moving forward, God is always remembering us, even when our memories fail and fade.

God continue to bless and strengthen us as we seek to share our unique experiences, strength, and hope in Him now in our midlife years. Perhaps this blog commemoration is a connection point to a new generation who are walking through these hardships, a generation who may be seeking a sisterly, motherly (gosh, some might even say, grandmotherly), ear to listen, receive love and care with greater understanding and grace. I hope so.

Because while striving to serve each other well, to care for and raise faithful children, God reminds us Christ crucified and risen for us is the only Way, Truth and Life certain in this world.

Ides years later, God continue to bless these conversations and this blog as He sees fit.

Compassion With Conviction

In what could be considered a mental exercise in futility, a personal question has been nagging me: How is the suffering of barrenness akin to the grief of losing a loved one?

I suppose it’s an unfair question since there are many nuances to each affliction, and everyone handles suffering and grief differently. But I’ll take a stab at it since I have been carrying both crosses — the death of my mother most recently, and secondary infertility seven years after my son’s birth — for awhile now. For those who know back-to-back trials like a well-worn shoe, this is my feeble attempt at processing it out loud.

As Christians who are given the life-giving Word which forgives, renews, and strengthens, far be it from us to despair when tragedy strikes or we endure years of longsuffering. Right?

Eesh. What an anvil of condemnation since, if we’re honest, we do despair. We also grieve and suffer along with any other human being on earth because of the Old Adam and Eve in us.

So when it comes to death and barrenness, it is natural that any and all feelings surface. And it is sadly normal that temptations to sin arise as we hold dear what relationship we had to our departed loved one and perhaps what relationships never will be, desperately looking into things where there are no promises. Both command soul-piercing attention, because there is a very real separation, divide (a hiddenness) between people who existed in this world and those who never may.

Such suffering beckons us to look at separation and spiritual hiddenness (and perhaps the anxiety and distress that naturally follow) through a Biblical lens. We know we are connected to all the saints in Christ, but far be it for us to deliver lofty comforts with verses such as “Be anxious about nothing” without compassion. We do well to allow God to put His Word together for us through His faithful under-shepherds, our family, and friends in Christ who can and do walk alongside us in our suffering.

Luther’s pastoral letters to several friends who suffered terrible losses are tender and convicting. He always starts by realizing the natural expression of grief, especially when it is so new. He recognizes and empathizes with the agonies. Luther then moves from his own empathy to confessing God’s inscrutable kindness in Christ’s ability to identify with our suffering, loss, grief, and loneliness by overcoming it all in His crucifixion. He concludes his letters with understanding our limitations and proclaiming that God gives us all that we need — namely faith — to sojourn this side of heaven.

“How should we conduct ourselves in such a situation? God has so ordered and limited our life here that we may learn and exercise the knowledge of His very good will so that we may test and discover whether we love and esteem His will more than ourselves and everything that He had given us to have and love on earth. And although the inscrutable goodness of the divine will is hidden (as is God himself) from the old Adam as something so great and profound that man finds no pleasure in it, but only grief and lamentation, we nevertheless have His holy and sure Word which reveals to us this hidden will of His and gladdens the heart of the believer.”1

So much to parse out here, but “finding no pleasure in God’s hidden will” stands out the most to me as such an honest testament in the midst of suffering. And still God delivers us. All to say that Luther as pastor is a beautiful example of all the faithful pastors, the family, and friends we have in our own midst now who empathize, gently encourage, and comfort us at the right times. It has certainly been what my family and I have experienced in coping with our own crosses. Thanks be to God.

How is barrenness akin to the loss of a loved one? Both can cause us to isolate or scatter from the fellowship of believers that God creates for our benefit. Then again, both afflictions can and do also bring us together because God knows we need each other. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away from us, yes, but He never leaves or forsakes us — though His presence is hidden under means. And sending faithful, compassionate Christians is one of the ways He abides. Blessed be the name of the Lord!

God grant us all the tender mercies we are promised through His Word so that we might grieve without shame, while confessing the hope that is within us in Christ. God give us the strength to accept our afflictions and serve one another in love. Amen.

To John Reineck, April 18, 1536: Letters, 69-70 (WA Br 7.399-400).

Word

John 1:14

The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.

The Word.

As I sat listening to my favorite (and most handsome) pastor preach one morning, I was struck with the enormity of how John renders the Gospel in that one verse above.

Have you ever thought about how we use words? Language influences what and how we think and do things. Like, why do I like to work out? Because I was told it was good for me, and watched other female athletes talk and walk the walk of fitness as I grew up. I admired (and wanted to be like) them. While fitness is a nice and maybe worthy endeavor, my pastor* reminded us how the world’s words, tainted by sin, are full of half-truths, some are blatant lies and most are just plain selfish. Health and wealth is never the ultimate prize in this world. Yet we hurt and slander our neighbors, those closest to us, because we believe the world’s false promises of a better life with these achievements, so we try to get ahead and preserve ourselves. Yet even that, self-preservation, is a farce. Apart from Christ, we are not preserved. In fact, we should just strike that word from the dictionary as non-existent. Like autonomy and individualism. Erm, I digress . . .

Further, these godless words tear families apart. They construct golden calves where they need not be. No children? Not enough children? If we just take care of this medically… We buy into cultural and selfish desires of our own making, and justify them with words that have nothing to do with God. We’re going to a fertility specialist. After three kids, I’m done. I was meant to have this size (whatever it is) family. And whether we get our ways or not, we like to live in our own little worlds that avoid a connection to the Truth that’s outside of ourselves. We become our own little gods. But that gets old, lonely and scary quick since, well, we’re not God.

But . . .there’s good news.

Even in the midst of our folly, Jesus, the living Word, pierces through and yet mends our forked tongues and minds. He places on us the perfect Word, enacted and strengthened by the Holy Spirit through preaching, baptism and the Lord’s Supper by pastors, so that we might hear, touch, taste and repeat this Word to ourselves and neighbors. That anyone ever receives faith at all is because of it. And we live in this Word baptismally, through service to others, daily, and as God has rightly called us in our various vocations.

By God’s grace this Word enables us to repent, be served heaps of forgiveness so that we may humbly serve and reconcile to our loved ones… since we are sure to have caused them offense, knowingly or not. Apart from Christ, our words and works stink. They do nothing for anyone’s eternal well-being. But THEE Word and His work does. By becoming flesh, dying and rising again, this Word saves and brings us eternal life. Moreover, we get to receive and confess this very Word weekly in Divine Service with our one true family in Christ. Thanks be to the Word Incarnate!

*If the reader didn’t catch on, my pastor is my husband. No scandals outside of Christ crucified here, folks.

Barren . . .with Children?

Whoozeewatsit? Barren with children?

Well…yes. Stay with me.

When I sadly and too often see parents prioritize sports over Sunday School, sleepovers instead of sermons, poke fun of or complain about their pastors in front of their kids, or send their children to confirmation yet never darken the church’s door themselves, I have to wonder where the real LIFE of that family is. How can they keep their spiritual hearts beating when they aren’t receiving–or are blatantly denying–any quality spiritual food? One might say they are fast approaching a barren spiritual life, since where there is no Jesus, there is no spirituality or life. And that can’t be good for anyone, nevermind their children.

But readers, please don’t take this as a motivational speech, scared straight talk or condemnation (from me). We are all condemed who are born into sin. Yet Jesus is on the heels (the eyes, ears and knees, etc.) of the baptized; convicting and beckoning us all to Him, so that we might repent and confess Christ crucified for us, and be forgiven.

And when that conviction and peace comes, how can anyone stop it from overflowing from their own hearts and minds and onto our little ones? It simply can’t not (yup, I love double negatives). It can’t not compel a mother and father to bring their child into the sanctuary. It can’t not move parents to baptize their infants. It can’t not motivate them to discipline their young to listen to the Sermon, participate in the liturgy, and receive Christ in His body and blood. It can’t not… for where His Word is proclaimed and Sacraments administered, there too is Jesus, with all the promises and benefits therein to sustain his Church into eternity.

That is our true life, devoid of barrenness, and what faithful albeit sinful parents believe, teach and confess for their God-given little miracles. Our children need nothing more…and will certainly suffer with anything less.

I pray this post also encourages the childless who also faithfully gather around the altar, pulpit and font to know God’s wisdom in the face of their afflictions. But barrenness in this context points to the ultimate ail in all of existence… separation from Jesus, the one true, Fruitful Mulitiplier of His Church. The fruitfullness comes both in numbers and in faith, sometimes one more than the other, but it always comes, because He promises it will, in order that we might know Him and where He is. In Him we’re whole– both here and in heaven–because of Christ crucified and risen for us, not because of how many proverbial arrows we’ve been endowed with or not.

Let us confess joyfully this full life that we share, and pray that all are compelled by the Holy Spirit to bring their families right to where Jesus, our life and salvation, is.

nosh on this

The eyes of all look to you,
and you give them their food in due season.
You open your hand;
you satisfy the desire of every living thing. Psalm 145:15-16

Food serves manifold purposes, doesn’t it? As a health enthusiast I often ponder the efficacy (or lack thereof) of the food we eat. As common sense would have it, this is what I’ve come up with: Real food nourishes, sustains, it delights us and brings people, most especially our families, together.

Awhile back, host Kristi Leckband wrote a beautiful post found here. In a nutshell, she recounts how her family dynamics around the dinner table were more sullen and silent at times of sorrow over dashed adoption efforts. And now, the dinner conversation jags lively and joyful as they delight in their new daughter adopted from China.

From this post I began to think about the dinner table. It’s compelling how gathering around it with family in either joy and sorrow is so necessary. It strengthens us in that unit. While the food is often the impetus for the gathering, the dinner table can be the weigh station where rest, conversational refreshment and, perhaps, just silent presence is needed.

This certainly has spiritual implications within our church families, too. What about that first Maundy Thursday? Jesus and his disciples are gathered in the upper room. This was one of many occasions in which they’d dined together. While the bible doesn’t say, I’m not so sure laughter, unless it was nervous or out of ignorance, set the tone that particular night. No. That night was focused on just being in each other’s presence and with their Master. In fact, Jesus is doing most of the talking and doing. In spite of the feelings and thoughts around the room about the impending event, food is the one of the reasons they gather. But Jesus is nourishing his disciples on a new spiritual plane; uniting them to Him through bread and wine, reminding them they are forgiven through what He is about to do on the cross.

This must have been a terrifying “church family night.” But they were reminded of who they were in relation to Christ and each other. They gathered around that table to receive food, physical and spiritual, to nourish, sustain and bring them together.

Think back to your childhoods. Hopefully yours are filled with comforting and joyous memories. Did our families turn us away from the table if we had a heavy or anxious heart? Did they require us to have a contrived zeal to be there? No. Simply being born or adopted into our families granted us a seat. Sure, we might have had to munch on pureed veggies, small and soft foods until our bellies could digest the more solid stuff on the table. We also (for the most part) learned manners there, too. This private order of service is all part of what it means to grow into our families.

So too, our Lord’s Table does not turn away heavy hearts or require pietistic zeal. Simply being God’s child grants us a seat. Yes, there may be a time in which the Word and baptism are the primary sustenances until a proper examination of communion is confessed. But this is all part of the gifts of learning what it means to grow in God’s church. Jesus knew the right time to teach and administer this holy meal to his disciples, just as we with our pastors are examined in order that we may come to the Lord’s table to receive Christ’s body and blood at the right time, too.

Food conjures up so many thoughts in our minds …the things we crave, what makes us feel good and how we share it with others. How interesting that God uses food and is the food for the strengthening of our faith. This faith craves and confesses Christ crucified for our sins. It desires to be united to Him and to share it with others. And with the substances we see before us: a pastor, the Word, bread and wine, Jesus is the Host, Servant and Meal of this fine dining reality. Blessed Maundy Thursday as we remember our Lord’s death until He comes.

Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good! Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him! Psalm 34:8

Equitable Creatures?

Then God said, “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. And let them have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over the livestock and over all the earth and over every creeping thing that creeps on the earth.” Genesis 1:26

I recently took a tour of a new fitness facility that just opened in our area. This place is the bees knees of Exercise-dom, with everything you can think of from a juice bar, spin classroom, group fitness area, basketball court, pool, sauna, and all manner of state of the art equipment.

The draw for me? The child care room.

So when I greeted my tour guide with toddler in tow, that’s immediately what I asked to see. She swiftly guided me to the Kid’s Club Zone, and upon further inspection, my son and I approved. The tour continued throughout the complex where I Ooo’d and Aaah’d a bit, and basically waited to hear what a pretty penny this place would cost.

Finally, the guide turned sales rep on me and sat me down to go over the membership fees. As I listened, my son squirmed and managed to wriggle away, but only within arm’s length beside me. Nevertheless, my attention was diverted. The sales rep sensed it and tried to endear herself.

“Not to worry, I’ve got my eye on him, too!”

“Okay, thank you,” I said.

The conversation carried on and was about to conclude when I turned around to see my son straying a little further off.

“Oh, they are quick, aren’t they?” She said. “You’ve just got one, I’ve got three . . .three four-legged children.”

I grinned…out of both politeness and surprise. What else could I do? She just equated her dogs to children. And she also seemed to place value on the numerical amount in relation to my only having one …child.

Now, I don’t begrudge this lady. She was trying to be nice and relatable while doing her job. Only, certain (sarcastically serious) things come to mind upon further reflection of this common worldview:

doug

1. I know! Just give a barren couple a dog! It’s the same, right?

2. Or three…they’ll certainly forget about their suffering …with more dogs.

3. Dogs are people, too. (Um, why do people say that about non-people?)

Anyway, apologies in advance to all you animal lovers out there. I have a dog. I like him fine. And I know that they can seem like children. (Especially the housebreaking and destroying things part.) But you hopefully get what I mean. Pets certainly can and do bring comfort and pleasure, but they are not people. Dominion over animals in Genesis 1:26 defines that they have a different value, both to us and to God.

And it is worth delving into a bit deeper for a minute. As so often articulated here, children are a gift from God. And while animals are certainly gifts for our use, too, Jesus did not die on the cross to save Fido from his sins. Animals have not been inspired to be reconciled to God like we. Otherwise we’d see caribou, tigers and giraffe baptizing each other on safari. (“On the left we have the King of the Jungle immersing Simba into the family of God…”) Oh boy, I’ve been watching too much Disney and Pixar.

But essentially that sales rep was viewing my son as such…as equitably as her pets. And that’s wrong.

So, go ahead. Go Dog Whisperer on your canine and put him on the treadmill. Train him to do all sorts of tricks. Snuggle and even pray that God keeps Fluffy healthy and safe. Just please, oh please, do not put animals on the same plane as humanity. Rest assured humans, and only humans have souls which are uniquely created in God’s image as creatures to be in communion with Him. And we are given a unique responsibility to carry out those distinctions in how we treat each of God’s creatures, human and animal separately.

But, heck, what do I know? Who’d like to be so bold as to try to advise a barren or secondary infertile couple that a pet will be an equitable stand-in or replacement for a child (biological, foster, adoptive or otherwise)? Let me know how that goes!

In the meantime, you’ll find me working out (mommy-sans pet owner-stress) in the gym.

Spacing Out

It’s begun.

Church members have been inquiring, and my husband’s recently been talking more about increasing the proverbial arrows in the quiver. Moreover, I am anxious, too.

My son is 16 months old. Hardly a long space for some, while eons for others. (The Duggers don’t count.) So the question that remains in all our minds, is when (if ever) will we have another child?

Such anticipation is quickly supplanted with reality. Who knows when? God knows.

It’s such a gut check. The mystery and miracle of life so profound, where not knowing or being guaranteed another child only further reminds me of the beauty of God’s promises. Mainly the promise that eternal life in Jesus is far greater than building any kingdoms here on earth.

And because of this, I must decrease, so He may increase. Yet even while I family “plan” and wonder, Jesus still died and rose for me.

An Eternity Secured

Comment Submitted: I suffered my third miscarriage in September. It feels like we have come to the end of trying to have our own family. (I have no children, but he has a son from a previous relationship.) I am fearful of what our future holds. My husband is dealing better with the miscarriage than I am. He has faith, but I don’t.

I’m very sorry to hear about your losses. If you’ve been following our website, you may know that I also suffered a miscarriage less than three years ago. Along with the emotional turmoil you are experiencing, I pray your body is medically healing from this physical loss as well. I hope you have a trusted physician that can give you sound medical advice, and perhaps a counselor and your husband’s pastor to care for your emotional and spiritual needs.

Your fears about the future, in the wake of losing another child, are completely normal and natural. Thoughts about “what could have been if this child were here now” can sometimes play like a broken record when we are at our lowest. Thinking about due dates, anniversaries and other “milestone would-have-beens” are sources of tremendous earthly sorrow. And you have had to go through this three times. You are grieving yet another dashed hope. Concern about how this will affect your future and your relationship with your husband is completely understandable.

While material goods, and even friends, family and spouses are certainly beneficial and can comfort us in ways large and small, the eternal consolation we can always cling to is to know that Jesus went to the cross and defeated sin, death and Satan so that we can live forever in everlasting blessedness, righteousness and innocence. Yes, we will still suffer on this side of heaven. Yes, loved ones will die. Yes, we will doubt and despair at times. But even this is okay. You might think I’m crazy to say so, but hear how one dear pastor explains our hardships, or crosses, in his own words:

“Crosses are not signs of God’s disfavor. They come upon God’s children from His mercy. Sometimes they come as a holy discipline, as chastisement, to keep us close to God. But they always come for His glory. And they almost always come unexplained, with no apparent cause. Simply put, they come as part of the chaos and death that is all around us in this fallen world.

But we abide in the grace of Christ, the one who forgives the guilt of our sin, even our most grievous, stupid and ugly sin. And in the meantime, crosses, even when they are a result of our own actions, are endured in faith. They teach us to pray, to remain fully dependent upon God’s mercy. They teach us that we cannot make our own way through this world or to the next. They teach us that Christ is the way, that we live not by sight but by faith, even as we pray that they be removed. We recognize our crosses as coming from God for our own good, but we name them as evil things, realizing that some of our crosses will only be removed when we are transferred to the Church Triumphant (heaven).” (Pastor David H. Petersen, The Lutheran Witness, November 2011)

You are a precious child of God, Sister. May you recognize this even now in your suffering. Miscarriage is nobody’s fault but a result of our fallen world. While none of us have a crystal ball and know what the future holds this side of heaven, we do know that our eternal futures are secure. When in doubt, just refer back to John 3:16, “For God so loved the world, that He gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in him will not perish, but have everlasting life.”

You mentioned in your comment that your husband has faith, but you don’t. It reminds me of the father who was uncertain of whether or not Jesus could help his afflicted son and said, “I believe! Help my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24) Even the most faithful Christians utter this very same hopeful-yet-doubting phrase daily in their hearts. And that’s okay, too. God takes our doubting hearts and minds and turns them onto His Son, our crucified and risen Savior–even (and especially) when we don’t want to. On behalf of the HeRemembersTheBarren.com hosts and community, I pray this is so for you. Otherwise anything we may have to say will likely be of little comfort. With the help and grace of God, may you be encouraged and assured in the thing most needful in all our lives, Jesus, in the midst of the turmoil.

We can rest in the knowledge and comfort that our Triune God is the Author and Giver of life. He did not create death, but destroyed it in Jesus! Just as your three children were known before the very foundation of the world, so too, God knew you! He not only calls you to hear him in His Word, but gives you immeasurably more through his many masks of mercy—in your husband, faithful pastors, doctors, friends, family and so on. In these many gifts, we are reminded that our eternal salvation is secure in Jesus. You are in our thoughts and prayers as you continue to bear these crosses. But be comforted that you do not bear them alone.