Author: Rebecca Mayes

The Hike of My Life

by Rebecca Mayes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Hysterectomy

by Rebecca Mayes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tough Love

by Rebecca Mayes

No adopting mother who brings her child home for the very first time would ever in her wildest imagination consider that she might someday ask this same child to leave.

But I did.

And now this child has had two mothers send him away. What must that feel like?

Have you ever seen one of those horror movies where a family realizes they are being targeted by some kind of evil, whether it be aliens, birds, zombies, or whatever, and they do everything they can to secure their home so the evil cannot penetrate? They keep remembering forgotten entrances, like the chimney or the old coal chute, and they keep boarding up every crevice they can find. The mother hovers in the corner with her child, arms clasped tightly, holding fast so no matter what, nothing will take this child from her.

That was me.

I saw, even early on, that this boy was an easy target for the devil and the world and that his own defenses were weak. Knowing this, his father and I planned out every protection and deterrent we could think of. For years I huddled in that metaphorical corner, murmuring assurances to him and to myself, all the while feeling like the evil was getting closer, regardless of all our efforts. I kept repeating the Lord’s promise that “they shall never perish; neither shall anyone snatch them out of My hand” (John 10:28).

But the real horror was not in seeing the invader’s hands reaching out to him. The real horror was in seeing him turn from me – from the Lord’s hand – and reaching out for them.

And so I let go. I let go because if I had kept holding on, the demons would have stayed and threatened us all. Their presence had already taken a toll on our family, and there was just no other way.

Our eviction notice came as no surprise to this adult-child, for he knew our values and our rules, and by his behavior he had chosen to relinquish the privilege of room and board. He was anxious to leave, to be free of our confining rules and evident disappointment. And so on his 19th birthday, after finding another place to stay, he got his wish. He was gone.

I had heard the phrase “tough love” over the years and thought I understood what it meant. I didn’t. My body and soul had been in perpetual motion, providing and protecting, these 19 years. Choosing to stop that momentum was like trying to stop a train.

“For this child I prayed…” said Hannah in 1 Samuel 1:27. I thought this meant that she prayed for his conception and birth. She got was she requested. Mission accomplished.

But no. She then handed her son over to Samuel in the temple. I handed my son over to the world.

For this child I prayed….and prayed…and prayed...and prayed…

This momentum does not stop.

As with Hannah, the Lord answered my prayer, and I had one job to do: “Train up a child in the way he should go” (Proverbs 22:6). But I felt like I had failed. Eventually I realized I could control this child, his choices, his faith, his life, his future no more than I could control my fertility. My job is to remain faithful to the Lord and serve Him in all my daily vocations (albeit imperfectly), and this faithfulness often requires making tough choices – like letting go of the very child you had prayed for for so long.

It felt like I was handing him over to the world to be devoured and spit out, but I was really handing him back to the Lord, for only He can control the future. He redeemed this child by His own blood, brought this child to us, washed him in baptismal waters, surrounded him with a loving family, gave him the opportunity for a Christian education, and continues to move countless friends and family to join us in praying for his return to the faith.

Our heavenly Father has not given up. I have witnessed His pursuit of this child in the years since he left. The boy’s life did not fall apart. He found friends, he found work, he is growing and maturing. Our relationship with him has been strengthened. He sometimes even finds his way to worship. There is hope.

Even though I have seen the Lord’s patience and mercy, again and again, for my child throughout his life, he does not yet see it himself. He seems to be still grasping in some kind of darkness. But just as the Lord can open wombs, He can also open the eyes of the blind.

15 Years Later

by Rebecca Mayes

How do I even begin to describe all the blessings, all the pain, all the mercy I’ve experienced these past 15 years? But I will try this month, thanks to Katie’s invitation.

Maybe you’ll want to know about the ongoing challenges of parenting adopted children into adulthood, or what the finality of a hysterectomy meant to this barren woman, or how my faith has deepened and matured as a result of our Lord’s testing. I will share these stories – the ugly and the beautiful – in the weeks to come.

But first, allow me to share where my family is now and remind you where we came from.

When we first started blogging, our family was in St. Louis, but for the past 10 years we’ve been in Indiana. My husband has gone from a nine-to-five editor in a cubical to a well-known professor, scholar, and writer. I had to wrap my mind around this fact most recently when, during our visit to the Grand Canyon this past summer, we were stopped by a stranger who recognized him.

I’m so proud of the work he is doing and the way he is serving his students and the Church. I feel so blessed to be his helpmeet and cheerleader.

Our oldest (just eight-years-old when I published my first post) has been on his own for several years now, living and working nearby. It is a strange transition, this parenting of an adult. Once upon a time we provided for his every need. Now we have to beg him to come over for dinner just so we can see him and hear about his life.

The transition was not only strange but tumultuous, and it left some scars. Right now I find great joy in receiving his phone calls, hearing how his skills are developing at his job, and seeing his texts requesting another favorite recipe. We were a bit terrified about this little bird leaving the nest…but it looks like he can fly after all!

Speaking of strange transitions…our newly adopted infant son from 15 years ago is now a sophomore in high school and crossing that bridge from boyhood to manhood. This awkward stage is most evident when I call his phone and hear this much deeper voice on the other end enthusiastically answer, “Buddy the Elf, what’s your favorite color?”

Out of the blue one day a couple years ago he asked if his birthmother lived nearby. He revealed that when he sees a woman in a store with big brown eyes like his, he wonders if that’s her. That is the only question he has ever asked about her, but there must be more questions stored up in his heart. I hope they surface when he’s ready.

What has surfaced is a love for piano (which I delight in every time I hear him practicing Rachmaninoff or Debussy) and a quick wit which he wields in many a conversational spar around the dinner table. None of us seems to know where life will lead this one–except that eventually he’ll be the one doing the leading.

In my current vocations I find the most joy in continuing to care for the children that surround us in our various communities, whether that’s being in front of a Sunday School class, driving a carpool of kids home from school, or babysitting for family members and friends. What a blessing from our Lord that this barren woman is now part of a church and school with SO. MANY. CHILDREN. How ironic that I am, at the beginning of my “senior” years, surrounded by more children to care for than ever.

I can only imagine what changes the next 15 years might bring.

Bearing the Pain

pain

A co-worker sent me the link below. It’s an eye-opening account of what it’s like to live with chronic pain. I would imagine many readers of this blog will be able to relate to Christine Miserandino’s descriptions. Perhaps it’s not physical pain you carry with you each day – perhaps it’s emotional or psychological. It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, if it occurs each day, or for certain seasons of your life, you know what it means to wear the “I’m doing fine” mask, and it makes you weary and feeling closed off from the rest of the “healthy” world. See Christine’s unique analogy here: ButYouDon’tLookSick.com.

Allow me to put things into perspective, though.

First, from Romans 8:18: “For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.”

And second, from the Lutheran Service Book, Hymn 423:

Jesus, refuge of the weary,

Blest Redeemer whom we love,

Fountain in life’s desert dreary,

Savior from the world above:

Often have Your eyes, offended,

Gazed upon the sinner’s fall;

Yet upon the cross extended,

You have borne the pain of all.

The Hoary Head*

The day was overcast, cold, and windy. I fumbled with the transferring of groceries from my Aldi cart to the empty bags in the back of the van. My two-year old sat in the cart, playfully kicking me with his legs as I did my work, adding to the annoyance of the morning. Forgot to wear gloves, didn’t bring enough bags, forgot to unload all the junk from the back of the van so I’d have room for groceries, child won’t stop whining….

Apparently I didn’t do a very good job of hiding my aggravation.

I heard the rattle of cart wheels behind me and then noticed the rattling stop as they reached my location. I waited for a minute or so and then glanced over my shoulder. There stood an elderly man in a thin coat and jeans, a patient smile parting the deep creases on his face. He held out a quarter and asked if he could take my cart for me. His face held my gaze for some time as I marveled at his resemblance to my own grandfather, who had left this world years ago. He was smaller in stature and his face was much gentler, but the similarity was enough to tug at my heart. With a cart already in his hand, it was obvious he was just relieving me from having to return my own.

“Oh–thank you,” I smiled back. “I’ll try and hurry.” I fumbled even more, feeling his silent presence at my back and knowing that he was just as cold as my son and I were.

I finished the unloading and closed the door. In a feeble attempt at being witty I wheeled the cart around towards the man and said with a smile, “Did you want the kid, too, or just the cart?”

Without missing a beat and without the slightest change in his kindly expression he responded: “If my wife were still with me we’d probably take you up on that. We never had any of our own. She had five misses and the doctor told us we shouldn’t try for any more.”

Somehow in the midst of him sharing his story the child was removed, the cart and money exchanged, and then I uttered a weak but sincere “Thank you” before he shuffled off, still smiling. I don’t remember giving him any other response. I felt speechless.

As I drove out of the parking lot, the tears came. Tears of embarrassment for sticking my foot in my mouth. Tears of gratitude for the whiny boy in the backseat. Tears of guilt as I recognized, yet again, how often this gift is taken for granted. Tears of sorrow for loved ones with an empty back seat. But mostly, tears of awe at being in the presence of such kindness, such an awareness of other’s struggles, and such thoughtfulness from someone who had lost so much. Even in what may be the last decade of his life, he was looking for ways to serve, to give out of what some might see as emptiness. But he didn’t look empty to me at all. I have a strong hunch that Someone was keeping him full.

* “The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness.” Proverbs 16:31, KJV

20-0001

The Failure of Sex Education in the Church

One of the aspects of barrenness that is so awkward is the fact that the “success” of your marital relations (more modernly called your “sex life”) with your spouse is often scrutinized by those around you, either privately in their own minds, or quite publicly to your face. The joining of two fleshes into one in the bonds of holy matrimony used to be treated with such modesty and respect. No one would dare ask you whether you’re “doing it” right or if you’ve tried such-and-such a method. But the sexual revolution changed all that, and in numerous Christian publications we read that the act is a beautiful, natural part of marriage and there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. We should celebrate our gift of sexuality and teach the children in our Church all they need to know to be prepared for utilizing this gift. But is this what the Bible says? When we blush at the questions about what’s wrong with our reproductive organs, is that for a good reason, or are we just prudes?

Linda's bookLinda Bartlett, former national president of Lutherans for Life, has just published The Failure of Sex Education in the Church: Mistaken Identity, Compromised Purity, which exposes the myths that our generation, as well as our parents’ and grandparents’ generations, have been taught to believe about what children should know to be prepared for marriage, the marital act, and procreation.

Bartlett begins by giving the necessary history of how the Church,  during the mid-20th century, put too much trust in “experts” instead of the inspired Word of God and willingly traded in our biblical understanding of manhood, womanhood, procreation, parenting, and purity for a more “scientific” approach to teaching children about the intimacies of marriage. Falsified, inaccurate, and even perverted studies on the “sexuality” of the human male and female conducted by Alfred Kinsey were presented to universities, medical associations, and church bodies as facts which could not be ignored by enlightened academics. Christianized versions of the sexual revolution’s message were then (and still are) passed down to schools and parents to share with children.

Are just what are some of these myths?

  • Children are sexual from birth.
  • Children should be taught about sex, and with the proper terminologies, beginning in early elementary school.
  • If children are not taught about sex early on, their naiveté could make them prey to sexual predators.
  • Parents aren’t trained to properly teach their children about sex. The schools are the best environments for this to take place.
  • Boys and girls should be taught about puberty and sexuality while in the same classroom, since there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.
  • Sex education will help prevent unplanned pregnancies, STD’s, and abortions.

The Church was naive in its promotion of sex education in the parochial schools, Bartlett points out, but not malicious. We were deceived into believing that we are “sexual from birth,” and this brainwashing had the complete opposite effect on our Church members as what was intended. It cleared the way for the acceptance of fornication, homosexuality, birth control, and even abortion as a normal part of life for those who are simply expressing their sexuality – being who they thought they were created to be.

But that’s not how we were created, Bartlett reminds us. The solution to the mess we are in now is our Baptism. This is where we received our true identities as children of the Heavenly Father, not sexual beings created to express our sexuality, but holy beings, created to live holy (not sexual) lives. “It is important,” Bartlett says, “for the Body of Christ to see each member as fully human as opposed to sexual and, therefore, an instrument for God’s purpose and glory whether a child or adult, single or married, in this circumstance or that,” (pg. 108).

Because Bartlett presents such shocking evidence of our deception, she presents her case in the form of a patient dialogue between herself and her readers, including over 100 questions and then answering almost every objection one could think of to the notion that there is anything wrong with the way the Church has been educating her children. Her love and concern for her Church family flow through each section as she gently reminds us all that, “Even well-intentioned sex education in the Church leans the wrong way if built on the wrong foundation,” (pg. 129).

If you have children, if you teach children, if you are related to children, or if you once were a child, this book is for you.

A Prayer of Faith and Hope

I must share a unique blessing I have.

I didn’t always have it. Years ago, I had to sit on the table in my OB/GYN’s office, tucking and re-tucking the thin sheets around myself while waiting for the doctor to arrive and avoiding the ads for contraceptives that plastered the walls.

I have a new doctor now. This doctor celebrates life, teaches his numerous children about the Creator of life, and has personally prayed for me in my suffering. And instead of drug marketing posters, this doctor displays in his office crucifixes, Scripture verses, and wall art like this:

poem

Thank you, Amy, whoever you are. And thank you, Dr. G. You both provide so much encouragement to every woman who sees you.

 

What If One Spouse is Causing the Barrenness?

coupleQuestion Submitted: A large part of my “story” is what I refer to as spousally-inflicted barrenness. Long story short: my husband’s desire to postpone pregnancy for a year so we would be out of the debt-incurring stage of grad school when a child was born (which I was in agreement with) turned into a season of nearly FIVE YEARS where he was utterly unable to tell me when he would feel “ready” to have a baby. It was a mess. To compound this difficulty, because NFP [Natural Family Planning] only really works for a fertile couple when both people want it to, I became pregnant at least twice anyway and lost the babies in the first trimester. So much heartache in that season. Do you know of resources for women in the situation I was in? Do you have any helpful advice?

This is a tough one. When a husband and wife are not on the same page about something as important as having children, this is a serious division that calls for professional advice. Because of this, I spoke with two pastors and asked for their responses. Here was what the first one had to say:

The question about being ready for children is the same question about being ready for marriage.  God does not differentiate the two.   (For those who are considering marriage, these are the right questions to be asking: Do you both understand that marriage is about the raising of children?  Are you both on the same page concerning children?  What do you think about adoption?  What do you think about IVF and other fertility procedures?  It is imperative to be on the same page on these questions.)  But now what does a couple do that has become married and one of them doesn’t want children?  They can’t just get a divorce and walk away.  This is a profound – even crisis – moment in the life of a married couple.  I would suggest marriage counseling from a good Christian counselor (not just any counselor) and also time with their pastor.  The Lord’s desire is that the man leave his father and mother and cleave to his wife and that the two become one flesh… being fruitful and filling the earth.  That desire of the Lord hasn’t changed even with our personal desires about what we want to do with our lives.  

These are great comments that a woman experiencing what you did would love to print out and hand to her husband so she can say, “See, I told you so!” However, there are better approaches to winning over one’s spouse. In speaking with the second pastor, I discovered that we wives can certainly make matters worse by the way we approach the topic. Before he’ll be willing to talk to a pastor or counselor, he needs to know that he has our respect and that we’re trying to understand his point of view. Here are some insightful comments from pastor #2:

My wife and I were in an almost identical situation. I was intent on getting my PhD before kids came into the picture. My father had always had dreams of getting his doctorate, but he waited until later in life when he had five children and his responsibilities prevented him from being able to complete the work. I was determined not to let that happen. After seminary, my wife was ready to start a family and I wasn’t. There was a lot of conflict because of our seemingly opposing goals. She was adamant that I didn’t need to continue my studies and that having a family was more important. This was hurtful because she obviously didn’t support my goals. We both dug in our heels and refused to see the other’s point of view. As the Lord would have it, we weren’t able to have children anyway. I look back now and realize that I was wrong to put my personal aspirations above God’s command to “be fruitful and multiply”, and I’ve often thought that if we’d been open to children from the start, perhaps in our “youth” our bodies would have indeed been fruitful. So what could my wife have done differently to convince me not to put off having children? At the time I didn’t see how I could both be a father and a student, and neither did she. And so her goal of having children NOW seemed to be taking away my goal forever. But we were both wrong. Schooling and family are not mutually exclusive. People have done it (though that’s not to say it’s easy). If either she or I had taken this “both-and” approach, it would have been easier for me at that time to listen to what God says about being open to children. 

I cannot help but think of 1 Peter 3:1 in light of these comments: “Likewise, wives, be subject to your own husbands, so that even if some do not obey the word, they may be won without a word by the conduct of their wives.” Wives in any marriage crisis are called on to be patient and to love, respect, and pray for their man. The more he knows that his wife is his friend and not his enemy, the more willing he may be to rethink what it means to be the head of a family. And even if he still refuses to see a pastor or counselor, the wife should see one by herself . She’ll need someone else to share this burden with her. She’ll need encouragement and the Word of God to help her have a joyful heart as she continues carrying out her vocation as a wife, until such a time as they – like you and your husband – can finally see eye-to-eye on the matter.

Hopeless?

Stressed BusinesswomanQuestion Submitted: I’ve been married for nearly 15 years. I have no biological children and desire so much to be pregnant and to have children.  I am resistant to just giving up but also feel like a fool for hoping otherwise. My friends don’t understand, they just keep hoping for me. Am I just supposed to be barren? I am sadly and regretfully uncontent at this point. We are pursuing foster care and open to adoption but I want more. I want to hold that precious life to my breast after carrying it in my womb! I just ache and am hopeless!

He knows exactly what you’re going through. The Creator of the universe, the Triune God, knows and He hears your cries. He shows you this in His Holy Word, through the story of His servant, Job, who lived thousands of years before you. “Where then is my hope?!” Job called out, and God heard his hopelessness (Job 17:14). God sees your friends and the lack of support they seem to be giving you, just as He saw Job’s friends and heard his plea to them: “Have mercy on me, have mercy on me, O you my friends, for the hand of God has touched me!” (Job 19:21).

“Though He slay me…” Job started to tell his friends, admitting again that God is in control of his life (Job 13:15), “Though He slay me, I will hope in Him.” Job knows he has no choice. It is God alone who can rescue him from his hopelessness. And what is it that Job realizes he should be hoping for? Does he hope for healing from his physical suffering? A restoration of his wealth? More children to comfort the loss of his family members? Yes, I’m sure he does, but these hopes are not what are revealed to us. The words we do have from him are universal. They apply to not just Job, but to you as well. And to me. This is one of God’s great gifts to us, these words that were written so very long ago, with us in mind:

“For I know that my Redeemer lives, and at the last He will stand upon the earth. And after my skin has been thus destroyed, yet in my flesh I shall see God, whom I shall see for myself, and my eyes shall behold, and not another” (Job 19:25-27).

The breasts that long to nurse, the womb that longs to carry–these are part of the “skin” that will eventually be “destroyed”. These maternal experiences, precious though I’m sure they are, pass away quickly. It is so easy to dream them into more than they are, to put our hope in being able to make them our own instead of hoping in the One who has made us His own, and “is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think” (Eph. 3:20). Yes, Christ did more, and still does more, than we could ever ask for, when He suffered and rose on our behalf to save our souls from being destroyed as well. And our bodies, thanks to this great Atonement, will be recreated and no longer broken as they are now.

King David was yet another biblical figure who wrote about hope. He knew what it was like to lose a child and, like you probably have done, asked the question, “And now, O Lord, for what do I wait?” (Ps. 39:7). But by the power of the Holy Spirit he was able to immediately answer his own question: “My hope is in You.” He, too, worshiped the same Redeemer as Job and looked not so much to earthly deliverance from tragedy, but to his Savior for all eternity. His book of Psalms records the many things in which he placed his hope: God’s Word (Ps. 119:74), the Lord’s salvation (Ps. 119.166), the Lord’s steadfast love (Ps. 147:11). These do not pass away. Menopause or hysterectomies don’t remove them. They remain forever, for you.

And if you feel that it is time to let go of the hope of pregnancy, fear not. There are many hopes left to be had.
“No eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor. 2:9).