Church

The Cross of Barrenness

What is the cross of barrenness? Surely it is one of loss and death and grief, but many in the church don’t realize that the cross of barrenness is also one of warring against the world’s religion of control. The world expects us to manage and control our fertility, so, naturally, that same world also expects us to manage and control our infertility – never mind whether or not we really can.

It is not uncommon for friends, even strangers, to school me in this art of control, this “sure science” of making a baby. A woman standing behind a school lunch counter once told me, “Be sure to keep your cervix lifted for at least thirty minutes after intercourse.” A lady at a party said to me in front of a circle of friends, “Your husband could be shooting blanks. Get his sperm’s motility checked out.” A stranger sitting to my left at a women’s luncheon leaned over and announced during the main course, “My daughter was infertile, but she finally had a baby last spring through In Vitro Fertilization. You should go to her doctor.” A woman at a local farmer’s market stopped me to tell me that taking her suggested brand of vitamin supplements would even out my hormone levels and result in a pregnancy.

I don’t know what to say in return to those who publicly offer advice on sexual techniques or medically misdiagnose my husband’s fertility or tell me to engage in medical procedures that break the First and Fifth Commandments of my Lord. Giving a verbal response to those comments feels like I am somehow validating the very existence of them. If I share with the woman at the market that my hormone levels are already stable, then I am engaging her in conversation about something that is so personal and painful. I am inviting her to continue making suggestions and diagnoses and comments about my barrenness. I am giving her permission to continue trying to find a fix for my problem. I am handing her the salt well and telling her to rub it in my open wound. So, instead of telling her the truth, I simply thank her for her advice, and I keep walking. Then, I go home, and I cry.

I cry, because every time a well-meaning person tells me how to make a baby, I am tempted to believe that I can control my barrenness, that my present childlessness is my own doing, my own fault. I must be doing something wrong. I must be missing a key nutrient in my diet; I must be exercising too much or too little; I must have high levels of prolactin or low levels of progesterone; I must not be producing enough Type E mucus to sustain the lives of the sperm in my uterus; I must not be going to the right doctor. I must, I must, I must. When a well-meaning person makes suggestions to me in my pain and grief, I feel the weight, the burden, the law of my barrenness fully on my own shoulders.

Yet, I cannot control my barrenness. I know this, because God tells me in His Word that children are a heritage from Him – a gift – and that good gift is received, not manufactured or made. God is the Giver, and I am the receiver. And, at the end of the day, my faith must believe what God tells me in His Word, not what the woman tells me at the market.

Baby Blankets

One of the things I look forward to most at baby showers is the unveiling of a homemade, quilted baby blanket that was lovingly made by a devoted friend or family member. I like to finger the soft material and admire the creative patterns and tiny stitches. In that awe-filled moment, I honestly feel more jealous of the quilter’s talent than the expectant mother’s blanket. Maybe that is because I never expect to be on the receiving end of a baby quilt of my own.

I think that is why I was so undone last week when I opened a package that came in the mail. My hand reached in and pulled out a quilted, green-and-pink (Two of my favorite colors!) table runner. It could have been a baby blanket for all of the excitement I felt.

A corresponding note read, “This runner reminds me of spring and the joy of Easter. I hope it will brighten a corner of your home.”

Do you know of what else it reminds me? It reminds me that I am remembered and “showered” with love by my friends, even without a baby. Thank you!

Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day is almost here.

I have such mixed feelings every second Sunday in May. I enjoy celebrating my mother, grandmother, mother-in-law, godmother, sisters, friends, and all of the other women in my life who make sacrifices to care for me, yet…you know.

There’s that whole I’m-not-a-mother thing.

The awkwardness is unavoidable. I am now too old to remain an inconspicuous, innocent daughter of the church who simply joins in on the celebration of the matriarchs around me. I am a childless, married woman – one of those alien non-mothers – and everyone has to suffer through the uneasy, painful, blushing, frozen, horrible moments of trying to figure out what to say to me on Mother’s Day.

I feel it most for the poor ushers delegated to hand out carnations. I know they want to give me a flower – I can see the chivalrous struggle in their eyes! –  but I have “childless” stamped across my forehead. So, they hand me a service bulletin, instead. “I’m sorry,” one of them inevitably whispers during the exchange, and I am left in the inelegant position of comforting others for my own childlessness.

How did things get to be this way? When did we decide that it was good, right, and salutary in church to give out discriminatory gifts as a coda to Christ’s gifts of Word and Sacrament?

I am going to be blunt. Mother’s Day is a secular holiday that has worked its way into our Sunday services. I am not of the opinion that we should stop celebrating mothers. Quite the opposite, I think we should celebrate mothers every day of the week and with more than just flowers and praise. We should be offering them our time and talents to help them in their God-given vocation of caring for others as well as praying that God would sustain them as they daily die to self in order to serve our youngest church members.

I don’t even think we should stop commemorating Mother’s Day in church. At this point, it would be culturally rude to withdraw from the church the tradition of honoring women whom God has gifted with children, but we need to be mindful of the pain this secular, gift-card-selling holiday inflicts on those from whom God has withheld the gift of children. Sometimes, pastors (often unknowingly) drag this secular holiday’s pain into their sermons, their children’s sermons, their preservice announcement anecdotes, and their prayers. In an effort to be culturally relevant, they slay the barren in the pews and grieve the hearts of mothers who have lost or are estranged from their children.

Perhaps, instead, pastors could use Mother’s Day as an opportunity to use gift language and remind their congregations to celebrate all of the women who serve as mothers in the church: godmothers, aunts, school teachers, deaconesses, babysitters, sewing circles, LWML, secretaries, altar guild, VBS bakers, and every woman who faithfully lives out her vocation in service to others. Perhaps, we could give these women carnations, too – not to dismiss the love we have for the mothers who bore and raised us, but to properly recognize that motherhood is a vocation given by God, not an achievement rewarded by men.

Rest

Is it the weekend yet?  After a busy week of cooking, cleaning, teaching, playing, and more, I’m tired.  I’ve replied to emails; I’ve “liked” pictures and posts on social networks; I’ve answered phone calls.  It’s time to slow down and relax.  When I rest, my mind and body aren’t actively doing anything.  I’m  recharging and refreshing.  I’m resting.

When having difficulties trying to conceive a child, I met with my doctor several times to discuss what could be done.  For a while, there were some daily measurements, some things to mark on the calendar, and some anxious waiting.  It was stressful.  Were the numbers reading correctly?  Was the test administered properly?  There was anxious anticipation while waiting for test results.  Undesirable answers were met with dejected emotions.  When all morally acceptable possibilities had been exhausted, it was time to be done.  I was tired of all the directions and requirements.  I was worn out.  It was time to rest.

The Word of God provides the best rest.  I need nothing more.  In the Holy Word, I hear of my sin and my need for a Savior.  In Holy Baptism, I am made God’s child.  In the Holy Absolution, I am pardoned of all sin.  The body and blood of Christ are given to me for my cleansing.  Nothing is required on my part to make these things come true.  I am simply the recipient.

That’s true rest.

Curiosity or Caring?

I saw them again recently and wondered what their story was. I’m curious. They’ve been married for awhile and I’m assuming they would like a family. I’ve talked to them briefly about our own adoption plans and hoped they might take that opportunity to share with me their desires for children and any struggles they are having. But no luck. They didn’t take the bait.

I was about to approach the topic head-on with the wife when we had a few moments alone, but now I’m glad I didn’t. I realized just before I opened my mouth that I don’t know them well enough yet. I wanted them to invite me into a very private part of their life together (their bedroom, to be exact) and I’ve never even invited them into our dining room for dinner. Yes, I’m concerned about their emotional state. I want to help if they’re hurting. Hey, I’ve been there. I’m still there. But that doesn’t make me an expert who needs to seek out patients to “treat.” While it sounds like I’m just trying to help, I think the real motivation is more curiosity than caring.

If I care about their fertility then I need to care about the rest of their beings as well. Are they enjoying their jobs? What do they do for fun? Where do they see themselves in five years?  What has life taught them thus far? Have things turned out differently from what they expected? What part of their lives bring them the most joy? What was their childhood like? I have a lot to find out. And maybe the subject will come up in the process. Maybe it won’t. But regardless, we’ll be blessed by more friends in our circle. Perhaps my current state in life is making me more aware of people who don’t have children, not so that I can somehow help them, but so that I will remember to make an effort to get to know them and just let the Lord bless our relationship in whatever way He chooses.

Who Are You?
Who do I see when I look in the mirror?  I know the person that I WANT to see.  I want to see a mom to multiple children.  I want to be part of the “moms group” that talks about their children together.  I can sit and think about all the things that I want to be, but that doesn’t change the fact that I am somebody right now.  True, I want to be a mom in a house filled with children.  That hasn’t happened, and moping about it won’t help.  Rather than dwell on who I am not, perhaps it’s time to ponder who I am now… already.
  • I am a baptized child of God.
  • I am a forgiven member of the family of Christ.
  • I am the daughter of Roger and Laurie.
  • I am a sister to Troy and Kirk.
  • I am the wife of Jerome.
  • I am the mother of Joanna.
  • I am an auntie.
  • I am a godmother.
  • I am a neighbor.
  • I am a piano teacher.
  • I am a choir director.
  • I am a friend.
Dear sisters, we are already precious in the eyes of God.  When He looks at us, He sees a dearly loved child.  We rejoice in the privilege and honor of sharing that love with those God has given to us.  Now it’s your turn – “Who are you?”

A Holy Saturday Reflection

Johann Gerhard was a pastor and prolific writer from the 17th century. His book, An Explanation of the History of the Suffering and Death of our Lord Jesus Christ, is a must-read during Lent. Here are some excerpts from the section about Christ’s suffering as it began in the Garden of Gethsemane:

If it also ever happens that God gives us a little drink from this chalice of inner (spiritual) suffering and agony of heart, we are to be patient and are to remember how insignificantly this is to be regarded compared to the great flood which overcame Christ. Sink all your pains in this agony of Christ. Thus they will easily vanish like a tiny particle of dust in the sunshine. And that is precisely the reason that God the Lord at times portrays Himself as if He has hidden His countenance, allowing us to experience a bit of heart-anquish so that we may see what Christ endured for us and thank Him for it (pgs. 66-67).

“Take away this cup from Me,” Christ said. Thus it is not improper that one petition God to avert or alleviate a cross. However, it must immediately follow thereupon and occur at the same time that one commits everything to the fatherly will of God. Just as Christ here says: “Yet not My will, rather Your will take place.” Even though Christ, as true Man, indeed felt human emotions and asked for the averting of this chalice, He nevertheless immediately forthwith put His will under the will of God [the Father]. We must do this much more, for many times we do not know for what we should pray (Rom. 8). However, as our dear Father, God’s will is always the best (pgs. 68-69).

Havin’ a Heat Wave!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Baby, A Bath, and Dinner

Lots of gifts are given at church.  Yesterday a baby was bathed in the waters of Holy Baptism.  I witnessed the sponsors confess the Lutheran faith into which this child was to be baptized.  I silently confessed my own sins and was given the comfort of the cleansing of my sins as the baby was given that same forgiveness.  The baptized child is now a member of the body of Christ.  I am joined to this child in the Christian faith.  I will pray for this child and encourage the parents as they teach their child the Christian faith.

Later in the service dinner was served.  The crucified and arisen Lord’s Body and Blood were eaten for the forgiveness of my sins.  This precious gift was given to me and my fellow believers at the table.  I shared in the wondrous blessings that are given freely by our loving God.  He is the Giver, and I am the receiver.

No need for dessert.  I’m cleansed, fed, and full.