Grief

Pain as Poetry

little boy cryingKristi recommended this book, and so I read it.

Rev. Schulz perfectly articulates in his book the very reason a blog like this exists:

My life is lived in the genre of lamentation…

Lament isn’t an inarticulate wail. Lament notices details, images, and relationships. Pain can become poetry. Poetry is our most personal use of words. It is our way of entering deeply into the experience and bringing beauty out of it.

Lament is deeply private, but it can also be deeply public…Lament keeps us connected with reality, and with the deepest of all realities: God. (Schulz, 117-8)

Thank you, dear readers, for reading our laments, poetic or not, and for sharing your own with us.

Blessed to Suffer

Nurse Behind Intravenous TubeJane Jensen reminds us in her reflection on “My Suffering Is a Blessing” that God blesses us with His good gifts even while we suffer.

Three years ago I heard the dreaded words, “the biopsy came back cancerous.” I remember counting the tears that fell, only three before hanging up the phone. Crying is not going to do you any good, I told myself, start your stunned brain, instead. What should I do first? Pray? I’d already been doing that since the mammogram found the tiny spot. I decided it was time to put my head down and walk this path the Lord was showing me.

My friend, Cheryl, had taken me up to the hospital for the needle biopsy. She never hesitated when I asked if she could take a day off and go with me. A needle passing through your breast is terrifying. However, the technology, the doctor, and the nurses were all blessings from God. There was no pain, none. Those were the first of many blessings to come.

The Lord had the scheduling all planned out, another blessing.  Everything fell into place.  My daughter and son-in-law were with me when I had the lumpectomy surgery. Best friend, Bill, went with me to find out my treatment options. Friends called every day to check on me.  When the chemotherapy began, the support increased. Four times I sat in a chair to receive the drugs by IV that was mixed before my eyes. People almost fought over who would take me to the cancer center and wait with me.

The cancer center was only 30 miles away. I did not have to travel to Omaha which would have been 3 hours away. Here again the Lord had the best place all provided.

I received the blessing of new friends through chemo and then radiation. One is especially dear to me, keeping in touch by phone, letters, and lunches. Cards and letters of encouragement came four and five at a time. I started to scrapbook them, but they were so great in number I gave up and bought a beautiful rose covered box. I had to weight them down for the lid to stay on. People prayed for me. My church family and I grew especially close all because of their concern and love for me. It was humbling.

I lost my hair, and my complexion turned a strange color. Still, my friends comforted me and asked about me. Could they bring anything to me? That was when the tears came, not when I went under the knife, not during the torments of chemo or the exhaustion of radiation. The LORD God of heaven had provided sinful, sick me with a family that spoiled me and friends who did everything they could to cheer me. It was humbling and overwhelming. God had sent them all to me at just the right time. My cancer journey was a blessing. I can explain it no better than that.

Jane Jensen

The Cross We Bare

surgical team workingLaura Koch reminds us in her reflection on “My Suffering Is a Blessing” that the crosses we bear can be very hard to bare. Thank you, Laura, for baring your cross to us.

Blessed by God – I suppose that would be the “category” that might describe me since I have four children that were created by God in my womb. But I also know the pain and sorrow of a body filled with stage 4 endometriosis. I know, too, the guilt and suffering that goes with losing an ovary by disease and then deciding to “tie the tube” on the other side because childbirth was becoming too hard.

Our first daughter came to be very early in our marriage. My husband was at the seminary, I was a Lutheran school teacher…we had barely enough money to live on, and yet she came. I was so afraid. How would we take care of her? God provided beautifully for all our needs….and even granted us a son while we were still at the seminary. Another daughter came during my husband’s early years in ministry. Our last daughter came three years later but two months premature, as I was severely bleeding due to placenta previa. After receiving 5 pints of blood, I was just fine. And after 4 weeks in the hospital she came home.

So, why then am I writing here? Because I find so much comfort in the words written on this blog. I believe God has created a natural desire in women to have children. We, on most days, comfortably nurture the people in our home. When this blessing of children is not granted or ceases to be, the pain that a women suffers can become unbearable at times. And when one chooses not to have children because of fear or because of a risk to her body, her grief can be insurmountable, too. I know.

The years following my tubal were filled with so much grief and tears. I wish I had not made that decision in haste – lying on a hospital bed in pain due to an enormous cyst on the other ovary. I don’t know if God would have granted us any more children. I don’t know if my body would have been able to handle it anymore. Eventually, endometriosis would claim my very womb, too.

The guilt over that decision, though, grieved my heart for many years.

A barren womb is not always easy to see.

We all know that we live in a sin-cursed world. We are children of God, saved by grace in the death of His Son, Jesus Christ, and we live in the freedom of our sins being forgiven. We know that God does indeed love each of us. We need to hear that spoken in our ears every Sunday, if not more! I know that God has forgiven me for that decision and He has calmed my spirit as years have gone by. I look at my children as the true gifts that they are, created in a body that was broken by sin. And I weep with the barren woman because I have shared in her grief, too.

Laura Koch

Open Hands

MP900321168Come with me to the other side of the fence for a moment and sit with a sister in Christ whose daily life looks markedly different from your own.

Aubri reminds us in her reflection on “My Suffering Is a Blessing”  that children are a blessing because God says they are, period. For, more often than we’d like to admit, the suffering that comes with mothering makes us feel anything but blessed.

Being the mother of five children, ages four and under can make it easy to feel more burdened than blessed and call my struggles, suffering. The endless work with little to show for it, the emotional strain of teething infants, defiant toddlers and helpless preschoolers wears on me; enduring fussy, fighting children and wondering if they’ll ever become kind, rational people; being needed by everyone, all the time and the worrying that I’m doing everything wrong.

Somedays I’m embarrassed by all the mess, noise and chaos that comes with a lot of children. The wreck of a porch strewn with tricycles, containers of dirt, old strollers and half-naked children screaming at each other; or opening the door to our van, loose diapers, sippy cups and crayons falling out onto the street and a load of fussy children tumbling out behind all that. My pride is damaged and humbled, knowing many people look at us and think, “I’m glad that’s not me” or “Don’t they know better?” I become so afraid of being “those people with all the wild, dirty kids.” It’s hard to fight the shame for what is all over my family; weakness, sin, failure all on display everywhere we go.

I fear being judged for living the only way I feel is right and godly. For embracing children and God’s authority over all of life and being thought a fool. I reluctantly confess that my own flesh feels like a fool! How many times have I pitied myself and been frustrated by those who look at us with a freak-show curiosity, resenting that we can’t even share the joy of an expected child without discouragement and comments of “concern” from loved ones who don’t understand our beliefs.

But my public cross is light compared to what I bear in private, in my heart where the sin of fear sits firm for days. I’ve had five babies in five years. I could have five more in the next five years. Pregnancy after pregnancy. I’m weary and worn down. Lord, how much more will you give me? How can you ask me to mother these babes well when I’m so tired, so scared and so angry over the sacrifices I have to make all day long?

In the trenches of motherhood it’s hard to feel blessed but that is true regardless of how I feel. I am blessed because God says I am. By His grace I can confidently confess that and give thanks.

I have to hold my hands open to God’s blessing of children because it’s right, not because I always want to. It’s foolishness to think I control life. God says that children are His gifts. He gives and He withholds as He wills. I can only live by faith and rest in what God has ordained. That is not easy—but what we are all called to do.

By God’s grace, despite my worries, I rejoice when I’m found to be with child again. I’m amazed that He would open my womb and our family to another life. I am blessed five times now with a front row seat of watching God’s greatest creations as they grow. I thank God for the moments I can relish my blessings, letting the mess of the day wash off of me; for the moments like none other when one of my precious children grins at me, puts their head on my shoulder or says something remarkable. I know that these moments are just for me. God is good. And He always provides grace and strength to make it through today.

Aubri H.

Thy Kingdom Come

I like to download episodes of Issues, Etc. onto my phone and then take them out on walks with me.

One sunny day in Dallas, I put in my earbuds, stretched my calves and hamstrings, clicked “play” on my phone, and hit the pavement.

(Cue the familiar “Viva la Vida” bump music by Coldplay.)

As I settled into a comfortable stride, the host Todd Wilken introduced that day’s program: a sermon review of some preacher in Indiana, one Rev. David Petersen. Now, I was no dummy Lutheran. I had heard of the guy. He was that chasuble-wearing pastor at Redeemer Lutheran Church in Fort Wayne, the leader of those Rudisillians, a staunchly loyal breed of Lutherans with whom I had bumped elbows on many occasions.

“Repent.” Rev. Petersen spoke into my ears. “You are vain, and you worship yourself.”

P1020576Woah. How did he know? I looked around the subdivision I was circling. Had anyone seen me blush? Only some crape myrtle trees and those crazy, bug-eyed grackles.

“There is One who needs no repentance,” he continued, preaching from the parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin in Luke 15. “…These parables are not about us, and in our fallen flesh we always think everything is about us. These parables are about Him, the Christ, who needs no repentance.”

I noticed that I had slowed down. In fact, I was standing still on the curb, looking up the street but seeing nothing. Well, I was seeing something. I was seeing my reflection in Rev. Petersen’s words, and it wasn’t pretty. It’s never pretty when you stare your Sin in the face, when your conscience plays chicken with a Law-wielding pastor. This guy was telling me that I turn everything, even Scripture, into something about myself. And he was right.

My Old Adam lay slain on the pavement.

“‘I tell you that in the same way, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over 99 righteous persons who need no repentance.’ And this is the great surprise. The holy angels rejoice over every sinner who repents more than they ever rejoice over a single, perfect, and holy Messiah who needs no repentance.

…Every sinner on earth, everyone infected with both original and actual sin, everyone in bondage, every habitual sinner, every liar, every betrayer, every pharisee, every pervert, every fraud, every braggart, every drug dealer, terrorist, adulterer, and child pornographer, every selfish, proud person on this planet who repents is worth more joy in heaven than 99 perfect and holy messiahs.

You do not only outrank the sparrows in terms of causing joy in heaven, you outrank God in the flesh. You are worth more than 100 times – at least in terms of joy – you are worth more than 100 times Jesus. Jesus, God in the flesh, does not cause the holy angels of heaven to rejoice even 100th as much as you – your repentance and faith – do.” 

Why? Because Jesus, the Messiah, who needs no repentance, is rejected in heaven, and that rejection effects/causes/is the means of the rescue, the salvation, and the redemption of the world, of sinners. “

Okay, by this point, I was a mess. Not a hot, sticky, summer-in-Texas kind of mess but a weeping, liquidated-and-redeemed by the Law and Gospel kind of mess. I found myself walking back and forth on the same square of sidewalk, trying desperately to hold it together for the sake of the Lexuses and BMWs that were now driving by my little piece of universe.

With the blessed Word, this Midwestern pastor had gunned down the black heart of an insignificant pastor’s wife way down below the Mason-Dixon line and then resuscitated it back to life with the precious, life-giving blood of Christ, all within a span of a few minutes.

Needless to say, I didn’t get much of a workout that day, but I did start downloading more Issues, Etc. episodes, especially the ones with the word “Petersen” in the tag line.

I am a proper Pastor Petersen junkie, now. Though I have never met the man, I can’t get enough of his piercingly honest bedside manner when he diagnoses my Sin-sick Old Adam, and he never fails to prescribe the Word-rich remedy which my disease requires: Christ crucified for my redemption.

For this reason, it is my pleasure to inform you that Emmanuel Press recently published Thy Kingdom Come, a collection of Lent and Easter sermons written by Rev. Petersen.

thykingdomcome300

Now, you don’t need to live on Rudisill Boulevard or own an iPod to receive the Word from this beloved pastor. You can simply order this book and let Rev. Petersen preach a sermon to you over and over again, page after fortifying page.

“Faith has no strength in itself,” Rev. Petersen reminds us. “If the faith planted in us is not tended by the Word and Sacraments, it will wither and die…He who has ears to hear, let him hear.”*

Or, in this case, he who has eyes to read, let him read Thy Kingdom Come for the strengthening of his faith.

* (Petersen, Thy Kingdom Come, 5-8)

An Awkward Christmas Gift

I know, I know.

He Remembers the Barren is not exactly the kind of gift you want to wrap up and put under the tree for your loved one. Who wants to open a package and find this inside instead of something from Williams-Sonoma?

HRTB.Proof 1

I mean, did you see the cover? Talk about awkward when everyone else around the tree stops and asks your loved one, “Ooo, what did you get?”

And, let’s be honest, the book doesn’t exactly make a great stocking stuffer, either. It would go over like a detonated grenade amongst the dark chocolate, fuzzy socks, and iTunes gift cards.

Yet, I still think He Remembers the Barren  is a good gift worthy of giving, because the holidays can be one of the most difficult times of the year for a barren woman. She can’t escape her grief when she is surrounded by children’s Christmas programs at church, family dinners galore, and greeting cards introducing everybody else’s newest editions to their families; she has to endure renditions of Connie Francis’s “Baby’s First Christmas” over the sound system whenever she goes shopping; she has to maintain her game face for an entire month’s worth of watching other people’s children enjoy the festivities and holiday traditions. It can be rough.

So, please consider giving your loved one He Remembers the Barren this season of Advent, but use some of your James Bond-esque stealth in the giving. Here are some suggested tactics (Q and M approved, of course):

  • Read the book yourself, so that you know what your loved one is going through and can better love her through her grief and suffering.
  • Give the book to your loved one’s parents, siblings, pastor, etc. for the same reasons.
  • Write a note to go with the book (i.e. “This book is not a label or a judgment. It is a great big hug from me to you. I read it, and it helped me know that God remembers me even when I suffer. I thought it might help you, too. I love you.”)
  • Give her the book in private and at a time when she does not need to be around people for awhile. You can mail it to her home, or you can hand it to her wrapped and tell her to wait until she is alone to open it.
  • If you two already have a history of openly discussing her barrenness, then give it to her in person when it is just the two of you. And tell her what she means to you.
  • Once you give it to her, don’t bring it up. Wait for her to talk about it or not talk about it.
  • Don’t be offended if she doesn’t read it for awhile. Depending on what phase of the grief cycle she is currently experiencing, she may want nothing to do with it at first. She might even be embarrassed or offended. Still, won’t it be nice that the book will be there for her when she is ready for it?

Thank you for caring enough for your loved one to do what is hard. She is blessed to have you in her life.

Second Annual Writing Contest

Christmas lightsDear Women, Men, Married, Single, Barren, and Blessed:

We’ve got another writing contest brewing.

Last year, we asked you to reflect on the topic “Advent and Barrenness.” This year, we would like you to submit posts on the topic “My Suffering Is a Blessing.” The winning post, chosen by our panel of hosts, will receive a free copy of He Remembers the Barren as well as a surprise. (That’s right. A surprise.) The top three finalists will also see their posts featured on our website.

Simply compose your post of 600 words or less in an email and send it to katie@katieschuermann.com by December 25th. The winner will be announced on Epiphany (January 6th).

Please be sure to include your name and shipping address in the email.

Sincerely,

Your HRTB Hosts

Words of Grief and Hope

cross markerSpecial thanks to the Rev. Todd A. Peperkorn for granting permission to reprint this post from his website “Lutheran Logomaniac.” Pastor Peperkorn is a husband, a father, and a pastor. He shares his grief and his confidence in the promise of the resurrection on the Last Day.

“Nadia After Eight”

Each year the day after Thanksgiving begins a period for me where a whole bunch of anniversaries begin. The first is the death of our unborn daughter, Nadia. After that comes the death of our unborn son, Emmanuel. Then it is the death of my mother. Finally is the time when I went on disability for clinical depression.

In many ways my grief is less raw than it once was. It is less primal and fear inducing. My grief now has taken on another character. That character is grief as guilt.

I remember when Nadia died eight years ago. No one knows what to do with a miscarriage. Is it a big deal or not? How do people react to such a thing? And because no one knows what to do, that generally means that most people do nothing. We had a lot of family staying with us when Nadia died, and sure enough, they really did nothing.

I remember being angry at them, so very angry. WE LOST A BABY! Why don’t you care?

Eight years later, I can see that my anger at them was really not directed so much at them as it was at God. They were simply an easier target. When someone dies, above all you want someone to DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. Fix it, somehow. The least you can do is die with them. But it doesn’t work that way. Someone dies, and everything else just lingers on. Eventually things return to normal, whatever that means. But that smoldering anger remains.

The fact is that God did do something about Nadia’s death. He sent His Son into another womb, helpless and in complete and utter need. And He lived that life of no consequence, just like everyone else’s life. You wouldn’t know Him by looking at Him. And so it is that He died. He died for all of the Nadias out there. He died for all the children born and unborn who are enslaved by this grip of death. He died for the grieving and lingering. He died for them and for me. And you.

I’m not angry at God anymore. Not about that, at least. Ok, not as much. But the grief remains. I cling to this grief, believing that by holding onto this grief (and anger) I can somehow maintain the rightness of my cause. Surely God will do something about this. Surely He will call her from the dead. Surely we will feast together at the Last Day. Surely God will dry our tears. Surely…

Zion hears the watchmen singing,

And all her heart with joy is springing;

She wakes, she rises from her gloom.

For her Lord comes down all-glorious,

The strong in grace, in truth victorious;

Her star is ris’n, her light is come.

Now come, Thou Blessèd One,

Lord Jesus, God’s own Son,

Hail! Hosanna!

We enter all

The wedding hall

To eat the Supper at Thy call.

(LSB 516:2)

No “L”

Several years ago I made an after-Christmas sale purchase that had been on my wish list for some time. It was a set of mantel stocking hangers in the form of a word, with a hanger beneath each letter. There were two sets left, one that said “PEACE,” and one that said “NOEL.” We only had three stockings to hang, so I thought “PEACE” was overkill. Since we knew we would try and have/adopt another child, I went with “NOEL” and tucked away the set for the following year. What a pleasant surprise it was to open our Christmas rubbermade containers eleven months later and remember that we finally had a lovely way of displaying our handmade (thank you mother-in-law!) stockings. But after a few days of admiring the display I realized we had a big problem.

The irony was profound. Every time I looked at our fireplace the bold letters shouted at me that there was, in fact, no “L.” The “L” was empty. It was empty the next year, too. And the next. What seemed at first like the perfect decoration turned into a painful reminder of what I thought was missing in our home.

Several years ago I started a Christmas journal in which I annually document important events from the previous year, Christmas wishes for the family, and updates on what was going on in our lives . Here are some excerpts that demonstrate what that “L” stood for in my mind during that time:

2009: I’m trying not to think about how far along I would be now, had the miscarriage not occurred in May. Several friends are due in January. It hurts, but I know God has another plan.

2010: We have a potential adoption coming up in March or April…wondering if it will actually happen… It’s all so exciting–we just pray that we’re able to bring this little boy home as planned. (See “A Change of Heart – Part 1“, “A Change of Hear t- Part 2“, and “A Change of Heart – Part 3” for more on this story.)

2011: No baby yet. Everything that has seemed like a remote possibility has fallen through. Sometimes it seems like it will never happen. I try not to think about it and just keep busy.

My wise husband, who only just recently found out that my fireplace mantel had been haunting me for several years, has pointed out that the pain inflicted by the one-letter-too-long mantel set was self-imposed. Why had I not spent the money earlier when there was more to choose from and just purchase “JOY”? After all, did our family of three not bring us great happiness? Did our cups (and stockings!) not overflow with just one child? Focusing on what I thought was missing was my own choice. Even though we had hopes and plans to adopt, our family may very well have been complete at three. “JOY” may have been the perfect word for us. He’s so right.

As it turned out, the Lord did eventually grant us another child. Last month I received an email from my dear mother-in-law regarding this baby: “Shall I make a stocking for J or did you have something else in mind?” she asked. Another stocking? I had completely forgotten about the “L”! The thought of draping a newly sewn, bright red stocking on the final hanger of the mantel set brought tears to my eyes. Although the court finalization for the adoption won’t occur until January, for me the seal that makes J truly part of this family is the ceremony of hanging that stocking. The word is complete.

It’s true that I should never have bought that set. We were not promised another child. Though we did not deserve him, God in His grace granted our request and gifted us J. The “L” no longer stands for longing, but rather reminds me of another Son, sent to an undeserving people as a gift, to hang his blood red body on a tree. I am reminded that the true meaning of “NOEL” is  “Christmas”. The Child who was promised has come so that I might have “L”ife.

Even though the hangers are full, I pray that in some way–though we have no idea how–God would eventually put us in the position to need “PEACE” in our family at Christmas time, too. Is this evidence of discontent again? Greed even? I don’t think so. Just a realization that the more “L”ove we experience, the more we seem to have to give away. But on the advice of my husband, I’m not buying any more stocking hangers until we really need them.