Grief

Incomplete Joy

On May 23 I sat in a rocking chair at a friend’s house and held a precious little girl in my arms and sang to her of Jesus’ love, Jesus’ lambs, the Lamb’s High Feast, and Simeon’s song, which boldly asks the Lord for a peaceful departure from this life. The very next day, on her first birthday, she died. It wasn’t a surprise–everyone knew that this was the likely outcome of her disease–yet it was tragic nonetheless. What once was here is no longer and there is heartache.

On May 28 I sat in a rocking chair in my own house and held a precious little boy in my arms and sang to him as well. In great irony and yet in God’s perfect timing, He chose to send our family new life in the midst of mourning another’s death. Although the wait seemed so long, when we received the phone call two weeks ago that there was finally a baby for us, we were in shock. What once was just a prayer had become a reality and is finally here and there is much joy.

You can imagine the rejoicing, no doubt. I won’t deny that we’ve had our blissful days. Yet behind it all is the knowledge, the grave reality, that it is not complete. I don’t mean that our family isn’t complete. Only God knows when that will be. I mean the joy is incomplete. Why? Doesn’t a baby make everything perfect? Isn’t it everything that I’ve always wanted? No, it isn’t.

I say it isn’t because I live in the Body of Christ, and when one suffers, all suffer. My friend just buried her daughter.  I mourn with her and cry for her, even as I shed tears that come from watching my new son sleep. My arms, now sore from the new weight I’ve been carrying around, also ache for my family members and friends who continue to wait to hold their own gifts. As I pray prayers of thanksgiving for the blessed baptismal day that brought my son into God’s family, I simultaneously cry out for God’s mercy and intervention to stir the hearts of those I love who have rejected their own baptisms. Life and death, both physical and spiritual, continue to surround us all and permeate our daily experiences and relationships. The sun frequently peaks out from behind the clouds to give us a glimpe of the Light that will one day completely surround us, but the clouds never entirely float away.

Therefore, members of the Body of Christ do not move in and out of categories such as “the suffering,” “the blessed,” “the content,” “the afflicted.” We are one, and if we truly love one another we remain together, bearing one another’s burdens, joys, gifts and tragedies. The completeness comes at the end of the struggles, at the resurrection, and only then. This side of heaven there are times when we feel that our cup runneth over and there are times when our parched lips taste no relief. But the living waters flow freely between those mansions the Lord prepares for us, and I continue to long for the healing it will bring to the Body.

“You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.” Psalm 16:11

I’ve been thinking of the hymn that starts, “Jesus has come and brings pleasure eternal, Alpha, Omega, Beginning and End,” (LSB 533). The wait for this family to be reunited with their child is just beginning. The wait for my family to be united with a second child has come to an end. I pray that the Alpha and Omega, our Lord Jesus, would grant our two families and all the Body of Christ the opportunity to walk this path of life together, focusing on His eternal pleasures, the full and complete joy that will most certainly be ours one day when the clouds all fade away and the Son shines in all His brilliance.

Where Is the Line?

Question Submitted: I realize we have all been given different gifts, but the gift of children (or not) is such a sensitive issue. I am blessed to have mine. How much of my joy in my children am I able to share with my barren friends without hurting them? I don’t feel I should necessarily hide my joy in my own children…but there is perhaps a line somewhere to consider.

The line is in God’s commandment to serve our neighbor. Here’s what it looks like:

I have a friend whose mother died of cancer several years ago. I know that every time I speak of my mother, go out in public with my mother, write something about my mother, or even post a status on Facebook about my mother, I am treading on sensitive ground. With my words and actions, I am calling to mind that which she has lost and possibly causing her to suffer. Because of this, I try to speak, write, and act in such a way that has her best in mind.

This does not mean I cease celebrating the gift of my mother. It just means that I know my mother is a precious gift I neither merit nor deserve, so I try not to boast of her in front of my neighbor. Instead, I thank God for my mother, try to honor her, and strive to live out my vocation as daughter in service to her.

Children are another gift from God, and they should be received with all thankfulness, joy, and celebration. Yet, God’s commandment still holds true: everything we say and do should be in service to our neighbor. So, my best advice would be to thank God for your children, delight in their accomplishments, and celebrate their milestones as they come and go, but do so in public with your neighbor’s best in mind.

(A quick note for my barren sisters: Children truly are a gift given from God, even when they are not given to us. It is a good thing when another baby is born into this world. I know it is hard not to covet the children of your neighbors, but I think you will find it easier to join in on the celebration of your neighbors’ children when you take an active role in their lives. Suddenly, their celebrations are your celebrations, their joys your joys. It can be hard to celebrate when you are always on the sidelines. Vocation makes all the difference. Just some food for thought…)

You’re So Lucky!

Another honest, empathic moment from our dear Joanna…

I wrote this a few years ago when a long-time friend and mother told me how lucky I was not to have any children. A product of the anguish of the moment, it came out like I was vomiting it onto the paper. It’s strange; when I read this now, I know that’s what I was feeling at the time, but I don’t find myself reliving those feelings. You would think that rereading it would open it all up again, but, at least today, it doesn’t. It’s strange how that works. I guess it’s kind of like my hysterectomy scar. The surgery happened, the scar is there, but the remembrance of the pain and the jaggedness of the scar have faded. Jesus has walked with me through it to the other side.
 
How Lucky I Am
 
“You’re so lucky!
You have free time
To go wherever you want,
And do whatever you want,
And you never have to clean up after kids!
I wish I were in your shoes!”
 
“You never get awakened in the middle of the night by a screaming child,
And you never spend time chasing toddlers,
Or changing diapers,
Or dealing with teenagers.
You have no idea how lucky you are!”
 
Maybe you’re right…I guess I’ve never thought about how lucky I am.
 
How lucky for me never to have felt life growing inside,
Or given birth,
Or chosen a name,
Or to hear “I love you, Mommy” from the lips of a child.
 
How lucky I am to have prayed each month for a miracle,
Only to have endless cycles come and go,
And hope forever deferred.
 
I’m lucky to have been poked and prodded,
To have had my private life put under a microscope.
And to endure endless expensive tests and surgeries,
In the hopes of a joy that never was.
 
How lucky I am to be told once and again to “Relax” or “Adopt,”
Or try this or that remedy;
And to be gracious to the people telling me,
Because, “People are just trying to help.”
 
How lucky I am to have had my only child die,
Its tiny life slipping away.
Knowing that I would give anything to stop it
But couldn’t.
 
I’m lucky to have never seen my husband’s kind eyes
Reflected in the eyes of our child,
To have never given him the child
That he, too, longed for and wanted to hold;
Or my dear parents the grandchild
That they secretly longed to see.
 
How lucky I am to walk through this life
Alone among women.
Never really fitting in.
First with the mothers, then the grandmothers —
Forever standing on the outside…looking in.
 
I’m lucky to have no children to nurture,
To teach all the things that I’ve learned,
Or to joyfully watch as they grow.
Learning a little bit more about life,
By seeing the world anew through their eyes.
 
How lucky it is that the days never change,
They go endlessly on the same 
Each day until death.
No first steps, graduations, weddings, or grandchildren
Will ever fill my empty days.
 
I’m lucky to face all the questions,
Like, “Why did this happen?”
And “Will it ever be our turn?”
And “Was it something we did?”
…Or maybe something we didn’t do.
Oh, and “How long, and how much, and how hard should we try?”
“And what about adoption?”
These are lucky questions, indeed.
 
How lucky I am to watch the years roll by never changing,
Endlessly the same.
And to watch others taking for granted
The joys that I longed to know.
 
How lucky I am to face old age on this earth,
With only my husband, should God allow us long life;
And to wonder who God will send to care for us,
If something happens to one — 
Or when we simply can no longer care for ourselves.
 
How lucky I am to have no one to remember who I was or how I lived
When I have passed from this earth.
To know that my possessions will be auctioned away to strangers,
And there will be no obituary to tell of my life — 
Because obituaries are written by the children.
 
You’re so right…I am lucky —
If that’s what you mean by “luck.”
I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat.
But I don’t think that’s what you’d want.
 
Through all of this pain, God’s love has never failed,
And I rest in His loving hands.
But every once in awhile I get tired
Of parents glibly telling me
Just how lucky I am.
 

What do I say this Mother’s Day?

Question Submitted: My friend and her husband were pregnant with their first child this year, but she miscarried.  I would like to know how to approach Mother’s Day for her.  I want to acknowledge the child that God created in her, but I also want to offer her sympathy in her loss. What words of encouragement would you suggest?

First, thank you for loving your friend enough to recognize that this may be a difficult day for her and for wanting to be there for her. She will treasure your thoughtfulness no matter what you say. I’m not terribly verbose myself, so I prefer the straightforward approach. What you wrote in your question was very sincere and completely appropriate. What if you said something like, “I know today may be tough for you. I’ve been thinking of you and how, even though it was for such a short time, God chose to make you a mother this past year. I’m sorry it was so brief. I just wanted you to know how much I care about you and pray for you, especially today. Can I (take you out for some dessert, come over for some tea, fill in the blank) to commemorate today?”

Maybe you were looking for something more encouraging or Scriptural, I don’t know. But speaking from personal experience, when people have come up to me to express sympathy and they give me a speech telling me things I already know, sharing with me some intellectual or spiritual knowledge, I don’t necessarily feel encouraged. I have the head knowledge, it’s just my heart that’s aching. When someone acknowledges the pain I’m in and tries to put themselves in my shoes in order to best reach out to me, followed by a kind action (or at least an offer) I see a sincere concern and I am comforted. I don’t feel alone then. This is, of course, assuming that your friend is regularly hearing God’s promises to her each week in church. If not, then it is absolutely appropriate to include these in your talk with her.

I’m sure that whatever you say she will be grateful.

True Comfort

I recently sat with my mother at a kitchen table on vacation, weeping in my grief at having no children. “I may never be a mother,” I confessed.

All my mother said was, “I know.” And I was comforted.

I was comforted, because my mother did not try to change me or my situation; she did not try to minimize my suffering by labeling it or explaining it away; she did not offer empty suggestions for how to fix my barrenness; she made no false promises that God would someday give me a child, for, outside of giving me the Child Jesus to save me from my Sin, God has made no such promise to me in His Word. My mother simply acknowledged my burden and then sat with me to share the weight of it.

This is when a barren woman will be comforted: in the safety of someone’s watch who believes and confesses that we are okay in Jesus, even when we suffer. A barren woman finds comfort in being reminded that there is no need to fix that which Christ has already made whole. I feel most loved when my friends and family let me be barren and remind me that the death in my womb cannot snuff out the true Life given to me at the font.

Keeping Watch

I had let my guard down too soon.  I cried.  I grieved for that which was not given to me.

Thanks be to God for you, my dear sisters, who kept watch with me.  You listened and didn’t try to offer a rosy outcome.  You hugged me and cried with me.  You gave me space to let it all out.  You reminded me that I am God’s child, and you prayed for me.  You sent me a baby elephant.  Thank you.

A Quiver of One


Psalm 127

1 Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain.

Unless the Lord watches over the city, the watchman stays awake in vain.

2 It is in vain that you rise up early and go late to rest,

eating the bread of anxious toil;

for he gives to his beloved sleep.

3 Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward.

4 Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one’s youth.

5 Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them!

He shall not be put to shame when he speaks with his enemies in the gate.

[The Holy Bible: English Stand Version]

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On our wedding day, my husband and I read this psalm with the congregation.  It was our fervent prayer that the Lord would grant to us a quiver full of children.  We knew that children were a heritage from the Lord, and we hoped to inherit abundantly.

The Lord has been gracious to us, and we have one daughter.  She brings us much joy, and we know she is a gift to be treasured.  As the years have passed, however, we have not received any more daughters or even a son.  How can this be?  The psalm-writer pens words about a quiver filled with arrows.  Why shouldn’t my home be filled with children?

It is then that I mourn for my daughter.  I’m sad that she doesn’t get to play dress-up with a sibling.  I wonder how she feels about playing alone in her fort.  Is she tired of playing Dog-opoly with her mom and dad?  Does that bother her?  I feel like she must be missing out on sibling experiences – yes, even on sibling squabbles.

However, these worries are ill-founded.  My daughter doesn’t know any differently.  In fact, she has come to embrace her experiences.  She has made all sorts of crafts and read lots of adventure books.  She has learned to sew and cook and help in the garage.  Her activities are numerous and enjoyable to her.

Recently, a friend of hers lamented not having anybody to play with him at the moment.  My daughter replied, “That happens to me sometimes.  There are LOTS of things you can do by yourself.”  She didn’t say that it really stinks to be an only child.  She didn’t bemoan the fact that she doesn’t have a sibling for a constant playmate.  She didn’t mourn over the fact that she has to be creative in her play sometimes.  No, she simply stated how comfortable she is in her own skin.

And so I worry less for my only child.  In her I have a beautiful treasure.  She is a baptized member of the body of Christ.  She has a family full of sisters and brothers, who share the same faith in the Triune God.  The Lord has made her my daughter, and she is a blessing.  If I never receive another child, my quiver of one is still full.

Here We Come!

Won’t you come out and meet us?

Rebecca Mayes and I, God willing, are getting behind the wheel next Tuesday in hopes of meeting YOU. We will be presenting on the topic “Caring for the Barren Woman” at Concordia University Chicago, Concordia Theological Seminary, and various churches in Michigan and Indiana. And – Best of all! – my husband is coming with us. Rev. Michael Schuermann will be available to answer any questions you may have regarding how to care for the barren man.

Location and presentation details can be found here.

If you would like any of the HeRemembersTheBarren.com hosts to present “Caring for the Barren Woman” at a church near you, please let us know via the “Submit a Question” page on this website.

We can’t wait to meet you!

* Photo by Adriane Dorr

Great Is Thy Faithfulness

My soul is bereft of peace; I have forgotten what happiness is;
so I say, “My endurance has perished; so has my hope from the LORD.”
Remember my affliction and my wanderings, the wormwood and the gall!
My soul continually remembers it and is bowed down within me.
But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:
The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
“The LORD is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him.”

The LORD is good to those who wait for him, to the soul who seeks him.
It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the LORD.

For the Lord will not cast off forever,
but, though he cause grief, he will have compassion according to the abundance of his steadfast love;
for he does not willingly afflict or grieve the children of men.

Who has spoken and it came to pass, unless the Lord has commanded it?
Is it not from the mouth of the Most High that good and bad come?

I called on your name, O LORD, from the depths of the pit;
you heard my plea, “Do not close your ear to my cry for help!”
You came near when I called on you; you said, “Do not fear!”

You have taken up my cause, O Lord; you have redeemed my life.

Lamentations 3:17-26, 31-33, 37-38, 55-58 (ESV)

Let us pray…

Most High, You bid us in Your Word to wait on You. As the days turn into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years, remind us that Your mercies are new every morning. Assure us of your abundant, steadfast love to us in Jesus, that we might rejoice in the waiting, knowing You to be our Portion, our Hope, and our Redeemer forever, no matter what it is You may speak to come to pass. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

(It is our privilege to pray with and for you. If you would like to submit a personal petition to be included in our prayers, please send your request via the “Submit a Question” page on this site.)