Grief

Pregnancy News

It is always good news when someone is pregnant. It’s just not always easy news.

For my barren sisters, it’s good to remember that God’s giving of the gift of children is good, right, and salutary. Children really are a blessing, a heritage, and a good fruit of the one-flesh union of marriage, even when they are not given to us. Sometimes, the best-kept secret in all of this is that we GET to join in on the celebration of someone else’s pregnancy, because it’s really the way things are supposed to be. It’s okay to rejoice at something going right in this life and at the devil being thwarted.

For all of you kind, compassionate mothers who are trying to figure out a way to tell the good-but-not-always-easy news of your pregnancy to your suffering barren sisters, here is something which might help.

The Miry Bog

I cannot dig myself out of any grief pit. In my grief, I must wait on the LORD to pull me out:

“I waited patiently for the LORD; he inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure. He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God. Many will see and fear and put their trust in the LORD [Psalm 40:1-3].”

I want so badly to do something in my grief, something to save myself from all of this mucky darkness; but, then, I think that is the point of suffering. It reminds us that we can do nothing to save ourselves. We must be saved. By Jesus. He is the One who sets our feet upon a rock and puts a new song in our mouths.

Grief is simply waiting on the LORD, turning in repentance and faith to the only One who can save us.

Have mercy, Lord Jesus. Come quickly!

Mother of None

Many of us are a mother of none but a mother to all.

It’s kind of a cool vocation, really. Think about it. We get to serve a whole bunch of people outside of our home. We get to form distinct relationships with the children and elderly and family in Christ around us. We get to use our special gifts in support of our church and community. We get to serve the neighbors God has given us in our lives today.

We get to do so much!

I know you’d rather serve little people inside of your home than outside of it, but loving other peoples’ children won’t make the pain any worse. Don’t get me wrong! You’ll still cry and grieve the absence of your own children, for sure, but you’ll get kisses and hugs and colored pictures and giggles and snuggles even while you’re suffering under the cross of barrenness.

That’s not such a bad thing, is it?

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The Truth about Anna

anna-the-prophet

My friend Stephanie said something to me last summer that struck me:

“Anna was married and never had children, and she had a happy life.”

It almost made me laugh when Stephanie said it, my delight was so immediate. To think that I had been writing about barrenness all of these years and never once considered the prophetess Anna!

Luke doesn’t specifically tell us in his Gospel whether or not Anna was barren, but he does tell us that her husband died after seven, short years of marriage and that Anna lived as a widow for the next eighty-four. Luke also never mentions any children born to take care of Anna in her old age but that she “did not depart from the temple, worshiping with fasting and prayer night and day” (Luke 2:37). It is easy to assume she was never given the gift of children.

But do you know what Anna was given? She was given the opportunity to pray and wait on the LORD for the redemption of Jerusalem, and – Wonder of wonders! – she got to behold that very redemption in the flesh. She got to see Jesus!

Isn’t that beautiful?

You, my dear barren sisters, have been given the opportunity to fast and pray night and day, and – Wonder of wonders! – you get to see Jesus in the temple, too.

Excuse Me

It’s gross.

It might even be a bit inappropriate.

But I’m still going to say it.

Weeping and gnashing your teeth and throwing your hands in the air and asking unanswerable questions is a bit like belching. It releases some of the pressure that has built up in the digestion of grief.

So, on behalf of all the barren women grieving around you, I would like to say, “Excuse me.”

Shadowlands

I love the movie Shadowlands (1993), especially the line author C.S. Lewis says in response to his clergy-friend-named-Harry’s canned explanation of the unexpected good news of Lewis’s wife’s cancer being in remission.

Harry: I know how hard you’ve been praying. Now, God is answering your prayers.

Lewis: That’s not why I pray, Harry. I pray because I can’t help myself; I pray because I’m helpless; I pray because the need flows out of me all the time, waking and sleeping. It doesn’t change God, it changes me.

Touché, Mr. Lewis.

Advent Admonition

My barren sisters:

Tonight is the night you watch other people’s children participate in Christmas pageants. It’s time for you to build relationships with those children. You said “amen” at their baptisms, so they are yours to support and guard and protect in the Faith. Start talking to them. Teach their Sunday school class. Lead them in music. Have them over to your house for dinner. Show them videos of your pet bunny. Go to their ballgames and concerts. Share whatever specific gifts you have been given, for, in sharing yourself with them, you will begin to love them and they most likely will begin to love you. That’s how you can get through tonight’s Christmas pageant. Love the children that are there even as your heart pines for the ones that aren’t.

Tonight is the night you sing of another woman’s pregnancy and another woman’s infant. Sing out loud and strong with confidence, for these songs are your own. The Child born of Mary is your child, the very One for whom you yearn. You may never have been pregnant – or the children of your pregnancies may be no more in your womb and no more in your arms – but Jesus is born for you. He is your Child, come to save you from your sin that you and your children might live forever in Him. His is the birth by which you will be “saved through childbearing” (1 Timothy 2:15).

Tonight is the night you go home to a childless house, and here, my sisters – in the silent, holy night – is your cross. Here is where the birth of Jesus matters most, in the horrible war against principalities and powers. Here is where you weep and gnash your teeth for the death that curses this blasted world. Here is where you repent and turn to Him who died for sinners.

So, cry out to the Child Jesus who died but lives again and remember in faith: in Him, you will live again, too.

17 And when I saw him, I fell at his feet as dead. And he laid his right hand upon me, saying unto me, Fear not; I am the first and the last:
18 I am he that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore, Amen; and have the keys of hell and of death (Revelation 1).

Christmas is merry in Jesus.

Love,

Katie

Navel-Gazing

Grief is different than self-pity, I think, though the line between them can get a bit hazy.

Grief happens, while self-pity is manifested.

Grief comes to a person, while self-pity comes from a person.

Grief is born out of suffering, while self-pity is born of our own sin.

Grief is endured, while self-pity is relished.

Grief moves us to call upon the LORD, while self-pity looks to our own navel for comfort.

Let us fix our eyes on Jesus (Hebrews 12:2), dear sisters, not our navels.

O, Christmas Tree

Sometimes, decorating our home for “the most wonderful time of the year” feels a bit like putting on make-up with nowhere special to go.

What’s the point?

We have no child to delight in the colors and smells; no child to clap and cheer when the lights get plugged into the wall; no child to feel the toes of the stockings hanging from the third and fourth stocking holders we purchased years ago when first we “planned” for a family; no child to beg to light and extinguish the Advent candles every night; no child to wake up each morning and run to the Advent calendar to remove another window.

No child.

But, I have a husband, and he loves coming home to twinkling lights and cinnamon smells; I have a church full of selfless, hard-working elders and directors and administrators who might enjoy stepping through my door for a party or two; I have nieces and nephews and young family friends who might come over to share a cup of Advent cheer.

So, I unroll the lights and the garland and all that sparkles and shines. I pull out the spinning tree and the Advent wreath and the candles.

And I set out our nativity and ponder and rejoice, for I, the barren woman, have every reason to celebrate this holy season. My Hope and Comfort and Peace and Life and Salvation and Child is come to me.

Air Horn

Grief is an air horn blowing in my ear.

I can’t think, I can’t speak, I can’t act. All I can do is cover my ears and wait for the curséd blast of sound to stop.

Only then, when the overstimulation has ceased – when the blessed quiet has recovered my senses – can I even begin to listen to what you have to say.

So, in the deafening squall of grief, don’t speak. Just sit with me. Listen to the sickening racket. Join me in begging God for it to stop, and, if you dare, put yourself between me and that revolting wave to absorb some of the sound.

Then wait. With me. For God to restore the peace.

Then, I will know that you care.

He Remembers the Barren

God remembers you in Jesus