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.
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.
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.
Question Submitted: How can I best love and support my sister who is barren currently because she is not/has never been married? She is going through a very difficult time right now and I know that she feels a lot of anger, frustration, depression, and a multitude of other difficult emotions. She has told me several times how aware she is that she is the only one in my family who is not married and doesn’t have children. I have tried to be sensitive of that, but I was wondering if there was anything else I can do to love and support her (besides lifting her up in prayer and listening to her).
I thought your sister might appreciate your question being answered by a fellow, single sister in Christ rather than by an old, married lady such as me, so I asked Adriane A. Dorr, managing editor of The Lutheran Witness and one of my favorite people in the whole world, to take the helm on this one. Ms. Dorr just wrote a book called Hello. My Name Is Single. It’ll be out spring of 2014. It includes interviews from single people—young adults to widows—and touches on all manner of topics from “Why You Should Never Date Guys with ‘J’ Names and Other Little Known Facts” to “Love > Sex” to “Awkward First Dates and Other Things Singles Could Definitely, Totally Do Without,” all with the purpose of helping single people realize that the Lord really does love them, that being single is not the end of the world, that you can pray fervently for a pious spouse even before you think you’re ready to get married, what it means to be a Christian man or woman, and that dating, marriage, and life in general require God’s grace and forgiveness and a little dash of humor on the side.
Two years ago, I sat in a stiff-backed hospital chair, watching my sister and her husband coo over their newborn daughter, who was still pink and a little wrinkly and definitely very sleepy. In a moment, I was jealous. I wanted a husband who loved me and a child to rock in my arms too, and while I knew of wives who struggled with barrenness, I consoled myself with the fact that I was suffering more, since they, at least, had husbands to love them while I had no one.
Yeesh.
Your sister might feel the same way. But instead of waiting for her to talk to you about her pain, ask her. She’ll likely tell you that she wants to be loved and cherished, that thoughts of fulfilling the pious vocations of wife and mother fill her head multiple times a day. She’ll probably tell you how hard it is to watch her friends get married and then have babies, and how it seems like, no matter which restaurant she goes to on the weekend, she runs into a bachelorette party or a toddler’s birthday, two of the most painful reminders of her alone-ness.
She wants to have a husband to come home to, a man to fix dinner for, a baby’s tiny Disney diapers to change, and a swaddled infant to rock to sleep at night. And while you can’t change how she feels, you can acknowledge that she feels something at all. You can tell her that it’s okay to long for those things that our Lord tells us are holy and good—spouses and children and families and life together. You can tell her that you’re sorry that she is hurting, that her pain is real and that she’s not crazy for feeling it. You can write a Sticky Note and slap it to her forehead that reads: “You may be lonely, but you are not alone.” You can tell her she has you and that she has her pastor, and that a loving sibling and a faithful pastor can be a fairly unstoppable duo.
You don’t have to fix her or give her advice. You simply have to agree that life—and all the suffering that comes with it—is difficult and that it is hard. That, some days, will be enough.
But you also point her again and again to Christ. You remind her that her value and her worth come from—not a husband or children—but from Christ on the cross. Tell her, in the midst of her sobbing and bitter words spoken in anger, that she is whole and perfect in Christ, broken no more. Pray with her, asking the Lord that His heart would be moved to grant your sister the desires of hers. And encourage her to go often to the Lord’s Supper, to private Confession and Absolution, to the place where Christ’s gives her Himself, the One who makes all things new.
Not talking about her pain doesn’t help. But neither does wallowing in it. Let her hurt. Let her cry. Let her throw a pan of brownies across a kitchen. (Not, you know, saying that I’ve done that or anything.) But remind her that the Lord’s plan for her is perfect and that it is best, despite how it feels, despite how it looks, despite how it seems. She may be barren, but she is whole in Christ. And that, even when she lays her head down on her pillow alone in bed at night, is the only thing that matters.
Best,
Adriane
Question Submitted: Thank you for your blog. I usually read several entries at once every few months when my barrenness comes to the forefront again. Thank you especially for the Bible verses, prayers, and hymns. Recently I’ve seen a lot of miscarriage awareness Facebook posts. I’ve never gone through a miscarriage and its grief. My husband and I are just infertile. I’m pretty sure it’s ok for us to grieve, but obviously not with the same grief of those who lose a child. So how should/can an infertile couple grieve?
I asked my friend Diane Lamberson, a Licensed Clinical Social Worker in Texas who does psychotherapy from a Christian perspective with people struggling with complicated grief and loss, to help us with this post. Not only is Diane one of the wisest and most compassionate sisters in Christ I have ever met, but she has the education to properly address this question for all of us:
As a psychotherapist who specializes in grief and loss, I am often asked this question in one form or another. Actually, it is two questions:
1. Is the grief I feel legitimate?
2. Am I grieving correctly?
The simple answer to both questions is YES.
Bearing the cross of infertility, even in the comforting shadow of Christ’s cross, is a difficult road that is full of uncertainty, frustration, and most certainly grief. Is it the same grief a couple who experiences a miscarriage has? No. Does that make the grief of not conceiving (and possibly never conceiving) any less intense or legitimate? No. One is not less than the other. Instead, they are different, yet overlapping, experiences.
In fact, one parent feels her grief after six miscarriages and one full-term birth of a child (after the third miscarriage) is less painful than the grief suffered by those who have never conceived. “I am aware that the pain of other women who never carry a child must be greater than mine,” she writes. She calls miscarriage the “loneliest grief of all.” I think barrenness and miscarriage are both lonely kinds of grief, and I am grateful to the hosts of this forum for giving it a voice and providing a much needed source of Christ-centered comfort to all who are grieving as they carry this cross and follow Christ.
While having experienced neither infertility nor miscarriage personally, I have been called upon in both my clinical work and personal life to bear witness to and assist with the grief that comes with both. For the couple who has never conceived a child, news from a medical professional that it will not be possible can feel as if a person has died because their dream of a person has died. Indeed, in some ways, this news is a more complicated kind of grief. When we lose people we love to death, we have memories of our interactions and can share them with others. Society acknowledges it. There is a specific date of death and mourning (a public expression of grief).
When grieving the loss of a person for which we hope and dream but who does not yet exist, there are no memories in which to share or take comfort. There may not be a specific date when the dream died, only ongoing uncertainty. Society doesn’t acknowledge it in any public or formal way. There is no funeral. There are no flowers or casseroles in the refrigerator. There is no gravesite to visit. Many who suffer miscarriages don’t have all of these outward signs either, depending on when the pregnancy ended. Instead, what couples bearing the cross of barrenness largely get instead of compassion is suggestions about IVF, surrogacy, sperm banks, adoption, or other ways to “fix the problem” that don’t in any way acknowledge the very real grief and loss that the barren are feeling.
Some feel they are grieving too much and others worry they don’t feel enough and wonder what is wrong. The truth is neither is wrong. It just happens to be your feelings about what you’ve been through. They are colored by your personality, how you view being barren, and your faith/theology, among many other factors. Your grief may be more intense at one time than another. Many think grief is a linear process when it is more like a spiral lying on its side. While you may be moving forward, there are many emotions you may revisit along the way. This is not a sign of regression but a revisiting of feelings that have come around again in your movement through the spiral.
The truth is, God is present to comfort us through all our times of grief, whether it is the loss of a specific child, the loss of one’s womb/reproductive organs, or the loss felt every time an unwanted menstrual cycle comes along with the knowledge that once again a child is not growing within the womb. All are painful and difficult to endure, but in Christ we are never alone. With the support we provide each other God works through us. We may not know what the future holds, but we know Who holds the future.
Diane Lamberson, LCSW
“I like it,” I said to my husband yesterday at the Defend Marriage Lobby Day at the Illinois state capitol building. I was referring to the yellow button we had each been handed at the registration table.
“Yes,” he agreed as he pinned his on his jacket. “It’s a clearer confession of what marriage is, rather than just ‘one woman, one man.'”
Still, I found myself fighting back tears as we stood in line waiting to talk to our state representative. Here we were, a barren couple, wearing buttons which publicly exposed our shame. My husband and I are one man and one woman brought together in marriage, but we are not one dad and one mom; and the truth stings.
But, it is still the truth.
That’s what marriage is, really. It’s God’s good ordering of His creation. It’s not passion and attraction and preference and romance, though – don’t get me wrong – it is a delight when marriage includes such things. Marriage is God’s blessed institution of the family unit in life. It is one man and one woman joined together that they might be one dad and one mom. We know this to be true, because it is the one flesh union of husband and wife over which God spoke the blessing of children in His words “be fruitful and multiply” (Genesis 1:26-31); it is the distinct parental unit of dad and mom which God commands children to obey in His words “Honor thy father and thy mother” (Exodus 20:12). It is the unique joining together of husband and wife which Paul uses as a picture of Christ’s relationship with His bride, the Church, when he writes, “‘Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.’ This mystery is profound, and I am saying that it refers to Christ and the church” (Ephesians 5:22–6:4).
That’s why even the barren can confidently confess to the world that marriage is one dad, one mom. Though the cross of childlessness weighs our shoulders with grief and pain (and sometimes, on days like yesterday, shame), it does not make our marriages null and void. We are still fruitful in marriage as man and wife, even though God in His wisdom has not blessed us insofar as to multiply. Soli deo gloria.
Question Submitted: I’m slowly learning during the “dark moments” to quickly grab my hymnal and try to get out of my head. It’s way too easy to be seduced by my own self-pity or anxiety about the future. Are there particular hymns you always go for first that help?
Was it Luther who said we should throw darts, not feathers, at the devil?
In my struggle against principalities and powers, I don’t want to be armed with bubble-machine choruses which speak of God only in adjectives. I don’t want my bow loaded with candy-heart lyrics which laud my own love for Love Divine.
Nope, give me a hymn-sword to wield every time. Dress me in poetic armor dripping with Jesus’ name and the truth of His work for me on the cross. Send me into battle on a rhythmic steed quick to deliver the news of Christ’s blood shed for sinners such as me, and wave that four-part battle flag high in the sky to guide and comfort me through the fray.
My preferred artillery?
“God’s Own Child, I Gladly Say It” (Lutheran Service Book 594)
“Through Jesus’ Blood and Merit” (LSB 746)
“Why Should Cross and Trial Grieve Me?” (LSB 756)
“Entrust Your Days and Burdens” (LSB 754)
“Let Us Ever Walk with Jesus” (LSB 685)
“What God Ordains Is Always Good” (LSB 760)
“My Song Is Love Unknown” (LSB 430)
“Jesus, Priceless Treasure” (LSB 743)
“If God Himself Be for Me” (LSB 724)
“My Hope Is Built on Nothing Less” (LSB 575)
“If Thou but Trust in God to Guide Thee” (LSB 750)
“I am Jesus’ Little Lamb” (LSB 740)
“One Thing’s Needful” (LSB 536 – Thank you, Leah!)
“Of the Father’s Love Begotten” (LSB 384)
“Joy to the World” (LSB 387)
Happy target practice!
Melissa walked up to me at the book signing table.
I had noticed her sitting next to her mother during my presentation, and a quick, physical assessment – faint crow’s feet, visible smile lines with or without any smiles – placed her somewhere in the same decade of life as me.
I wasn’t sure what she had thought of my talk on barrenness. She hadn’t given me very much eye contact when I was speaking, but neither had her face shown any immediate signs of pent-up anger or sadness.
At the table, though, she looked me directly in the eye and smiled with a joy unbounded.
“I am an auntie!” she exclaimed.
She had been listening!
“Me, too,” I said. I jumped up and gave Melissa a hug, reveling in our shared connection. “What are their names?”
Melissa listed each of her nieces and nephews, her hands gesturing proudly with each name. I noticed she had no wedding band on her left ring finger, and her mother stood quietly behind her, eyes misty.
“…and Braden is walking, now!” Melissa finished, her slightly slanted eyes large with wonder, but there was something else there, too. A knowledge of pain.
And that’s when the truth washed over me like a warm wave.
Women with Down syndrome rejoice in the gift of children just like everyone else and grieve their childlessness just like everyone else. And so do their families.
Some of you are miscarrying, right now.
Some of you are grieving the anniversary of the death of a precious child in your life.
Some of you are struggling with undiagnosed physical pain that is baffling your doctors.
Some of you are coping with your husband’s recent death.
Some of you are depressed and afraid of what tomorrow might (or might not) bring.
So many of you are suffering, right now, and have asked for our prayers. Well, you’ve got them. Pastor Schuermann wrote this prayer for all of us to pray together today.
Remember your mercy, O Lord, and your steadfast love,
for they have been from of old.
Remember not the sins of my youth or my transgressions;
according to your steadfast love remember me,
for the sake of your goodness, O Lord!
– Psalm 25:6-7
Let us pray…
O God, from before the foundation of the world You knew me, loved me, and showed me mercy. As I struggle, Lord, give me strength. Remind me daily of Your everlasting love for me. Remind me that I am Your child, adopted into Your heavenly family by grace, for the sake of Jesus. Do not let this cross which You have laid on me overwhelm me. Because You know all things, I will trust You. Lord, have mercy. Amen.
Paul Gerhardt’s hymns speak straight to the heart of the cross-bearer. For this reason, they are excellent resources to memorize.
When next you are called to do battle against worry, doubt, and anxiety in your barrenness, pull stanzas 2, 3, and 4 of “Entrust Your Days and Burdens” out of your arsenal. Actually, pull them all out.
Entrust your days and burdens
To God’s most loving hand;
He cares for you while ruling
The sky, the sea, the land.
For He who guides the tempests
Along their thund’rous ways
Will find for you a pathway
And guide you all your days.
Rely on God your Savior
And find your life secure.
Make His work your foundation
That your work may endure.
No anxious thought, no worry,
No self-tormenting care
Can win your Father’s favor;
His heart is moved by prayer.
Take heart, have hope, my spirit,
And do not be dismayed;
God helps in every trial
And makes you unafraid.
Await His time with patience
Through darkest hours of night
Until the sun you hoped for
Delights your eager sight.
Leave all to His direction;
His wisdom rules for you
In ways to rouse your wonder
At all His love can do.
Soon He, His promise keeping,
With wonder-working pow’rs
Will banish from your spirit
What gave you troubled hours.
O blesséd heir of heaven,
You’ll hear the song resound
Of endless jubilation
When you with life are crowned.
In your right hand your maker
Will place the victor’s palm,
And you will thank Him gladly
With heaven’s joyful psalm.
Our hands and feet, Lord, strengthen;
With joy our spirits bless
Until we see the ending
Of all our life’s distress.
And so throughout our lifetime
Keep us within Your care
And at our end then bring us
To heav’n to praise You there.
“Entrust Your Days and Burdens” (Lutheran Service Book, 754)
