How to Care for the Barren

“Different, Not Less”

In the movie Temple Grandin, Temple is a brilliant young woman, coping with the stigma of autism. She does so in a time when autism was misunderstood. However, Temple is blessed with a loving family, who support her efforts for higher education and understanding by the world around her. At one point in the movie, Temple’s mother wants to enroll her in a boarding high school. Some of the faculty members are apprehensive to accept her. Eventually, Temple’s mother tells one of the teachers that she wants people to know that her daughter is “different, not less.” That quote struck a chord with me.

I am different but not less than the mother whose womb has carried children multiple times. I am different but not less than the mother who takes her beloved brood with her to the grocery store. I am different but not less than the family who drives a 15-passenger van so that their family can ride together.

My world is different than yours but not less. Please don’t think of me as your “barren friend” only. Yes, my world is different than yours, but it is not less. The Lord does not look down on me because my womb is closed. He loves me. He does not treat me any differently than the rest of the world. I am condemned of all my sins, the same as my neighbor. In fact, God’s only Son Jesus died for me, just as He did for the sins of the entire world. I am forgiven of all of my sins, the same as my neighbor.

My name is Kristi Leckband, and I am barren. I am different, not less.

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?

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.

Well Said

A long time ago, we talked about this, and not too long ago we talked about this.

Diane Lamberson, a lovely licensed clinical social worker I met at the “Caring for the Barren” conference in Houston last weekend, said it this way during one of our sessions:

“The platitudes we offer to a person who is grieving are an attempt to alleviate our own anxiety when we are uncomfortable sitting with someone else’s pain.”

Aha!

The Great Getaway

Okay.

I know that many of you won’t come out for presentations on barrenness that are open to the public, because you don’t want other people to see you cry.

But what if those other people were just like you? What if you could get away for a few days and retreat to a safe place with other barren women* for a time of rest, refreshment, and fellowship in Christ?

We are thinking about hosting a retreat called “The Great Getaway” for you, but, before we do, we want to make sure you actually want to come. Are you interested? If so, send us a quick message through the Submit a Question page and let us know your name, email address, location, and whether or not you would be able to travel somewhere in the Midwest.

It’s time to come out of hiding, don’t you think?

* Maybe you suffer from barrenness or secondary infertility. Maybe you are struggling through the grief of a recent miscarriage. Maybe you are wrestling with the legal paperwork of an adoption or silently waiting for your foster child to bond with your family. Maybe you have lost your husband and wonder if you will ever have the chance to be a mother. If any of these situations apply to you (and you are a woman), then you are invited.

Dirty Laundry

This year, it is easy to rejoice.

I may have been jealous – even angry – in the past, but this year is different. It is remarkably easy to rejoice in the gift of children you all have been given.

Maybe it is because I wrote a book. Maybe it is because I said my piece. Maybe it is because my dirty laundry has been aired in the bright sunshine of confession and absolution. Maybe it is because you all have been so kind and sensitive and generous and inclusive in sharing the news of your gift-children with me.

Most likely, though, it is because God has given me good gifts of my own: the gifts of peace, understanding, and faith in His salutary Word that children – even the children born to and adopted by others – are truly gifts from Him.

So, bring on the birth announcements. Shower me with news of adoption referrals. You can even use one of the four baby names I have zealously hoarded in my heart for my own dream children.

Your children are gifts from God, and I get to rejoice in them.

A Nice Chat

Good conversation is always refreshing. Last night I was at the farm for a get-together. I was sitting outdoors at a table with my friend, enjoying a great meal, along with a healthy dose of flies. [Who doesn’t love a picnic?] Everybody else at our table had left, but my friend and I continued to visit. We talked about her new home and all that goes along with moving into it. We mused over the antics of the little children playing outside on the driveway. We talked about the school year for my daughter. We laughed about a video on the internet.

Not once did our conversation revolve around my barrenness or my family’s seemingly eternal wait to adopt a child. Rather, we talked about so many other things. I appreciated that. My friend knows that we have been waiting a long time to increase our family size, and I know that she cares deeply for me. We didn’t have to constantly reiterate those points to each other. We could simply chat. Now that’s a good friend.

We Must Wait

From yesterday’s reading in the Treasury of Daily Prayer:

Christ is risen from the dead, has ascended to heaven, and sits at the right of God in divine power and honor. Nevertheless, He is hiding His greatness, glory, majesty, and power. He allows His prophets and apostles to be expelled and murdered…He allows His Christians to suffer want, trouble, and misfortune in the world. He acts as He did in the days of His flesh, when John the Baptist had to lose his head for the sake of a desperate harlot, while He, the Savior and Helper, said nothing about it, departed thence in a ship and withdrew to the solitude of the wilderness (Matt. 14:10ff, Mark 6:17, 32). Is He not a petty, childish God, who does not save Himself and allows His children to suffer as if He did not see how badly they were faring?…[I]f He sees and knows but cannot help, then He has no hands that are able to do anything, nor does He have power to enable Him to save.

Hence the prophet Isaiah correctly says of God: “Verily Thou art a God that hidest Thyself, O God of Israel, the Savior” (45:15)…Now He lets our adversaries treat His Word, Sacraments, and Christians as they please. He lets us call and cry and says nothing, as though He were deep in thought or were busy or were out in the field or asleep and heard nothing as Elijah says of Baal (I Kings 18:27)…

Meanwhile Christians, baptized in His name, must hold still, must permit people to walk over them and must have patience. For in the Kingdom of faith God wants to be small, but in the (future) kingdom of sight He will not be small but great. Then He will show that He saw the misery of His people and heard their crying and had a will inclined to help them, also power to help them…For this appearance of the glory of the great God we must wait.

Martin Luther

Misery

From our dear Joanna…

Today I had a lovely conversation with one of our church’s homebound members. This dear lady in her late eighties is widowed and mostly homebound due to severe chronic pain. Despite the suffering she endures each day, she is one of the most joyful and encouraging Christians I’ve ever met. As we got off the phone, I told how much I admire her and the beautiful, grace-filled woman that God has made her to be. It was then that she said something profound, something that I think is key to getting through the difficult days that all of us encounter: “Misery,” she said “is optional.”

As a barren women who’s now past the age of childbearing, I can tell you that this is true — misery is indeed optional. God’s mercy and goodness have been present every day of my life, but there were days when I opted for misery — opted to wallow, opted to feel sorry for myself, opted to push the limits of legitimate grief past its boundaries to the place of selfishness and self-pity. I wanted to feel sorry for myself, I wanted others to feel sorry for me, and most of all, I wanted God to feel sorry for me. In the end, the only person I made miserable was myself.

I think that as I go through my days, I will remember what my dear friend told me. Grief and pain are legitimate, but misery is optional. I opt for Christ’s joy and His peace that passes all understanding.

True Compassion

My husband drew my attention to an article in the most recent issue of Gottesdienst. Think on Rev. David Petersen’s words:

Compassion leads to action, but is not action. It is identification and suffering with the afflicted. The old saw “misery loves company” usually means we like to bring others down with us, but we might turn it around a bit. We might see the example of our Lord and recognize that compassion loves by joining misery. “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin” (Heb. 4:15 ESV).

Compassion moves the compassionate to action eventually. That action is often material aid, practical assistance, or comfort to relieve the afflicted, or the proclamation of Law and then forgiveness and hope in Christ. But even before the action there is the sympathy and identification. Sometimes, maybe most times, those who are hurting need to hear and know that their hurt is valid and is also unjust. Strangely, it is comforting to know that our mental anguish, our sense of frustration, and our anger are legitimate reactions to a sinful and unjust world…

The first response to suffering isn’t a solution or a fix, but pain. This pain carries with it the realization that nothing afflicts any of us that is not common to man or that our Lord Himself did not endure in the greatest and most terrible measure. This is different from gratitude. It recognizes that it could have been us, such as we hear in the oft-used John Bradford line: “There but for the grace of God go I.” That is part of it, to be sure. But compassion is suffering that is felt in the heart and mind because someone else is suffering and shouldn’t be. They are like sheep without a shepherd. That sad plight moves the heart of the observer first to pity; then comes gratitude and action.*

* Petersen, David H. (Trinity 2012, Vol. 20, No. 1). “Praying for Pity’s Sake.” Gottesdienst: The Journal of the Lutheran Liturgy, 9-10.

Celebration

I have this friend. She is crazy talented and super smart. She teaches world music, composes trombone octets, circular breathes into her flute, and, when she’s not busy traipsing around the globe to play international recitals, she hangs out with lowly, Lupron-riddled me.

She asked me about a month ago, “Hey, aren’t you nearing the end of your shots? When’s your last one?”

I blubbered something about it being the last Friday morning in June.

She looked my needle-weary self in the eye and said, “I’m coming with you.”

And, she did. This morning, my busy friend braved the Dallas traffic to meet me at the hospital at 8:00 o’clock sharp. She walked me into the exam room, cheered me through an inconvenient hot flash, winced in sympathy at the giant needle, hugged me through an emotional wave of relief in the parking lot, and, when it was all over, sat on a balcony with me at my favorite restaurant to share a cup of coffee and a chocolate muffin.

Do you want to know the best part? On our way out the door, I got a quick peek at my friend’s day schedule. The whole morning had been blocked out with the words, “Celebration with Katie.”

I don’t know if I could have felt more loved or better understood than I did in that moment.

So, if you are wondering what to do to help a barren friend through a difficult time, take a cue from Lisa: add a little more celebration to her life.