Infertility

Whatcha’ Got Cookin’?

After 15 years of marriage I’ve decided to learn how to cook. I mean really cook. I confess that I’ve been faking my way through this whole time. When a recipe that I follow perfectly doesn’t turn out, then I just throw up my hands in disgust and lament that the world is against me. I don’t really use my brain when cooking. I admit to blindly following the instructions from the magazine cut-out, praying it turns out half as good as the picture looks. But I’ve been burned this way (literally) so many times that it has just perpetuated my general feeling of helplessness which, for me anyway, often accompanies this barren state. So when my husband recently asked me out of the blue if there was anything in particular that I would like to accomplish or learn in the near future, I didn’t even have to think. “I want to learn how to cook,” I stated firmly, as if I had already started making plans on how to achieve this goal. But I hadn’t and I wasn’t quite sure where to start.

Taking cooking classes was out of the question due to cost and time committment. Plan B included the good old standby: get the right books and just teach myself. I had heard that the book Joy of Cooking was supposed to be a beginner’s manual to this field of study and so I asked a culinarily-gifted friend of mine if he would recommend it. He had a copy, of course, but steered me first to Alton Brown’s I’m Just Here for the Food, a similar yet more contemporary and humorous option. This, my friends, is solid gold. I have finally found someone who understands me. Within just the first few pages Alton reveals the pitfalls of my kind of cooking, comparing it to giving a friend from out-of-town directions to your house but not sending him a map.

That’s what’s wrong with recipes. Sure, they can get us where we’re going, but that doesn’t mean we know where we are when we get there. And it would be a real shame to make it all the way to a souffle without realizing that scrambled eggs are just over the next hill and meringue’s just around the corner.

Do you have to know how to scramble an egg before you can make a souffle or how to sear a steak to make a beef stew? No. A halfway decent recipe can get you to either of those destinations. But unless you understand where you are and how you got there, you’re a hostage. And it’s hard to have fun when you’re a hostage. (pg. 7)

Yes!! That’s me! A hostage. I just do whatever I’m told and I’ve never even tried to escape. Until now. If this book really does what it says it’s going to do then my time spent playing the victim is quickly coming to an end. There’s nothing like a little experience manipulating the elements to increase one’s feeling of control in life. I have fought for control of my own body for so many years and I’m convinced that it’s a losing battle. But if I can learn to sear that piece of meat so that the juices remain and there’s a golden crust surrounding it on all sides then I may not feel quite so defeated after all.

A Bitter Pill to Swallow

Question Submitted: How do you not get boiling mad at women who use contraception to avoid the gift of children?

I remember that I, too, was once convinced by the world and (let’s be honest) the church that children are an option, an extra, a commodity, a consumer product, a resource, a burden, a leech, a finance drainer, an insurance expense, a vacation-stealer, a career-spoiler, a free-time-monger, and an oops to be carefully planned for, timed, and controlled in marriage.

Oh, to have known and believed from the start that children are a blessing in marriage, a gift given from a loving, generous God! To look back on my youth with no regrets!

Yet, in Christ, God has forgiven me of all my regrets. My scarlet sins have been washed clean in my Baptism. I now wear the white robes of Christ’s righteousness, and I trust that the debt created by the selfishness of my youth is paid in full by Jesus’ death on the cross. How can I not show mercy to other women when I have been forgiven of so much?

So, I seldom get angry at my sisters in Christ who use contraception to avoid the gift of children. I just get very sad, for when I look into their busy, distracted, fearful eyes, I see myself. When I hear my sisters in Christ try to explain to me why it is good and right for them to avoid children in marriage, I hear myself. And I know the pain and guilt such decisions bring. The best thing I know to do is to lovingly speak gift language to them and pray that God would open their eyes to the precious gifts He would give to them.

Come quickly, Lord Jesus!

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.

Do We Remain Silent?

Question submitted: Some members of our family gave birth to their children through IVF. Throughout their IVF journey there was grief, despair, and much sorrow both at the loss of several children/embryos as well as family members who did not necessarily approve of their decision to move forward with IVF. As IVF has become such a common practice, how can Christians and Christian family members express their concern without being seen as unloving, uncaring and just plain ignorant? In their view we just didn’t “get infertility” and we had children of our own so we truly didn’t understand their pain and suffering. Secondly, now that they have brought children into the world there is much joy and happiness throughout our entire family. But the one thing that continues to weigh heavy on my heart is the children/embryos that are currently frozen. Should we as Christian family members question when these children will be brought into the world or do we just remain silent now that there is finally family unity? I will tell you that during their IVF treatments there was so much unrest because some family members condoned their IVF treatments and others did not.

Dear friend, you have just given our readers a first-hand account of the heartache and conflict that IVF can bring to a family. And this is happening in Christian families everywhere, touching those who live the faster-paced lifestyles in the major cities as well as the “family values” farming communities in the Midwest. On our speaking tours, Katie and Kristi and I have talked to many women and other family members who, like you, are at a loss as to how to address this huge mess that has spilled out of a couple’s seemingly innocent desire to have a child. Lord, have mercy!

Your question has two main parts and I want to address them separately.

1. “How can Christians and Christian family members express their concern without being seen as unloving, uncaring and just plain ignorant?”

I know that it is often hard for fertile family members to reach out to their barren loved ones. But I think that in the case where IVF is being discussed it is absolutely vital for families, churches and pastors to pray for courage to address this with a couple. It is because you love them that you desire to steer them away from the temptation to fall into sin—namely the sin against the 5th Commandment where they would most certainly (not might, not could) be hurting or even killing their “neighbor” (the embryos/children that are discarded or frozen as a result). And it is your love for God that propels you to boldly share His Word about this kind of sin with the couple, believing that the Word is powerful and can change hearts. Approach your family members with the genuine compassion that you’ve expressed and confidently share with them these thoughts:

a. Some of our previous posts on IVF lay out what can happen during IVF and why Christians should abandon this option.

b. The various resources listed on this site (particularly Dr. Weise’s article and this Issues, Etc. show) are filled with wisdom, Scripture references, and more reasons not to engage in the procedure.

c. Scripture calls children a reward, a gift, intricately woven, formed and knitted together by our Heavenly Father (Psalm 127:3 and 139:15). When the vast majority of IVF procedures end in the freezing or killing off of unwanted children, then we are not viewing them as rewards, gifts, and specially created beings who were meant to be born, baptized, and raised in the Christian faith (Exodus 20:13).

d. Don’t let the fact that you are fertile prevent you from speaking the truth in love to your barren family. They need to realize that the pain of barrenness does not justify treating living human beings as IVF treats them.

2. “The one thing that continues to weigh heavy on my heart is the children/embryos that are currently frozen. Should we as Christian family members question when these children will be brought into the world or do we just remain silent now that there is finally family unity?”

Thank you for acknowledging the lives that still exist as a result of this couple’s actions. You are very aware that this couple has multiple children now, though most of them have not been born. Can there truly be family unity now when parts of the family are frozen and deserted? Since these children are your relatives, too, you see that they are not being cared for as they should and I think you have every right to bring this to the attention of the parents. Please do encourage and attempt to influence your family members to recognize that those tiny human embryos are really children who must be rescued. The couple made the conscious decision to conceive these children—which made them parents—and the Bible has much to say about the responsibility that comes with parenting:

a. We are to have compassion on our children, which results in loving them and caring for all their needs (Psalm 103:13, Matthew 7:11).

b. We are to teach our children about God’s Law, love, and promises (Deuteronomy 4:9 and 6:7, Psalm 78:4, Proverbs 22:6, Ephesians 6:4).

c. We are not to do anything that would keep our children from knowing Jesus or that would tempt them away from him (Matthew 18:5-7 and 19:14).

d. We are to have our children baptized (Matthew 28:19-20, Acts 16:30-33) after they have been born (John 3:3-5).

 When parents allow their children to be frozen and to remain in this state they cannot carry out these responsibilities. The goal of your discussion with your family members is repentance, a change of mind. If they do indeed repent and as a result want to “bear fruits in keeping with repentance” (Luke 3:8), then it would be good to help them to do so.

And here is where it gets really hard. There is no easy way to undo the wrong that has been done. The hard truth is that this couple is morally obligated to parent all these children that they have made, meaning they should plan to implant all of the frozen embryos. This would likely take several procedures to achieve, each costing several thousands of dollars, and in the process several lives will probably be lost. I wish there was an easier way but I do not know of any. IVF is such a tangled mess that it is extremely difficult and very costly to try to make amends. That is why we choose to address this topic so much on this blog. We seek not only to show love to children by promoting procreation the “traditional” way, but we seek to show love to the desperate couple who is contemplating this procedure. Our goal is to spare them and their family members from having to make the extreme sacrifices that are necessary in order to take full responsibility for all the children conceived in IVF. The amazing power of Christ’s forgiveness, applied to the repentant heart, repairs our broken relationship with God and renews our ability to stand before him as righteous, cleansed and cherished children. This is true family unity. But in this earthly life there are still consequences for sin and these are often a very heavy burden. If you find that your family members are ready to confess the mistakes of their past, embrace them with your love and Christ’s, and do what you can to help them bear what lies ahead as they attempt to care for all their children.

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

Wherefore Art Thou, Lupron?

What William Shakespeare meant to write before his editor gave all of the lines to Romeo:

[Juliet is visible at her window, amazed that a cool breeze actually makes her feel cool.]

Juliet

But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Estrogen is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious Lupron moon, 
Who is already sick and pale with grief
That thou her maid art far more cool than she.
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but hot and sweaty
And none but chemically-induced menopausal women do wear it. Cast it off.

[Juliet turns and walks to her bedroom thermostat, happily turning it up from 68 to 78.]

O, Estrogen doth teach the torches to burn a little less brightly!
It seems she brushes upon the cheek of night
As a cool breeze upon a parched Dallasite’s visage.

[Juliet turns out the light and goes to bed. All is well again in the house of Capulet.] 

The end.

Family Grief

Sometimes I forget that my barrenness affects more than just me and my husband.

My nephew stood at my elbow in Chick Fil-A last week, holding out a Berenstain Bears book that had come with his meal deal.

“In case you have a child someday,” he said.

There was a momentary, esophageal struggle between the bite I was trying to swallow and the wave of emotion that suddenly rushed up my throat.

“Thank you, B,” I managed, trying to play it cool. My nephew could have no idea that he had just shined a bright beam of sunlight across my insides. This book was more than just a gift. It was hope. “Do you think Uncle Michael and I will have a child someday?”

“Uh, huh.”

“A boy or a girl?”

“A boy.”

“Will you mind that he will be so much younger than you?”

“Na, I’ll let him ride on my back.” B smiled, and I suddenly realized that this dreamchild lives in more than just my own heart. My nephew, too, yearns for a boy cousin, a playmate, and a friend. “He’ll probably follow me around the yard. I’ll teach him to wrestle.”

You know, I think he probably will.

 

My Violet

A year ago my friend gave me this African violet. At the time it had lovely lavender-colored flowers. Eventually the blooms died; the time of colorful flowers had passed. Throughout the winter and spring, new leaves kept shooting up from the center of the plant. They started off quite small but soon spread themselves to receive sunshine. Other leaves died and were removed.

Recently my friend asked if the violet had flowers. I replied to the negative. She asked if any shoots were coming from the bottom. Again, no. My friend’s diagnosis was that the plant needed “medication.” Then it would produce all sorts of flowers. Of course, she jokingly said that the wrong kind of “medication” could force my plant to flower nonstop, and that would most certainly be harmful. “I’ll take the barren violet as it is,” I told my friend, “because it is still lovely.”

My violet may never flower again, but it still brings me joy. I like the green leaves; they remind me of life. The bends in the leaves remind me that not everything is perfect. The fuzziness of the leaves comforts me on cold, winter days. Yes, I do like my violet – even in its barren state.

The Frenchman

My friend Nancy and I do a little musical act at The Forum, a nursing home and assisted living facility just down the street from our church. We pull out every Reader’s Digest songbook we own and have a heyday singing and playing the golden oldies from yesteryear. It is a joy to see dim eyes light up at the sound of a familiar Rodgers and Hammerstein song or tired heads begin to bob knowingly at a particularly witty Ira Gershwin lyric.

Sometimes, a tired hand magically lifts from a wheelchair and begins directing an imaginary orchestra. At other times, a pair of eyes flutter open for an entire song before shutting closed to the world again. Inevitably, whenever I hold out a long note and let it waver with full vibrato, one gentleman in particular sitting right next to the piano opens his mouth and sings the note with me, belting out a voice that sounds fifty years his younger.

I love it.

This last time, the nurses wheeled a new guy into the room. His eyes were bright, and he looked right at me with a special knowing and understanding. This man didn’t just know the music. He knew the music. I felt like he was giving me permission to sing, not just the song, but the way I know how to sing, and I suddenly felt transported back to my jazz club days. I could almost smell the cigar smoke and hear the ice tinkling in their tumblers. As if on cue, I started changing the sensibilities of my phrasing.

“Belle, belle, belle!” the man cried mid song, clapping his hands. The nurses quickly shushed him so as not to interrupt the music, but I didn’t mind. The man’s behavior was good, right, and salutary in my eyes. Jazz is not a passive sport, and cheering on a musician mid song is the best of compliments.

When the song was over, the man looked me in the eye and quietly crooned, “C’est magnifique!”

“Merci beaucoup,” I bowed my head.

His eyes lit up. “Parlez-vous Francais?”

“Anglais, Anglais,” I apologized, shaking my head.

He nodded. It was okay. We would just speak to each other through the music. He leaned back in his seat for the next song.

In moments like these, I don’t mind being barren. In fact, I forget all about it.