You have joy.
Yes, you do, even when you don’t feel like it. We carry in our bodies not only the death of Jesus but also His life. This joy is true and present for you even when you suffer in your childlessness.
I commend to you this Issues, Etc. interview with Heidi Sias, author and speaker. Listen to it and be reminded of the joy that is yours amidst your suffering.
hot flash noun. a sudden feeling of feverish heat, typically as a symptom of menopause.
Not every girl in her mid-thirties is as blessed as me. I get to take small, frequent vacations to my own, private, tropical resort every day. I can be sitting in a restaurant, standing at my bathroom sink, or even kneeling in church when – swoosh! – within moments I am transported to a hot, humid haven.
Two Sundays ago, I was sitting in a pew when a particularly sweltering climate change hit, and I looked around to see if anyone else in the nave had noticed the equatorial shift. Everyone sat perfectly still, snuggled comfortably in their cardigans and suit coats, while I sat there furiously fanning my sleeveless arms.
“I remember those days,” a woman in her fifties leaned over to whisper conspiratorially.
She was not the only one to have noticed my steamy situation. A cluster of women standing in the narthex after the service grinned at me and confided, “The night sweats are the worst!”
Even though most of these women are twenty-plus years my senior, they welcomed me – Lupron-induced-menopausal, little me – into their circle. I felt oddly special to be included in their conversation, like a youth at the kids’ table suddenly being invited to dine with the adults.
The most touching show of camaraderie, however, came later that night at our monthly Bible study.
“Here,” Gretchen smiled, handing me a canvas-covered fan painted with delicate folk art. “I used this during the worst of it.”
I fingered the wooden handle and raised the fan to test its canvas sail. My lips parted in sweet relief as the most delicious, refreshing breeze moved across my feverish cheeks.
“Isn’t it the best?” Gretchen exclaimed. “You can keep it.”
Yep. I am one, blessed girl. Bring on the hot flashes!
I know you have days filled with doubt. I do, too.
Does God really remember childless, insignificant, little me? Will He really sustain and keep me through all of this grief and loss?
Yes, my sister, He does, and He will.
My pastor told me about your blog just yesterday. I’m just beginning to get familiar with it, but I can tell from the brief time I’ve been able to spend here so far that it is a wonderful site. The name alone rings so very true! I didn’t have a resource like this as I walked through my 20+ years of actively hoping to have children (and having one miscarriage), nor did I really know anyone who had been, or was also going through, the pain of infertility. It was a lonely road most of the time, and a resource like this would have been so very comforting! Thank you for opening your hearts to provide comfort to others.
At age 46, having had a hysterectomy several years ago, the door of motherhood is now closed to me for good. I can tell you that through it all, God has sustained and kept me, and has never forgotten me — even when it sometimes really felt like it! His plans for me were different, but they were not less. I am 46 and childless, with all that entails, but I no longer consider myself to be barren. Our dear Lord provides daily opportunities for me to bear fruit as I abide in Him. And in what seems to me to be this very “late” season in my life (which is really all in His good timing), He is even opening the door for me to put my mothering instincts to use in caring for the elderly folks at our church as a volunteer staff member while I pursue deaconess training. He is so very faithful, and there is not a single one of our days that are not in His keeping!
I’m not sure why I’m telling you all of this, other than to say from the perspective of someone who has reached the end of the fertility road without any (living) children, that God is faithful. He loves you dearly, He has not forgotten you, and He makes all things beautiful in their appointed time. May God bless and keep you all as you walk this difficult path. I will be praying for you, dear sisters!
Joanna Barnes
Spring fever has hit me, and here’s why. Twice in the past several days, I’ve held a little one. The first was a newborn. His proud parents brought him to church, and they stayed for Bible Class. His dear mama asked if I’d like to hold him. There was, of course, no hesitancy on my part. I was blessed to cradle him throughout the entire Bible class. (Well, until he became hungry. I got him back again, though.) It was pure bliss for me. I may never get to experience the newborn stage ever again.
The second opportunity came the following day. The little sweetie’s parents took a date night, and we got to babysit their six-month-old daughter. She smiled and grinned and even ventured a few little giggles. Her parents returned, and you knew she was loved. They hugged and kissed her and took her home. A longing for a baby crept into my heart.
Spring is filled with new growth and new life. The hyacinths are blooming; the tulips and daffodils are stretching up through the ground. New grass grows in the yard. Calves are being born daily. Chicks arrive at the local stores. The photo studios are preparing for the bunnies and chicks portrait sessions. There are lots of new things happening.
I’d like a baby. New life brings joy and laughter. Babies are reminders of God’s love for His people. Babies are God’s children. I want that.
The Lord, in His divine wisdom, has other plans for me. He knows what I need, and He will provide it in the proper time. He has bestowed countless blessings already.
So, for now, I’ll enjoy the babies around me. May God bless the springtime of their lives, too.
My husband and I do not have any children to feed or bathe or comb or tuck into bed at night. We do not have any pets to walk or snuggle or groom or take to the park on Saturday mornings. We do, however, have bushes.
That’s right, bushes.
Five to be exact: three rosemary, one knockout rose, and one Russian sage, and they offer us endless hours of entertainment, occupation, and satisfaction. What do they do, exactly? Well, they grow. They blow in the wind. They turn deep-and-lush shades of green, silver, and red in the rain. They flavor our food. They pump fresh oxygen into the smoggy air. They provide quiet beauty amidst the urban assault of car horns, airplane engines, and construction work. They share our space while we relax on our patio, and (Best of all!) they give us something productive to do at home in the evenings.
When you are childless, the time between dinner and bedtime can be a restless, directionless, anxious time void of activity and purpose. There is a great temptation to fill that void with television, internet surfing, Facebooking, and other mindless activities that overrule the silence, that numb the harsh reality of childlessness. Yet, numbing never nulls the pain. It just pushes it away for another time.
That is why I need my bushes. They keep me active during the inactivity of my barrenness. They require my time and attention, putting to use what would otherwise be idle hands and painfully-childless hours. They do not numb my pain nor do they make it go away, but they do give me pleasure and purpose in spite of it. For, there is great satisfaction in caring for something, even if that something is not a child.
So, turn off the television. Get out there and take care of something other than yourself. I think you will find that you can’t help but be reminded of how faithful your Heavenly Father is in caring for you.
Excuse me, I need to go check on my bushes.
I have always been fascinated with plumbing. Fascinated and intimidated. So when we bought a new water filtration system for under our sink I got an estimate from a plumber to see how much it would be to get it installed, even though the online reviews said that most anyone could put it in. The estimate was more than we wanted to spend, but my husband had other, more pressing home maintenance tasks to tackle. I had been dreaming of fresh, chemical-free, yummy-tasting, good-for-you filtered water for months. I couldn’t wait any longer.
So I installed it myself.
It took all afternoon, but I did it. I followed the directions, connected the yellow, clear, black, and red tubes to their corresponding fittings. I used plumber’s tape to reconnect the cold water line. I even drilled a hole in the PVC drain pipe, just like the instructions said to. When the last piece was hooked up and I turned the water back on I held my breath. I didn’t really expect it to work. I didn’t really think that I, a non-plumber, could have mastered this feat.
And why was I such a pessimist? Why didn’t I have more confidence in my own work? Well, the truth be told, my own pipes don’t work–the internal ones. Everything is hooked up right, and the tubes are clear, according to the dye test taken years ago. It appears that some things have leaked over time, though that was supposed to have been taken care of, too. But the expected outcome just isn’t there. These pipes aren’t delivering anything.
I still marvel every time someone shares with me that their own plumbing system is about to produce a tall, cool, refreshing, glass. Really?? I want to reply. Everything works for you? This is a miracle! How can this be? Who did the installation? I’m sure the same person did mine. But my system got messed up somehow. I still forget that most people’s systems work perfectly.
As I kneeled under my kitchen sink I watched the water move through the tubes, then travel from the copper pipe to the filter and then to the storage tank. I checked for leaks. I double-checked. And then I almost cried. It worked. I had taken control of something, pieced it together with my own hands, and then watched it work just like it was meant to. There was something indescribably satisfying about this act.
In fact, I’d love to do it again. Does anyone want their own system installed? I don’t charge for labor.
Nikusubila is an African name. It means “hopeful.”
A year-and-a-half ago, I was walking through Hobby Lobby – piddling, really (a.k.a. wandering aimlessly about with no life goal other than to admire hoards of other peoples’ things I cannot and should not own) – and I came across a figurine of a young boy wearing a safari hat. His expression was sweet, like he was watching something of interest across a field, happily forgetting his present task at hand. Just like a boy!
I picked up the figurine and fingered the boy’s round cheeks. I liked the color of his skin, the shape of his scrawny arms and chicken legs. Everything looked and felt just right. He reminded me of…
No! I quickly set the figurine back down. Silly. Ridiculous, even. I did not need a figurine of a boy in my home. I loathe dusting, and this would be just another item to collect dust.
I escaped around the nearest aisle to look at picture frames and candles. Yes, that was safe. But, even as I checked prices on frames and sniffed waxy confections my mind was on that boy. His posture was just so charming and familiar. He had rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbow, and he was resting his right hand on a hip as if he was waiting for someone to catch up with him.
That settled it.
I walked back to the figurine, picked him up, and paid for him at the cash register before I could chicken out. This was more than an impulse buy. This was hope in action.
For, you see, this boy looks like my son. I have never actually met him. I have only seen him in my head and in my heart, but that afternoon in Hobby Lobby I saw him with my eyes.
Nikusubila now stands in his bare feet on my fireplace mantel where I can look at him and keep hoping that, God willing, I may someday catch up with my son.
We all know the danger of dwelling on our own suffering. All any of us needs to do is take a short jaunt down “Me Lane” to find ourselves right in the middle of dreaded Despairville.
What if we avoided “Me Lane” altogether? What if, instead, we made a hard right turn onto “Neighbor Avenue” and took a trip to Mercyburg to visit our sisters in Christ? Think of what we would find there.
No doubt, we would run into other barren women in need of a comforting shoulder, but I think we would also discover women who suffer in the vocation of motherhood; women who pine for the independence and quietude of our own childless lives; women who suffer physical pain from birthing and caring for their precious gifts; women who fear the very gifting from God which we so desperately crave.
What if we set aside our own suffering for today and spent some time listening to those mothers, shouldering their grief and pain, praying for their strength, and tending to their physical needs? I think we would find great joy in the act of caring for our neighbor. Maybe we would even gain some insight into God’s wisdom of giving and withholding certain gifts from our own lives. At the very least, I think we would find comfort in knowing that we do not suffer alone in the body of Christ.
So, will you take a walk down “Neighbor Avenue” with me and meet my friend Rebekah? She wrote a book on the struggles of breastfeeding, and I cannot recommend it enough. I have never given birth to a child, never breastfed a baby, yet I resonated with the language of suffering in this real-life saga. I think you will, too.
And, c’mon. Just look at that title. You know there will be laughs on this trip.
In my morning devotions, I am reading about Abraham and Sarah. Genesis 18:11 (ESV) says: “Now Abraham and Sarah were old, advanced in years. The way of women had ceased to be with Sarah.” I chuckled when I read the phrase, “the way of women.” I have longed to be in “the way of women” for several years. Upon reading further in Scripture, I learned that Sarah did not give birth to her son Isaac for another 25 years! I guess my elephant wait isn’t so long after all.
25 years! A quarter of a century. No wonder his parents named him Isaac, whose name means “he laughs.” I’m sure that Abraham and Sarah shared a good many laughs before and after Isaac’s birth. God really does have a sense of humor. I’m going to do more laughing.
Katie’s blog has helped us all open up the lines of communication about barrenness with our spouses, friends, churches and family members. Following suit, I also sent my mom some questions about her experience having two daughters who struggle with infertility and what it was like to welcome an adopted child into the family. Her words are a glimpse into her heart, which she doesn’t often expose in an effort to be strong for her children. I believe she gives a voice to the thoughts and fears that many mothers have but are afraid to share. Thanks mom, for your honesty, compassion, and encouragement over the years. You’ve had to hold up under the strain of this as well–times two.
Watching both of my daughters suffer in their barrenness has been heart wrenching. There is an actual physical pain in my heart when I think about it. There is no greater joy than to carry a child inside of you and I so want that for my daughters. I want to fix this, I want to make it go away and be better. I’m supposed to be able to do this as a mother and I can’t. I have two daughters that can’t conceive now and I wonder what I did during my pregnancy that caused this. Anti-nausea drugs maybe? There is tremendous guilt at times and yet I know that it wasn’t intentional. I know that God is here with all of us and has wonderful plans for my girls, we just don’t know what they all are yet.
One of the blessings that has come from this experience is that I have become an adoptive grandparent. We got to meet our grandson several weeks before he was placed in our daughter’s home. He was sweet but it felt like we were babysitting for a wonderful little boy. During the two weeks that followed I remember feeling like I did when I was pregnant for my second child. I thought at the time, “Will I be able to love another child as much as I do my firstborn?” I wondered if I would be able to love an adopted child as much as my other grandchildren who were born from my son. The second my daughter stepped into her home with my new grandson it was instant love. I felt this tremendous overwhelming feeling of joy and thankfulness that we had this new precious baby! It didn’t matter where this baby came from, he was ours. I continue to feel this way every time I see him and I am in awe that I can be a part of his life. Thank you God.
I still wish that God would give my daughters a child to carry, but most of all I wish a peace and a contentment in their lives. If they are never able to carry another child I pray that God will give both of my girls a peace about it. They are both trying to adopt (one for the first time, the other for a second) and it has been a long, long process. Why God? Because our babies haven’t been born yet. I am impatient but, “My soul waits on the Lord.”
He Remembers the Barren 