Infertility

Curiosity or Caring?

I saw them again recently and wondered what their story was. I’m curious. They’ve been married for awhile and I’m assuming they would like a family. I’ve talked to them briefly about our own adoption plans and hoped they might take that opportunity to share with me their desires for children and any struggles they are having. But no luck. They didn’t take the bait.

I was about to approach the topic head-on with the wife when we had a few moments alone, but now I’m glad I didn’t. I realized just before I opened my mouth that I don’t know them well enough yet. I wanted them to invite me into a very private part of their life together (their bedroom, to be exact) and I’ve never even invited them into our dining room for dinner. Yes, I’m concerned about their emotional state. I want to help if they’re hurting. Hey, I’ve been there. I’m still there. But that doesn’t make me an expert who needs to seek out patients to “treat.” While it sounds like I’m just trying to help, I think the real motivation is more curiosity than caring.

If I care about their fertility then I need to care about the rest of their beings as well. Are they enjoying their jobs? What do they do for fun? Where do they see themselves in five years?  What has life taught them thus far? Have things turned out differently from what they expected? What part of their lives bring them the most joy? What was their childhood like? I have a lot to find out. And maybe the subject will come up in the process. Maybe it won’t. But regardless, we’ll be blessed by more friends in our circle. Perhaps my current state in life is making me more aware of people who don’t have children, not so that I can somehow help them, but so that I will remember to make an effort to get to know them and just let the Lord bless our relationship in whatever way He chooses.

Who Are You?
Who do I see when I look in the mirror?  I know the person that I WANT to see.  I want to see a mom to multiple children.  I want to be part of the “moms group” that talks about their children together.  I can sit and think about all the things that I want to be, but that doesn’t change the fact that I am somebody right now.  True, I want to be a mom in a house filled with children.  That hasn’t happened, and moping about it won’t help.  Rather than dwell on who I am not, perhaps it’s time to ponder who I am now… already.
  • I am a baptized child of God.
  • I am a forgiven member of the family of Christ.
  • I am the daughter of Roger and Laurie.
  • I am a sister to Troy and Kirk.
  • I am the wife of Jerome.
  • I am the mother of Joanna.
  • I am an auntie.
  • I am a godmother.
  • I am a neighbor.
  • I am a piano teacher.
  • I am a choir director.
  • I am a friend.
Dear sisters, we are already precious in the eyes of God.  When He looks at us, He sees a dearly loved child.  We rejoice in the privilege and honor of sharing that love with those God has given to us.  Now it’s your turn – “Who are you?”

Here We Come!

Won’t you come out and meet us?

Rebecca Mayes and I, God willing, are getting behind the wheel next Tuesday in hopes of meeting YOU. We will be presenting on the topic “Caring for the Barren Woman” at Concordia University Chicago, Concordia Theological Seminary, and various churches in Michigan and Indiana. And – Best of all! – my husband is coming with us. Rev. Michael Schuermann will be available to answer any questions you may have regarding how to care for the barren man.

Location and presentation details can be found here.

If you would like any of the HeRemembersTheBarren.com hosts to present “Caring for the Barren Woman” at a church near you, please let us know via the “Submit a Question” page on this website.

We can’t wait to meet you!

* Photo by Adriane Dorr

You DO Have Joy!

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.

Havin’ a Heat Wave!

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!

Proof of the Promises

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

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.

The Evening Void

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.

Did Someone Call a Plumber?

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.