Miscarriage

At Home in the Waiting

Kristen Gregory reminds us in her reflection on “Advent and Barrenness” that there is joy amidst our grief:

I’m reading Jayber Crow, a novel by Wendell Berry; I read and enjoyed it five years ago.  The peaceful cadence of his writing is good reading in winter, I think. A line stuck out to me this time–one I hadn’t even noted in my previous read: 

“This grief had something in it of generosity, some nearness to joy. In a strange way it added to me what I had lost. I saw that, for me, this country would always be populated with presences and absences, presences of absences, the living and the dead. The world as it is would always be a reminder of the world that was, and of the world that is to come.”

Reading it this time, immediately I reflected upon my own personal loss.  I’ve not experienced true barrenness, but I have felt something akin to it: I have buried my firstborn child.  I have known grief beyond explanation; wanting to die so I didn’t have to feel another minute of it; the shame of hating God for taking away what I thought was my deserved right–to be a mother; and so many more feelings that I will never be able to put into words, things that I couldn’t even explain to my confessor when I went for private confession and absolution. But things God knows. 

And then I read the quote again.  In the three years since Vivian’s death, God has given me enough peace to see the meaning of this beyond myself.  Or maybe I can only understand it because of this suffering He has allowed.  In grief there is joy…I’ve no idea how.  I have no advice or sweet words on how to live through loss or grief.  But somehow there is a joy in grief. 

I think that is why I love the Advent season. I feel at home in the waiting.  The sadness over our present losses to sin, death, and the devil; and yet our proclamation that more is to come. Our hope isn’t in the lives we live now or the children that we have lost or never had, but in His real promise: release from darkness, forgiveness, healing comfort, His death for you, and life eternal.  

Vivian, among other things, is my reminder of the world that is to come.  Each year I hold more joy in my heart than grief (could it be the healing effect of other children God has given us–some who have lived and some who have not?); but Advent especially reminds me that I have not expected too much from my God–I have expected far less than He has promised.   

Kristen Gregory

“Advent and Barrenness” Contest Winner

Reading all of your submissions for the “Advent and Barrenness” writing contest was like receiving Christmas cards from all over the nation. You shared your lives with us; you encouraged us; you exhorted us; you gave us pause from the gift wrapping to ponder the gift of our Lord Jesus, Emmanuel. Thank you for taking the time to reflect on “Advent and Barrenness” with us this holy season. It truly was a joy and honor to read your words.

We received too large a number of submissions to be able to name a top five, so, instead, we thought it would be nice to share a week’s worth of our favorite posts, starting today with our winner, Emily Olson. Congratulations, Emily, on winning a free copy of He Remembers the Barren, and thank you for allowing us to share your beautiful post below.

A blessed Christmas,

Your HRTB Hosts

Advent is a strange time. On the one hand, we’re surrounded with the bedazzling sparkle of a brilliantly adorned commercial culture. The vivid colors, the mouth-watering smells, the warm and appealing auras tantalizingly promise us comfort and happiness. On the other hand, our days are dark and often cold, the natural world shriveled up in dormancy and death. We don’t like to think about this. It’s too stark, too cutting, and too real. It reminds us that we—and all of our dazzling façades—are dust, and to dust we shall eventually return. 

This Advent is a strange one for me. As I write this, my unborn daughter twists and rolls in my uneasy form. Her birth is forthcoming; she will show her face to us any day now.  And a lump comes to my throat and hope rises in my soul at the thought of seeing her, of holding her tiny hands and form. My body prepares to bear her, to care for her, and my heart longs to do this. 

But my anticipation is checked by constant, awful reminders of reality. Wombs of family members and friends remain achingly empty. Dear friends grieve for their miscarried child. Others suffer in the silences left by the death of a stillborn child, a weeks-old child, a terminally-ill nine-month-old child. And my family marks the sixth anniversary of the due date of our first child. That this child I now carry has followed the timeline of her sister so closely, I count as loss and as blessing. For what we have lost I cannot forget; what we have been given I own as pure gift. But I cannot rejoice in this gift as I should because I am afraid of losing a daughter again. I am afraid of facing dying and death, of the barrenness of loss.

Yet I am reminded precisely during Advent, in the very starkness of darkness and death behind the attractive façade of the secular holiday season, of Who came to bear our losses and barrenness. Isaiah foretold of the coming Christ: 

Surely He has borne our griefs
   and carried our sorrows;
yet we esteemed Him stricken,
   smitten by God, and afflicted.
But He was wounded for our transgressions;
   He was crushed for our iniquities;
upon Him was the chastisement that brought us peace,
   and with His stripes we are healed.

And this, I think, is the real paradox of Advent—a time of watchfulness, preparedness, and hopefulness, and yet a time of penitence, solemnity, and mystery as we prepare for our Savior’s birth as a mortal, finite child who is God Incarnate. This time reminds us of that Child’s life for death, that His tender, soft baby skin will be marred by scars and thorns. And lest loss and emptiness, dying and death, leave us with pain and fear, we see—again—that in Christ’s death we have life, that in His loss we have hope.   

With His stripes we are healed. We are all healed. Christ comes to us, passing through His mother’s birth canal, passing through the trials of emptiness, loneliness, fear, pain, suffering, and death. He indeed bears our grief and our barrenness in Himself. And He brings us hope—of holding hands we never held, of holding Hands that were scarred for us. Gloria Dei. 

Emily Olson

(Coda: Clara Mary Evangelina Olson was born on December 7th and baptized into Christ on December 8th. Praise be to God for His precious gift of Clara to the Olson family and for His precious gift of new life for Clara in Holy Baptism!)

Let It Be To Me

I continue to marvel at Mary’s response to Gabriel’s unbelievable message: “…let it be to me according to your word,” (Luke 1:38). She didn’t know what those words really meant, did she? She couldn’t have known.  She couldn’t have foreseen the heartache she would have to go through as the mother of the Messiah, who was destined to suffer and die. Yet the Holy Spirit moved her to speak with great confidence in her calling as the Lord’s servant, chosen for an honor unlike any that had ever been given before. A great honor, to be sure, but one that was accompanied by great suffering.

Can you speak these words from Mary as you experience the unexpected, the disappointments, the losses? Throughout our lives we all experience those proverbial “closed doors” where it seems pretty clear that going in the direction we had planned is not according to God’s plan. This news does not come from a heavenly being, reminding us first to “Fear not,” but rather from physicians or social workers who are simply stating the facts.

“The cancer had spread more than we thought,” says the surgeon.“We had to do a hysterectomy.” But I’m so young! It doesn’t seem possible that I’ll never be able to give birth. I never dreamed this would happen.

“It doesn’t appear that any growth has taken place in the last month,” says the OB. “I’m so sorry.” No! This was the answer to our prayers. Why would God give us this miracle and then take it away? It’s not fair.                                                           

“We have just received word that all referrals are on hold indefinitely,” states the email from the agency. “We will notify you when we have more details.” Not another hold up! We’ve been through this before. This could add even more years to our wait.

The shock. The denial. The anger. The fight. The exhaustion. The surrender. Then, finally, the prayer: “Let it be to me according to Your word.”

Using Mary’s statement as a prayer can be both a spiritual and physical struggle for some. At times we may even feel the need to physically grasp hold of something as we speak it so as to brace ourselves for the realization of all our fears. Our sinful nature attaches such hesitancy to this concept of full submission. Why is that? After all these years of the Lord’s providence, generosity, faithfulness, and care, why have we still not learned our lesson?

For me it’s getting a little better. You know why? I’ve been practicing. Every week on Sunday morning I hear the true, inspired, life-giving words that speak of the Lord’s promises to me and I practice this prayer—this time with all boldness and confidence.

“In the stead and by the command of our Lord Jesus Christ, I forgive you all your sins.…” Let it be to me according to Your word!

“I believe in the…resurrection of the body and the life everlasting.” Let it be to me according to Your word!

“…given and shed for you for the forgiveness of sins.” Let it be to me according to Your word!

 “The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious unto you. The Lord lift up His countenance upon you and give you peace.”

 Let it be to us all according to His Word!

An Eternity Secured

Comment Submitted: I suffered my third miscarriage in September. It feels like we have come to the end of trying to have our own family. (I have no children, but he has a son from a previous relationship.) I am fearful of what our future holds. My husband is dealing better with the miscarriage than I am. He has faith, but I don’t.

I’m very sorry to hear about your losses. If you’ve been following our website, you may know that I also suffered a miscarriage less than three years ago. Along with the emotional turmoil you are experiencing, I pray your body is medically healing from this physical loss as well. I hope you have a trusted physician that can give you sound medical advice, and perhaps a counselor and your husband’s pastor to care for your emotional and spiritual needs.

Your fears about the future, in the wake of losing another child, are completely normal and natural. Thoughts about “what could have been if this child were here now” can sometimes play like a broken record when we are at our lowest. Thinking about due dates, anniversaries and other “milestone would-have-beens” are sources of tremendous earthly sorrow. And you have had to go through this three times. You are grieving yet another dashed hope. Concern about how this will affect your future and your relationship with your husband is completely understandable.

While material goods, and even friends, family and spouses are certainly beneficial and can comfort us in ways large and small, the eternal consolation we can always cling to is to know that Jesus went to the cross and defeated sin, death and Satan so that we can live forever in everlasting blessedness, righteousness and innocence. Yes, we will still suffer on this side of heaven. Yes, loved ones will die. Yes, we will doubt and despair at times. But even this is okay. You might think I’m crazy to say so, but hear how one dear pastor explains our hardships, or crosses, in his own words:

“Crosses are not signs of God’s disfavor. They come upon God’s children from His mercy. Sometimes they come as a holy discipline, as chastisement, to keep us close to God. But they always come for His glory. And they almost always come unexplained, with no apparent cause. Simply put, they come as part of the chaos and death that is all around us in this fallen world.

But we abide in the grace of Christ, the one who forgives the guilt of our sin, even our most grievous, stupid and ugly sin. And in the meantime, crosses, even when they are a result of our own actions, are endured in faith. They teach us to pray, to remain fully dependent upon God’s mercy. They teach us that we cannot make our own way through this world or to the next. They teach us that Christ is the way, that we live not by sight but by faith, even as we pray that they be removed. We recognize our crosses as coming from God for our own good, but we name them as evil things, realizing that some of our crosses will only be removed when we are transferred to the Church Triumphant (heaven).” (Pastor David H. Petersen, The Lutheran Witness, November 2011)

You are a precious child of God, Sister. May you recognize this even now in your suffering. Miscarriage is nobody’s fault but a result of our fallen world. While none of us have a crystal ball and know what the future holds this side of heaven, we do know that our eternal futures are secure. When in doubt, just refer back to John 3:16, “For God so loved the world, that He gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in him will not perish, but have everlasting life.” 

You mentioned in your comment that your husband has faith, but you don’t. It reminds me of the father who was uncertain of whether or not Jesus could help his afflicted son and said, “I believe! Help my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24) Even the most faithful Christians utter this very same hopeful-yet-doubting phrase daily in their hearts. And that’s okay, too. God takes our doubting hearts and minds and turns them onto His Son, our crucified and risen Savior–even (and especially) when we don’t want to. On behalf of the HeRemembersTheBarren.com hosts and community, I pray this is so for you. Otherwise anything we may have to say will likely be of little comfort. With the help and grace of God, may you be encouraged and assured in the thing most needful in all our lives, Jesus, in the midst of the turmoil.

We can rest in the knowledge and comfort that our Triune God is the Author and Giver of life. He did not create death, but destroyed it in Jesus! Just as your three children were known before the very foundation of the world, so too, God knew you! He not only calls you to hear him in His Word, but gives you immeasurably more through his many masks of mercy—in your husband, faithful pastors, doctors, friends, family and so on. In these many gifts, we are reminded that our eternal salvation is secure in Jesus. You are in our thoughts and prayers as you continue to bear these crosses. But be comforted that you do not bear them alone.    

Writing Contest

HeRemembersTheBarren.com is hosting a writing contest!

Tell us in 600 words or less about “Advent and Barrenness.” The winning post, chosen by our panel of hosts, will receive a free copy of He Remembers the Barren. The top three finalists will also see their posts featured on our website.

Simply compose your post in an email and send it to katie@katieschuermann.com by December 20th. The winner will be announced on Christmas Day.

Please be sure to include your name and shipping address in the email.

Throughout this Advent season, we remember that Jesus Christ, the Son of God and second person of the Trinity, took on flesh for our salvation. We look ahead to His second advent on the last day. O come, O come, Emmanuel!

Capris and Consolation

There’s an outfit in my closet that I refer to as my miscarriage outfit. I know, it sounds morbid, doesn’t it? But after all this time it has just become a casual term for one of my favorite things to wear. There’s my “cozy-Sunday-afternoon-in-the-winter” outfit, my “chic-going-on-a-date-with-my-man” outfit, and there’s the “miscarriage” outfit. The phrase brings no tears, no pain, just great endearment towards the family members who gave it to me at a time when I needed them and somehow they knew exactly what to do for me.

The week following the miscarriage, my dear mother, sister and sister-in-law all drove three hours to come stay with me, share my grief, and make me feel loved. They brought me chocolate, took me out to eat, and bought me the most comfy, casual (but cute!), capri sweatsuit outfit that I’ll probably ever own. They didn’t try and get me to count my blessings or make promises that they couldn’t confirm would be fulfilled. They were just there—listening, loving, simply being present. Two out of the three women had themselves lost children in the womb (one of them several times).  They knew what to do. Not everyone does. I was very blessed.

The next time you hear of a miscarriage, consider whether you can do more than just send a card or make a call. Think about what women in general (and this friend in particular) enjoy, what makes them feel comfortable and loved.  Delicious food, cozy outfits, visits from people they love, a good laugh, an inspiring movie. Maybe you aren’t close enough to the person or in a position where you can just drop everything and be with her, but a thoughtful gesture or gift can make a woman feel as if she’s just received a comforting embrace, even if you can’t be there in person.

So thank you mom, Anne, and Amy. Every time I pull on those capris and zip up that sweatshirt I am reminded of the love that my Lord showed me through each of you, who selflessly rushed to my side when you knew I was in pain. I haven’t forgotten.

Reconciling with Death

Many of you know the pain of losing a child. I hope you find Christ’s comfort in Pastor Bo Giertz’s devotional writing for the Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity (taken from  To Live with Christ: Daily Devotions by Bo Giertz):

I say to you, arise. Luke 7:14

Death is our enemy and keeps us in bondage. That’s the realistic, Christian view of death. Death is not natural or something we can befriend. Deep in our nature there’s a very real feeling that death for us is something frightening, something that shouldn’t be allowed to happen. We weren’t meant to die. Death is a sign that a catastrophe has happened, that life has become something it never should have become. It’s both sound and correct to be afraid of death and experience it as an adversary, the destroyer, the foe.

The funeral procession that is coming through the city gates in Nain shows us how agonized we are by death, our foe. The sorrow here is as desperate as it can be. There’s a young man dead. Behind the bier is a widow who’s lost everything, even her livelihood and security in the community. Since the funeral must take place the same day, she’s had only a few hours before they shovel the dirt into the grave to ponder the most precious thing she had.

Then Jesus comes. What He does is what He always does when performing a miracle – preaches and gives us a lecture, a promise to all of us. He shows us that our enemy, death, has met his match. He shows us that there’s a possibility, just one possibility, to escape the power of death. He says the same thing in deeds that He later says in words: He is the resurrection and the life, and that he who believes in Him will never see death. Exactly what He said here in Nain – “I say to you, arise” – He has the power to say to all of us at our graves. And He will.

Being a friend of death can mean resigning and surrendering, trying to accept the inevitable – we all have to die. Then we’ve renounced something that’s the hallmark of mankind. You have to try to convince yourself that you’re a fragment of matter that, in accordance with the laws of nature, will disintegrate and fall into pieces again. God, however, has put eternity into man’s mind (Ecclesiastes 3:11), and therefore it’s not so easy to wipe out the feeling that death is the destroyer. That’s not the point either. We can’t come to grips with death on our own. It becomes more and more important to become a friend of Jesus than a friend of death.

(Prayer) Without You, my Lord Jesus, death is just tremendous darkness and a huge mystery. No one can say what I’ll meet on the other side. Some people say it’s all over, but no one knows for sure, and no one can say when darkness overcomes me. I can try not to think about it, but it overwhelms me again. I see people who are younger than I go there. When is it my turn? You know when, Lord. Therefore I leave it all to You and only pray that You are also with me then. For the sake of Your faithfulness.

+Anastasia+

Thank you, Pastor Chepulis, for writing these words of comfort and for sharing them with us for our benefit:

On July 5th, 2011, I stared at the deafeningly silent ultrasound monitor.  I watched the technician stoically glare at the screen, her foot nervously shaking.  No heartbeat.  The only sounds were the rapid thumping of my own heart and the gentle humming of the ultrasound machine.  We learned our first child had died around the tenth week of pregnancy.

We went back to the hospital very early the next morning to have the child surgically removed- an extremely long and silent 85-mile drive to Grand Forks, ND.  Then, the following week, my wife Amy and I, along with our families, gathered at the cemetery of St. Paul Lutheran Church in rural St. Thomas, ND, where our circuit counselor officiated a grave-side service for our little one.  

David confesses, “For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb.  I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.  Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.  My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth.  Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.” (Psalm 139:13-16) God creates life; life that begins even at the earliest stage of development. 

God saw our little one as she was being intricately woven together.  He lovingly formed her body and imparted to her a soul.  Our child is a person created by God; a person for whom Christ Jesus suffered, died, and was raised again; a person who is loved by God and her mother and father.

There is Gospel for faithful Christian parents.  Not that the faith of the parents save their child, but as parents who prayed for the child and brought him or her to church, Christian parents are to be distinguished from those of other religions; and Luther certainly sets his thoughts this way. 

A good friend of Luther’s, Rev. John Bugenhagen, wrote a commentary on Psalm 29 and in the appendix to his book Luther wrote about Christian women who suffer  miscarriages, “…because the mother is a believing Christian it is to be hoped that her heartfelt cry and deep longing to bring her child to be baptized will be accepted by God as an effective prayer.  It is true that a Christian in deepest despair does not dare to name, wish, or hope for the help (as it seems to him) which he would wholeheartedly and gladly purchase with his own life, were that possible, and in doing so thus find comfort…One should not despise a Christian person as if he were a Turk, a pagan, or a godless person.  He is precious in God’s sight and his prayer is powerful and great, for he has been sanctified by Christ’s blood and anointed with the Spirit of God.  Whatever he sincerely prays for, especially in the unexpressed yearning of his heart, becomes a great, unbearable cry in God’s ears.  God must listen, as He did to Moses…”  (Luther’s Works: AE Volume 43; Copyright 1968; Fortress Press; Published Concordia Publishing House; Saint Louis, Missouri, page 247, 248)

The Lord has heard the prayers offered on behalf of the child by her mother, father, friends and family.  Prayer isn’t simply psycho-therapy to make one feel better but they ascend to God like sweet incense, and He is, indeed, moved by them.  We don’t just wag our tongues in prayer, but God Himself has promised to hear them.  

We have been given hope and comfort from a God who hears the petitions offered to Him  by His people; hope and comfort that flow from the grace and mercy of our Lord, who came to earth, died on a cross for our sins, for even the sins of our little child.  He went to the deathly grave, but it couldn’t hold Him; rather, He was spit back out.  Jesus has conquered death and the grave for us.  He is risen and has given the promise that all who trust in His work of salvation we will be raised to new life in Him on the last day. 

What a gift our Lord has given us!  Forgiveness, salvation, and eternal life graciously given to us through the death and resurrection of Jesus.  Gifts He continues to give through Baptism, the Lord’s Supper, and the precious Word of His Gospel.  All the benefits that Jesus won on the cross are given to us through these ordinary means; gifts that our child was given, even as she was developing in the womb.

Though our child, of course, wasn’t baptized, her mother dutifully brought the child to church where the Gospel was preached.  The child wasn’t sprinkled with the waters of baptism, but was immersed in the Gospel each Sunday and in our home devotions.  The Word is active and alive.  It creates faith and trust in Christ.  “Faith comes by hearing and hearing through the Word of Christ,” Paul writes in Romans 10:17.  The Word of God is powerful and efficacious enough to penetrate the womb and enter the unformed ears of a child.  

It is interesting to note that when Jesus healed the deaf and mute man (Mark 7:31-37), the Lord opens his ears by speaking.  Jesus said to the man, “Ephphatha,” that is, “Be open” and it was so.  The spoken Words of Jesus were the cure for the man’s deafness and his sin.  At the command of Christ, His Word entered into the ears of a deaf man and caused, not only his ears to become open, but also imparted to him faith.  The tongue that Jesus loosed immediately began to proclaim Christ.  As the Word of God entered and restored a deaf man’s ears, so too has it entered the unformed ears of our child.

Our child, even in the womb, was given faith in Christ.  She trusted in a Lord who redeemed her.  Some might say, “How can a child know of such things?”  Faith and knowledge are two very different things.  A small child can have faith, but not theological knowledge and a person can have all the theological knowledge in the world but lack faith.  We’re not saved by how much we know about God, but through the grace of God brought to us through Christ; that is received by the faith that He gives through His gifts of the Gospel, Baptism, and the Lord’s Supper.  (Matthew 19:14) “Let the little children come to me,” Jesus says.  Even a child so small can have faith.

David’s child is a good example of this.  After his adultery with Bathsheba, the child which resulted in this adulterous affair dies.  Not only does the child die, but he dies on the 7th day, (2 Sam. 12:18) one day short of being brought into the covenant of God through circumcision.  Yet David confidently says, “I shall go to him [his child], but he will not return to me.”  (2 Sam. 12:23b)  David looks to the resurrection where he will go to his son in heaven.  He proclaims the trust in a merciful God who has received David’s child.  David also makes his confession in the resurrection, that he will see his son again in the flesh.  There, at the joyful reunion in Paradise, we will see our child again.  What joy to know, what a wonderful promise we’ve been given. 

That’s what the Lord does.  He doesn’t always give us answers to all our questions, He gives us promises.  He promises that though we are sinners from conception, Christ has paid for our sins and the sinful nature we inherited from Adam’s fall.  He promises that on the last day, He will raise all the dead from their graves and give eternal life to all who trust in Christ.  This is our hope and joy.

A hope and joy that we wish to confess.  We don’t know the gender of our child but regardless of gender, we decided to name our child Anastasia.  The name Anastasia comes from the Greek word ἀνάστασις (anastasis), which means “resurrection.”  Whenever we think of our child’s name, we remember the promise the God has given.  The remains of our child that we recently buried won’t remain there forever, but will be raised again out of the grave and we’ll see our child in the flesh.  We look forward to seeing Anastasia again at the glorious return of Christ, when He will return to resurrect and bring to Himself all His faithful people.  We take great comfort that death has been swallowed up in Christ’s victory.  (1 Cor. 15:54b)  

Hope and joy, even in the death of a child.  God has heard our prayers, worked faith through His Word, and has given eternal life to one so small.   We commend our child to a merciful God, who has conquered death for you, me, and our child; looking to the resurrection of all flesh and the joyful reunion in Paradise.

Rev. Mark Chepulis
Our Savior Lutheran Church, Cavalier, ND

The Book Is Now Available!

Now available through Lutheran Legacy!

Order your print copy here.

He Remembers the Barren by Katie Schuermann is a tender conversation with women in the church who wrestle with the issue of barrenness in marriage. Addressing questions frequently asked by those struggling with infertility, the author walks alongside the reader, relaying personal stories to both encourage and support those who are suffering. Issues such as control of our bodies, family planning, and the source of conception are examined through a theological lens, reminding the reader of her clear vocation in Christ and pointing her to the ultimate source of fruitfulness, vitality, and comfort, our Triune God.

With Psalm readings, beloved hymn texts, and collects penned by Dcs. Melissa A. Degroot, each chapter of He Remembers the Barren resonates on a devotional level that is pitch perfect for women struggling with the grief and shame which often accompany barrenness. This book also serves as a valuable resource for pastors, family members, and friends seeking to better understand the barren experience of a loved one.

John T. Pless, Assistant Professor of Pastoral Ministry at Concordia Theological Seminary and respected commentator on Christian ethics, has this to say about the book: “This is a book that is about Christ who alone is the source of our joy and hope, our life and peace. Katie does not hold out a Jesus who will fix the problem of barrenness but a Jesus whose favor for sinners reaches to the very depths of our being. As Katie so aptly puts it, fulfillment is found not in the womb but in Christ. Writing with tenderness and a realism shaped by the cross, Katie makes a lively use of the Gospel to draw her sisters away from the temptations to self-pity and despair to the sure and certain promises of the Son of God recorded in the Scriptures and proclaimed in sermon and sacrament. Only in Christ is there true contentment.”