Last year, we HRTB ladies hosted a writing contest during the season of Advent. Many of you submitted posts on the topic “Advent and Barrenness,” and we shared seven of our favorites on this website.
Today, these posts still ring true. I find myself reading them over and over again, feasting on your words of encouragement and exhortation, thanking God for the gift of fellowship we all have in Him.
In case you missed these treasures the first time around, here they are again:
The following Advent posts from last year, penned by two of our own hosts, were not contest submissions but are just as worthy of revisiting:
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
In the most recent issue of The Lutheran Witness, Janet Frese reminds us to view our present suffering through the lens of vocation. She is writing specifically as the wife of a deployed chaplain, but, as is true with most Christian suffering, her words of wisdom apply to any cross we may bear, even the cross of barrenness.
Being separated during deployment is an enormous sacrifice. You become a situational single parent, bravely juggling a myriad of new roles while praying fervently for your spouse’s safe return…Putting deployment in the framework of vocation gives perspective to some of its challenges. Vocation is found in your present circumstances, in the here and now – not where you wish you could be. Parenting alone is difficult and certainly not ideal, but for the moment this is what God has given you to do. Serving the United States in the midst of war is both exhilarating and frightening, but this is the work that God has given your spouse to do at this time…[W]hile you wait for your loved one to return, remember that God does not leave you to fend for yourself. He has given you a community of believers, and He gives you a unique vocation through which to serve others.
You, in your barrenness, have a unique vocation through which to serve others. Yes, you do. It may not be the vocation of mother that you want, but your vocations of wife, daughter, sister, friend, babysitter, knitter, lawyer, or whatever are still distinct, special, singular, and specific to you.
If you are not sure what your present vocations are, simply look around and ask, “Where am I, and who is my neighbor?” Your answers to those two questions will make everything clear.
(To read Janet’s full article, snag a copy of the August 2012 issue of The Lutheran Witness.)
It’s time. Oh, yes, it’s time. Rather than wait (and wait and wait) for a positive pregnancy test or a birth mother’s phone call or an adoption referral, it’s time to live. You are God’s child. He has created you and redeemed you.
So go for it. Stop talking about it and act on it. Plan the trip you’ve been wanting to take. Register for that cake decorating class. Learn how to crochet. Train for a triathlon. What is it that you’ve been waiting to do? Now is the time, my friend. This life is God’s gift to you.
There’s a situation that happens every so often and there just isn’t any way to avoid it. You run into a friend from the past and then you begin exchanging the customary greetings and pleasantries. The all too predictable questioning begins.
“How are you?”
“Where are you living now?”
“Are you still working in the same job?”
“How’s (fill in husband’s name)?”
And then (here it comes) the question you dread. Not that you mind answering it, but it’s what follows that is so painful. It’s the pause, the hesitation, the uncertainty of the other person in how to respond to your answer.
Whether you say, “We don’t have any children,” or “We still have just the one,” the awkward pause, or more likely the surprised “Oh…” that the other person uses to fill in the awkward pause, is still very uncomfortable. You know your friend is scrambling to try and find something to say in response, but she and the others before her have rarely done it gracefully. And come on, can you really blame them? The art of conversation in every culture has certain rules to it and you’ve just broken one. You’ve thrown off the other player and now she doesn’t know what move to make next.
A similar awkwardness happens to each of us when we are shocked to find out that an old aquaintence lost a husband or child or has cancer. But when I hear this news I am absolutely certain what my attitude should be. I should express sympathy and share how sorry I am. This is always the right move. But the thing that is different about sharing your barrenness is that others are not sure whether the news you are giving them is supposed to be good or bad .
You see, your old friend has other friends who have chosen to be childless. They dreaded the thought of a painful labor, whiny kids, and sleepless nights. Their unburdened lifestyle is carefree and spontaneous. They seem to be very happy. And in a split second your old friend has to try and figure out if you are one of them, too. Should she try and admire your freedom or pity your fruitlessness? She doesn’t know what is expected of her. And so she freezes.
So what’s the answer to this dilema? Love your neighbor. Show her what her next move should be. Be prepared for this question at all times and give an answer that expresses both your level of comfort with the topic and also paves the way for the conversation to continue on safe ground.
Here are some possible responses you can make:
“We haven’t been given the gift of any children yet. We still pray for them. We’re looking into adoption right now, though, and that’s exciting. What about your kids? What are their ages now?”
“We haven’t been gifted with any children so far. We manage to keep pretty busy, though, with _______ and ______. What seems to take up most of your time these days?
“We still just have the one. He’s ____ now and is such a blessing to us. He loves ________ and ________. What have your kids been involved with lately?”
Whatever you do, don’t just throw out a statement and leave it hanging there, expecting her to continue the game without a fumble. Always end your answer with a question that shows sincere interest in her life. You’ll skip right over that awkward pause and at the same time be able to share the gifts God has given you now.
He Remembers the Barren 