Suffering

The Blitz

Seasons of waiting test the mettle of our faith. We, the baptized in Christ, want to believe that God is merciful and just, but doubt, that heaviest of enemies, threatens to bend and break any wimpy trust we may have in God’s tender care.

“He has forgotten you,” the devil whispers as you sit, childless.

“Yes,” Satan’s minions chide, “see how He does not answer your prayers?”

We look at the empty nursery. We check the mailbox for the adoption referral which has not come.

“He does not love you,” the demons sing in unison. “You are not worthy of His blessings.”

How heavy is the weight of Satan’s lies against our already creaking buttress of hope!

     How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?
     How long will you hide your face from me?
     How long must I take counsel in my soul
          and have sorrow in my heart all the day?
     How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?

     Consider and answer me, O Lord my God;
          light up my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death,
     lest my enemy say, “I have prevailed over him,”
          lest my foes rejoice because I am shaken. *

Then, when our fortress of defense collapses and our confidence in God’s love is but a dusty pile of rubble and debris, the blessed blitz comes.

A move closer to family. A house within walking distance from church. A bag of grocery gift cards from a congregation. A retired couple who cleans and paints my house. A maple tree in my front yard that dyes its hair a fiery orange in late October. A jumping hug from an-almost-too-big-to-snuggle nephew. A trip with Mom. A latte with Dad. A holiday spent with beloved grandparents. An unexpected visit from a new friend. A phone call from an old one. A lunch date with sisters. A couch set gifted from strangers. A new book idea. A neighbor widow who needs my love and attention. Even a child in a manger. Granted, not the child for which I prayed, the one I think I want, but the very One I need.

Stand back with your lies, Satan! God has not forgotten me. He does answer my prayers. He does love me. I may not be worthy of His blessings, yet He gives them to me, anyway.

No, He blitzes me with them.

     But I have trusted in your steadfast love;
          my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.
     I will sing to the Lord,
          because he has dealt bountifully with me. * Psalm 13 (ESV)

 

Treasure Trove

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:

Campaigning

I am on a campaign to reclaim the words which have been abandoned in our present society’s fertility lexicon.

Even when it makes people uncomfortable, even when it sets me apart from the world, I am going to continue using the word barren in place of infertile, child in place of embryo, and blessing in place of burden. 

Why? Because these are the words God uses in Holy Scripture when talking about procreation. These words mean something to me as a baptized Christian. They communicate the truth about life and death in Christ, and they acknowledge the Creator who wonderfully formed me in my mother’s womb. These words even work a miracle in me: they preserve and sustain my faith in the One who has closed my own womb when the world’s lexicon would have me despair.

So, I am going to speak and write these words frequently, even if they seem archaic or naive or politically incorrect or whatever.

I am Katie Schuermann, and I approve this message.

Well Said

A long time ago, we talked about this, and not too long ago we talked about this.

Diane Lamberson, a lovely licensed clinical social worker I met at the “Caring for the Barren” conference in Houston last weekend, said it this way during one of our sessions:

“The platitudes we offer to a person who is grieving are an attempt to alleviate our own anxiety when we are uncomfortable sitting with someone else’s pain.”

Aha!

The Great Getaway

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.

You Do Not Suffer Alone

Friends are having babies. Neighbors are celebrating a new grandchild. Teenagers are welcoming twins. We sit at home, in our quiet homes, alone. But take heart, dear friend, you are not alone in your suffering. Christians around the world have been suffering for years.

“Resist, steadfast in the faith, knowing that the same afflictions are accomplished in your brethren that are in the world.” (1 Peter 5:9)

Take comfort in the pastor’s words on this passage of Scripture: In such temptations St. Peter comforts the suffering Christians by telling them that they are not the only nor the first souls to be so tempted, as though they had to bear a peculiar, rare, and unheard-of cross and suffering and should think and feel that they alone had to bear it; rather they should know that all their brethren in Christ scattered everywhere have at all times had to suffer thus from the devil and his onslaughts because they were in the world. For it is an immense help and comfort when the sufferer knows that he is not alone but is suffering with a great multitude.

Therefore no man should regard his own anguish and distress as so horrible, as if it were new and had never happened to anyone before. It may well be new to you and you may not have experienced it before, but look around you at all the Christians in our beloved Church from the beginning to this hour, planted in the world to run the devil’s gauntlet and unceasingly winnowed and fanned like wheat.

For where God through His Word and faith has gathered together a Church, the devil cannot be at peace, and where he cannot achieve her destruction through sectarianism he strikes at her with persecution and violence, so that we must risk our body and life in the fight, and all we have.

From Dr. Martin Luther’s sermon on the third Sunday after Trinity in the year 1544.

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

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.

 

Misery

From our dear Joanna…

Today I had a lovely conversation with one of our church’s homebound members. This dear lady in her late eighties is widowed and mostly homebound due to severe chronic pain. Despite the suffering she endures each day, she is one of the most joyful and encouraging Christians I’ve ever met. As we got off the phone, I told how much I admire her and the beautiful, grace-filled woman that God has made her to be. It was then that she said something profound, something that I think is key to getting through the difficult days that all of us encounter: “Misery,” she said “is optional.”

As a barren women who’s now past the age of childbearing, I can tell you that this is true — misery is indeed optional. God’s mercy and goodness have been present every day of my life, but there were days when I opted for misery — opted to wallow, opted to feel sorry for myself, opted to push the limits of legitimate grief past its boundaries to the place of selfishness and self-pity. I wanted to feel sorry for myself, I wanted others to feel sorry for me, and most of all, I wanted God to feel sorry for me. In the end, the only person I made miserable was myself. 

I think that as I go through my days, I will remember what my dear friend told me. Grief and pain are legitimate, but misery is optional. I opt for Christ’s joy and His peace that passes all understanding. 

 

 

The Right Perspective

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.)