Suffering

Do You Know a Good Guy?

Rebecca and I were talking the other day.

We have this friend. She is the bee’s knees, the cat’s meow.

She is the catch of the century, and we want nothing more than to see her married and settled and loved and taken care of by a superstar husband. We want her dreams of being a housewife and mother fulfilled. We want the comfort of knowing that she has a man there to provide for her and protect her day and night. We want the open-ended question of her marriage status to be answered, closed, sealed, stamped, and delivered so that we can hear the swell of romantic music and feel those Anne-and-Gilbert warm fuzzies whenever we think of her.

Basically, we want her to have what we have, and it is hard not to flip through the little black books in our minds and try to set her up with Mr. Right.

Yet, God has not given our friend the gift of a husband today, and spending all of our time, energy, love, and attention trying to fix her marriage status is no different than others trying to fix our barrenness.

Lord, forgive us! Save our friend from our own wants and help her to rejoice in the good gifts You have given her today. Amen.

A Change of Heart – Part 3

A continuation of A Change of Heart -Part 2…

Keisha couldn’t give me a due date. At one point she said it was the end of March and another time she said it was the beginning of April. She asked me to attend a doctor’s appointment with her that no one at the doctor’s office seemed to know anything about.  Things were getting really strange. Then in January the contact with Keisha diminished considerably. She wouldn’t return calls from the agency. She had stopped contacting me. I left messages for her to explain what the agency needed in order to continue preparations for the adoption. She finally called back in February to explain that her phone had been stolen and things were not good with the boyfriend again. Her voice was strained and she sounded tired and overwhelmed. She said she would call me back when things settled down.

I never heard from her again.

Ben and I had, on several occasions, given Keisha suggestions on ways to get out of her chaotic lifestyle, to find help, find a job, move out of the stressful situation she was living in and make a better home for her children. The agency had resources in place for this, too, which is why we had encouraged her to utilize them. But she didn’t and we couldn’t make her, nor did we feel comfortable stepping in and taking over the decisions that were hers to make.

March came and went and so did April. There was no last-minute phone call from the hospital, announcing that she had had the baby and was now ready to finish the adoption process. We had to face it: she had certainly had the baby by then and we were not going to be the parents.

The Lord, in His mercy, had protected our hearts from too much anticipation during this whole ordeal. On many occasions Ben and I discussed how this experience was more than likely just an opportunity to pray for this mother and her children, regardless of the outcome. The agency had warned us that these unusual “matchings” rarely resulted in a placement. We appreciated their candidness and acted on their advice on how to deal with Keisha. This caution kept us from experiencing a real heartbreak when the relationship gradually ceased. We were sincerely concerned for Keisha and her welfare, for the future of this new child and the other children, but we knew that we had done what we could to help and it wasn’t in our hands anymore. To this day we have no idea if Keisha had a boy or girl or if she’s raising the child herself. We sometimes wonder if she was ever really pregnant and if not, why did she act like it? We will probably never know. We just trust that she and her family are in the hands of our loving Heavenly Father, in whom she confessed a strong faith.

I still see the very young single moms at the bus stops and parks and grocery stores, but I look at them differently now. I consider what their pasts may have been like and what options they see for themselves for the future. Now I see not just what they have that I don’t, but I see what’s missing–what I have that they might not. I wonder if it’s a Keisha I’m passing by.

Seeing these women now stirs up compassion instead of jealousy. I have a new perspective that I didn’t have before I met Keisha and was welcomed into her life for such a brief period of time. Even though we invested so much of ourselves into this potential adoption without the joy of bringing a baby home, I still have to thank God for using this experience to open my eyes. I thank God for giving me a change of heart.

The Cross of Barrenness

What is the cross of barrenness? Surely it is one of loss and death and grief, but many in the church don’t realize that the cross of barrenness is also one of warring against the world’s religion of control. The world expects us to manage and control our fertility, so, naturally, that same world also expects us to manage and control our infertility – never mind whether or not we really can.

It is not uncommon for friends, even strangers, to school me in this art of control, this “sure science” of making a baby. A woman standing behind a school lunch counter once told me, “Be sure to keep your cervix lifted for at least thirty minutes after intercourse.” A lady at a party said to me in front of a circle of friends, “Your husband could be shooting blanks. Get his sperm’s motility checked out.” A stranger sitting to my left at a women’s luncheon leaned over and announced during the main course, “My daughter was infertile, but she finally had a baby last spring through In Vitro Fertilization. You should go to her doctor.” A woman at a local farmer’s market stopped me to tell me that taking her suggested brand of vitamin supplements would even out my hormone levels and result in a pregnancy.

I don’t know what to say in return to those who publicly offer advice on sexual techniques or medically misdiagnose my husband’s fertility or tell me to engage in medical procedures that break the First and Fifth Commandments of my Lord. Giving a verbal response to those comments feels like I am somehow validating the very existence of them. If I share with the woman at the market that my hormone levels are already stable, then I am engaging her in conversation about something that is so personal and painful. I am inviting her to continue making suggestions and diagnoses and comments about my barrenness. I am giving her permission to continue trying to find a fix for my problem. I am handing her the salt well and telling her to rub it in my open wound. So, instead of telling her the truth, I simply thank her for her advice, and I keep walking. Then, I go home, and I cry.

I cry, because every time a well-meaning person tells me how to make a baby, I am tempted to believe that I can control my barrenness, that my present childlessness is my own doing, my own fault. I must be doing something wrong. I must be missing a key nutrient in my diet; I must be exercising too much or too little; I must have high levels of prolactin or low levels of progesterone; I must not be producing enough Type E mucus to sustain the lives of the sperm in my uterus; I must not be going to the right doctor. I must, I must, I must. When a well-meaning person makes suggestions to me in my pain and grief, I feel the weight, the burden, the law of my barrenness fully on my own shoulders.

Yet, I cannot control my barrenness. I know this, because God tells me in His Word that children are a heritage from Him – a gift – and that good gift is received, not manufactured or made. God is the Giver, and I am the receiver. And, at the end of the day, my faith must believe what God tells me in His Word, not what the woman tells me at the market.

Puzzled

Our household does not have a dual income.  My husband is the provider.  I stay home, making our home a safe and pleasant place.  I enjoy preparing meals and tending my garden.  I don’t find quite so much joy in dusting and ironing (which I rarely do).

There are moments, too, when I have some free time.  I can read or sew.  Recently, I’ve started doing puzzles.  The current one has 500 pieces.  I’m frustrated by this puzzle because its colors are only various shades of brown.  I sit down to put some pieces together and walk away without finding a single match.  I get tense. I think, “I can’t even put together a puzzle.  How could I be expected to have a baby?”  During those moments, I wonder if I should go back into the work force.  Maybe I’d feel better about myself if I was “contributing to society” instead of “tending the hearth.”

Therein lies my sin.  I’ve started listening to the voices of society.  They say, “Get out there and do something.”  That’s when it’s time to redirect my attention. It’s time to listen to the voice of Jesus, the Good Shepherd.  What does He tell me in Scripture?  I need to confess my sin of idolatry.  The Lord will provide for the needs of my family.  He has already given me His Word and Holy Sacraments.  I am forgiven; I am His child.

I have no idea what God’s plan is for me regarding family life.  I don’t know if my family size will grow or remain the same.  I don’t know if there will ever be grandchildren.  Who will care for me and my husband in our golden years?

The Lord knows.  He is the One who formed me.  He knew me in my mother’s womb.  He knows my life’s steps.  He has given me the vocations of wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend.  I don’t have to worry about how to make everything fit into its proper place.  God has it covered; He’s taking care of everything.  No need for me to be puzzled about that.

Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day is almost here.

I have such mixed feelings every second Sunday in May. I enjoy celebrating my mother, grandmother, mother-in-law, godmother, sisters, friends, and all of the other women in my life who make sacrifices to care for me, yet…you know.

There’s that whole I’m-not-a-mother thing.

The awkwardness is unavoidable. I am now too old to remain an inconspicuous, innocent daughter of the church who simply joins in on the celebration of the matriarchs around me. I am a childless, married woman – one of those alien non-mothers – and everyone has to suffer through the uneasy, painful, blushing, frozen, horrible moments of trying to figure out what to say to me on Mother’s Day.

I feel it most for the poor ushers delegated to hand out carnations. I know they want to give me a flower – I can see the chivalrous struggle in their eyes! –  but I have “childless” stamped across my forehead. So, they hand me a service bulletin, instead. “I’m sorry,” one of them inevitably whispers during the exchange, and I am left in the inelegant position of comforting others for my own childlessness.

How did things get to be this way? When did we decide that it was good, right, and salutary in church to give out discriminatory gifts as a coda to Christ’s gifts of Word and Sacrament?

I am going to be blunt. Mother’s Day is a secular holiday that has worked its way into our Sunday services. I am not of the opinion that we should stop celebrating mothers. Quite the opposite, I think we should celebrate mothers every day of the week and with more than just flowers and praise. We should be offering them our time and talents to help them in their God-given vocation of caring for others as well as praying that God would sustain them as they daily die to self in order to serve our youngest church members.

I don’t even think we should stop commemorating Mother’s Day in church. At this point, it would be culturally rude to withdraw from the church the tradition of honoring women whom God has gifted with children, but we need to be mindful of the pain this secular, gift-card-selling holiday inflicts on those from whom God has withheld the gift of children. Sometimes, pastors (often unknowingly) drag this secular holiday’s pain into their sermons, their children’s sermons, their preservice announcement anecdotes, and their prayers. In an effort to be culturally relevant, they slay the barren in the pews and grieve the hearts of mothers who have lost or are estranged from their children.

Perhaps, instead, pastors could use Mother’s Day as an opportunity to use gift language and remind their congregations to celebrate all of the women who serve as mothers in the church: godmothers, aunts, school teachers, deaconesses, babysitters, sewing circles, LWML, secretaries, altar guild, VBS bakers, and every woman who faithfully lives out her vocation in service to others. Perhaps, we could give these women carnations, too – not to dismiss the love we have for the mothers who bore and raised us, but to properly recognize that motherhood is a vocation given by God, not an achievement rewarded by men.

Keeping Watch

I had let my guard down too soon.  I cried.  I grieved for that which was not given to me.

Thanks be to God for you, my dear sisters, who kept watch with me.  You listened and didn’t try to offer a rosy outcome.  You hugged me and cried with me.  You gave me space to let it all out.  You reminded me that I am God’s child, and you prayed for me.  You sent me a baby elephant.  Thank 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

A Holy Saturday Reflection

Johann Gerhard was a pastor and prolific writer from the 17th century. His book, An Explanation of the History of the Suffering and Death of our Lord Jesus Christ, is a must-read during Lent. Here are some excerpts from the section about Christ’s suffering as it began in the Garden of Gethsemane:

If it also ever happens that God gives us a little drink from this chalice of inner (spiritual) suffering and agony of heart, we are to be patient and are to remember how insignificantly this is to be regarded compared to the great flood which overcame Christ. Sink all your pains in this agony of Christ. Thus they will easily vanish like a tiny particle of dust in the sunshine. And that is precisely the reason that God the Lord at times portrays Himself as if He has hidden His countenance, allowing us to experience a bit of heart-anquish so that we may see what Christ endured for us and thank Him for it (pgs. 66-67).

“Take away this cup from Me,” Christ said. Thus it is not improper that one petition God to avert or alleviate a cross. However, it must immediately follow thereupon and occur at the same time that one commits everything to the fatherly will of God. Just as Christ here says: “Yet not My will, rather Your will take place.” Even though Christ, as true Man, indeed felt human emotions and asked for the averting of this chalice, He nevertheless immediately forthwith put His will under the will of God [the Father]. We must do this much more, for many times we do not know for what we should pray (Rom. 8). However, as our dear Father, God’s will is always the best (pgs. 68-69).

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.