The Grief of Others

We are not the only ones who grieve over our childlessness.

Everyone else – our parents, grandparents, siblings, nieces and nephews, friends, acquaintances, pew sisters – all experience grief over that which should not be. And, just like us, their grief goes through cycles.

Think about it.

Who in your life assures you that pregnancy can be achieved if you simply relax or start the adoption process or fast from sugar or go to Dr. Suzie-Q for treatments? Denial.

Who insists that if you prayed harder, believed more fully, gave enough money to the church, displayed enough faith, God would reward you with a child? Bargaining.

Who refuses to go to church or punches pillows or blames your husband’s family for your barrenness? Anger.

Who goes numb or bursts into tears every time the subject comes up? Depression.

Can you recognize the different phases of grief in the people around you? Just as we want others to allow us to grieve our childlessness without expectation or rule, so it is for everyone else who is grieving for us. It is loving to patiently bear with their grief, even if that means listening to and enduring and forgiving the thoughts, words, and deeds of the very ones who hurt us the most.

Remember, it may take years of your not getting pregnant or your not being able to adopt a child before any of these people will join you in the acceptance phase of grief.

In the meantime, I am so sorry it hurts. You are not alone. xo

Hopeless?

Question Submitted: I’ve been married for nearly 15 years. I have no biological children and desire so much to be pregnant and to have children. I am resistant to just giving up but also feel like a fool for hoping otherwise. My friends don’t understand, they just keep hoping for me. Am I just supposed to be barren? I am sadly and regretfully uncontent at this point. We are pursuing foster care and open to adoption but I want more. I want to hold that precious life to my breast after carrying it in my womb! I just ache and am hopeless!

He knows exactly what you’re going through. The Creator of the universe, the Triune God, knows and He hears your cries. He shows you this in His Holy Word, through the story of His servant, Job, who lived thousands of years before you. “Where then is my hope?!” Job called out, and God heard his hopelessness (Job 17:14). God sees your friends and the lack of support they seem to be giving you, just as He saw Job’s friends and heard his plea to them: “Have mercy on me, have mercy on me, O you my friends, for the hand of God has touched me!” (Job 19:21).

“Though He slay me…” Job started to tell his friends, admitting again that God is in control of his life (Job 13:15), “Though He slay me, I will hope in Him.” Job knows he has no choice. It is God alone who can rescue him from his hopelessness. And what is it that Job realizes he should be hoping for? Does he hope for healing from his physical suffering? A restoration of his wealth? More children to comfort the loss of his family members? Yes, I’m sure he does, but these hopes are not what are revealed to us. The words we do have from him are universal. They apply to not just Job, but to you as well. And to me. This is one of God’s great gifts to us, these words that were written so very long ago, with us in mind:

“For I know that my Redeemer lives, and at the last He will stand upon the earth. And after my skin has been thus destroyed, yet in my flesh I shall see God, whom I shall see for myself, and my eyes shall behold, and not another” (Job 19:25-27).

The breasts that long to nurse, the womb that longs to carry–these are part of the “skin” that will eventually be “destroyed”. These maternal experiences, precious though I’m sure they are, pass away quickly. It is so easy to dream them into more than they are, to put our hope in being able to make them our own instead of hoping in the One who has made us His own, and “is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think” (Eph. 3:20). Yes, Christ did more, and still does more, than we could ever ask for, when He suffered and rose on our behalf to save our souls from being destroyed as well. And our bodies, thanks to this great Atonement, will be recreated and no longer broken as they are now.

King David was yet another biblical figure who wrote about hope. He knew what it was like to lose a child and, like you probably have done, asked the question, “And now, O Lord, for what do I wait?” (Ps. 39:7). But by the power of the Holy Spirit he was able to immediately answer his own question: “My hope is in You.” He, too, worshiped the same Redeemer as Job and looked not so much to earthly deliverance from tragedy, but to his Savior for all eternity. His book of Psalms records the many things in which he placed his hope: God’s Word (Ps. 119:74), the Lord’s salvation (Ps. 119.166), the Lord’s steadfast love (Ps. 147:11). These do not pass away. Menopause or hysterectomies don’t remove them. They remain forever, for you.

And if you feel that it is time to let go of the hope of pregnancy, fear not. There are many hopes left to be had.

“No eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor. 2:9).

A “You-Turn”

In my hours of self-pity, I am angry with God for the gifts He has given to others. In particular, I am angry that God has bestowed children to those who, in my opinion, don’t “deserve” them. My anger spews out words of jealousy towards the parents who seemingly let their children do whatever they wish. I tell myself that I could do so much better than those parents. I despise the Lord God for not giving me more children so that I might be a role model for good parenting skills. I am upset with my doctor who can’t seem to find the root of my barrenness. I chastise those closest to me for offering suggestions and encouragement. The anger builds. I am quick to point out the shortcomings of others, and it makes me feel good.

But then comes the you-turn. God shows me my sin, and I recall that I am steeped in self-righteousness. By God’s grace, I remember that children are GOD’s gift to give. Perhaps a larger brood is not what is best for me. I recognize my pity-party attitude and turn that around. I have made myself into an idol by thinking that I could do a better job with somebody else’s children. Thus, I see my sin, and I repent. I turn from my inward self and look to the cross of Jesus. In Him only can my anger be calmed and removed. That sin of anger is taken away by Jesus’ body and blood, shed for me. It’s time to turn my face back to Jesus, for only He can restore my soul.

Dear God, Forgive my sin of idolatry. Teach me to follow You and trust that Your will is best for me. Help me to love my neighbor. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.

The Lord Is at Hand

At last weekend’s retreat, the following was said to Pastor Cholak: “I understand that my victory is in Christ. I know that He has promised to make me new on the Last Day, but that doesn’t help me today.”

I don’t think I will ever forget what Pastor Cholak said in response.

He talked of Peter on the boat in the raging storm. The wind. The chaos. The noise. The fear.

And, amidst his terror, Peter saw Jesus out on the water – His Lord, walking towards him upon that churning, spitting sea.

“Come,” Jesus said. At his Savior’s bidding, Peter got out of the boat and walked into the storm. He crossed those tossing waves and salty white caps to Jesus’ side.

But Peter “saw the wind” and was afraid. He began to sink – down, down, down into the dark, cold, suffocating water. He would die from this.

Except, the Lord was at hand. Literally.

Jesus reached out with His hand and pulled Peter out of the sea – out of death – and took Peter safely through the raging madness to the safety of the boat.

So, what of our own fear when we see the wind, when we sink, when we feel the coldness of our cross’s suffocation creep up our throat?

“The Lord is at hand,” says Pastor Cholak.

Amen. Thank you, Pastor.

All My Children

It’s not something I think about very often, nor do I talk about it.

Maybe I’m in denial, or maybe my brain simply can’t put the cold reality into actual thoughts and words.

Honestly, whenever the thought has crossed my mind, I usually tell myself that I am not worthy to join in on the conversation. After all, I don’t have any positive pregnancy tests to wave around as proof, but, then, I don’t keep any on hand to take.

Still, it feels like I am living a lie to assume such things.

But, at our retreat last weekend, Dr. Gosser kindly and gently affirmed the reality I know to be true deep down inside. Those unusually heavy periods, those times my post-ovulation cycle stretched beyond the normal 12-14 days, were probably miscarriages.

I have been married eleven years.

All my children.

My only comfort is that God is wise in His giving. “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”

Bowling

I am reading your blog. (Yes, I mean you.)

And I understand the temptation to rant. People really do say awful things to you. They publicly drill you for details about your sex life (which is no one else’s business but your husband’s), suggest home remedies for amping up fertility (which you tried five years ago when the ideas first came out in Redbook), and generally pry and poke and dig at you because you dared cry at sewing circle when Mrs. Jones announced her daughter’s pregnancy.

I understand. It stinks to be on the receiving end of such tactless attentions, but there is something else that needs understanding in these situations.

There will always be bowling balls in your life.

There will always be people who take aim at your barrenness and flatten your feelings like a bunch of pins down a waxy lane. These people spare no verbal expense but always go for the strike, recklessly voicing their expectations for your womb, opining on projected reasons for your childlessness, and offering up armchair diagnoses of your health for the benefit of, well, I guess, themselves. It doesn’t matter where you are or what you think, say, or do. These hooks, crankers, and tweeners are going to seek you out and hit you full-on like a 16-pounder.

But, for the most part, everyone else in this world takes their conversation cues from you. They won’t talk about your barrenness unless you bring it up; they won’t make suggestions about your diet unless you openly discuss your metabolic problems; they won’t offer up ideas for how to get pregnant unless you share with them your desire for a child and subsequent frustration in your childlessness; they won’t try to help you feel better unless you look miserable; in other words, they won’t dwell on that which you don’t dwell.

So, let’s give the world a break and take some responsibility for the conversations we keep. Let’s not blog-blame others for finishing the conversations we start ourselves and, instead, kindly explain to our friends and acquaintances face-to-face what we need most from them.

And as for the bowling balls who barrel towards us unprompted, well, “we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us” (Romans 5:3-5 ESV).

That’s good news, I think.

Lord Jesus Christ, in Your deep compassion You rescue us from whatever may hurt us. Teach us to love You above all things and to love our neighbors as ourselves; for You live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. (Collect for July, 14, 2013, Eighth Sunday after Pentecost)

Retreat Reflections

What happens when a bunch of barren (infertile? fruitless? we tried brainstorming a less archaic term for childlessness, but nothing fit so well as the Biblical word in the end) women get together for a weekend getaway in St. Louis?

Well, of course, some things will forever be top secret, but here’s what I can tell you:

Much Rolland hospitality was enjoyed.

Many gluten-and-dairy-free desserts prepared by Gina and her beautiful family were consumed.

Unseasonable spring weather was soaked up.

Colorful skeins of yarn were knitted.

Multiple medical questions were answered by Dr. Gosser.

Several hymns and spiritual songs were sung with Pastor Cholak.

Thoughtful gifts were exchanged. Frequent, girly laughter was heard. Honest tears were shed. Memories were made, and hours of sleep were lost.

And, last but not least, our designated night out on the town happened to be the same evening as the naked-bike-ride-thingy to raise awareness for something bearing worldly importance. So, yep, some free range breasts were witnessed by the churchy eyes of our dear retreaters.

In all seriousness, Rebecca and I have never witnessed such a group of patient, loving women who listened to each other with all forbearance and bore with each other so selflessly. It was a beautiful thing to behold.

After sharing so much with each other, it was difficult walking away after church on Sunday. We all lingered and then lingered some more. The goodbyes were not the hyperemotional departures of youthful summer campers, but the looks, hugs, and quiet words exchanged were meaningful. How do you say goodbye to ones who have gone to the trenches with you?

All I could think to say was, “Thank you.”

Happy trails to you, dear sisters, and Christ keep you.

The Corner Room

He sat in his corner room, smiling at the collage of family pictures hanging above his dresser. Children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren were pieced together like a picture quilt. A legacy in a frame.

“That’s a nice picture,” he said from his armchair.

I sat on his bed and looked at the collage. A torrent of tears made a river of my mascara. My voice twisted in my throat like a wet dishrag.

“I’m so sorry, Grandpa. I would have liked to have given you something for that picture.”

My grandfather’s shaking hand reached out to grasp my own. Dementia did not impede the Spirit of compassion. “I would have liked that, too.”

He wasn’t chiding. He was understanding. My loss was his own. We both cried.

“It hurts so much sometimes,” I admitted.

“It sure does.” His hand shook harder the harder he squeezed. “It’s just the way it is.”

We shared some private words meant only for grandfathers and granddaughters, and then we read a Psalm and a portion of the Gospel of Mark together.

I was still crying when I left his corner room, but I could clearly see my blessings.

I don’t have any children, but I have a grandpa. And he loves me.

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Childlike Trust

The following petition comes from the prayers for this day by the Lutheran Church – Missouri Synod…

For childlike trust in our heavenly Father, that the Holy Spirit would lead us to trust that all we need for each day of life we receive as daily bread from our Father, and that He would drive away all worry and anxiety, let us pray to the Lord. Lord, have mercy.

I was struck by the phrase “childlike trust.” A childlike trust is one in which the child looks to the caregiver to provide all things. A child doesn’t worry about her next meal or where she will sleep. She doesn’t contemplate how the rest of the world views her. No, she trusts her father to fully meet her needs. If she needs something, she asks.

Throughout my barren walk, I have NOT kept a childlike trust. I have often wondered how there would ever be children gathered around my table for a meal. I have wandered the aisles of department stores, pondering the absence of a crib in my own home and begging God to give me a reason to walk down the baby aisles. I have kept my head bowed low as conversations about newborns and toddlers have been shared. I have been angry over “what should be mine.” I have not trusted God to provide for all of my needs, and I have not taken my concerns to my Father in heaven. Rather, I trusted myself. I thought I knew what was best for me. I figured God hadn’t read MY plan-book yet. I failed to look to Him as my caregiver and provider. I disregarded His good plans for me, plans that may or may not include children.

And so I beg my heavenly Father for forgiveness. As the words are stated above, I pray that the Holy Spirit would teach me to receive my daily bread with thanksgiving. I pray that God would continue to put before my eyes all the blessings that are mine through His grace. I fervently beg Him to drive away all of my worries that surround my barrenness. It is He who brings contentment. I place my trust in God, my Father, for He will take care of me.

VBS

It’s easy to forget about barrenness during VBS week. Maybe it’s because there’s no time to think about it. Maybe it’s because there is such joy in helping parents in their own vocation of raising children in the Faith.

Or, maybe it’s because the kids can’t help but pour out their love, attention, and special brand of affection on whomever is taking care of them at the moment.

Here is a splash of some of that special brand I received this year:

“I want a kiss. No, on the lips.” Mr. Dumpling

“God has three persons!” Adorable Blonde Boy

“Hey, those are the same clothes you wore yesterday!” Miss Precocious repeatedly yelled out to me during the opening song. (Hey, I was only given one decal.)

“God is one!” Same Adorable Blonde Boy

(singing) “‘Only thou art holy; there is none beside me.'” Mr. Summer Tan

“What’s on your forehead?” Miss Wrinkles-Her-Nose (It was sweat.)

(silent, stoic high-five every time a song ends) Miss Teeny-Tiny

“She’s going swimming!” Mr. Not-Correct’s response to the question of why the missionary we were supporting was going to Cameroon.

“Are you going to get punched in the face?” Miss Teeny-Tiny finally spoke aloud to me in the middle of a song the final day of VBS. (She was mistaking me for the lady who was going to get a pie in the face if the kids raised enough money for the missionary through their daily offerings.)

“He’s a big, blue, powerful God.” Mr. Not-Quite-Right

“I can spell VBS.” Cutie Patutie with Curls (And she could.)