The Frenchman

My friend Nancy and I do a little musical act at The Forum, a nursing home and assisted living facility just down the street from our church. We pull out every Reader’s Digest songbook we own and have a heyday singing and playing the golden oldies from yesteryear. It is a joy to see dim eyes light up at the sound of a familiar Rodgers and Hammerstein song or tired heads begin to bob knowingly at a particularly witty Ira Gershwin lyric.

Sometimes, a tired hand magically lifts from a wheelchair and begins directing an imaginary orchestra. At other times, a pair of eyes flutter open for an entire song before shutting closed to the world again. Inevitably, whenever I hold out a long note and let it waver with full vibrato, one gentleman in particular sitting right next to the piano opens his mouth and sings the note with me, belting out a voice that sounds fifty years his younger.

I love it.

This last time, the nurses wheeled a new guy into the room. His eyes were bright, and he looked right at me with a special knowing and understanding. This man didn’t just know the music. He knew the music. I felt like he was giving me permission to sing, not just the song, but the way I know how to sing, and I suddenly felt transported back to my jazz club days. I could almost smell the cigar smoke and hear the ice tinkling in their tumblers. As if on cue, I started changing the sensibilities of my phrasing.

“Belle, belle, belle!” the man cried mid song, clapping his hands. The nurses quickly shushed him so as not to interrupt the music, but I didn’t mind. The man’s behavior was good, right, and salutary in my eyes. Jazz is not a passive sport, and cheering on a musician mid song is the best of compliments.

When the song was over, the man looked me in the eye and quietly crooned, “C’est magnifique!”

“Merci beaucoup,” I bowed my head.

His eyes lit up. “Parlez-vous Francais?”

“Anglais, Anglais,” I apologized, shaking my head.

He nodded. It was okay. We would just speak to each other through the music. He leaned back in his seat for the next song.

In moments like these, I don’t mind being barren. In fact, I forget all about it.

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.)

True Compassion

My husband drew my attention to an article in the most recent issue of Gottesdienst. Think on Rev. David Petersen’s words:

Compassion leads to action, but is not action. It is identification and suffering with the afflicted. The old saw “misery loves company” usually means we like to bring others down with us, but we might turn it around a bit. We might see the example of our Lord and recognize that compassion loves by joining misery. “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin” (Heb. 4:15 ESV).

Compassion moves the compassionate to action eventually. That action is often material aid, practical assistance, or comfort to relieve the afflicted, or the proclamation of Law and then forgiveness and hope in Christ. But even before the action there is the sympathy and identification. Sometimes, maybe most times, those who are hurting need to hear and know that their hurt is valid and is also unjust. Strangely, it is comforting to know that our mental anguish, our sense of frustration, and our anger are legitimate reactions to a sinful and unjust world…

The first response to suffering isn’t a solution or a fix, but pain. This pain carries with it the realization that nothing afflicts any of us that is not common to man or that our Lord Himself did not endure in the greatest and most terrible measure. This is different from gratitude. It recognizes that it could have been us, such as we hear in the oft-used John Bradford line: “There but for the grace of God go I.” That is part of it, to be sure. But compassion is suffering that is felt in the heart and mind because someone else is suffering and shouldn’t be. They are like sheep without a shepherd. That sad plight moves the heart of the observer first to pity; then comes gratitude and action.*

* Petersen, David H.  (Trinity 2012, Vol. 20, No. 1). “Praying for Pity’s Sake.” Gottesdienst: The Journal of the Lutheran Liturgy, 9-10.

Speaking Of Car Trips and Cakes

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.

Comfort Food

When I’m going through an especially rough patch, I eat. You know those times – waiting for test results, receiving “the call” about a friend’s new baby, being bombarded with questions about your family life, wondering when or if you’ll ever add to your family. In those moments, I rummage through my snack cupboard. (Yes, I’ve upgraded from a drawer to a cupboard.) I’ve eaten my share of chips and popcorn. I’ve licked the ice cream bucket clean. Then I feel guilty about eating all that stuff and finish off with some yogurt and blueberries.

While those food items may make me feel better momentarily, they don’t satisfy completely. Do you know what helps me even more? There’s food that satisfies even more than the salty and the sweet. It’s the Body and Blood of Christ. In Him is full and complete satisfaction. He gives me my daily recommended allowance and more. He knows exactly what I need to remain balanced and healthy. His food cleanses my body of sin and makes me whole again. I can have seconds and thirds and fourths. The Lord’s Supper is an unlimited food buffet. Now that’s comfort food.

The Truth

My husband reminded me the other day that we, in our fallen state, may be barren of children in this world, but we are not barren of God’s good gifts.

Shame on me for ever thinking that God’s tender love, merciful goodness, and blessed favor could only come to me in the form of a child of my own! God has already loved me, been good to me, and perfectly shown me His favor in the gift of Jesus.

And, while we’re on the subject, there are so many other good gifts which God daily gives me like the Church, my husband, family, friends, godchildren, a home, a Honda Fit named “Sylvia,” bountiful food and plentiful water, peaceful times in which I can freely receive Christ’s gifts of Word and Sacrament in public, joy, music, kind editors, a working washer and dryer, forgiveness of my sins, health insurance, watermelon, an attached garage in urban Dallas, salvation, portable box fans, muscle cardio classes at the YMCA, and peace which surpasses all understanding, even in my childlessness.

I may be barren, but I am not barren.

 

Sweet Breezes

We love getting questions and comments from all of you! Sometimes you empathize with us, sometimes you encourage us, sometimes you challenge us, and sometimes you write things we wish we had written ourselves:

Thank you for your website. By your own experience and Lutheran theology, you know the law and Gospel I need. I read the blog about defending multiple children as all gifts from God. I needed to hear that as law. I have been dealing with my barrenness by thinking about how much easier life is without children. That was wrong. Children are always a blessing from God. Thank you also for pointing your readers to the unwavering truths in Scripture: I am God’s child; Jesus loves me and is always with me; I am forgiven because Jesus died for me; Because He rose, I have the hope of eternal life. Thank you. 

No, thank you! Your clear proclamation of faith in the goodness of God’s promises and gifts is a sweet, fragrant breeze in a bitter, stale world. I feel refreshed, already.

Baby or No Baby

You’re okay. Really, you are. Baby or no baby.

(Yes, I’m talking to you.)

In fact, in Christ you are more than okay. You are victorious. You are made new. You are eternal. You are beloved. In Christ, you are fruitful with or without a genetic reproduction of yourself.

So, cast all of that stress and anxiety about having a baby on Him who gives you life, saves your life, and sustains your life. Put a towel over your mirror and give your reflection a break. (No peeking!) Let’s not gaze at our navels today. Instead, let’s rest beside still waters in those luscious, green pastures to which the Good Shepherd has led us.

He who restores your soul will tend to all of your needs and disappointments and sorrows and joys, right now and forevermore, baby or no baby.

I promise.

Why I Love Katie’s Book

How is it possible that Harriet Beecher Stowe never met Katie Schuermann? Perhaps Harriet was given the gift of prophesy…

“There are in this world blessed souls, whose sorrows all spring up into joys for others; whose earthly hopes, laid in the grave with many tears, are the seed from which spring healing flowers and balm for the desolate and the distressed.”

-From Uncle Tom’s Cabin, pg.99