Was Sarah faithful through her many years of infertility? I’ve studied the story of Abraham and Sarah many times, but until recently I never noticed that Sarah was not exactly a model of faith. There are some who place Abraham and Sarah up on a pedestal, touting them as perfect Christians to emulate. Look! They endured twenty-five years of waiting for a child and did so patiently, all the while showing off their pearly whites! What?! You’ve only waited five years? Suck it up, only twenty more to go! Somehow this comparison is supposed to be encouraging, or is at least intended to give me a vision for my own walk of faith. But nothing about the vastness of their twenty-five years is particularly helpful. It only seems to demean my own five years of waiting. The ache of my wait still remains. And not one ounce of me desires to prove my faith by waiting twenty-five years! So I was pleasantly surprised, while reading Genesis chapter 18, to find Sarah toppling off of her polished pedestal. It made me feel like a four-year-old, whooping and hollering as I knocked over my tower of blocks, sending them crashing to the floor. For me at least, I could now find peace in reading Sarah’s story. I no longer needed to put on the facade of perfect faith that was deftly hiding the shriveling belief within. Look at Genesis 18:9-15: “They said to him, “Where is Sarah your wife?” And he said, “She is in the tent.” 10 The Lord said, “I will surely return to you about this time next year, and Sarah your wife shall have a son.” And Sarah was listening at the tent door behind him. 11 Now Abraham and Sarah were old, advanced in years. The way of women had ceased to be with Sarah. 12 So Sarah laughed to herself, saying, “After I am worn out, and my lord is old, shall I have pleasure?” 13 The Lord said to Abraham, “Why did Sarah laugh and say, ‘Shall I indeed bear a child, now that I am old?’ 14 Is anything too hard for the Lord? At the appointed time I will return to you, about this time next year, and Sarah shall have a son.” 15 But Sarah denied it, saying, “I did not laugh,” for she was afraid. He said, 'No, but you did laugh.' ” Sarah actually emulates my lack of faith better than I could ever duplicate her so called perfect one. You can see this when God finally comes and pronounces the promise of a child in Sarah’s presence. And what is her “faithful” response? She laughs to herself. And not a laugh of joy but of derision. (I love it!! Can you hear the whooping? The blocks crashing?) She did not believe that God would do such a thing. She was past menopause for heaven’s sake! Her time had passed. No doubt there were hints of bitterness in her hidden chortle. But God heard her silent laugh and promptly called her out. He knew what was in her heart. He saw her faithlessness. And in response, He gave her a child. This is not exactly the Sunday school version of this passage, but it is an authentic rendition. The giving of Isaac did not depend on Sarah’s faith or her lack thereof. God had a plan for the rescue of humanity that began with the birth of Isaac. Through Abraham and Sarah the promised Son would emerge from their ancestral line. It did not matter how much faith Sarah displayed; God's plan did not depend upon it. He, instead, would remain faithful to His promise and His plan. Here is where my heart soars. I can rest. I can be real. I can be honest with my struggle of faith. I need not focus all my energy on whether I have enough faith to persuade God to give me a child. Which will forever be a moot point as I am well aware that I am not particularly faithful. Instead of pointing to my faith, I can point to the only one who is faithful: Jesus. His faithfulness proves that God's promises are trustworthy. So if my God and my Savior does grace me with a child, I will know that it is regardless of the amount or quality of my faith. Please don’t hear me advocating for an all-out denial of faith as a right response to our struggle with barrenness. But neither do I want to uphold that my faithfulness will change God’s mind about opening my womb. If the gift of fertility were based on the amount of one's faith, then Sarah would have remained barren. But God does not work that way, as is (thankfully!) evident in her story. He is faithful to His promise and His plan, both of which are bigger than me. So as I gleefully knock Sarah off her pedestal; I even more gleefully replace her with Christ, the faithful One.
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The theme of barrenness is woven throughout the stories of many women in Scripture: Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel, Leah, Samson's mother, Hannah, and Elizabeth. They all went through periods of infertility, some for years at a time. From each there is wisdom to glean and I believe that a better understanding of their experience can help shape my own. So I decided to study the very first infertile woman in Scripture: Sarah. But instead of connecting with Sarah, I found myself drawn to Hagar. Her story, more than Sarah’s, resonated in my heart. Hagar was a woman with no control over her life. Though not barren, she faced a bleak future as a servant bound to Abraham and Sarah. As a servant, she belonged to them as their property, to do with as they desired. When years went by and Sarah remained barren, she chose to take God’s promise of fertility into her own hands. She gave Hagar in marriage to Abraham, so that, through her, they might conceive a child. I know that giving your servant to your husband for procreation was a common practice in the Ancient Near East, but the fact of the matter does not change: Hagar was forced to have sex against her will. And in contrast with Sarah, Hagar easily became pregnant. Hagar’s reaction to this abasement is evident as she, “looked with contempt on her mistress.” (Gen 16:4, ESV) In response, Sarah abused her to such a degree that Hagar fled into the desert alone. But the Lord met Hagar in her desolation. Though her son, Ishmael, would not be the promised Son, God remembered her and gave much-needed hope and comfort. He called her by name, giving her significance, as Abraham and Sarah only referred to her as 'servant'. He sent the angel of the Lord to find her as she ran away into the wilderness. He initiated this meeting, seeking to reveal Himself to her; a woman hurt, confused, and alone. Abraham and Sarah had abandoned her, showing no care for her well being. But God saw her – all of her – and He loved her; knowing that the giving of Himself would give her new life. In response to those words of comfort and promise, she pronounced one of my most treasured verses in the Bible: “You are a God who sees me” (Gen 16:13, NIV). By calling God “El Roi”, Hagar is the first in Scripture to give God a name, and I love her for it. From that moment on, the well that Hagar collapsed against would be called Beer Lahai Roi, literally meaning, “Well of the Living One who sees me.” God's name, El Roi, conveys more than just vision of the eyes. When God 'sees' it means that He understands, knows all. He saw her thoughts, her fears, her worries and feelings. He knew her pain and sought to enter into it with her. I think there is no greater gift than being known and accepted. To be understood. To be seen as you really are. And as God saw Hagar, she in turn saw God. And upon seeing Him she gave Him a name. A beautiful act of worship. She paused, reflected upon what this God had done and named Him. To name God is not like calling Him “Pete” which has no significance to His person-hood. Names had meaning in biblical times. Names connected to who you were, to your characteristics. When Hagar named God, she was seeing part of His essence, and expressing to the world the nature of this God who saw her. We have no idea if Hagar knew God or worshiped Him prior to this encounter. Certainly she would have overheard Abraham and Sarah conversing about Yahweh, but Scripture refrains from mentioning whether Hagar also believed in Him. Nonetheless, from this day forward, her worship would be altered. Meeting God, seeing who He truly was, changed her. It enabled her to return to Sarah, to return to where she was unwanted. But with Him she was able to face the suffering that would come with her return. I am so thankful that Hagar named God and created for me a picture of Him that brings such comfort. My husband can seek to understand my pain in infertility and I can find other women who struggle in the same way, but no one can see the depths of my soul, or the depths of my pain. But God can. He knows me. He sees me. God sees all of me in the midst of the wilderness of barrenness and He understands. Sometimes that is all that gets me through a day. Sometimes it is enough just to be known. My circumstances do not change, but I am encouraged to be known by the God who sees me. “Sometimes God may prioritize performing a miracle on our hearts and minds over a miracle concerning our circumstances.” (Beth Moore. Praying God's Word Day by Day, 28) This was the title of my devotional section for today. Its truth struck my heart. It is so easy for me, in the midst of trying for a baby, to see my entire existence through the lens of wanting a child. All of my life revolves around the prospect of conceiving. That sole desire is all I can envision as the only possible outcome for my life. All thoughts, conversations, and prayers are pointed in this direction. It is all-consuming. But this morning this quote made me stop. What if my struggle for a baby has nothing to do with having a baby? What if there is more to my infertility than simply receiving a child? What if the circumstances of infertility are exactly where God wants me to be? What a hard question. I don't want to be here. If it were in my hands, I would have created a very different outcome for my life. But it's not in my hands. It's in His. God does have a plan for my life (and yours!) But it's incredibly possible that His plan will look nothing like my own vision for my future. The heart of this quote speaks to the idea that our circumstances may never change. That what you experience has been ordained by God; both the good and the bad. You are, then, right where He wants you to be. Including the trial of infertility and miscarriage. Through this struggle, I have seen aspects of my heart that have surprised me, challenged me, and revealed parts of myself I had never seen before. It has deepened my understanding of my inner self, as well as my understanding of suffering. I am not the same person I was when I first began trying for a baby. And for that I am thankful. Humility comes with the expansion of self perception. And the experience of infertility has rerouted my perspective away from myself and given me a love for others who struggle. While barrenness inherently invites self-focus, God reorients this struggle, encouraging me to look beyond myself. To Him and to others. God has also revealed Himself to me in ways that have altered the core of my being. He constantly desires to reveal Himself to His creation, contending against the endless incorrect definitions that we put on Him. In all that He does, says, and ordains, He longs for us to know Him in more and deeper ways. And knowing who God is, His full character, changes who we are. It changes how we view this world, how we view ours trials, and how we view our lives. For me, grasping the concept that God is Sovereign, Good, and Loving, all at the same time, has upended my understanding of infertility. Knowing that He is Sovereign gives me a freedom to rest knowing that He has a plan and that He is in control of my womb. Knowing that He is good means that He is not a mad scientist who seems to be inflicting suffering without the purpose of offering what we pray for. All that He does then is for our good. Suffering is no longer punishment, but purposeful. And, finally, that fact that He loves me trumps everything. The hardship of barrenness occurs because of His love for me. So what does it mean that God may not change my circumstances and give me a baby at this particular time? It means that I can trust that God is working all things for good in my life. (And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, Romans 8:28-29a). God knows that my ceaseless desire for a baby has left me tired, angry, bitter, and hurt. It is the one thing I cannot control. And therein lies my freedom. Freedom! To be liberated from my need for a baby changes all features of my life. Of course I still desire a baby, but I can experience a release from the all-encompassing need. That need tells me that I cannot live without a child and that my life is not complete without one. But there can then be peace within my struggle. As God changes my heart toward Him, I find freedom and contentment, even in the midst of my pain. I can continue to try for a baby, but I also know that God is working on deeper aspects of my heart and leading me into a more intimate relationship with Him. Because, truly, He knows that He is the one whom I desperately need more than a baby. Lord, would you work a miracle in my heart, not that my desire for a child would diminish, but that it would be rightly ordered so that I desire you more than a child. For several days now I have been holed up in a cramped room incessantly devouring ‘Unbroken’, by Laura Hillenbrand. Awesome book. Hours of reading has turned everything within a 50 ft radius into blurs to my overtired eyes. Today, I knew I needed to get out and take a walk. Nature has been rejuvenating to me lately and I gleefully went out to pray and soak in some greenery. I meandered down a hill, letting my thoughts wander as well, landing on my joy of nature and wishing that my husband and I could move out of our studio apartment and live somewhere quiet in the midst of nature. I knew we could do it if we wanted, but we would hate to move again and, besides, there was no baby yet. No real reason to move out of a studio. Bam! I suddenly realized that it was August. There was no baby. I lost it right there on the trail. Sobbing and thankful for a park devoid of onlookers. Grief overtook me as I realized that somewhere in my subconscious I had placed a little nugget of hope that once I was finished with the stress of school in May I would be able to get pregnant. Now it was August. August. I repeated the innocuous word over and over, giving it far more meaning than it deserved. It was only a month, but I had given it such hope, such faith. I have spoken in other posts about how the desire for a baby can become an idol. I still believe that this can be true, yet I pull back a little on my assessment. Let me divulge a little of myself to explain. I think I am a stoic. I am quite adept at controlling my emotions, especially ones surrounding my inability to conceive. Along with this is the belief that peace from God means I never break down and cry out my grief. I do cry, of course, but before the last tissue is thrown on the floor I immediately ask God to protect me from desiring this baby too much. I do think this is wise, but I now see that grief need not always smack of idolatry or a desire gone too far. Let’s be honest. Infertility sucks. And grief is a right and true emotion to experience in the midst of it. As I prayed to God after my PDE (public display of emotion), I realized that my grief was not an indication of my idol worship or my lack of faith; it was just grief. Plain and simple. So I let myself grieve for the child I do not have and for the anguish of almost four years of waiting. Thankfully God does not condemn expressions of grief. In fact, He seems to invite them, especially when they are directed to Him. Just look at the book of Psalms. It is filled with words of grief and lament as the writers pour out their confusion, anger, anguish, and despair to God. Their words can become our words; most pointedly when we do not have the words to say, or when we are not even aware of how deep our wounds have become. When we are without words or are afraid to speak, their words can become our prayers back to God. For example, read Psalm 42. Why Are You Cast Down, O My Soul? To the choirmaster. A Maskil of the Sons of Korah. 1 As a deer pants for flowing streams, so pants my soul for you, O God. 2 My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When shall I come and appear before God? 3 My tears have been my food day and night, while they say to me all the day long, “Where is your God?” 4 These things I remember, as I pour out my soul: how I would go with the throng and lead them in procession to the house of God with glad shouts and songs of praise, a multitude keeping festival. 5 Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation 6 and my God. My soul is cast down within me; therefore I remember you from the land of Jordan and of Hermon, from Mount Mizar. 7 Deep calls to deep at the roar of your waterfalls; all your breakers and your waves have gone over me. 8 By day the Lord commands his steadfast love, and at night his song is with me, a prayer to the God of my life. 9 I say to God, my rock: “Why have you forgotten me? Why do I go mourning because of the oppression of the enemy?” 10 As with a deadly wound in my bones, my adversaries taunt me, while they say to me all the day long, “Where is your God?” 11 Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation and my God. (ESV) I dearly love some of these verses in their absolute rawness. My tears have been my food day and night, while they say to me all the day long,“Where is your God?” All your breakers and your waves have gone over me. I say to God, my rock: “Why have you forgotten me?" The writer holds nothing back, because he knows there’s nothing to hide. All his emotions, doubts, fears, and pain are on display before God. Often we, the sufferer, are the last to realize and embrace the depth of our wretchedness. And it’s in embracing it and speaking our heartache back to God that we find some measure of reprieve as we commune with Him. I encourage you to take this Psalm to heart. Meditate on it, find yourself within it, and say the words aloud to our God. I pray that as you take on this exercise, you will revel in the freedom that God gives us to grieve. And I pray that you, along with me, will someday also be given the grace to say: Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation and my God. |
AuthorHi! I'm Brooke. Welcome to Sing O Barren One! I began this blog after years of unexplained infertility that resulted in five years of trying, four miscarriages, one daughter, and continued secondary infertility. While in seminary, I dove into scripture to help me make sense of my pain and struggle. What type of God would allow this? What I found there changed who I was, how I perceived my struggle, and most importantly my view of God. I wrote this blog as an outpouring of my grief and to joyfully share all that God has taught me. Archives
October 2020
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