Is my infertility a punishment from God? This heinous thought caught me as I read through 2 Samuel 6. Sometimes I really wish these questions didn’t pop up while I was reading God’s word. Yet, at the same time, I’m glad that it is this very book that brings the questions that make me stop, think, ponder, and remember God. What better place to wrestle with these confusing concepts than at the feet of our Savior? Besides, hiding from these difficult questions only makes me nervous. I can’t ignore them. I need to know the answer now! And I’m going to drag you along with me. The themes of barrenness and infertility are woven through many stories in the Old Testament, and there are several that suggest infertility can be an outcome of a particular sin. If we see this in Scripture, is it possible that we are suffering through infertility due to a specific sin? (Spoiler: NO!) Read 2 Sam 6:15-16, 20-23. “So David and all the house of Israel brought up the ark of the Lord with shouting and with the sound of the horn. As the ark of the Lord came into the city of David, Michal the daughter of Saul looked out of the window and saw King David leaping and dancing before the Lord, and she despised him in her heart. And David returned to bless his household. But Michal the daughter of Saul came out to meet David and said, ‘How the king of Israel honored himself today, uncovering himself today before the eyes of his servants’ female servants, as one of the vulgar fellows shamelessly uncovers himself!’ And David said to Michal, ‘It was before the Lord, who chose me above your father and above all his house, to appoint me as prince over Israel, the people of the Lord—and I will celebrate before the Lord. I will make myself yet more contemptible than this, and I will be abased in your eyes. But by the female servants of whom you have spoken, by them I shall be held in honor.’ And Michal the daughter of Saul had no child to the day of her death.” The last verse just seems tacked onto the end of the story, almost as an afterthought, speaking nothing of the turmoil that Michal likely suffered for the rest of her life. It seems like such a benign sentence and most people probably quickly move past it with no thought to its significance. But for me it screams in big bold letters of condemnation. Scripture directly connects her barrenness to her disparaging of David as he uncomposedly worshiped God. Her one base comment led to a lifetime of reprimand. That is terrifying to read. What are we to think, those of us who struggle with infertility? Are we being punished as well?! We just celebrated Easter a few weeks ago. A day celebrating Jesus' joyous resurrection from death on the cross. It’s a day that I need to remember in light of these harrowing verses concerning Michal. Because Jesus changed everything. “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” Romans 8:1 Take that in. No condemnation. No punishment. None. If you are a follower of Christ, even if you have blatantly sinned, there is no blame that leads to the punishment of infertility. Hear me. I am not saying that there aren’t consequences to our sins; there are. Consequences are what naturally follow from wrong doing (i.e. distance from God, broken relationships, jail, failed marriage, debt, pain, regret) but these are not punishments. Why? Because Jesus died. HE took all the punishment. He took the entire cost of our sin. That’s what He was doing on the cross! If you give into sin, embracing it and reveling in it, it will eventually destroy you, but this is not a punishment. It is a natural consequence of choosing something that will never give you what you want. And God is not capricious – one who changes His mind whenever He wants. We serve a covenant God – one who keeps His promises, binding Himself to covenants that He will not break. Covenants to love, remain faithful to, and die for the people He created out of dust. Covenants with people who cannot keep a single commandment in return. He remains faithful when we cannot. And so when He says Jesus has paid it all, we KNOW that it is true. Do you find yourself trudging through life, dragging behind you a past sin that will not release you from its suffocating grasp? God has given you the gift of repentance to let that past failing die. Bury it. Because Christ has already encased it in the tomb and paid its cost. Believe that God has forgiven you, that what He says is true. Accept it. Live life - and this particular struggle with infertility - with the knowledge that this is not a punishment. Meditate, pray, and ponder this Psalm this week. Take these words to heart: Psalm 103:10 “He does not deal with us according to our sins, nor repay us according to our iniquities.” Special Note: For those who have gone through an abortion, I know this post is complicated for you. If you have questions or want to discuss this, contact me. I would love to hear from you.
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I love the title of this post. The end of self-sufficiency. It sounds dire, truthful, and hopeful all at the same time. And amazingly I can envelope all those aspects simultaneously. Especially in the midst of the confusion and heartache of infertility. Even as a child I rarely asked my parents for help and relished doing things on my own, which has continued into my adulthood. I detest asking for help, even when I need it. I prefer to suffer in silence rather than show my inability. I love my independence; to be a person that answers to no one. If no one has a say in my life, I am free to do what I want, when I want it. I also delight in proving that I have it all together; depending on someone else means that I am beholden to them, dependent and weak. I abhor weakness and, so, depend on no one. This means that I am also driven to master all that I do, so much so that I even forego an activity that I know I will not excel in. If I never fail, this feeds into the delusion that I am self-sufficient. Perfectionism is literally built into my DNA and it can affect anyone who is even remotely in my vicinity. So, beware. For the majority of my life I was pretty good at taking care of myself and my problems. This also meant I was an expert in self-deception. I literally remember sitting at a restaurant telling my friends (gracious friends!) that I didn’t really feel like I had any sin. The biblically-trained girl that I was knew I shouldn't say that, but I also couldn’t name a particular sin I felt I struggled with. Which also meant, at base level, that I saw no need for God. What did I need saving from? Though I said I was a Christian, I functionally lived as an atheist. With no sin, I had no need for forgiveness, no need for God, and thus no real relationship with Him. I honestly had no idea who He even was. But infertility has killed or at least maimed my life of self-sufficiency. Where once I was in control, independent, powerful, and happily self-reliant, infertility decimated any notion of this delusional reality. As you may have experienced, there is simply nothing you can do to make yourself conceive. Even when receiving help from the most sought-after prestigious doctor, there is no guarantee that you will become pregnant. There is nothing you or I can do. I simply do not have that amount of control and power. And I hate that. Kelli Worall states in her book, a bout of barrenness “wakes us up to weakness.” (92, Pierced and Embraced) When I found that I had no control over whether I became pregnant or not, I became a different woman. A broken woman. The way I knew myself and the way I lived my life was taken from me. As I now found something I could not fix or change, I was forced to go to others for help. I was pushed into vulnerability. But this is what God has always intended for us. Vulnerability – the act of being fully known and fully seen. (93, Worrall) We are not meant to be self-existent, relying solely upon ourselves, living in isolation and, ultimately, suffering alone. God has always meant for us to live in relationship, with others, with Him, in beautiful mutual dependence upon one another. Infertility brought into focus my need for God and the freedom that comes from relying on Him. I still struggle with depending on others, forever fearful of being seen as less than or without, apprehensive to be viewed as a burden or looked down upon as a weakling. But the truth is out. I don’t have it all together. I don’t have control over my life. And I am failing quite miserably at self-sufficiency. And yet, I don’t think I would have it any other way. I now know God in a way I never knew was possible. A depth of relationship and a love toward me that I could not fathom when I lived out my facade of self-sufficiency. This also became true with those in my immediate circle. As I shared my struggles with other women, I found a union with them that was etched in our mutual sorrow. It bonded us in such a way that I felt eternally close to them, regardless of distance or differences. To be fully known by them and by others is a blessing that I hope for you as well. If you haven’t unburdened your heart to God or with others, what do you find is holding you back? What do you most fear? “How does God’s grace engage your sufferings? We may know the right answer. And yet we don’t know it. It is a hard answer. But we make it sound like a pat answer. God sets about a long slow answering. But we try to make it a quick fix. His answer insists on being lived out over time and into the particulars. We act as if just saying the right words makes it so. God’s answer insists on changing you into a different kind of person. But we act as if some truth, principle, strategy or perspective might simply be incorporated into who we already are. God personalizes his answer on hearts with an uncanny flexibility. But we turn it into a formula: ‘If you just believe _____. If you just do _____. If you just remember _____.’ No important truth ever contains the word ‘just’ in the punch line.” (David Powlison, God’s Grace and Your Sufferings) Good Lord, did this man just reach into my innermost thoughts and expose my shoddy belief system. I feel like I’ve been slapped across the face. “Wake up! This is you!” Some months ago a friend critiqued my blogs for their lack of process. Or more succinctly (and more note worthy!) she critiqued the lack of process in my own life. She pointed out that I tend to jump forward to an answer (ie, If you just believe…) instead of walking myself through the process of my pain. Her assessment is, unfortunately, correct. I don’t want to stay in my pain. I want to forget about it. I would rather give myself a quick Band-Aid for the problem. At least then I don’t have to see the gaping wound anymore. In my struggle with infertility I don’t want to focus on the process, the muck of my heartache. I want to slap a truth of God on my particular struggle for the day and move on. It keeps me from feeling depressed, from constantly crying all day about my lack of a child. God moves too slowly for me! And yet, this might be the reason that my friends keep annoyingly quoting my blogs back to me when I lament to them about barrenness. I am repeating the same struggles like a trained parrot because I’m not really letting God help me in my struggle. I’m just finding a truth about God and hanging on for dear life. But that truth, however true it might be about God, is not God Himself. God loves the process of our lives because that is where we meet Him face to face. He does not promise to take away our pains in this life, but He does promise that we will never be forsaken nor left alone in those pains. And because of the death of Christ, all things have been made new. Suffering takes on a purpose it never had before. God uses our hurts to mold us and, in my case, to teach about His abiding love in the midst of absolute misery. I deeply want to skip over my pain to find comfort - whatever form that may take. The reality is, I am not slowing down and inviting God into my pain because I don’t want to remain stagnant. I don't want to acknowledge the truth of my situation. But we need to process our pain. To reflect on it, to scream at it, to give it a name. We need to see how it shapes our choices, our emotions, our actions, and our faith. Processing pain opens the door to healing. It turns our face toward the One who understands, toward the One who heals. As we sit in our process with God, that is where we find our hope and peace, in the One who is hope and peace. “The circumstances of a saint’s life are ordained of God. In the life of a saint there is no such thing as chance. God by His providence brings you into circumstances that you cannot understand at all, but the Spirit of God understands. God is bringing you into places and among people and into conditions in order that the intercession of the Spirit in you may take a particular line. Never put your hand in front of circumstances and say – I am going to be my own providence here, I must watch this and guard that. All your circumstances are in the hand of God, therefore never think it strange concerning the circumstances you are in." My Utmost for His Highest, Nov. 7th This devotional passage comes from my favorite stodgy Scottish theologian, Oswald Chambers. His words ring true, and are comforting and maddening at the same time. In the midst of infertility, I constantly ask why this is happening, and for what purpose. But I am often left without answers, lost in confusion as I grasp for answers that escape me. Usually this line of questioning is devoid of any notion of God; instead it focuses on my need for control through the means of knowledge. If I can just determine my purpose for infertility then I can suffer well! Yet that desperately-asked-for purpose continues to elude me. This quote offers me comfort that my experience is part of God’s plan, even if I do not understand it. For some that may sound harsh. But everything changes and hinges upon whether you believe that God is good. Calling God good, seems a simple assessment of our Lord, yet this knowledge revolutionizes my faith. Carrying around the belief that God is not good can warp any aspect of faith. There have been times (more than I'd like to admit) when I fear that God is out to get me – that I need to be prepared for the suffering that is bound to come my way. I believe that God is sovereign and in control of my life, but coupling that with my experience of infertility can cause me to see Him as a God without compassion or understanding... He deftly utilizes suffering to mold me into Christ, but in a way that is only painful and uncaring. The day that He revealed His character of goodness to me, changed my entire outlook on life and faith. For the first time, two ideas came together: God's goodness and the knowledge that God works all things for the good of those who love Him (Rom 8:28). I began to see that, if Christ had died and paid for my sins, then there was no longer any condemnation or punishment looming ahead. Whatever suffering I encountered must then take on an importance and purpose that I had overlooked. Armed with the knowledge that God is good and sovereign over my life, I am able to rest while in the midst of infertility. Though I have no specific answer as to the purpose of my suffering through barrenness, I am comforted to know that it is a part of God’s plan. His good plan for me. I suppose this may not help everyone out there, but my quest for purpose is somehow answered in the plain fact that this is God’s plan for me. Living life with the belief that there is ‘chance’ terrifies me. Chance speaks of randomness, of purposelessness. This I cannot handle. Believing in chance creates a very scary world where anything can happen for no reason at all. But our God is not a God of chance. He is a God of order, a God who delights in planning the lives of His beloved children. I am also comforted when Oswald (yes, we are on a first name basis), says frankly that we may not understand our circumstances, but God does. I can find solace in my lack of understanding surrounding infertility because I know that God does understand. That He does have a good reason. That He is good and therefore all that He does is good. This may sound like the opposite of comfort, but when rooted in the belief that God is good, I am free to let go of my need to understand. And what a relief freedom is. I truly believe that God wants for each of His children. Freedom. And that is one reason why I think He allows suffering and infertility. To lead us to freedom. I hear this freedom in Paul's words when he says, “for I have learned to be content, whatever the circumstances.” (Phil 4:11) Paul is not bound by his need to figure out the reason for the suffering that encompasses him. Instead, He trusts that his good God is in charge, enabling him to simply rest, come what may. Difficult circumstances need not lead to fear or (for me) the need for control. When we know that our Good God has ordained every circumstance of our lives, the quest for purpose can be put to rest. |
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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