I thought I knew what it was to be ‘barren’. To be physically bereft of child, unable to complete what I was created to and so desired to experience. I cried and I cried and I wrote and wrote. Barrenness, to be without child, became my every waking thought. I found that Scripture was bursting with themes of infertility and barrenness. And I was comforted. I was able to stand and say that ‘God is Good’, no matter what comes; child or no. But then the child, the miracle, came. I was pregnant. “Aren’t you just over the moon with joy?!!,” people asked. No, I found myself saying. No. I was sick, sore, tired, hungry, and full of fear. There was no room for joy within me. But how could I say such a thing? Wasn't this what I had hoped and prayed for? And then she came. My life-altering, exuberant, spirited, beautiful daughter. I had waited 5 long years and she was here. I was so thankful… but I was not joyful. It was not as I had expected. As each day went on, I found I was not filled with the joy I had so long envisioned for myself as a mother. I was still barren, though no longer physically barren. I was shocked to discover that my barrenness followed me still, like a shadow I could not escape. Each time I looked over my shoulder it was there, stalking me with its dark persistence. How could I still feel this barrenness, this hopelessness, this lack of joy? I had been given everything that I desired, hoped, and prayed for. My God had given more than I had ever thought possible. Yet this little girl, whom I deeply loved, did not give me what I had expected. It took me some time to realize that it was never her job. She was never given the role to be my source of joy. What an immense, impossible job for anyone, let alone one so young. No, finding joy remained in my hands yet, in my spiritual barrenness, I discovered that I had no definition for real joy and contentment. What did it actually look like? I have grown up in the church, I know all of the answers. So of course the obvious answer is: joy can only be found in Christ. And at heart I believe that this is true. True joy and true contentment can only be found in Christ. I know I haven’t found it anywhere else. But a question nagged at me: Why haven’t I found this in Christ? “Something is wrong”, I found myself repeating day after day on my knees in prayer. This isn’t supposed to be how it is. So what am I missing? What does real joy and contentment look like? Is it even possible in this life? These are the questions I am seeking to answer. Because, I cannot live this way. I refuse to continue in spiritual barrenness, bereft of true joy. “Sing, O barren one, who did not bear; break forth into singing and cry aloud, you who have not been in labor! For the children of the desolate one will be more than the children of her who is married,” says the Lord.” Isaiah 54:1 Sing with me.
1 Comment
Jenn
7/31/2020 12:50:44 pm
I think I found joy when God gave it to me. I had been praying because I I realized I didn't feel like God loved me, which feels crazy to say, because I became Christian when God allowed me to know Jesus died for me. I was grateful, but I kind of felt like he did it out of obligation *to love* me (to show me love?) rather than out of genuine affection. I started praying to know that God loved me, to massage that knowing into my heart. I started spending time with him, just being quiet and occasionally praising him with things that came to mind that awed me. It was years between realizing that I didn't believe (not in my heart anyway) God loved me, and when he gave me that joy. I was walking up to communion on just a regular Sunday and God gave me confidence in his love. I know that sounds completely underwhelming, but it was the opposite. Knowing his love, even right now when I think about it, reduces me to a puddle of joyful tears. I don't think I could have made it happen in me, any more than I think I could have saved myself. It's a perspective of joy that persists even in sadness, anger, or frustration. It persists even while other prayers go unanswered. I pray he gives it to you too soon.
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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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