I am going through a Bible study focused on infertility and the first chapter begins with faith. It’s a topic that makes me nervous in discussions involving barrenness. Inevitably the mention of Abraham and Sarah, Hannah, and Elizabeth get thrown around as our models for faith as we trudge through the sludge of infertility. Don’t get me wrong; there are many things to learn from these ancient people. But I’m not sure that this is what my/our situation of barrenness should be compared to. All except Hannah were visited by an angel of the Lord or given the promise of a future child. This is key. This is where their faith resided: in the promise given. Maybe you have been given a specific promise from the Lord for a child but, in my experience this is not a common occurrence. I certainly have not been given the assurance of a child and so this cannot be the focus of my faith. Hear me. I am not saying that God cannot give me a child. He is absolutely able to do so. But His ability to do so in no way guarantees that He will. I’m not trying to ruin anyone’s faith with this post. But I do want to warn against something: there are some who will urge us to be faithful, like those in Scripture, so that we too can receive the gift of children. Do you remember Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego? Aside from their unfortunate - but rather lyrically comical names, many of us remember them as the friends of Daniel. Nebuchadnezzar cast the three of them into a super-heated fiery furnace when they refused to bow down to a giant golden statue of his image. The three friends remained firm in their singular worship of the one true God. Then, in a blind rage, Nebuchadnezzar tossed them into the fire, fully expecting their demise. Read the passage here. Daniel 3:16-20 Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego answered and said to the king, “O Nebuchadnezzar, we have no need to answer you in this matter. 17 If this be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of your hand, O king. 18 But if not, be it known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the golden image that you have set up.” “But if not.” I freaking love this verse! Those three powerful words embody a faith that is unwavering despite the circumstances they face. As they confront certain death, looking into the pit of flames they are about to walk into, they bravely tell Nebuchadnezzar that God can deliver them. Yet, they humbly acknowledge that they serve a Sovereign God, not one to be swayed by man. They proclaim that their God is mighty to save, who can control fire itself, yet they do not presume that their outpouring of faith will necessitate a specific response from God. You see here a full comprehension of their Maker. They hold together God's power, love, mercy, and sovereignty all at the same time. They know that their God is not one to be manipulated. They believe that God can save them, but they also know that He has not promised to do so. And they accept this truth. Their short speech ends with an acknowledgment that they may not be saved, and that fact changes nothing. They will never bow down to Nebuchadnezzar. They will never turn away from their God. The outcome will not determine their faith. Incredible. As a child of God you are called to be faithful, but not for the purpose of having a baby. Being faithful for the sake of having child has two possible conclusions: 1) My faith and trust in God deepen, but I continue to remain childless, leading to despair. Or 2) as you measure your faith and see that it is growing, there is also a mounting sense that you deserve this baby because of your burgeoning faith. The hidden line of thought assumes that if I do A, then I receive B. My faith now demands and expects what I request. At heart level this is nothing more than a subtle manipulation of God. Our faith cannot rest in the idea that if you are faithful enough, God will give you a child. Our faith must be in God alone, who we believe is good and who works all things for the good of those who love Him. Sometimes the problem resides in our inability to actually name what ‘good’ is. My definition of good (i.e., give me a baby.) may not be God’s idea of good for me. This is where real faith begins. It begins with being faithful to a God who does not give us what we want. To believe that God is good even when He will not give us something that is so good in itself. Why wouldn’t God want to give me a child? This is a good request after all! I have really wrestled with this question and have found the reality of this truth hard to believe. I easily doubt that God has good in store for me when I am not given the one thing I desire. But that’s also where my faith begins to grow: When I stop gauging God’s love for me based on whether He gives me a baby. Ultimately, I am a child of God, and am beloved of Him who saved me. That is where my faith must stand: On this God who loves me, not on what He gives me. But therein also lies our struggle.
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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. 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. 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. 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. I found something interesting in my reading today. I thought I was aware of all the women who struggled with infertility in Scripture. But Hemchand Gossai in his book, “Barrenness and blessing: Abraham, Sarah, and the Journey of Faith,” pointed out the two daughters of Lot. Some of you may know this story already, so stay with me!! In Genesis 19, Lot and his daughters escape from the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. They flee to the hills and make their home in a cave, far from any people. More specifically, they are far from any eligible bachelors for the daughters to marry. With their prospects bleak they concoct a plan to get their father liquored-up on wine so that they may seduce him and become pregnant. Not exactly a story I have ever heard read in church, nor one that many Christians refer to. Now, obviously these women were not physically barren and there is no indication that they ever struggled with infertility. But what Gossai points out is that these daughters committed such a deplorable act with their father because they saw their future as barren. Their fiancés had been killed in Sodom, and Lot seemed to have no plans to leave their sheltered existence in the mountain cave. They were as good as barren if there was no prospect of a husband in the future. And it was this prospect of barrenness that moved them to desperation. They took their lives and futures into their own hands, believing, it seems, that God had abandoned them. I know this is an extreme story, but at the heart of it is a truth that I see even in myself. Desperation. Fear. Control. One of the hardest things about barrenness is that I can do nothing. Barrenness reduces me to a state of helplessness. There is nothing I can do to make myself become pregnant. Though I used to fool myself into believing that there was. You know: If I use ovulation sticks it will work. If I can get myself to just relax I’ll get pregnant. If I go to the infertility doctor then a baby is guaranteed. If I try alternative methods then I'll conceive. I could go on. But each month I am left in the exact same place. Barren and without a child. Finally, I succumbed to the truth; I have no control in this situation. There is nothing I can do to create a baby. No magic, no formula, no special prayer, no “better” Christian behavior can bring about a pregnancy. I know that seducing your father is not likely on anyone’s list of ‘how to get pregnant’, but can you identify with these women in the depths of their desperation? Have you found yourself doing things for a baby that you never dreamed you would do? I know I have. The sisters' desperation and need for a child drove them to act in a way they normally would not. It is a ghastly picture of idol worship gone awry. And it’s there where we can identify with them. Because we all worship something. As children of God we were made to worship Him, but when sin entered our world, this worship was directed away from God. We all have god-replacements, or idols. That thing that we must have or we believe will make us happy. The desire for a baby is mine, and may be yours as well. Of course the desire for a baby is not a bad thing. But when it becomes an ultimate thing, as in “I cannot live without this,” it has become an idol. And when I reach this point I find that, by a strange turn of events, I am being controlled by this desire. My need for a baby has become all-consuming, pushing me to the point of despair, hopelessness, anger, depression, and doubt of God. Described in that light, it’s not surprising that I will do whatever I can to get what I want. Again, I don’t think any of us would be pushed to such a horrendous act as Lot’s daughters, but I understand them in a way I never had before. When I look at my own heart, I see how I manipulate to get what I want, and become consumed with achieving my goal. We will spend thousands of dollars on fertility treatments, cut off dear friendships with others who have the life we want, focus all of our thoughts and prayers on this one endeavor, and turn away from God when He does not answer our prayer. I know I have become desperate at times. I know I can lose sight of what is true. Lose sight of the God who loves me. All I see is my desire for a baby and my plans to make this child come to fruition. If you find yourself in this situation, take courage. God already knows your heart's desire. He has seen your desperation and He has not abandoned you. But instead wants to redeem you from these disordered desires. Go to Him, confess your heart, embrace the forgiveness and ask God to help you go to Him every time your desperation for a baby becomes all-consuming. |
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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