Where The Wild Things Aren’t
Essays, Featured — By Sarah Thebarge on January 28, 2010 at 12:00 am
“Peninnah had children, but Hannah had none.” – I Samuel 1:2
My friend just turned 28. When we went out to celebrate her birthday, she informed me that her biological clock is now ticking, and all she can think about is having a baby. So she’s been making plans to get more serious with her long-term boyfriend, get married, and get pregnant.
I think my clock is ticking, too. But six months of chemo has left me infertile, and instead of spurring hope and motivation, my ticking clock takes the form of grief.
It’s not a weight I feel all the time. Sometimes, like when I get out of bed, get ready and leave for work in less than 20 minutes, I’m very glad to have such freedom. When I get pulled into a last-minute meeting at work that lasts for 3 hours, I’m glad not to have to negotiate childcare or dinner plans.
Even when I’m taking care of children at the clinic, I enjoy being able to interact with them for 10 or 15 minutes, and then give them back to their parents.
The grief does not lie in expected places; it’s more like guerilla warfare.
A few months ago, my friend invited me to her son’s birthday party – he was turning 5. I went to Target to buy art supplies for him, and suddenly, in front of the markers and finger paint, it occurred to me that I would never my own child who needed art supplies, and I started to cry.
I walked around the store for a while, brushing tears from my eyes, trying to collect myself so I could make my purchase and leave the store. I scolded myself. Who cries over finger paint? What is wrong with you?
Finally the tears stopped, I paid for the merchandise, and left the store. And I was fine, fine, I tell you, for a few months.
And then last night, I decided to see a movie. There’s an old-fashioned movie theater a few blocks from the church I attend. So after the evening service, I paid $3 to see Where The Wild Things Are, a film that my friend told me was a must-see picture.
So the movie started, and there’s a boy who looks maybe 9 or 10 years old, and it shows how he adores his mom and makes her laugh and tells her stories and lays on the floor while she’s working at the computer, just so he can watch her face.
I loved the depiction of such a sweet relationship between a child and his parent, and then, like lightning, it struck me that I will never have a little boy who dances with abandon until I laugh, who lays his head in my lap and lets me stroke his hair until he falls asleep. And I came undone.
In the movie theater, with all of the lights off, I stared at the silver screen while tears streamed furiously down my face.
Last year I edited a book project that explored why pain and suffering exist and what our response should be to them. A few paragraphs talked about women who struggle with infertility, and the final conclusion was that they, in keeping with the examples of barren women in the Bible, should rest in the fact that God is aware of their pain.
I was supposed to be editing the manuscript for grammar, not for content, but I couldn’t resist making a comment. In the margin, I told the author that I thought he was letting himself off too easily. The barren women of the Bible – Sarah, Rachel, Hannah, Elizabeth – did struggle with infertility. (I think Rachel summed up the anguish best when she cried, “Give me children, or else I die!”) But ultimately, they were all able to have children. Sarah gave birth to Isaac, Rachel gave birth to Joseph, Hannah had Samuel, and Elizabeth delivered John the Baptist.
If you followed the biblical example literally, you would assume that while you are now grieving the absence of a child, all you have to do is plead long enough with God and He will relent and allow you to conceive. Obviously, that’s not how it goes in this world. Not every pious woman who pleads with God for a child is granted her request.
Knowing God is aware of our pain may be a comfort to some, but it is a small one – because what good is it that God knows if He does not act? The greatest consolation is that not only does He acknowledge our loss; He somehow acts upon our pain.
Often the action He takes is not the action we would choose. We want the end result to be the satisfaction of our longings – the positive pregnancy test, the refinished rocking chair, the Noah’s Ark nursery.
But even in the absence of these things, God is acting on our behalf. He is redeeming our loss, redeeming our pain, somehow executing His sovereignty over our sorrow.
Jim Eliot, the missionary who was martyred in the 1950s, said, “Nothing given to God is ever wasted.” We surrender to God not only what is in our hands, but our hands themselves, which are empty and aching, knowing even our loss is not wasted.
Knowing God is acting both in presence and in absence.
Trusting He is moving where the wild things are and even, or especially, where the wild things aren’t.
12 Comments
This is such a refreshing piece; honest and wise. There are still too many Christians out there preaching that enough prayer and enough faith will presumably change God’s mind, He will grant us our heart’s desires, and all things will work out fine (in this lifetime) if we just have enough faith. But the Bible doesn’t promise that. Nor do the lives of many in the Bible bear that out either. What we do know if that God sustains us through the pain; refines us in the process; and eventually, possibly on the other side of eternity instead of in this present life, will make all sad things untrue.
I so love what you shared. Thanks for a beautiful piece of writing.
thank you for articulating your pain so transparently.
i was one of those who pleaded and received – 9 years of infertility was so difficult. watching the teenagers i worked with get pregnant “accidentally” the first time they had sex. it was brutal.
i just wanted you to know that you were heard and appreciated. i sit with your loss this morning and hold you in the light.
Thank you, Sarah. I’ve been struggling with and writing about this very topic for the last few months; it’s surprising and comforting to read someone else dealing with the same thing. I know all about the “guerrilla warfare” grief. I always assume I’m alone. Thanks for showing me that I’m not, and for your beautiful writing and maturity.
Sarah, thanks for this. The truths contained herein go way beyond pregnancy or childbearing. It’s something we all need to learn: how can I accept that what God wants for me is best, even when He allows some pain in.
I am reminded of Stranger than Fiction, where, when Will Ferrell’s character discovers that someone else is writing his life story. He says “You don’t understand that this isn’t a story to me, it’s my life! I want to live!”
But then later, he reads the manuscript, and says to the author that she doesn’t need to change a thing. It’s a great example of how to yield your life to the real Author.
I think all of us are going to meet God one day, and He will explain why we had to endure what we had to endure, and then it will all makes sense, and we will marvel at His wisdom.
But in the meantime, the pain is there, and it’s real. And it’s easy to say we should yield to whatever story God wants to write, but not so easy to do.
Just to follow up on the Stranger than Fiction tie-in:
There’s this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EBRlxs0q2QY&NR=1 an explanation of why we need to die to self
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CbtYQHagMEA&NR=1
Harold yield his life to the Author. He encourages her to write the book the way it needs to be written.
Matthew 10:39 “If you try to save your life, you will lose it. But if you give it up for me, you will surely find it.”
What a wonderful piece. While I can’t sympathize with the grief of infertility, I do know from a struggle with depression several years ago that you’re exactly right when you say that grief hides in unexpected places and chooses the strangest, most seemingly-random times to make itself known.
If someone really was trying to come up with a Biblical model for making God give you what you want, the model would involve lots of complaining. I read Exodus the other night and all of God’s major miracles – water from the rock, manna, quail, etc – happened as a result of “the people grumbling.” You would think that God wouldn’t honor something like that, but sometimes he does, and sometimes the people who wait and pray quietly do get nothing. God is funny and quite unpredictable.
Thank you for sharing your story. In my line of work I deal with the grief of infertility every day and I will share your story of hope and courage with my clients as well as publicly bookmark this page for others to share.
- Amy
Beautiful Sarah. Thank you.
For you.
Your Love Is Everything by Chris Quilala (Jesus Culture)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bv0LsrTGuAE
Dance With Me Lover of My Soul – Robert Stearns & Joanne McFatter
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=24tz2yp4Y-0
I personally find the second “video” distracting from the “song featured” and its dedication to our Lord Jesus. You may want to hear without watching the video. I have it on cd yet this is the best video I found with the song.
Anyway, I really enjoy the ministry of music and hope these can be a wonderful addition to your journey.
For everything there is a season,
a time for every activity under heaven…
A time to cry and a time to laugh.
A time to grieve and a time to dance…
Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time.
-Ecclesiastes 3
May you continue to dance with our Lord Jesus, the Lord of the Dance. We are honored viewers and beneficiaries.
I Hope You Dance – Lee Ann Womack
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CSUFRpkIXBY
Thank you for sharing your journey.
Love in Him,
Jo
Oh gosh- you covered this topic so poignantly. I struggled with infertility (and miscarriages) for many years, and it is so hard. So hard. God has blessed us with a healthy baby, after so many years, but I often want to tell people who talk about the miracle that my daughter is that there are many more, so many more people who struggle with this, and don’t wind up with a beautiful child in the end. Thank you for sharing it- it is so important to acknowledge how difficult being “barren” is. *hugs*
What a beautiful article, Sarah. There is hope when all things seems hopeless. Thank God! I’m really looking forward to listening to you and your mom at the Women’s retreat. I’ve only met you a few times but I look up to you as a mature, loving and faithful follower of God. You may not even remember me but I want you to know that the articles that you have written have changed my life and my walk with God.
Dear Sarah,
You have a huge heart and so much love to give, and I am sure that God will somehow fill that need inside you to be a mother.
I am 56 years old, and to this day I cannot say I ever had a parent who loved me. Now is obviously not the time to mention adoption, but someday, when you are ready to look at other options, please consider this one.
I can tell you with absolute assurance, that it is the heart inside a child that we connect with as parents, not their DNA. You have no idea how much hurt lies inside an adoptable child, and how much love they have to give. Sarah, your own prayers may not have been answered, but you might be the answer to someone else’s prayers.
May God continually bless you in your search for motherhood.
Victoria
Dear Sarah,
I was moved to tears by your words. Though I am a man and father of four wonderful kids (all now grown), my heart kneels with you before God as you offer your suffering to Him.
You have summed it all up in one paragraph:
“Jim Eliot, the missionary who was martyred in the 1950s, said, “Nothing given to God is ever wasted.” We surrender to God not only what is in our hands, but our hands themselves, which are empty and aching, knowing even our loss is not wasted.”
May God be ever with you, Sarah.