A Shattered Dream

Cindy Loewen

Three weeks after my surgery, the results hit home: I was not going to have a baby. "Why?" I cried out to God. Before this, I had dared to hope for two or maybe three children. Now I would not have any. Again I cried to God, "Is one child too much to ask from You?"

At the beginning of our marriage, my husband Ralph and I only considered when to have children, not if we could. Through the years, couple after couple around us conceived. But not we.

Studies indicate that one in six couples will experience the agony of infertility. That is 16 out of every 100 couples sitting in church on a given Sunday. Of course, it does not seem that way because the church nursery is full of babies. But those babies belong to someone else. Not one of them is mine.

Young children learn to imagine themselves as mommies or daddies. A favourite childhood game is "playing house", and babies and children are naturally included in this make-believe family. Teenagers babysit and learn parenting skills. Talks of marriage likely include purchasing a home and starting a family. In fact, my husband and I purchased a three-bedroom home in anticipation of having children. Now our home is too large for just the two of us. In our society, we are conditioned to expect to have children, and when they do not come, we are unprepared.

The Bible speaks highly of children. Verses such as Genesis 30:20, 33:5 and Psalm 127:3 portray children as gifts or rewards from God. How often this is forgotten and the miracle of conception and birth taken for granted.

Modern birth control has deluded couples into believing they have control over this area of their lives. Actually, no one has control over his or her reproductive abilities. God blesses couples with children. And God is withholding this particular gift from my husband and me.

Has God forgotten me?

I have asked God many questions, but it seems as if He does not even want to discuss my infertility. It is as though He has closed the door in that area and refuses to help me. The few Bible stories that mention the struggle of infertility focus on women such as Sarah, Rachel, Hannah and Elizabeth--women who eventually were rewarded with special children. Why does the Bible say relatively little about women who died barren? If God was going to keep a blessing from me, why did He choose this one? If it was left up to me to decide, I certainly would have chosen a different blessing to forego. I am not cold and unfeeling; I ache inside for what I cannot have.

I have been prayed over and anointed for healing on various occasions. But each time I have submitted to God in this area, my doctor has reported a poorer prognosis. Yes, in His own way, God was answering my earnest prayers. While my self-esteem has been bruised, I realize now that it does not rest upon my ability to reproduce.

So how do I cope with my personal and sometimes private struggle? I find it necessary to view infertility as a loss. I grieve the loss of biological heritage, and I grieve for lost hopes and dreams.

However, there is no funeral, grave or ritual in society pertaining to potential losses, only tangible losses. For this reason, Ralph and I usually grieve alone.

Coping on a daily basis is eased by accepting my infertility. I Timothy 6:6-8 says, "But godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that."

Acceptance is realizing what cannot be changed. And though this is not necessarily a happy state, it is the end of a long search for peace. The concept is best understood as gently closing the door on infertility, not slamming it shut.

Learning from pain

Suffering from my infertility has taught me many things. One is that sorrow brings me to the place of acknowledging what is truly important. Hebrews 13:5 says, "Be content with what you have, because God has said, `Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.' " I realize that my relationship with God is the most important thing.

Suffering also has revealed who God is and who I am. God is the giver of children, and without a miraculous touch from Him, I will never have such a gift.

An old friend

Barbara Eck Menning, founder of Re-solve, Inc., a support organization for infertile couples, eloquently describes her infertility in her book Infertility, A Guide for the Childless Couple: "My infertility resides in my heart like an old friend. I do not hear from it for weeks at a time, and then, a moment, a thought, a baby announcement or some such thing, and I will feel the tug--maybe even be sad or shed a few tears. And I think, `There's my old friend.' It will always be a part of me."

I know what she means. One Sunday morning recently, Ralph, who is a pastor, dedicated an infant. When he held this baby, blessed her and prayed for her, I began to cry. I found it necessay to leave the service. The grief came in one instant and without warning.

Dreams die hard, and letting go of them is painful and difficult. Acceptance is not denying the pain but acknowledging it and letting God perform His healing work in my life.

Ministering to those in pain

Couples unable to produce a child often are labelled selfish, disinterested in children, less than whole people or different. Accepting my infertility helps when I am faced with trite comments from well-meaning friends. I have heard such things as "You're not a real woman until you give birth", " Don't worry--one day you'll get pregnant. After all, every woman does sooner or later", "Relax and take a holiday" and "Adopt a baby and you'll soon be pregnant." Not one of these comments will enable me to achieve pregnancy or help me to feel better.

Be sensitive to couples who cannot have a child of their own. I have endured surgeries, fertility medication with terrible side effects, painful and embarrassing tests, startling intrusions and questions about my personal life by numerous specialists, and monthly disappointments in my five-year struggle to produce a child. Comments such as those above do not address my pain. They only serve to reveal a tremendous lack of understanding about this problem.

Be supportive of a struggling couple. Do not trivalize their suffering. Allow them to express their sorrow and give them time to grieve.

Five years is a long time to be pulled between hope and hopelessness. Managing the emotions surrounding my infertility is a constant battle. At times, I feel isolation, anger, grief or intense sadness. On occasion, I can even deny a problem exists. I may take my unanswered questions to the grave, but I choose to believe God knows what He is allowing in my life. He is comforting my husband and me. We choose, in faith, to see our misfortune as a backward blessing. Looking through human eyes, my infertility appears to be anything but a blessing. Looking through spiritual eyes, I believe God has a reason for our journey through the maze of infertility.

My hope is that I can encourage those who find themselves in the same situation. And if, as they endure this trial, they achieve pregnancy and birth, I will count it as a victory for me, too.

Cindy Loewen and her husband Ralph are Christian and Missionary Alliance missionaries in Quebec. This article is reprinted, with permission, from the Nov. 25, 1992 issue of Alliance Life.

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