Asking the Wrong Questions
A secret I kept from my family and friends for many years, long before it even mattered, was my desire to be a mother one day. When I was in my early twenties and I was asked the question, “Do you want kids one day?” I would honestly say no. As I went into my mid twenties and my heart started to change, I would continue to tell people it wasn’t for me as I laughed it off with a joke about lack of time and money. This has continued as I get closer to being 28 years old and am married.
I’ve watched in bittersweetness as my friends have started families. I have continued to smile it away with the questions people ask when they wonder about my plans. Sometimes I feel with bitterness that having children for some people must be like picking out a new piece of furniture: when they are able to make space and have money to invest they will simply decide to get one.
I know in my heart this is not the case with every woman. I’ve heard just as many friends share in anguish over their miscarriages and infertility. The truth is far more painful and I know I am far from alone in this charade of strength. I can’t be the only one who walks away from holding a baby and becomes silent in solitude.
My fears regarding my uterus being “broken” began when I was diagnosed with polycystic ovarian sydrome (PCOS) at seventeen. At the time, I knew it would mean my body wouldn’t be as on schedule as someone else’s body might. Over the past decade I have learned that it has evolved into much more.
There are months where I have pain and inflammation that affects my entire body from muscle to bone. There are days where I find myself with such incredible pain that I am in the fetal position trying not to scream from a spasm no one can see. I have been to doctor offices over and over just to be sent home with medication. I’ve received caring emails from friends offering me new ways to find relief. I have felt guilt from having to call out of work because it hurts too much to move.
As I sit on the couch this week full of pain from the latest and worst episode of my life, I wonder where hope should be placed. I read so many stories of women who prayed for children and received them but my heart grows heavy. I could hardly read the story of Hannah when my husband and I came to it in our reading plan together. I find myself turning away from those stories of new life from birth and turning closer to the stories of women healed through Jesus.
I turn often to Mark 5 where we find Jesus walking through a crowd on his way to heal a sick girl. Amongst the throng of people surrounding him is an unnamed woman who has suffered from bleeding for twelve years, who has visited doctors who took her money, and who has been determined as an outcast. She is broken and weak...but she touches Jesus’ garment with the hope she will be healed.
“At once Jesus realized that power had gone out from him. He turned around in the crowd and asked, “Who touched my clothes?” “You see the people crowding against you,” his disciples answered, “and yet you can ask, ‘Who touched me?’ ”But Jesus kept looking around to see who had done it. Then the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came and fell at his feet and, trembling with fear, told him the whole truth. He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.” - Mark 5:30-32
Then he continues to the house of Jairus, where people mourning over the young girl tell Jesus he is too late for she has died. Jesus dismisses the mourners and says, “Don’t be afraid; just believe.” (Mark 5:36). He moves into the upper room and tells the girl “Talitha koum!” (which means “Little girl, I say to you, get up!”) and she rises from her passing (Mark 5:41). I am both the woman and the girl. These females are not listed by name but they are redeemed with Jesus through his salvation and love. They are given a new life to no longer be deemed insignificant or outcast.
When we find ourselves questioning why God has allowed suffering in our lives, we are focused on the wrong question because of the pain we feel. I (eventually) find myself asking instead in the darkness, “Why do I keep my eyes closed?” Why do I think my will is higher than God’s will? Why do I forget that Jesus went through suffering in order that we might be saved, yet I assume my pain will not lead to something meaningful for God’s purpose?
The pain we feel is real. This is a broken world due to sin. But Jesus has raised me into a new creation and I know for certain that he has lifted me from the mud and mire in order that I may tell the world of Him.
There is a verse in James that says,
“He chose to give us birth through the word of truth, that we might be a kind of firstfruits of all he created” - James 1:18
In 1 Corinthians 15:20, it says:
“But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep.”
God does not promise us that our will is a certainty but he does promise to fulfill the covenant of new life in Jesus Christ. He does not promise me that I may one day be able to have children or healing inside my body on Earth but he does promise to renew my spirit, transform my heart, and fulfill my soul with complete joy.
When we are weak, broken, and lost; God is constant. He is truthful, faithful, and just. We can move forward in our deepest vulnerability and cry out “Abba, Father” to Him. He will lift us in his arms and cradle us while we weep. I cannot see the future but I see my past and it becomes clear to me daily how many times my trials lead me to His path. As we lean into the Truth, we abide with the Lord and what a blessing to be called to Him in a time such as this.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chanel lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and two dogs. She has colead and written bible studies for Tirzah and pursues writing about God's grace in her free time. She is a business owner, college student, and avid reader.