Tag Archive for: contentment

By Jean E. Jones

The pain of multiple miscarriages changed my perspective about God and faith.

April 2010 | Today’s Christian Woman

My gynecologist’s certainty gave me confidence: In a booming voice, incongruously deep for his small stature, he assured me that my baby was well, and I needn’t be worried over an earlier miscarriage. So my husband, Clay, and I joyfully celebrated the three-month milestone marking the pregnancy as safe.

It seemed life was unfolding just as we’d hoped: We’d married, Clay had completed seminary, and soon after his graduation, he was offered an associate pastorate. With a baby on the way, we once again had reason to celebrate.

Childlessness is a journeyA week after that prenatal visit, we headed to a beach-front hotel for a church staff conference. After a laughter-filled dinner full of excited chatter and congratulations over expecting our first child, I excused myself and sleepily returned to the hotel room. There, sitting in a stark white bathroom, I stared in shock at a bright red streak.

No, no—this couldn’t be happening.

The unfamiliar room, with its too perfectly arranged furniture and jarringly cheerful seascapes, amplified my disbelief. Mechanically, I crawled into the strange bed. I tugged at the cold sheet and foreign blanket, desperate for any bit of comfort, then pulled my Bible near.

“God, you know I’ve begged you to protect this baby,” I prayed. “God, please! I can’t cope with another miscarriage. Please heal my body and stop the bleeding. Please, don’t let me lose my baby.”

A couple hours later, Clay came in. He saw the anxiety in my expression and wrapped me in warm arms.

In the morning, we quietly drove home. By evening, labor began and I fought with everything in me to stop it. But by daylight, the battle was lost.

Difficult years followed, as my dream of motherhood shifted from joyous hope, to desperate pleading, to the grief of impossibility—and finally, to settled acceptance that it wasn’t to be. Looking back, I can see that contentment with childlessness was a journey with four major milestones. It began with changing what I mistakenly believed was a faith-filled response to difficulties.

Milestone 1: Developing an “Open-Eyed” Faith

Like many Christians, I’d memorized verses such as “all things work together for good” (Romans 8:28) and “give thanks in all circumstances” (1 Thessalonians 5:18). When bad things happened, I’d quote these verses, express my gratitude that God would eventually make everything right, and push away my questions. Trying to trust God, I did something akin to closing my eyes, putting my hands over my ears, and saying, “Lalalala—just have faith—lalalala.”

Giving thanks through the first miscarriage wasn’t as difficult because the pregnancy was unplanned. Clay was still in school, and I had a new job; I concluded it wasn’t the time for us to have children. The second miscarriage was different: We were ready to start a family, and I couldn’t identify any “good” that might result from our loss. Nonetheless, I quoted verses, thanked God, and made every effort to stay positive. “It must be God’s will, so it’s fine with me,” I told my friends.

I thought I was doing well spiritually. At least, I didn’t feel angry with God. Actually, I didn’t feel anything toward God. That vaguely concerned me, but I wrote it off as emotional exhaustion.

Then one afternoon, I discovered that a houseguest had stacked my get-well cards out of sight. Furious, I wanted to scream, “How dare you move my things without asking me?” I grabbed the cards, slapped them on the coffee table, and sank into the sofa.

What’s wrong with me? I wondered. Slowly I realized I might be angry. And worse, I might be angry with God. Is that even safe?

I picked up my Bible and scanned the concordance for “anger.” Passages described God as slow to anger and full of understanding and compassion. Perhaps it’s okay to tell God what I’m feeling.

I went for a walk to be alone with God and came upon an empty schoolyard.

“God, I think I might be angry,” I prayed, stuffing my hands into my jeans pockets. “It’s possible that I might even be mad at you.”

A dried-out patch of dirt caught my eye. Its barrenness irked me: There should have been grass in that spot, not scraggly weeds. I kicked at a rock that was partly buried in the dirt.

“God, I am angry. How could you allow another miscarriage when I repeatedly told you that I couldn’t handle it?”

Emotion-charged words began to flow freely. I pressed God with every question: “I’m your child—why did you let this happen to me?” I exposed every fear: “I won’t be able to enjoy a future pregnancy! And how can I face those church members who think my miscarriage was due to a lack of faith?” I expressed every hurt, particularly that I felt inadequate as a woman. And I listed every reason why I thought God should have intervened.

“Everyone else can have children—why can’t I?”

As soon as those words came out of my mouth, I knew I’d misspoken. Many women cannot have children; some also have no husband. Then it hit me: I’d felt entitled to motherhood. This was the root of my anger. I felt God had denied me a “right.”

I stepped into the street to avoid a row of oleanders, glancing at the glossy evergreens full with clusters of red, pink, and white flowers. They bloomed almost year-round despite scorching temperatures, drought, and poor soil—the same soil that only a few steps back barely supported a scattering of weeds.Is this what you want from me, God: to grow and blossom despite tough circumstances?

Hesitantly, I began to thank God for his love and faithfulness—only a truly loving Father would allow his child to come beat on his chest. It was difficult at first, but I recognized that in his infinite wisdom, God had allowed a circumstance that would cause me to grow. While I still couldn’t identify any specific good that would result from my loss, now I could acknowledge, by faith, that God would indeed work it out.

This change in me was subtle, but significant. In the past, whenever trials occurred, I closed my eyes to the problem, thinking it was good to shut out anything that might challenge my faith. But while closed eyes can’t see problems, they also can’t see God.

When I “opened my eyes”—presenting my problems and questions to God rather than hiding from them—I began to find answers and understand God better. As a result, my faith in God’s goodness grew.

Milestone 2: Choosing God’s Will

After the second miscarriage, my doctor boomed assurances that there was still nothing to worry about. I asked if there was a point at which having a child became less likely. He answered with too much finality, “After five sequential miscarriages, it’s impossible.”

A third loss soon followed. Avoiding my eyes, he ordered numerous tests. Weeks later, I sat eagerly at his desk, awaiting answers that would fix everything. Still evading eye contact, he said nothing had been found except a low hormone that couldn’t be replaced without causing birth defects. I’m not sure how I managed to reach the car before bursting into tears.

Reluctantly, I began to face that we might not have children. I felt I’d always meant it when I told God, “Thy will be done.” And while I wanted to submit fully to God’s will, I couldn’t quite let go of my desire to be a mom.

One day, while asking God to help me surrender my will, I remembered another prayer from years before. As a young Christian, on realizing the totality of God’s forgiveness, I’d prayed with immense gratitude, “God, if you never answer another prayer for me, that’s fine. Salvation is enough.”

Now I felt God whispering, “Did you mean it?”

Instantly, I was ready to answer. The miscarriages—even childlessness—were miniscule compared to the enormous and costly gift of salvation. Resolutely, I told God, “Yes, I meant it. Salvation is enough.” When I chose God’s will over my own, I took a big step toward contentment.

Milestone 3: Seeking an Eternal Perspective

Clay and I discussed adoption, but the cost was out of reach on a pastor’s budget. Besides, what if God had a special ministry in mind for us? We ruled adoption out.

I wondered if my life could be fulfilling without children. As I searched the Bible and prayed, I realized that having children was not eternally valuable in itself, while having one’s faith refined is of great value to all believers (1 Peter 1:6-8). God so valued my faith that he used the losses to expose and remove impurities, such as false beliefs and fear-based responses. Plus, by faithfully enduring hardships, I’d gain something forever valuable: an eternal glory that would far outweigh earthly losses (2 Corinthians 4:17). The more I grasped this eternal perspective, the more content I became.

Milestone 4: Offering Sacrificial Praise

At the fifth miscarriage, I mourned not just the loss of the baby, but the loss of ever bearing children. The lessons I’d learned were helping me to cope, but one question still stymied me. So I prayed: “God, Psalms 37:4 says if I delight myself in you, you’ll give me the desires of my heart. I am delighting myself in you. I don’t understand. Why aren’t you giving me the desire of my heart?” Once again I sensed a question to me: “What is the greatest desire of your heart?” My answer came with ease: “Following you, God.”

At that moment, I realized all of life involves choosing between conflicting desires. Our choices reveal what we value most. I suddenly understood sacrificial praise (Hebrews 13:15) in a new way: choosing to praise and glorify God by relinquishing something costly. I wanted to offer sacrificial praise, but finding the words was hard, so I pictured my prayer.

I imagined placing my desire for children and the question, “Why?” in a box. I wrapped the box with pale green paper and tied it with gold ribbon, then placed it at the foot of Jesus’ cross, shining softly through a dark night at the bottom of a hill.

I prayed, “This is my gift to you. On Resurrection Day, if you want to open this gift and show me “Why?”—that’s fine. And if you don’t, that’s fine too—I think answers won’t be a priority when I’m overjoyed by being with you.”

As the days went on, every time I hurt, every time I yearned, I brought this picture to mind and prayed, “This is my gift to you.”

I expected not to see many reasons during my life for why God chose this path for me. With “Why?” in the box, I no longer looked for answers. But the years have shown it to be a path of character growth, a better understanding of God, and special ministries, including caring for abused children that couldn’t be placed in families with children. Surprisingly, I can honestly say the blessings have already been more than worth the hardships.

Related Posts

Sometimes God tells us No to test whether our hearts are faithful and obedient.

Dog jumping through hoop

My sister's dog Kaze obediently jumping through hoops

Imagine a master dog trainer who supplies dogs to the ATF, DEA and police is training a newly hired apprentice.

The trainer points to three calmly sitting dogs and says, “We just received these dogs that received their initial training elsewhere. We’re going to test them to see if they’re suitable for us and, if so, what level of training they should receive next. The unimaginative breeders named them Black Dog, Yellow Dog, and Spotted Dog.”

The trainer calls over Black Dog and tests how he obeys basic commands such as sit, stay, and heel, as well as trickier commands such as back up and growl. Then he tells the apprentice to test Yellow Dog and Spotted Dog. All dogs do well.

The trainer says, “Now test their obedience with food.”

The apprentice tells the dogs to sit. They obey. He opens a bag of kibbles and three dog noses twitch and turn his way as the grainy smell fills the air. He plunges a scoop noisily into the bag and the dogs’ ears perk. He pulls out the scoop full of brown bits and pours them with a clatter into three bowls as three pairs of eyes watch. Yellow Dog licks his chops and taps one forepaw on the floor. Finally the apprentice places the bowls before the dogs and commands, “Take it!” All the dogs leap forward and devour the kibbles in minutes.

The trainer says, “That’s not what I meant. That test means nothing because the dogs are doing what dogs do naturally. I can’t tell whether they’re eating because they’re obeying you or their own cravings.”

The trainer refills the bowls with kibble, commands, “Leave it!” and places the bowls before the dogs. Yellow Dog eats his kibbles, but the others sit quietly.

The master trainer says, “That shows me Yellow Dog may not work for us, but it doesn’t show me how obedient the other two are because their bellies are full. Don’t feed the dogs for 24 hours, and then we’ll test them again.”

After 24 hours, the apprentice brings the dogs to the master trainer. Yellow Dog growls and snaps at him, Spotted Dog whines, and Black Dog is quiet.

The trainer says, “Now test them like I showed you yesterday.”

The apprentice commands, “Leave it,” and places bowls of kibble in front of the dogs. Both Yellow Dog and Spotted Dog eat their kibble. Black Dog sits quietly, and Yellow Dog eats Black Dog’s kibble too.

The trainer says, “Now we know Black Dog is obedient from the heart: she’ll obey even when hungry. Give Yellow Dog away, for she won’t meet our needs. Put Spotted Dog in intermediate training. I’ll take Black Dog for now and reward her with a steak, for her desire to obey her master is greater than her desire to obey her hunger. I have great plans for her.”

And so it is with us. God tests us to expose what’s in our hearts. He gives more training to those who need it. And to those who don’t, He entrusts with greater tasks and rewards with eternal riches.

“In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.” ~1 Peter 1:6-7

“Remember how the LORD your God led you all the way in the desert these forty years, to humble you and to test you in order to know what was in your heart, whether or not you would keep his commands.” ~Deuteronomy 8:2

Related: Why God Says No: To Teach Eternal Purpose

Caged Eagle: why God says no

Injured eagle rescued & now protected within cage in Sitka, Alaska

Why does God sometimes say No to things we seem to really need for peace and happiness?

Many years ago a small business I worked for shut down unexpectedly, leaving me unemployed in the middle of a recession a few months before I was to be married. I had a tough time finding a new job. Finally the owner of a small family photography studio offered me a receptionist position that would meet my former salary if I worked 48 hours per week. I took it.

On my first day, I discovered that what Tom, the owner, had called “some phone work” was really telephone solicitation, and that it was to be my main duty.

I hated it. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make my quota and my stomach tied in knots every morning as I faced another day of failure. Additionally, Tom listened to everything his staff said via intercoms so he could correct every mistake and critique every lost sale.

Though I was grateful for a job that allowed our wedding to go on, I felt I needed a less stressful job and prayed regularly for such. But time stretched on and I remained there.

***

The Israelites faced something similar. During the trek through barren desert to the Promised Land, God fed them manna. It sustained them, but they grew tired of it day after day, morning, noon and night. They craved lamb and fish and garlic and leeks. Why wouldn’t God give them a varied diet?

Later Moses told them one of the reasons God met their needs, but not their cravings, had been “to teach you that man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of the LORD” (Deuteronomy 8:3). In other words, sometimes God says No to teach us important lessons.

He wanted to teach them that just as their bodies craved physical food, so their spirits craved the spiritual food of God’s words, even though they didn’t feel hunger pangs in the same way. Cucumbers and melons could support physical life, but not spiritual life. They needed to seek spiritual life in His words.

The fact is, our deep spiritual longings can be filled only with eternal things.

Some people never grasp this. They chase pleasures, possessions and positions. They may feel a fleeting satisfaction whenever they grab one, but it soon fades and the chase resumes.

But God wants us to live by His words and seek fulfillment in the Creator rather than creation, in the eternal rather than the temporal.

***

I persevered at the job I hated. In God’s Word I found that He wanted me to respond by trying my best, being thankful that He could work this job for my good, and looking for ways to share the gospel.

After nearly a year, two co-workers turned their lives over to Christ. We met regularly before work for Bible study. Then we all found new jobs.

I discovered that having a job I liked wasn’t a need, but a desire, and life isn’t just about enjoying myself. It’s about doing things that have eternal purpose, things that God rewards eternally. That was deeply satisfying, more satisfying, in fact, than even the agreeable jobs I’ve had since.

Are you in a difficult situation where you lack some of the things you really desire? Go ahead and ask God to change it, but until He does, seek satisfaction in Him.

He humbled you, causing you to hunger and then feeding you with manna, which neither you nor your fathers had known, to teach you that man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of the LORD. ~Deuteronomy 8:3

Related:  Why God Says No: A 3 Dog Tale

honest prayerLike many Christians I’d memorized verses such as “all things work together for good” and “give thanks in all circumstances (Rom 8:28, 1Th 5:18). When bad things happened, I’d quote these verses, thank God for the good He would work, and push away questions. Trying to trust God, I did something akin to closing my eyes, putting my hands over my ears, and saying, “Lalalalalal—just have faith—lalalalalala.”

After a second trimester miscarriage, I dutifully did these things and refused to think about problems. I thought I was fine. I didn’t feel angry at God; actually, I didn’t feel anything towards God. That concerned me, but I dismissed it as emotional exhaustion.

But when I noticed I was often mad over minor matters, I wondered if I were angry with God.

I looked up “anger” in my Bible’s concordance to see how God might respond. I found that He is slow to anger and full of understanding and compassion. I found too that God expects me to be patient and forgiving towards others’ anger, so that must be what He’s like.

I decided that if I were angry with God, He already knew it so I may as well talk to Him about it—not with a raging heart, like the fool in Pr 19:3, but in the same way I might talk to anyone whose actions I didn’t understand but whom I knew dearly loved me.

I headed out to a deserted schoolyard and prayed, “I think I might be mad at you, God.” I listed what bothered me (the things I’d been refusing to think about) and quickly discovered I was mad—really mad.

I admitted everything I was angry about, even the minor things such as, “Now I can’t enjoy a future pregnancy!” I disclosed every fear: “How will I face those church members who think my loss was due to lack of faith?” I asked every question: “How could you let something bad happen when I’m Your child?”

Surprisingly, such honest prayer helped three ways.

First, some issues resolved immediately. No sooner were the words out of my mouth about not being able to enjoy a future pregnancy than I realized the complaint wasn’t valid—irritation over not enjoying something is merely peevish.

More importantly, when I demanded, “Everyone else can have children; why can’t I?” I instantly realized my error. Many women cannot have children; some also have no husband. Ignoring my secret thoughts had kept me believing a lie and thinking God was denying me a right—and that was the basis of my anger.

Second, the fact that some issues resolved immediately gave me hope the others could resolve too. I still hurt, but now I had peace.

Third, the still unresolved questions were now exposed so I could seek answers. Before I had felt as if a craggy, deep red and black mountain had plunged onto the path before me, its height insurmountable and its dark shadow engulfing me. Now I felt as if the mountain were gone. Ahead my path approached a manageable hurdle, then another, then eventually it climbed a small beige hill and in the distance a larger hill behind which the sun shone brightly, lighting my way.

The difference between how I was attempting to trust God before and after may seem subtle, but the effects were significant. Before, I was closing my eyes lest something be exposed that weakened my faith. But while closed eyes can’t see problems, neither can they see God. When I opened my eyes and took questions and problems to God rather than ignoring them, I began to find answers and understand God better. Instead of weakening, my faith in God’s goodness grew. I still quoted verses and trusted God over what I didn’t understand, but out of faith rather than fear. I was searching for understanding “as for hidden treasures,” and was beginning to find it (Pr 2:4-6).

Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. Psalms 139:23 

You can read more about contentment with life’s circumstances in my article, Journey of Childlessness, on www.Kyria.com.