By Sandra Doran
This Q and A originally appeared in Sandra Doran's monthly column,
Heart of the Matter, Signs
of the Times Magazine, January 2001.
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Q: I have always had a strong faith, but right now I feel terribly abandoned by God. No matter how hard I pray, I can’t seem to conceive a child. Am I being punished, or does God feel that I would not make a good parent? How can I keep from losing my connection with God in the midst of this personal crisis?
A: My prayers go out to you as you encounter such an incredible crisis of faith. What you are dealing with is not a minor matter. Researchers at the National Institutes of Health found that the stress levels of infertile couples are equal to those of people with AIDS, terminal cancer, and chronic heart disease. Additionally, new studies are finding that "very devout" people often experience heightened stress when faced with infertility, as the pain of childlessness often precipitates feelings of anger toward God, followed by guilt over that anger. [1] I think it is important for you to find others who can support you during this time of spiritual crisis. This is not a time to push the feelings inside, or to deny that you are feeling anger towards God. What you are going through is experienced by countless other people who have been raised to believe that if they eat the right things, pray the right prayers, meet God in the right places, they will be rewarded with answered prayers—including the blessings of parenthood. When the pleading for a child goes unmet, week after week, month after month, year after year, many couples turn inward, seeking their souls for unconfessed sins, or turn outward, accusing God of not listening, not caring. In fact, most spiritually-minded people who find themselves confronted with infertility, go through four of stages of religious crisis: disbelief ("Why me, God?"); guilt ("I must have done something terrible"); atonement ("I’ll just be a better person"); and disillusionment ("It’s no use…I will forsake my religion.") [2] The fact that what you are feeling is a natural response, experienced by others, should be a first step in forgiving yourself and moving forward in seeking help. Start by finding a supportive community of people who understand. You might try "Resolve," a national infertility organization with branches around the country. Perhaps there are those in your congregation or extended family who have gone through or are going through a similar crisis. Often, people do not openly speak about such things, fighting their "invisible loss" alone. Bringing your pain and sorrow out into the open might be the first step in giving others the courage to start the healing process. Next, make an attempt to come to terms with the fact that you might not ever conceive a child. While modern technology affords many new procedures and possibilities, it brings with it the never-ending cycle of raising and dashing hopes. Each person has to decide how far to go in investing time, money, and emotional energy into the medical quest to combat infertility. It’s important to grieve your "invisible loss," and then to move on. At some point, at some time, you must face the inevitable question: How can I find meaning and significance in my life, whether I conceive or not? How can I make a worthwhile contribution in a hurting world? Almost two decades ago my husband and I faced similar questions. After accepting and grieving our infertility, we decided that we wanted a family. It didn’t matter to us whether that family emanated from our own genetic material or from the loving arms of another. Our children arrived not in a delivery room, but via United Airlines Stork. Looking back from the perspective of the years, we praise God for His infinite wisdom. When we surrendered our will to Him, He chose our family. We would not have it any other way. [1] Bella English. "Infertility: What’s God Got to Do with It?" The Boston Globe Magazine, August 1, 1999, p. 17. [2] English, p. 25. Sandra Doran and her family proudly display the following plaque in their home: "Not flesh of my flesh, nor bone of my bone, but still miraculously my own. Never forget for a single minute, that you didn’t grow under my heart, but in it." |
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Sandra Finley Doran, Ed.D. 2028 Bluff Oak St. Apopka, FL 32712-3945 (407) 889-5524 email powerlines@juno.com |
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