When Childlessness Hurts during the Holidays

Infertility

Dec 10

Written By Katelyn

The holidays are a hard time of year for many people, but particularly for those who are grieving. My husband’s cousin passed away this year at age 32. Several elderly matriarchs and patriarchs from my church passed as well. Their families are struggling to find hope and joy this Advent season as they engage in or perhaps choose to avoid the holiday festivities.

Those who are childless face a special kind of grief.

For one thing, we may be reminded that we will not put to bed excited children who are wriggling with anticipation for the gifts that they will open on Christmas morning. There are no little stockings; there are no ‘Christmas memories’ that will live on in infamy down the family line. Because there is no family line. There will be no passing on of traditions.

For another, we may be reminded each time we think upon or sing about the “little baby Jesus” that this entire season is a celebration of a baby, the very thing that causes us most grief. Unlike Mary, we do not hold a baby in our arms. We may even resent Mary for her immaculate conception, grumbling, “Come on, God! Want to do another miraculous birth? I’ve been waiting for years.”

And for another, the holidays mean gathering together as families and friends, and this may mean being surrounded by loved ones who have young families of their own, which of course only serves to stab the sharp knife of pain deeper into your chest.

Childlessness hurts during the holidays.

The older I’ve gotten and the longer that my husband and I have lived with childlessness, the more I resonate with the themes of Advent over and above the excitement of Christmas.

See, Advent is a time of waiting. It’s the in-between time where we eagerly anticipate the second coming of the Messiah, but we know that while we live here on this earth, there will be pain, grief, and sorrow. We recognize that this pain will end one day—our faith eagerly expects that our Lord will return to make all things new—but in the here and now, we feel the raw pain of loneliness, grief, and loss.

The already-but-not-yet.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer said,

Not all can wait—certainly not those who are satisfied, contented, and feel that they live in the best of all possible worlds! Those who learn to wait are uneasy about their way of life, but have seen a vision of greatness in the world of the future and are patiently expecting its fulfillment. The celebration of Advent is possible only to those who are troubled in soul, who know themselves to be poor and imperfect, and who look forward to something even greater to come. (1)

Those of us who most intimately understand the pain of loss most acutely anticipate the coming Messiah.

Every day, our lives are a reminder that our world is not yet as it should be. Our bodies are broken; they do not bear the physical fruit of children. No matter how hard we try, we cannot bring it to pass; it is not within our control, just as Advent and the coming Christ are not within our control.

We feel the yearning of creation as it longs for its Saviour to come. We are burdened by the brokenness that we see each day—in ourselves or in others.

The hymn “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day” captures this deep desire for healing and wholeness—that is, peace on earth:

And in despair I bowed my head
"There is no peace on Earth, " I said
For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on Earth, good will to men.

Advent is a time when we read the biblical prophets and identify with their deep longing for their Messiah to rescue them from oppression and suffering. God had been silent for four hundred years, and so the people repeated the words of the prophets in their synagogues each Sabbath. They reminded themselves of the Messiah who was to come, the king from the line of David who would overturn the Roman empire, and who would bring peace to Israel.

They prayed the words of the psalmist, crying,

How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me? (Ps. 13:1)

They read the words of the prophet, Isaiah:

For to us a child is born,
    to us a son is given,
    and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
    Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Of the greatness of his government and peace
    there will be no end.
He will reign on David’s throne
    and over his kingdom,
establishing and upholding it
    with justice and righteousness
    from that time on and forever.
The zeal of the Lord Almighty
    will accomplish this. (Is. 9:6-7)

When the little baby in a manger came to earth, the Jews found out quickly that the peace of God’s kingdom looks far different than the so-called peace of Rome. God’s kingdom did not look like military might or overthrowing the empire.

Instead, this Prince of Peace lifted up the humble, ate with the sinners, touched the lepers, and celebrated with the repentant tax collectors. His peace was a humble, quiet peace that cared for the very lowest and most exhausted person.

In his birth, God became a human being and walked on this earth with us, suffering with us, and dying a criminal’s death in our place. In God’s humility, suffering, and death, victory is won! He stared down every corner of darkness in the world—all grief, infertility, child loss, and death—and defeated it completely.

The celebration of Advent is that this Prince of Peace has come at last, ruling in hearts and lives, ruling over all creation. Jesus came to bring God’s kingdom from heaven to earth—a kingdom of justice, righteousness, peace, and liberty from oppression.

He has come to show us what this kingdom life looks like—and it looks like seeing the hurting and vulnerable populations, sitting with them, sorrowing and celebrating with them. Yes, all human beings have value in his kingdom, whether they bear children or not.

God sees you and grieves with you.

We who believe in Jesus our Messiah also profess that he will return. This is the in-between, where we see that he came to show us how to live in his kingdom and we wait for him to come again to make all things new finally and forever.

In this in-between time, he has given us his Spirit to walk with us, comfort us, and counsel us (John 14:26-27, 15:26, Acts 1:8). By the power of the Spirit, his people are his hands and feet who bring light and life to a hurting and broken world.

We cannot be so wrapped up in our grief that we forget our calling—that we are called to be his priesthood, to profess his name in order to live at peace with all people (1 Tim. 2:1-2), to be reconciled with those who are different from us (Eph. 2:13-19), and to bring God’s kingdom to earth as we proclaim Jesus, the “light for revelation to the Gentiles and glory to your people, Israel” (Luke 2:32).

Whether we have children or not, this is our calling. We bear the good fruit of God’s just and right kingdom in our words and actions as we interact with our communities, churches, and families.

The hope of Advent doesn’t necessarily ease the pain. I’m not trying to tell you that you should not feel pain or lament your loss.

I am saying that Advent is a prime time to express your grief, and I would invite you to turn your lament into a prayer for God’s kingdom to come on earth in all its fullness.

How might you partner with God’s Spirit to bring his light and goodness to other lonely, suffering people as we wait for peace, healing, and wholeness?

Likewise, for those of you who have friends or family who are suffering this Advent season, how can you emulate Jesus, God With Us, who came to walk with us in our mess? Where might you welcome in those who are hurting and make space for them to join you in celebration and sorrow?