Does God Think I'm Good Enough?

Over the past year, I haven't written much about my personal struggles. I haven't been ready to share openly about the details: how I've wrestled with surgery on my reproductive system last September, continuing infertility, and seeing my close friends having their first children. This is not to say that I'm going to start sharing the details now, but I did want to share that I can sum up my recent and ongoing struggles this way:

I am working to disentangle two questions that have plagued me for so long: "Does God think I'm good enough?" and "Is God planning for us to have children?" The big lesson is that these two questions are NOT THE SAME QUESTION. And that's what I've been learning and trying to know in the deepest part of my being. Because the answer to the first is always YES, while the answer to the second remains unknown.

A Prayer to the Mother of God

"Pure one, fill my heart with rejoicing unto plenitude, and grant thine undefiled felicity, since thou didst give birth unto Him Who is the cause of joy.
Come deliver us out of dangers, pure Mother of God, since thou art mother of deliverance, and of the peace which doth surpass all human reasoning.
Dissipate the gloom of my trespasses, O Bride of God, with the clear brightness of thy radiance, for thou didst bear the Light divine which was before all time.
Heal me, O pure one, of the sickness which the passions bring, and make me worthy of thy guardiancy, and by thy prayers and intercessions grant thou health to me."

--Ode 5 of the Paraklesis (Small Supplicatory Canon) to the Mother of God

This beautiful prayer brought comfort and hope to me during my husband's hospitalization 11 years ago, in the two weeks after our wedding. The Mother of God also brought me surprising peace through her icon (pictured below) which I just so happened to have with me in a backpack when we were admitted to the hospital. May the Most Holy Theotokos protect, shelter, and defend the whole world and speedily destroy COVID-19 by her mighty intercessions!

Transforming Your Cross

I'm thinking this morning about this constant companion, this lacking, that has followed me around for ten and a half years. Do you have a trial like that, a thorn in your side that God continues to allow? A cross that He keeps asking you to take up? He is so proud of you when you take it up and follow Him. It helps me to imagine what He will say when we finish the race and come before Him, carrying our crosses: "Well done, good and faithful servant. You took up this cross and let it purify you and brought it to Me so I could transform it. I'm hammering it into a crown, for it is your greatest glory. The evil one meant it for evil, but you let Me use it for good" (Matt. 25:23, Matt. 16:24, Gen. 50:20). Imagine Jesus beaming at you, filled with delight at the sight of you and your faithfulness. Does your cross seem just a little lighter now, a little more worth carrying?

Review of Dr. Nicole Roccas's "Under the Laurel Tree: Grieving Infertility with Saints Joachim and Anna"

Author Nicole Roccas has done a great service to the Orthodox world—and beyond—by creating Under the Laurel Tree: Grieving Infertility with Saints Joachim and Anna. The premise of the book is a necessary one in so many ways. For one thing, speaking of infertility from an Orthodox perspective makes her work a rarity. More than that, focusing on the grieving process means that the work is fitting for a variety of audience members. In my experience, there are more books written about how an author waited on God and finally received children. While I think that Under the Laurel Tree would still appeal to people whose infertility ended with the birth of a child, I really value the book’s focus on the journey of walking with God through the grief of infertility—on the spiritual growth to be gained through the struggle of infertility—rather than on the idea that being “cured” is defined by becoming a parent. As Dr. Roccas eloquently states in one of the “golden lines” of the book: “Healing from the shame of infertility comes not when/if we finally get pregnant, but rather when we ultimately surrender to our full worth as men and women, children of the living God whose image we bear and whose love we can never escape.”

I also really enjoyed her in-depth look at the story of Joachim and Anna, as told in the second-century work The Protoevangelium of James. Dr. Roccas discusses the somewhat controversial nature of the source material (some in the Orthodox Church have questioned its authenticity, but the Church has drawn upon it heavily to design the feasts of the Virgin Mary that are celebrated during the Church Year). As Dr. Roccas explains—and I agree—even if there are any historical inaccuracies in the details, they do not diminish the value and authenticity of the emotional experience that The Protoevangelium portrays. Each chapter of the book’s main section begins with an excerpt from the story of Joachim and Anna. I found that the parts of the story that Dr. Roccas quotes were at times confusing, but her commentary helped to clarify what could be gleaned from the story even when the details were hard to understand for someone coming from our modern context.

Dr. Roccas expertly weaves humor into the book, so that I found it surprisingly funny despite the serious subject matter. Her writing style is so relatable and goes a long way toward making the reader feel understood and accepted for whatever feelings he or she may have experienced during infertility. That being said, I would recommend this book both for those who have experienced or are experiencing infertility, and for those who have not but wish to better understand the experience.

I am so thankful that this book is available now as a resource in the Orthodox world. I so enjoyed reading my review copy and am delighted to recommend it to others!

Longing for Children Doesn't Mean I'm Alone

Thinking this morning about my desire for a child, there is some comfort in seeing myself as a member of a long line of women who have faced this struggle, stretching back throughout history. 

Infertility is isolating because we fall prey to the illusion that only I have experienced this. We look around and it seems that everyone else has children. When I see all of the children at church, I fall prey to this notion even though I could easily look and also see the other couples (and as-yet-unmarried women) who don't have children, or I could remember the stories of those who I know had to wait a long time for the children they do have.

The reality is that there are so many women who have shared this struggle with me. In biblical times, there were Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel, Hannah, Anna (the mother of the Virgin Mary), and Elizabeth. In recent times, I am blessed to have the public examples of writers like Sara Hagerty, Christie Purifoy, and Lauren Casper, along with other women who have told me their stories. 

The fact is that God isn't surprised by anything I am thinking or feeling about my struggle, because I am not the first to think or feel those things! When I am able to remember the "cloud of witnesses" who understand my struggle because they've faced it, I can find a little more strength. I can not be afraid to accept how I'm feeling and to tell God about it, because, really, nothing I'm experiencing will shock Him! 

I think part of the reason we women long to have children is to have fellowship with other women through that shared experience, so it really makes a difference to know that the struggle of infertility is also a gateway to fellowship with other women--the many other women who have spent years longing for children.

How Does God View Me As I Wait on Him?

I've been considering an important question lately: How does God view me as I wait on Him? I've realized that my attitude about this--my subconscious assumptions--strongly determines how I feel as I wait. This is a really tricky area in which I've found myself believing all kinds of lies.

I can't definitively answer the question, "Why does God want me to wait for things that I long for?" I can think of some possible reasons: circumstances needing to line up in a way that's ideal from God's perspective, or the value of how I'll be transformed through developing patience. But more importantly, I need to recognize that God's love for me determines both what He allows in my life, and what His attitude toward me is. 

When God doesn't give me a speedy "yes" to my prayers, it's an easy, easy thing for me to start thinking that He doesn't care about my desires, and that my feelings don't matter to Him. I am amazed at how readily my mind adopts this way of thinking. Yet this is the age-old trick of the evil one. When Satan spoke to Eve in the Garden, his whole argument was essentially that God was lying to her and that He wasn't the loving Father that He claims to be, but rather was trying to keep good things away from her. And this is the very same lie that I'm believing when I tell myself that God doesn't really care about me and my waiting.

I read Psalm 27 recently (or Psalm 28 in Western Bibles), and it says, "The Lord is my helper and my champion;/ In Him my heart hoped, and I was helped,/ And my flesh revived" (verse 7). This verse reminds us that God is not just passively watching us, and He is not even simply cheering us on: He is our champion, actively pursuing our cause, protecting us, fighting on our behalf, dedicated to our good. I've learned the value of champions from playing board games; when my opponent's champion comes onto the board, I get very concerned and target him immediately, because I know what a powerful force he is. And I find the image of the all-powerful, all-seeing God as my champion to be incredibly encouraging. 

I've realized that I need to actively ask myself what I believe about God, reminding myself that He "is for us, who can be against us?" (Romans 8:31). Sometimes I get the idea that God is even scoffing at me, contemptuous of my hope that wonderful things may come to me, and this makes me want to abandon my hopes in shame. But, again, who would plant that idea in my head? It is not from the Lord; it's from the adversary, who can defeat me most easily simply by convincing me not to fight him at all.

I know this is a theme that I need to ponder more, and I will most likely come back to it in a later post. In the mean time, I hope these thoughts encourage you in whatever area you may be facing doubt or struggle right now.

Falling in Love with Lent: Learning to Love the Waiting (Guest Post by Elissa Bjeletich)

I am incredibly delighted to introduce my first guest post here at Hopeful Patience! I greatly admire Elissa Bjeletich, whose work I discovered through Ancient Faith Radio. She co-authored the wonderful new book Tending the Garden of Our Hearts: Daily Lenten Meditations for Families, which I reviewed a couple of weeks ago here and on Ancient Faith Publishing's website (https://store.ancientfaith.com/tending-the-garden-of-our-hearts-daily-lenten-meditations-for-families/). Elissa and her husband, Marko, have five daughters and live outside of Austin, Texas. Elissa directs and teaches Sunday School at Transfiguration Greek Orthodox Church, writes books and hosts podcasts, contributes to curriculum projects, and works at an Orthodox summer camp. In light of her new book, I asked her to write about how the practice of Great Lent helps us develop hopeful patience.  

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Patience does not come to me naturally; God has been teaching me faithfully for many years, and I am a poor student. I am ever so slowly learning to embrace patience, to (occasionally) live joyfully in this present moment without pining for other moments I imagine are still ahead. Too often, I have shortchanged the present time, as if it were just a stopover on the road to something else.

When I was teenager, I was pretty sure that nothing I did really mattered because I was not yet an adult. As soon as I finished college, I could not wait to get going — to get married, to buy a house, to have children. I considered slowing down and enjoying my life as it already was, and promptly rejected that idea to resume pining and plotting to get where I was going. I hated the waiting.

The funny thing is that once I got there, once I was a married woman with children, there was always another thing. Another child, another move, another stage that had to come so that I could stop waiting.

And then it happened. People started having serious problems. My third daughter had a cleft lip and palate. I began to spend a lot of time in waiting rooms. My daughter smiled at people, sparked conversations. Our life was happening in waiting rooms. I began to really face this question of waiting in a whole new way. Were we losing time because we were waiting — or was waiting just the place where I was living life? Had waiting always been the destination?

My fourth child, my son, died on his 45th day. I asked myself, what were those 45 days? They were the days of his life. And they were beautiful. We don’t know how many days we’ll receive, and we may not accomplish anything in this world. Is a 45-day life worth living? Of course it is. Of course it was. I knew that the grieving would take a long time and could not be hurried. I could not hurry it. I could not push forward. It was time to wait, and to learn how waiting could be processing. Grieving was the thing I was doing, not the thing that I was waiting to finish.

By the time my sixth child, Mariana, went into liver failure and was placed on the transplant list, perhaps we were experts at waiting. We waited for a liver and then we waited for a month for her to come out of her post-surgical coma. Waiting wasn’t as hard any more. I had made peace with it.

I recently read a guest post by Dr. Daniel Opperwal on one of my favorite blogs, Nicole Roccas’s Time Eternal. [https://blogs.ancientfaith.com/timeeternal/the-joy-of-waiting-time-and-psalmody-in-st-benedict-guest-post/#more-1114] He wrote, “[…] we learn to actually love this waiting; it becomes a joy, not a burden, when it is ornamented by our voices lifted in ancient prayer. To fall in love with the waiting is the birth of patience […]”

Those words ring in my heart: To fall in love with the waiting is the birth of patience…  What if we can learn to embrace the waiting, to fall in love with it? I am at peace with the waiting, but what if I could love it? Would I finally then experience that holy gift of the Spirit, patience?

As we prepare to embark on Great Lent, I am struck by its relationship to waiting.  I converted to Orthodoxy twenty years ago, and my fast was always limited by the fact that I was constantly pregnant or nursing for years. But eventually, I was free to fast, and it was hard to learn that discipline. I found that my first fasts were mostly about the waiting for the feast ahead, about getting through this hard time (Lent) so that we could enjoy the good time (Pascha). But then as Bright Week faded I would find again and again that I missed the fasting. I missed the evening services and the quiet prayers. I missed the fast. Over the years, I have found that when the Sunday of Zacchaeus alerts me that Great Lent is on the horizon, I can’t stop smiling. There he is, up in that tree. It’s about time. I can feel it. I am ready for Lent; I need Lent; I love Lent.

It’s not about enduring Lent so that we can reach the Resurrection; it’s about falling in love with Lent itself, with the waiting. And when Judgement Sunday arrives, and we see Christ enthroned in His glory, separating the sheep from the goats, we are reminded that we’re not just waiting for Pascha: we await Christ’s Second Coming, the General Resurrection and the True Pascha.

Embracing Great Lent means embracing the human condition: we struggle and suffer as we await the glorious coming of our Lord, the final destruction of death and the resurrection of all.

We will always be waiting, until the end of days. If we can fall in love with the waiting, we have a chance at abundant life.

Establish your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is at hand. (James 5:7-9)

Ancient Faith Book Review: Journeying through Lent with "Tending the Garden of Our Hearts"

I follow the work of several Western Christian writers and speakers, and they often reference doing daily devotionals as a family. While I know that there are many devotional books available from Western sources, I am not aware of many such Orthodox Christian resources. So I was delighted to learn that Elissa Bjeletich and Kristina Wenger had created Tending the Garden of Our Hearts: Family Meditations for Great Lent. This book, releasing through Ancient Faith Publishing, comes out February 5th (just over a month before Orthodox Lent begins).

Reading Tending the Garden has brought me great joy, and, as a result, I have already begun getting excited for Great Lent, Holy Week, and Pascha (the Resurrection).

Before I began reading, I wondered if the writing style would feel more geared toward children and not as useful for adults. However, I quickly found myself encountering new, helpful ways of thinking about Orthodox ideas. The writing style felt accessible to children, but not off-putting to adults. I think the book will work equally great as a daily Lenten devotional for my family now, when we're adults only, and with kids in the future.

In the book, the weeks of Great Lent are organized into themes. I often wondered how authors Elissa and Kristina came up with so many well-thought-out topics to connect with each theme. For example, they mention a number of saints that I knew little or nothing about, such as Elder Dobri. He is described in the fourth week of Lent, which focuses on the Cross and the ways that different people have taken up their cross and followed Christ (Matt. 16:24).

Elder Dobri was a Bulgarian who fell asleep in the Lord just last year. This very humble man lived a simple life of holiness. In his nineties, he spent much of his time begging on the street outside of a cathedral in Sofia, the capital city. People later learned that the money Elder Dobri collected all went to several different churches to fund their restoration. He himself was living in a small building in the churchyard of his native village, where he slept on the floor and ate very little. And, when he wasn't collecting money, he was helping with repair work on the church where he lived. People recognized Elder Dobri's holiness because "he simply radiated kindness and meekness and love.... When people put some money into his cup, he would give them a loving look and thank them for their charity" (pg. 132).

I love reading about saints like this--people who, in our ordinary world, found ways to embrace the love of God and pour it out to others. Some of the other saints discussed in the book include St. Xenia of St. Petersburg, St. Constantine the Great, Mother Maria of Paris, and St. John of the Ladder. The rich diversity encourages readers to consider what their own unique path to holiness might be, recognizing that God has unique plans for each of us that won't be exactly like anyone else's life story. And, really, the whole purpose of "tending the garden of our hearts" is to seek holiness in our lives, to learn to become channels of God's love into the world.

So I am resoundingly recommending this wonderful new book from Ancient Faith Publishing, with much gratitude to the authors for their excellent, whole-hearted work, which will bless many families this Lent and in the years to come.