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Bumping along on a mini-bus, we made the ten-minute jaunt from the airport
to our parking lot. It was about 11 p.m., and we were returning from a
whirlwind trip to attend Eddie’s brother’s wedding. Now, we just wanted to
drive home and fall in bed. I was battling a virus, and the meds made me
feel floaty. Ryan was way past his bedtime, but he was still going strong
on that inner energy that only children have. On the mini-bus, all six
passengers sat facing each other, but no one bothered talking on what
seemed an uneventful ride to a parking lot. I noticed the couple across
from us. The wife’s hands clung to her husband’s arm. It looked as if she
were grasping tightly to gain his strength.
Their silence surprised me a little because people almost
always make small talk about Ryan’s sign language, and he was busily
signing to Eddie about this bus adventure—the driver, the chairs, the
windows, the lights. Maybe the couple was just as tired as we were, I
thought, or maybe they just aren’t interested in children. They never made
eye contact with me, and since I feeling woozy, I didn’t try to strike up
a conversation.
The driver pulled
up to their parking spot first, and the couple unloaded their luggage. As
the bus pulled away, Eddie looked at me and said quietly, “They’re
infertile.”
“What?!” My eyes flew open. I certainly never expected this observation
from a boring little bus ride. “How do you know?”
“I watched her,” Eddie said. “Even though it’s dark, I could see she had
tears running down her face. She kept watching Ryan. I didn’t know what to
say. I didn’t know whether I should bring it up.”
We arrived at our car, loaded our luggage, and hoped the other couple
might drive our direction as they left the parking lot. We wanted to tell
them we knew how they felt. We wanted them to know that we’d survived
infertility. We wanted to listen to their hurt, if they chose
to share it. We wanted them to know they are not alone.
But we never saw them again. They were gone, and with them, they carried
the image of our happy family of three. They never knew that we understood
their pain or that the creation of our family had come after many years of
waiting. They never knew how much we wanted to share their grief.
What to do? What to say?
Maybe it’s not
a quick encounter on a bus that concerns you. You’re wondering what to say
to your long-time friend who’s been trying to have a child for months,
maybe years. Or maybe you just learned by chance of a couple’s struggles,
since they appeared to everyone as just a childless couple who didn’t ever
talk about having children of their own.
Have you questioned what’s the right thing to do that will
make a difference? This chapter provides you with tips on what to do and
what not to do. Don’t expect the person battling infertility (male or
female) to know how to tell you what they need you to do or say. The
upheaval of the experience is so overwhelming that most people don’t have
the presence of mind to know how to ask for what they need—they’re
struggling to survive day to day. These ideas were gleaned from couples
who survived infertility and, in retrospect, could see what made a
difference in their lives and relationships when people tried
(successfully or not so) to minister to them.
But to really be equipped to minister, don’t read this chapter only.
That’s like eating the cherry off a sundae and ignoring the ice cream,
syrup, and sprinkles. The other chapters provide deeper insights about the
struggles of infertility from those who know it personally.
Other topics covered in
this chapter:
Offer empathy, not
sympathy
To minister meaningfully, we need to find a way to connect with someone
else’s pain. This isn’t some corny admonition to conjure up
pseudo-feelings. The truth is, you can never know the pain a particular
infertile couple is feeling. Even if you had your own infertility
experiences, you can’t precisely know theirs. Every situation is different
and every person’s way of handling difficult emotions will vary, too. But
you can draw from your experiences to create a frame of reference for your
ministry….
Never, never assume
anything
Several years into our infertility
struggles, an acquaintance overheard me talking about adoption
possibilities. “You want children?” she said with no small amount of
surprise. “I always thought you two just weren’t interested since you both
have careers.”
My heart flinched at
the familiar stab, the wound that never healed. We didn’t make public
prayer requests out of our forays into infertility treatments, so of
course, everyone didn’t know we were hoping for a child. Our families and
closest friends knew, but this person didn’t.
Assumptions are so
dangerous. They inflict slow-healing wounds….
Zip your lips (and use
your ears)
Realize this: Everyone thinks they have
advice for an infertile couple. Everyone from parents to nosy neighbors
can offer something they’ve read, heard, or something they think they’ve
read or heard. They expect that they’re giving the couple a big piece of
helpful news. Infertility info is everywhere—from the Internet to
televised news reports, to zany portrayals in movies, to magazine features
about high tech babies. Any couple involved with fertility treatments is
not at a loss for information.
Listen with a high IQ—involvement quotient
You innately
use various levels of listening in your life. At times, you listen
intensely to a speaker when the subject hits you square between the eyes.
Other times, you listen to the radio, drive, and plan a grocery list in
your head. You listen to a friend rattle on about something trivial and
only catch part of it.
If you bother at all to
listen to a friend who is infertile, a friend who is trusting you enough
to share any part of her or his painful journey, then do your friend a
favor and listen as intently as if it were your own problem. Listen as if
you were required to accurately summarize the content back to the speaker.
Listen well, because there are precious few who actually bother listening
at all….
Take the initiative to stick by your friend over the
long haul
Too many people ask
an infertile couple how they’re doing, what treatments they’re pursuing,
and how they can pray for them. And that’s it. There’s little or no
follow-up.
Survivor's Quote:
I didn’t share my
experiences with many people, so most had no idea we were even trying to
have children. The last two miscarriages we kept to ourselves because the
heartache was just too much. I didn’t want people feeling sorry for me,
especially after losing my best friend. She sensed my pain and couldn’t
deal with it, so she stopped calling me. I felt as if she had betrayed me.
It was then that I realized that some people are uncomfortable being
around childless couples.
(Debbie)
Ask questions gently and only if permitted
When you discover
your friend is encountering infertility problems, begin by asking him or
her if they would like to talk about it, indicating that you’re willing to
listen and share their pain. They may need you to prove you’re willing to
listen….
Think about how they feel in group settings
Infertile couples
agree: One of the hardest things to endure is sitting in a large group
that openly discusses the adventures of their own children.
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Reach out tangibly to your friend
A couple battles
infertility every day, 24/7. Thoughts of inadequacy and frustration are
never far removed from their consciousness….
What to say and what not to say
The Bible
wasn’t kidding when it said that the tongue can’t be tamed. “It is a
restless evil, full of deadly poison. With the tongue we praise our Lord
and Father, and with it we curse men, who have been made in God’s
likeness” (James 3:8-9).
The words of our mouths can inflict pain or impart comfort. Unfortunately,
during infertility, most couples are recipients of the tongue’s less
admirable efforts. People say the wrong things all the time, all the while
thinking they’re really helping or encouraging. Most people don’t realize
that their lips are speaking lies and that their tongue is muttering
wicked things (see Isa. 59:3). Hopefully, this section will be an
education for your tongue.
I’m not sure I ever met anyone who innately knew the right
things to say unless they had experienced infertility themselves. It can
take days to get over the pain inflicted by some people’s well-meaning,
spur-of-the-moment comments. The memories of some of these thoughtless
remarks never go away…. |
