The Humanities of Infertility

In my prayer life, I’ve often observed that God uses many resources to send me messages of hope, encouragement, and mercy to increase my faith, which in turn allows me to trust in Him even more fully. I tend to have a more Carmelite heart when it comes to the silence observed in prayer, and I find that sometimes my fear keeps me from truly feeling still and even motivated to spend the much needed time in this quiet place of reflection. But lately, I’ve noticed how much meaning and love He’s been showering me with in so many forms all around me that make me even more aware of His presence. The grace He is trying to give me has intentionally overridden this loud distraction of fear. Music, art, books, reflections, prayers from friends, community, and homilies I’ve found have all been blessing my heart so abundantly, and they have created this spiritual shift alongside an overwhelming pull of the Holy Spirit within my soul. It’s the culmination of all these things that ultimately point to Him and all that keeps me moving toward Him in this life journey. Because of how these gifts are being given to me, I am continuously being made more keenly aware of the graces I have been gifted with throughout my infertility.

When I was in college (over 20 years ago now!), I was required to take a course in Humanities. It was a study of the art, music, and literature during a specific age and moment in history that helped to define it. I thought it was so amazing how the reflection of the emotion and mood of each artist and their respective pieces of work and artistry helped to bring together a living image and a specific identity marker of time. I think about that now as God continues to mark specific seasons in my own life’s history within these very same gifts of artistic expression. I’m now left questioning what is God helping me see or say about myself through other’s creative gifts that move my heart at this point in my journey?

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If you’ve ever attempted to write, draw, paint, sculpt, play music, or have tried to create any form of art (insert your favorite medium here), at some point you’ve probably struggled a little bit with trying to make sure you are effectively communicating all that you feel about it within your heart for whomever may eventually look upon it when it’s complete. For me personally, this struggle happens when I know the piece isn’t for me, and I truly desire to make sure what I’ve attempted to create is perhaps shared and understood with whom it’s intended for. I happened to be flipping through some old photos and memories of mine and I landed on this beauty shown above. One of my favorite sculptures is Michelangelo’s Pieta that I had the awesome experience and privilege of seeing firsthand in St. Peter’s Basilica in Vatican City in 2015. The neat thing about art is the way an artist interprets the scene and the message being delivered to us by the way the piece is positioned. For instance, I love the way that Michelangelo displays the Blessed Mother carefully holding our Jesus after He was taken down from the cross. I particularly love the gentleness in her face guiding me to look directly at Him despite the pain the whole image is portraying. I began to think about this past surgery and how I have been gently supported in the dying of myself to rise in His new life because of this sculpture. I can imagine being cradled by motherhood herself all while she (Mary) is still pointing me towards Jesus. In every creative medium gifted to us by God, everything is meant to point to Him as He is the ultimate and good creator of all of His masterpieces.

This past year of my journey has been incredibly humbling and very difficult at the same time. I was really searching for anyone who could just relate and support me and my family as we began to return to everything we thought we had tucked away (or had we?). I was craving support from a community that could also keep me moving toward Christ. By nothing more than an act of faith, I was divinely lead into a support community that I heard about on Facebook called “Springs in the Desert” (https://www.springsinthedesert.org/). They just happened to be hosting a virtual Lenten Retreat called Chosen For This Cross right when we found them. It couldn’t have been at a more appropriate time in my history! Not only did we find other families like our own, but I finally began to gave myself permission to grieve…after 10 years of the battle, I finally saw it for what it was, and I gave myself permission to grieve. In the presence of all kinds of Catholic families suffering from some form of infertility, this gift of community helped me to see my cross for what it is and how Jesus was connected to it and embracing all of us through it. A beautiful soul in our small group break out session gave the book recommendation of Under the Laurel Tree: Grieving Infertility with Saints Joachim and Anna by Nicole M. Roccas that has also truly been an eye opening gift. I highly recommend giving it a read (or listen to it as an audiobook as I have been doing) if you need some help breaking down all that you are feeling with those enduring the same burden of the infertility cross. Here was another great example of literature marking a moment in time pointing me straight to Christ.

As I prepared to undertake my Holy Week surgery (gulp!), I began to strongly feel His presence through music. It seemed like my “Love!” playlist was on a continuous loop to prepare my soul for this hard undertaking, and EVERY song was like a heart prayer and a constant reminder that He was right there with me. So much so, that I haven’t even stopped listening to it, I just keep adding more songs to the playlist! A friend of mine sent me a beautiful song as I was preparing for the final days leading up to surgery that constantly brought me faith and courage despite having incredible pain, traveling during Covid-19, making sure my toddler was adjusting ok, making sure my husband was set up to work remotely, having to wait in pre-op alone, and having to experience the fear of not knowing what the final outcome of my health would be. This song was a gift. It was His way of reminding me that He heard me, He was there, and that He is allowing all of this to happen to prove His love for me, and that all of it was His Divine Will. Just like the Rosary marks a specific moment in His story, He was now marking a moment in my own while preparing me to enter into His Passion, Death, and Resurrection hand in hand with Him.

I particularly kept getting caught up in the verse “there is another in the fire standing next to me” of this song. I began to make it a point to identify who was in the fire with me all along the way. The answer is: the whole body of Christ. Ultimately, it is Jesus the song is signing out to reminding us of His constant presence and love, but all of us are members of His body working together in harmony to manifest His physical presence in the here and now as His body. Helping to hold me up were the shoulders of my faithful and supportive husband John, the sweet hands of my little helper Grace, the arms of embrace from friends constantly reaching out to us, the beating heart and lifeblood of the priests administering the Sacraments for us, and the brain of thought, skill, and expertise of the medical staff going out of there way to help me through this event to call out a few members in gratitude. No matter where you are at in your journey, I strongly encourage you to take frequent moments to identify and appreciate the artists and their works of the body of Christ surrounding you and pointing you toward Him. Thank you sweet Jesus for the beautiful gifts you have sent us through the humanities of infertility.