The Barren Womb as Fertile Soil
by Kathy Fuller
Guisewite
“We are all
meant to be the mothers of God, for God is always
needing to be born.”
~Meister Eckhart~
I’ve always had a heart for children, and I always
assumed that I would be the mother of many. In my
mind’s eye, there was a certain picture of this, a
certain way in which I would mother children. I
guess you could say it was the standard version of
boy meets girl...you know the rest. The twist to my
story is that God’s vision was much wider.
I did fall in love and marry, but the next step
wasn’t one I expected. My husband was infertile and
the anguish of that fact was almost more than I
could bear. How could I have been so set up? How
could this God I love have given me such a heart
for children ... and allow this to happen? There
was great grief, deep mourning. Soon, however, God
began to place new images before my eyes. I could
hear God saying, “Kathy, do you remember...” and
all these names of children would begin to surface.
They would be names of children I had taught or
babysat…children who, for a multitude of reasons,
needed love and found it in the heart of me. Often
they didn’t look at all like me. They didn’t speak
like me or live a life even remotely similar to
mine. And yet, I had loved, and they had loved me.
Suddenly, I could see that my heart had been
lovingly prepared for what was to come and for the
way in which God had planned for me to be a mother.
My daughter was born in South Korea. I didn’t carry
her around in my belly for nine months, but I
believe she has always been with me. She has always
been a rich, textured part of me that slept until I
was ready for her. She is beautiful and seeped in
messages of God’s feminine face and understanding.
From so far away from me, she came all covered in a
mystical, divine love. She arrived to my arms when
she was four months old, and it was an astonishing
moment of bright joy.
The miracle of our union is so wondrous to me. As
the years have unfolded, I continue to stand amazed
at how we came to be mother and daughter, and how
thankful I feel for such an unexpected measure of
love in my life. Hannah has opened up many new ways
of thinking, of being, of experiencing God in my
life. She’s now 15 and like every mother I know, I
am learning how to hold her close while readying
myself to let her go. Our journey together,
however, always reminds me that we’ll never really
be apart from one another.
But there is one more piece to my life I am
compelled to share...one more leg to my journey as
a woman. My marriage did not last, and as I bore
that grief, there was a glowing hope that someday,
I still might physically give birth to a child.
Perhaps, I might fall in love again someday.
Perhaps, I might have the honor and joy of becoming
a mother again in a different way. As an artist, as
one who loves to create beauty, I still yearned to
partake in this ancient rite of creation. My body
was designed for this, and my heart longed to
experience this feminine blessing.
I’m still looking for a soulful companion. I’m
still trusting that I might know the love of a
godly man. But I will not share the miracle of
pregnancy with him. We will not create life in this
way together. Three years ago, I had a
hysterectomy, and of all the sadnesses I’ve
encountered in my life, I found this to be the
deepest. I always believed that dreams can come
true if you wait and wish and pray long enough. The
door to this dream closed, and it would be one that
would never open no matter how much I wished. I am
still surprised at how quickly tears surface over
this loss.
What is important to know in the face of such grief
is that it gave way to more...it gave way to more
of me and who I am. Through women I love, books
that purposely found their way to me, visions I
began to have the summer of that surgery, and
through the grace of growing years with Hannah, I
began to see that the loss of my womb was about
loss, but it was also about opening to new spaces
and ways of being a woman of God. That empty space
inside of me began to heal into a very fertile soil
upon which new life and loves continue to pour
forth. May this truth continue to be so... for me
and for you.
Birth
Sienna is
yet smoothed
into
green leaves.
What it has taken
to be born
out of
clay and
darkness!
Such a mixture
of
effort and
rest.
Yes.
One must rest
before the
birth.
One must nestle
in the unknown~
float for a while
upon a dreamy sea...
roots
growing deep...
umbilical cords making
primal connections
to mysterious voices and
feedings
that weave themselves into
the textures of your being.
Moments come,
restless moments,
when the rest feels like
it will never give way
to breath and light.
Dying feels more
imminent
than air.
And yet,
even as
that first breath comes...
it feels too soon~
roots beg to pull you
back,
to encase and
enfold you in
the comfort of darkness.
But it is time.
The cosmos is singing
as you arrive.
No one has ever seen
the likes of you.
The air quivers.
Pine trees toss their needles
like confetti.
And the sunlight,
oh, the sunlight
warms itself in your arrival.
It is Sunday
and
your birth
is your baptism.
All covered in
clods of clay,
you stretch to embrace
the open hands of life.
Look at you.
Look at your skin,
your petals...
veins pumping
color and softness
all through you.
And your beauty~
it’s in all that you’ve
brought with you
from that sacred space
below, within.
Your beauty is you.
What God has joined together...
What God has joined together...
What God has joined together.
Share your reflections on and/or experiences with reproductive issues here.
Official Church Documents
1984 Statement on Abortion for the Church of the Brethren