I've said pretty much everything I intended to. Since I didn't expect this blog to be a long-term project, I'm fine just letting things wind down as is.
On the other hand, I've thoroughly enjoyed the discussion and think there's lots more ground we could cover.
So here's the plan: I'll go through the comment section and pull out a few topics that I didn't really do in depth. Or maybe some topics that I just want to talk over again because Quiverfull is one of my favorite rants (and it's not one of my husband's, which takes all the fun out of it). Also, if there's something you want to say, email it to me and I'll post it for discussion. Of course, I reserve the right to decide what's on topic and what's not. Also, life tends to intervene between me and the blog, so it might take me a while to get things up.
But I think this is a subject that many of us want to discuss and don't always feel comfortable doing so. I'd love to hear from y'all, so email me!
exaltedwater at comcast dot net.
-- SJ
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Part VII: The Bottom Line
I hate the phrase "the bottom line." It's cliched and overdone. And like most cliched, overdone lines, it's an easy shorthand to say what I want to. All of which has nothing to do with the actual post. Now for our feature presentation.
When I wrote my original post, I didn't expect to continue it in a blog-length ramble of thoughts. I'm glad I did it, though. Whether or not it's been helpful for all of you reading, the act of organizing my thoughts, putting them up for public review, and then taking in your thoughtful comments has clarified my thinking.
My conclusion is one of those really annoying ones that don't actually follow the question. (Jesus' favorite kind of answer, incidentally.) The question, if you recall, was "Can I, as a Christian desiring to honor and obey God, ever decide that I am done having children?"
The answer that I'm hearing after all these weeks (months, actually, since my last baby's birth) is: "Know God better."
It isn't a matter of figuring out the right thing to do, and doing it. I've lived much of my life trying to do that, and God always frustrates my attempt. This dilemma is more an opportunity for me to sit with God and talk over all these thoughts -- over and over and over -- and learn Who He is. Maybe He'll give me an answer one day, but I don't think He's really all that interested in knowing how well I score on my final exam. He'd rather I just get to know Him better.
I think He does let us make our own decisions, but we should always be willing to change if that's what He wants us to do. In other words, I can give away all my baby stuff in a year or two, but should be willing to go carseat shopping again if I need to.
I do feel more comfortable saying that I don't want to have any more children. I see more clearly how much of the Quiverfull philosophy is based on random Bible verses (including poetry) and underlying assumptions. I also realize that God hasn't patted me on the back and said, "Yes, I see your point. Okay, we'll work together, and you can be sure that you won't have any more children."
But I do think He has touched my hand and said, "I hear you. Come and know Me better."
-- SJ
When I wrote my original post, I didn't expect to continue it in a blog-length ramble of thoughts. I'm glad I did it, though. Whether or not it's been helpful for all of you reading, the act of organizing my thoughts, putting them up for public review, and then taking in your thoughtful comments has clarified my thinking.
My conclusion is one of those really annoying ones that don't actually follow the question. (Jesus' favorite kind of answer, incidentally.) The question, if you recall, was "Can I, as a Christian desiring to honor and obey God, ever decide that I am done having children?"
The answer that I'm hearing after all these weeks (months, actually, since my last baby's birth) is: "Know God better."
It isn't a matter of figuring out the right thing to do, and doing it. I've lived much of my life trying to do that, and God always frustrates my attempt. This dilemma is more an opportunity for me to sit with God and talk over all these thoughts -- over and over and over -- and learn Who He is. Maybe He'll give me an answer one day, but I don't think He's really all that interested in knowing how well I score on my final exam. He'd rather I just get to know Him better.
I think He does let us make our own decisions, but we should always be willing to change if that's what He wants us to do. In other words, I can give away all my baby stuff in a year or two, but should be willing to go carseat shopping again if I need to.
I do feel more comfortable saying that I don't want to have any more children. I see more clearly how much of the Quiverfull philosophy is based on random Bible verses (including poetry) and underlying assumptions. I also realize that God hasn't patted me on the back and said, "Yes, I see your point. Okay, we'll work together, and you can be sure that you won't have any more children."
But I do think He has touched my hand and said, "I hear you. Come and know Me better."
-- SJ
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Part VI: Foretelling the Future
I once read a Christian leader's opinion that when a couple has "as many children as they can effectively serve the Lord with," then it was admissible to get surgical sterilization.
What he forgot to include was the number of that direct line he had with God. The one that let him know when he had reached his "child saturation point," after which he couldn't serve God effectively anymore.
Obviously we have a good feel for our own limits. Health, organizational skills, emotional personality, finances -- all should play a part in how we raise and grow our families.
But it's also true that we often underestimate ourselves. When I was the mother of one child, I'd have said I couldn't manage four. As it happens, I manage four rather well. I bet I could manage six, too. Probably even eight, although just the thought makes me feel panicky. My point is that while knowing our limitations and "what we can handle" is certainly a part of our decision-making, it doesn't seem like a good idea to make family-planning decisions based solely on what I think I can or can't handle.
There are exceptions, as always -- health comes to mind as the most serious one. Even then, many mothers have weathered medical death sentences and lived to tell about it. That's not a risk I think should be encouraged, in case anyone wonders.
But when it's just a question of how "effectively" I can "serve God," it doesn't seem like I'm in the best position to make the final call. Like Bree and Hwin in C.S. Lewis's The Horse and His Boy, we think we're running as fast as we can -- until God comes behind us like a lion and inspires true passion and speed.
-- SJ
What he forgot to include was the number of that direct line he had with God. The one that let him know when he had reached his "child saturation point," after which he couldn't serve God effectively anymore.
Obviously we have a good feel for our own limits. Health, organizational skills, emotional personality, finances -- all should play a part in how we raise and grow our families.
But it's also true that we often underestimate ourselves. When I was the mother of one child, I'd have said I couldn't manage four. As it happens, I manage four rather well. I bet I could manage six, too. Probably even eight, although just the thought makes me feel panicky. My point is that while knowing our limitations and "what we can handle" is certainly a part of our decision-making, it doesn't seem like a good idea to make family-planning decisions based solely on what I think I can or can't handle.
There are exceptions, as always -- health comes to mind as the most serious one. Even then, many mothers have weathered medical death sentences and lived to tell about it. That's not a risk I think should be encouraged, in case anyone wonders.
But when it's just a question of how "effectively" I can "serve God," it doesn't seem like I'm in the best position to make the final call. Like Bree and Hwin in C.S. Lewis's The Horse and His Boy, we think we're running as fast as we can -- until God comes behind us like a lion and inspires true passion and speed.
-- SJ
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Part V: Personal Choice
"Whether you have more children is between you, your husband, and God."
This statement makes me nervous.*
It seems too pat, too easy to say that the solution to this whole family-size debate is simply personal choice guided by the Holy Spirit. That could be used as an excuse for a whole lot of things. The Bible doesn't directly address family size or birth control, but neither does it directly address abortion, living together unmarried, using drugs, homeschooling, and whether to buy underwear at Victoria's Secret. How do you decide what is personal choice and what is Christian doctrine?
It would be nice if you really could find an answer to each and every question in the Bible. However, the Bible wasn't written to individuals, but to churches, cities, and nations. Taken in that light, it does seem to leave a lot up to personal choice.
In all honesty, I hate it when God leaves things up to personal choice. Too much leeway disturbs me. How do you know if you're right and they're wrong if God didn't lay it out for everybody to see it the same way? I admit this isn't a healthy way to think, but it's part and parcel with my struggles in the area of family size. I gravitate to the teachers who say that God did lay out definite rules for everything. I want to believe the Personal Choice camp, but feel safer in the RuleKeepers Camp.
The answer must lie somewhere in the middle. Obviously your own family is your own concern. But Christians are all part of the Body of Christ, so how and what we decide affects others. That's why it's difficult for me to come to a conclusion and state it confidently. I don't want to make myself unhappy needlessly. But I don't want to abuse God's grace by declaring that whatever I want to do is between God and me, and no one has the right or authority to question me.
A side note: Churches should have the authority to question why Christians do what they do. I've known churches who do that, and the people there were spiritually healthy. By and large, though, our churches are so splintered that there's not much of an authoritative voice in any matter beyond the Ten Commandments. I think this situation leaves far too much up to "personal choice." But then, I would think that, wouldn't I?
* Partly because I always change that sentence to "among" instead of "between," then decide that you and your husband are one entity and God is the other, so there are only two parties, so "between" is correct after all.
This statement makes me nervous.*
It seems too pat, too easy to say that the solution to this whole family-size debate is simply personal choice guided by the Holy Spirit. That could be used as an excuse for a whole lot of things. The Bible doesn't directly address family size or birth control, but neither does it directly address abortion, living together unmarried, using drugs, homeschooling, and whether to buy underwear at Victoria's Secret. How do you decide what is personal choice and what is Christian doctrine?
It would be nice if you really could find an answer to each and every question in the Bible. However, the Bible wasn't written to individuals, but to churches, cities, and nations. Taken in that light, it does seem to leave a lot up to personal choice.
In all honesty, I hate it when God leaves things up to personal choice. Too much leeway disturbs me. How do you know if you're right and they're wrong if God didn't lay it out for everybody to see it the same way? I admit this isn't a healthy way to think, but it's part and parcel with my struggles in the area of family size. I gravitate to the teachers who say that God did lay out definite rules for everything. I want to believe the Personal Choice camp, but feel safer in the RuleKeepers Camp.
The answer must lie somewhere in the middle. Obviously your own family is your own concern. But Christians are all part of the Body of Christ, so how and what we decide affects others. That's why it's difficult for me to come to a conclusion and state it confidently. I don't want to make myself unhappy needlessly. But I don't want to abuse God's grace by declaring that whatever I want to do is between God and me, and no one has the right or authority to question me.
A side note: Churches should have the authority to question why Christians do what they do. I've known churches who do that, and the people there were spiritually healthy. By and large, though, our churches are so splintered that there's not much of an authoritative voice in any matter beyond the Ten Commandments. I think this situation leaves far too much up to "personal choice." But then, I would think that, wouldn't I?
* Partly because I always change that sentence to "among" instead of "between," then decide that you and your husband are one entity and God is the other, so there are only two parties, so "between" is correct after all.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Part IV: Trusting God
Please keep commenting -- your thoughts are very useful as I'm figuring out what I'll write about next. Only a few more posts and then I'll be (haha) done.
There's a fine line between "trusting God" and "trusting I know how my body works."
The Quiverfull philosophy says that God sends children as blessings, and that we shouldn't take any steps to prevent pregnancy. Wanting to control your fertility for any reason shows a lack of trust in God. As with many philosophies, this one looks good in theory, but when you run it in reality you discover some bugs.
As you find out after your first baby is born, there's no such thing as natural birth control. Breastfeeding suppresses your cycle for a while, but it's different with each woman. Some women don't get their cycles back for a year and a half after childbirth. Some women find themselves pregnant a month after giving birth. My cycle usually starts back somewhere around five to seven months after the baby is born. (I got pregnant with Stuart with Addie was eight months old.)
Furthermore, there's no obvious indication that you've ovulated until after the fact. I don't often take issue with the way God designed things, but seriously, that particular area needed a little more tweaking.
And our bodies aren't machines. They don't all work predictably. Some of them plain don't work right at all. If it's possible to be infertile, isn't it possible to be too fertile? A friend suggested that the use of plastics and artificial hormones in our food has affected fertility so that women ovulate more frequently than they should. There might be something in that, but there have always been women whose bodies don't seem to rest and recover between children like they should.
Given the wild variables from one mother to the next, it's unhelpful at best to say that we shouldn't take steps to avoid pregnancy. Sure, God opens and closes the womb -- but you don't get pregnant unless you're having sex while you're ovulating. Knowing how something works doesn't invalidate how God works.
Children are more than just the joining of a sperm and egg, more than just genetic variations of their parents. They're new souls. Obviously the decision to prevent or allow one of these new souls is weighty. But does God ever indicate that we don't have any say in that decision?
-- SJ
There's a fine line between "trusting God" and "trusting I know how my body works."
The Quiverfull philosophy says that God sends children as blessings, and that we shouldn't take any steps to prevent pregnancy. Wanting to control your fertility for any reason shows a lack of trust in God. As with many philosophies, this one looks good in theory, but when you run it in reality you discover some bugs.
As you find out after your first baby is born, there's no such thing as natural birth control. Breastfeeding suppresses your cycle for a while, but it's different with each woman. Some women don't get their cycles back for a year and a half after childbirth. Some women find themselves pregnant a month after giving birth. My cycle usually starts back somewhere around five to seven months after the baby is born. (I got pregnant with Stuart with Addie was eight months old.)
Furthermore, there's no obvious indication that you've ovulated until after the fact. I don't often take issue with the way God designed things, but seriously, that particular area needed a little more tweaking.
And our bodies aren't machines. They don't all work predictably. Some of them plain don't work right at all. If it's possible to be infertile, isn't it possible to be too fertile? A friend suggested that the use of plastics and artificial hormones in our food has affected fertility so that women ovulate more frequently than they should. There might be something in that, but there have always been women whose bodies don't seem to rest and recover between children like they should.
Given the wild variables from one mother to the next, it's unhelpful at best to say that we shouldn't take steps to avoid pregnancy. Sure, God opens and closes the womb -- but you don't get pregnant unless you're having sex while you're ovulating. Knowing how something works doesn't invalidate how God works.
Children are more than just the joining of a sperm and egg, more than just genetic variations of their parents. They're new souls. Obviously the decision to prevent or allow one of these new souls is weighty. But does God ever indicate that we don't have any say in that decision?
-- SJ
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Part III: Regretfully Obedient
It seems like it's easier to "be done" if I could say it regretfully.
"I gave away all our baby stuff and I'm happy with our family, but you know, I don't think I'll ever stop wanting another baby."
"I wanted more children, but with my health the way it is, I decided not to risk it."
"The doctor recommended that because of the scar tissue after the last surgery, I avoid pregnancy again. I look at all those baby clothes in the stores and just sigh."
If I could sound regretful, I could imply that I've bent to God's will despite my own desires. But what if I don't feel regretful? What if I look at the baby toys in the house and think, "Almost done with these, finally!" What if I pack a diaper bag with a bottle, yogurt, spoon, bib, toys, extra outfit, and diapers just to go to church, and tell myself, "Just another year or so and I won't have to do this again!"
I don't really even have any complicating circumstances. Our finances are sufficient; my health is great; my pregnancies are so good I could market them; I'm still young; all my children are very healthy. I have had three c-sections, yes; but I've healed up well from each one, so there's no grave risk in having more.
If I'm satisfied with only four children... does God's Will ever coincide so neatly with My Will?
Yes, it does. It must. I certainly wasn't regretful when I married Darren, and I have no question about whether God led us together. On the other hand, it's pretty easy to decide what I want and then assume that God agrees with me. And the theology I grew up with says that God will let you do whatever you want until you get yourself into a big mess. Or, alternatively, He'll orchestrate events to "get your attention," like the woman I once heard who said that their daughter died in a house fire because "God wanted to get our attention."
With a God like that hovering above you, it's risky to decide that your desires fit in with His will. Best if you do the opposite of what you want to do, because then you can at least be sure you're not following your selfish desires.
Over the past several years, I've slowly come to a different understanding of God and how He works. He doesn't force our obedience with fear, but He also rarely lets His children persist in selfishness. The desires we cherish are often planted by Him in the first place. As someone in the comments mentioned, the real test doesn't seem to be "What do I want?" but "How do go about I getting it?"
What do I want? I want to be done with babies. I want my family to be complete so I can mentally move on. I want my mothering to have a definite end in sight. How will I get these things? If I don't have any more children. Is that God's Will as well as mine? I suppose that remains to be seen.
-- SJ
"I gave away all our baby stuff and I'm happy with our family, but you know, I don't think I'll ever stop wanting another baby."
"I wanted more children, but with my health the way it is, I decided not to risk it."
"The doctor recommended that because of the scar tissue after the last surgery, I avoid pregnancy again. I look at all those baby clothes in the stores and just sigh."
If I could sound regretful, I could imply that I've bent to God's will despite my own desires. But what if I don't feel regretful? What if I look at the baby toys in the house and think, "Almost done with these, finally!" What if I pack a diaper bag with a bottle, yogurt, spoon, bib, toys, extra outfit, and diapers just to go to church, and tell myself, "Just another year or so and I won't have to do this again!"
I don't really even have any complicating circumstances. Our finances are sufficient; my health is great; my pregnancies are so good I could market them; I'm still young; all my children are very healthy. I have had three c-sections, yes; but I've healed up well from each one, so there's no grave risk in having more.
If I'm satisfied with only four children... does God's Will ever coincide so neatly with My Will?
Yes, it does. It must. I certainly wasn't regretful when I married Darren, and I have no question about whether God led us together. On the other hand, it's pretty easy to decide what I want and then assume that God agrees with me. And the theology I grew up with says that God will let you do whatever you want until you get yourself into a big mess. Or, alternatively, He'll orchestrate events to "get your attention," like the woman I once heard who said that their daughter died in a house fire because "God wanted to get our attention."
With a God like that hovering above you, it's risky to decide that your desires fit in with His will. Best if you do the opposite of what you want to do, because then you can at least be sure you're not following your selfish desires.
Over the past several years, I've slowly come to a different understanding of God and how He works. He doesn't force our obedience with fear, but He also rarely lets His children persist in selfishness. The desires we cherish are often planted by Him in the first place. As someone in the comments mentioned, the real test doesn't seem to be "What do I want?" but "How do go about I getting it?"
What do I want? I want to be done with babies. I want my family to be complete so I can mentally move on. I want my mothering to have a definite end in sight. How will I get these things? If I don't have any more children. Is that God's Will as well as mine? I suppose that remains to be seen.
-- SJ
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Part II: How Many is a Witness?
If I say I'm "done," I worry that most listeners translate that into modern usage meaning 'I'd rather eat glass than have another child!" (as one woman actually said to a mother of eight). Of course, I try to avoid getting into discussions of my family planning, but it seems to be considered a topic of general interest in today's world.
Why should others' misinterpretation be a source of anxiety? Because we were always told that having many children was a witness to the world. Obviously you wouldn't want to tell The World that you're done having God's blessings.
Now that I'm revisiting the question anew, I wonder: maybe God isn't more honored by six children than by four. And if those six children are birthed due to a philosophy of bondage that leaves a couple feeling as if they have no choice in the matter -- there's very little honor to God in that case.
It seems that God calls some families to show the blessedness of children in an out-of-the-ordinary way. Darren and I are very fortunate to know some large families (by which I mean eight to twelve children). These families are amazing -- the parents are amazing -- and when I'm with them I find myself thinking, "I could do this!" But the fact is, I don't think I could. Theirs is a special calling, like those who are called to the mission field and those who are called to work among the poor. We all can spread God's word, help the poor, and have families; but some are given an extra measure to go the extra mile.
It's not a good idea to hold these large families up as the ideal that we're all reaching for. Quiverfull, I'm looking at you.
-- SJ
Why should others' misinterpretation be a source of anxiety? Because we were always told that having many children was a witness to the world. Obviously you wouldn't want to tell The World that you're done having God's blessings.
Now that I'm revisiting the question anew, I wonder: maybe God isn't more honored by six children than by four. And if those six children are birthed due to a philosophy of bondage that leaves a couple feeling as if they have no choice in the matter -- there's very little honor to God in that case.
It seems that God calls some families to show the blessedness of children in an out-of-the-ordinary way. Darren and I are very fortunate to know some large families (by which I mean eight to twelve children). These families are amazing -- the parents are amazing -- and when I'm with them I find myself thinking, "I could do this!" But the fact is, I don't think I could. Theirs is a special calling, like those who are called to the mission field and those who are called to work among the poor. We all can spread God's word, help the poor, and have families; but some are given an extra measure to go the extra mile.
It's not a good idea to hold these large families up as the ideal that we're all reaching for. Quiverfull, I'm looking at you.
-- SJ
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