Suffering, Featured, Family, Faith
Courtney Reissig
Sin is Like Cancer

One of the scariest things in the early days of my diagnosis is that the pathology was unclear. Best case scenario, the cancer was contained. Worst case scenario, it had spread beyond what they could imagine. This fear was heightened by the fact that all the normal tests that catch cervical cancer failed to detect mine. I was diagnosed long after they usually diagnose women. And that terrified every medical professional I saw.

Sin is Like Cancer

Suffering

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When Birth Disappoints You

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When Birth Disappoints You

“I’m just so disappointed,” I told Daniel in the weeks following my delivery of Seth. After two miscarriages and a complicated pre-term delivery with the twins, I just wanted some normalcy in my birthing experience. I wanted all the warm fuzzies that come with a screaming, slimy freshly born baby being thrust upon your chest. I wanted the adrenaline rush that propels mothers into the rigors of the newborn days. I wanted calm. I wanted to remember it all. I wanted an experience I could share with my friends when they visited me, and my plump nearly nine pound newborn baby. I wanted an experience of strength, knowing I did something powerful. 

Instead I got twenty six hours of labor, a baby out of position, a dropping heart rate, and a blood sugar crash (I had gestational diabetes). What started with promise ended in a C-section at 3:50 A.M. 

And to this day, I barely remember any of it.

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Job, Jesus, and Unanswered Questions

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Job, Jesus, and Unanswered Questions

“How does God treat his friends?”

This is the question posed by pastor and author, Christopher Ash, in his sermon series on the book of Job. He gets his question from a book of the same name, one that he says is one of the best books on Job out there. 

It’s a startling question, really. It assumes that God has friends. It assumes we can be his friends. It assumes that a benevolent God could (and does) treat his friends like anything less than our definition of friendship. Job is a startling book as well. The suffering experienced by Job, as Ash says, is more than what any human being will likely ever endure all at one time. We all probably know people who have lost children, their livelihood, their property, their relationships, or their health. But few know people who have lost all of these things in rapid succession. To apply this question to Job and his experience asks a very difficult question of God, and forces us to come to terms with the reality of suffering. Job is a book for those who wrestle, and as one who wrestles often, I am thankful for this book.

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Where Were You On September 10?

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Where Were You On September 10?

I remember where I was on September 10, 2001. Do you? 

Of course, I remember where I was on September 11, but September 10 is etched in my mind as clearly as the dark day that followed it. I remember what I wore (black turtleneck sleeveless shirt and jeans). I remember what I did (bowling with friends from work). And I remember the blissful ignorance that characterized my life that I spent the better part of the last fifteen years trying to recreate.

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When the Memory of Grief Lingers

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When the Memory of Grief Lingers

The other day I was trying to remember something that happened a few months ago and the details all seemed a bit fuzzy to me. I have entire blocks of time where I have vague memories of the outline of what happened. I don’t typically struggle with remembering the details of my life (it’s a curse and a blessing), but as I get older there are only so many memories my brain can hold.

Grief, though, lingers in my memory whether I like it or not.

August is a weird month for me. There are many memories of August floating in my brain—memories of sorrow and memories of joy, memories of hope, mixed with memories of fear.

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What Cooking and a Book Taught Me About Racial Injustice

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What Cooking and a Book Taught Me About Racial Injustice

Last week I spent the better part of my Monday afternoon looking at recipe websites in an attempt to get out of a cooking rut. Even though I’ve been largely dissatisfied with the meals I’ve made for the past few months, I haven’t been able to shake the boring meals I keep making for our family. So I set out to find some new recipes. But I also learned something about myself. 

If I don’t understand what the ingredient is for, I won’t buy it. If I can’t pronounce the recipe name, I won’t make it. If it seems unfamiliar to me, foreign to me, or too new to me, I will pass over it. As a result, we continue to eat the same types of foods and never expand beyond what is familiar to us. As a result, we miss out on a world of food combinations and ingredients that are probably really good if only I would take the time to branch out a little more to make things that I can’t fully wrap my mind around.

I think that’s often what we do with people who are different than us.

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When Mother's Day Was Silent

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When Mother's Day Was Silent

This is Sunday will be my fourth Mother’s Day with full arms. Each year my arms feel more full than the last, and this year is no different. But not every Mother’s Day has been this way for me. While this might be my fourth happy Mother’s Day, it is actually my sixth Mother’s Day. I remember that one so clearly. We had just passed the due date for our first baby. Daniel quietly celebrated me for the life I carried briefly, though my womb and arms remained achingly empty. I remember every quiet Mother’s Day after that, when I wondered if God would ever answer the cry of my heart for children this side of heaven. I remember the Mother’s Day after our second miscarriage, when my arms were full with the twins, yet I still longed for the baby I would never hold in this life. 

Mother’s Day can be bittersweet for so many of us.

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How to Love a NICU Baby (and His Momma)

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How to Love a NICU Baby (and His Momma)

Premature babies don’t cry. At least mine didn’t. They make a labored grunting sound that seems sweet at first, but then you learn that it’s because they are gasping for air to fill their under-developed lungs. And that is anything but sweet.  I’ve never forgotten that silent operating room where I welcomed my twin boys into the world eight weeks early. In the fast-moving moments of their early and unexpected arrival, I held my breath in fear over the unknown path that lay before me. Premature babies don’t cry, but their mothers make up for it.

A Tale of Four Thanksgivings

A Tale of Four Thanksgivings

That first Thanksgiving was hard, so hard that when I think about it I still feel the pain that flowed through my weary body. I remember how I felt that first Thanksgiving, achingly aware that my body was empty. Empty of a baby that I wanted so badly. Empty of the hope of a baby any time soon. I was surrounded by pregnancy in every sphere of my life, and I could barely choke out the words “I’m thankful” when we all shared our Thanksgiving joy around the dinner table. It felt like a lie. I didn’t know how to be thankful when living felt like death and tears came too easily for my comfort.