I began re-reading C.S. Lewis’ classic The Problem of Pain recently. Before I even finished the introduction, I was struck by this line: “Pain would be no problem unless, side by side with our daily experience of this painful world, we had received what we think a good assurance that ultimate reality is righteous and loving.” (The Problem of Pain, pg. 14)

The problem of pain arises not because of the existence of suffering per se, but because we have been told that our world has been made by a gracious and loving God. The seeming impossibility of pain coexisting with such a Creator puts the paradox squarely before us. 

As Lewis writes, “It has the master touch – the rough, male taste of reality, not made by us, or, indeed, for us, but hitting us in the face.” 

I think this description of the problem of pain accurately applies to the cross of infertility. To restate Lewis’ words, infertility would not necessarily be a problem unless we had received what we thought to be an assurance that children are a gift from God. The real predicament, at least in my experience, is grasping why this good thing is not for me. 

I will never forget a homily I heard on the healing of the demoniac in St. Luke’s Gospel. After the man is healed, he throws himself at the feet of Jesus, begging to accompany Him on His ministry across the sea. 

Jesus says to him, “Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.” (Luke 8:39) As the homilist emphasized, that man must’ve certainly felt confused. Wouldn’t accompanying Jesus on His public ministry be the best way to serve and glorify God? Why would Jesus turn down a generous offer to leave all behind and follow Him? 

Sometimes God says no, even to our best, most selfless desires. 

I often feel that way in my own life. Wouldn’t it be better for me to be raising children in the Catholic faith rather than working a desk job? Wouldn’t I be a more patient, more loving, and more selfless individual if I had to model those virtues for my kids? Wouldn’t my husband and I more perfectly reflect Christ’s love for the Church with a flock of little ones at Mass on Sunday morning? 

The answer for me is, as it was for the healed man in the Gospel, no. Yes, the desire for children is good and holy. But God has a different plan, one that will lead to my sanctification and the salvation of souls I do not know. 

This paradox can be hard to live with. But this month of the Sacred Heart offers us some encouragement. In contemplation of Jesus’ Heart, crowned with thorns and pierced by a lance, we realize how He endured great suffering in the plan of salvation. He does not ask us to bear our heavy crosses in isolation, but in imitation of Him. 

We are called to conform our hearts to Jesus’ Heart – wounds and all. When suffering is hitting us in the face and all we seem to hear is “no,” the Sacred Heart reminds us that God is our greatest gift and our ultimate goal. 

I have often reflected on this line from a Communion prayer in my missal: “What canst Thou refuse me, when Thou hast given me Thyself?”

Jesus can refuse us the joy of a positive pregnancy test, watching those first steps, birthday parties, graduations, and everything else that comes along with the gift of children. But He will never refuse us the greatest gift, that of His mercy and love. This month, let’s take that to heart.

“Jesus, meek and humble of heart, make our hearts like unto Thine.”

Riley and her husband Josh were married in 2020 and live in Virginia. She enjoys journaling, playing Scrabble, spending time in Adoration, hanging out with family, and taking care of her inordinate number of house plants.