Contraceptive Conversion

I wanted a big family. He did not, and was adamant. At that time we were committed Protestants, thoroughly indoctrinated in the contraceptive attitude of society at large. Marty planned that we would have one child, maybe two, and no more, when we were “ready” and not before. We would do everything humanly possible to avoid “accidents.” When we were finished, one of us would make permanent arrangements to end our childbearing years. According to my husband, this was the most responsible way to go.

I had no theological or biblical reply to this. Responsible Protestants used contraception, period. We were heading toward a life of foreign mission work. Some mission boards would not consider couples with more than two children. A big family was out. I didn't like it, but argument was useless. Our son Kelly was born three months after our first anniversary. We both thoroughly enjoyed the joys of parenthood and when the subject of adding one more person to the family arose, Marty said, “Sure. One more.” I miscarried twice that year. “Maybe we should be happy with one,” he said. “Kelly needs a brother or a sister,” I said, and Marty agreed, but he also let me know on no uncertain terms that the second child would be the last.

“If we have another boy,” he said one day, “we aren't trying one more time for a girl.” I kept my comments to myself and avoided an argument. Finally I was pregnant for the fourth time. The pregnancy was uneventful; the delivery was Lamaze-class-perfect, short and not uncomfortable. On December 24, 1987 our daughter Jody was born, fat and hollering her head off. Marty held her and literally blubbered for joy.

“A daughter. “I have a little daughter!” I'll never forget that moment. While we marveled at Jody's infant perfection the doctor became increasingly concerned. The post-partook blood flow was abnormally heavy.

Marty and the nurses took Jody to the nursery while the doctor continued to work on me. They could not stop the bleeding.

Soon they began to transfuse me, first one unit of whole blood, then another, then another. High doses of drugs caused cramping far worse than labor. Marty sat beside me. “She's eight pounds, three ounces,” he said but I couldn't reply. I shivered and cried in pain and began to slip in and out of consciousness.

Some time later I woke up in a recovery room. Marty was at my side. “We did a D & C,” explained my doctor. “If it doesn't stop the bleeding I'll have to do a hysterectomy. No matter what happens, you can never have children again.”

Less than on hour later I began to bleed again. Nurses and doctors flew into action. Marty came to me in tears. “They have to do the surgery,” he said. He held my hand and kissed me. His face was chalky and his eyes were red from crying. “I'll sign all the papers.”

“Don't worry,” I whispered. “I'll be fine.”

Four hours later I woke up in a hospital room. Marty was sitting beside

me with Jody asleep in his arms. “The baby has red hair,” he whispered.

“Want to see?” I nodded and he held Jody close to my face.

“I thought I'd lost you,” he said.

“I know.”

It wasn't until much later that I held Jody for the first time. A nurse arranged my tubes and propped me up. I admired my daughter up close as I nursed her and happened to look up at the clock. Three in the morning,

Christmas Day. In less than twenty-four hours I had given birth and nearly died. I sang “Joy to the World” accompanied only by the whoosh of oxygen from my mask.

I recovered quickly from the surgery and soon life was as normal. I accepted that the hysterectomy had been necessary to save my life, that the entire incident was part of God's divine plan for me and for my family. I even went as far as to jokingly express to Marty that he had “won” the argument about family size. He admitted that he was glad we would never have to worry about contraception again. Although at times I felt sad, I felt blessed to be a mother of two children and realized that I had nothing to complain about. God's sovereignty was the rock I clung to whenever the inevitable sad feelings would come. I was just twenty-eight years old and I could never have another child, and I was the only one who wished it weren't so.

After Jody's birth we continued to prepare to be overseas missionaries and in 1991 we left for Costa Rica. After a year in language school, we moved to Guatemala where we served at an American school. During that time we began to have questions and doubts, which led to the study of Church History and a close examination of the presuppositions upon which our Protestant beliefs were based.

Within two years we had resigned from our mission and moved back to the States. Several months later we began to study the claims of the Catholic Church. It didn't take long before we were convinced that here was the complete truth our own Christianity lacked. Before we could approach a priest however, one big issue needed to be settled.

Marty felt that if we were going to assent to belief in “everything the

Catholic Church believes and teaches,” that we would have to make that statement in perfect honesty. “The Catholic Church is out of sync with reality on contraception,” he said. “Birth control is responsible. Contraception is for good of society, isn't it?” And so he began to read in order to understand. It didn't take long for his opinion to change one hundred and eighty degrees. “Listen to this!” he'd shout to me from his desk in our room, and then he'd read aloud. He read to me from the Catechism. He read from Veritatis Splendor. He read from Humanae Vitae and Evangelium Vitae.

We talked on many occasions about what it means to have a sacramental marriage, to be in covenant with one another and with God, to use our sexuality as an expression of love and unity, even as a symbol of the love and perfect unity of the Holy Trinity. The Catholic Church's teaching about marriage was simply the highest and noblest view either of us had ever encountered. As in everything else we had discovered about the Catholic Faith, the teachings on marriage, including the prohibition against artificial contraception, were whole and wholesome, the remedy for a sick society and dying families. This was the fullness of the Faith we had longed for and never found as Protestants. This was Christianity in living color, active, essential, and redemptive in every aspect of human life.

It is not hard to assent to the Truth when it is made so very, very clear. At the Easter Vigil of 1995 we were received into full communion with the

Catholic Church. Months later we were lying in bed one night and Marty reached for my hand. “Now don't faint when I tell you this,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I wish we could have another baby. Maybe a couple more. If we could, I would want to try.”

I was too surprised to reply. When Marty assented to the Catholic teaching on contraception it was with the knowledge that it didn't affect us. As an infertile couple, we would never need to put the theory into practice.

I had underestimated how deeply Catholic teaching had affected my husband's heart.

“I was selfish, Kris,” he whispered. “I had a worldly view of sex and marriage and kids. I bought into the lie that children are an inconvenience to be kept to a minimum, not a blessing to be prayed for and welcomed over and over again.”

“It wasn't God's plan for us,” I said, reminding him of what I'd told myself for years.

“I know,” he said. “But don't you wish we'd had the Catholic truth about marriage all along?”

“We have it now,” I said. “And we can pass it along to Kelly and Jody.”

“So are you saying we'll get a bunch of grandkids out of this?” asked

Marty, and we both had a good laugh.

Marty's words that night and several times since have healed a sore spot in my heart, which had been there since the first arguments about family size. I thank God daily for His love and mercy in our lives, for giving me a loving husband who desires God's will above all else, for our two beautiful children, and for bringing my family home to His spiritual family, the Catholic Church. Like other concerned parents, Marty and I seek every opportunity to teach our children all the truth of the Catholic Faith.

Sometimes we see signs that things are sinking in. Last week Jody and I saw a mother with seven children — four older kids and a set of identical triplets. “That mom sure has a lot of blessings,” whispered my awe-struck twelve-year-old.

“So does this mom,” I said, and kissed her on the head.

Maybe Marty and I will get that bunch of grandkids after all.