We don’t talk about this enough in faith spaces, but we must.
There are questions that feel harmless to the one asking…
but carry the weight of grief, shame, and exhaustion for the one receiving them.
Especially when it comes to infertility.
Let’s be honest:
The church has not always been a gentle place for women walking through silent battles.
She walks in with her head held high, holding worship in one hand and pain in the other—
and someone still leans in with:
“So, how many children do you have now?”
“Still no babies?”
“You’ve been married how long now?”
“Time is moving, sisi.”
The truth is, some questions are not ministry.
Some questions don’t heal. They harm.
Not because they’re loud, but because they’re thoughtless.
It’s not just infertility.
It’s also:
🔸 “Still job hunting?”
🔸 “Why are you gaining so much weight?”
🔸 “You don’t come to midweek service anymore—what’s wrong with you?”
🔸 “Why do you always sit alone?”
🔸 “Are you ever going to get your degree?”
Imwe mivhunzo ka , one day umwe acharohwa mbama 😂 .
Let me be clear:
Proximity does not equal permission.
Sitting together in a church service does not give you access to someone’s private life.
We must do better as the Body of Christ.
Because the Jesus we follow is gentle with the wounded.
He didn’t ask the bleeding woman about her condition—He simply healed her.
He didn’t interrogate the Samaritan woman with shame—He offered her living water.
So why do we feel entitled to pry into people’s pain in the name of fellowship?
Sometimes the most powerful ministry is silence.
Sometimes it’s a smile. A kind word. A prayer whispered quietly, without needing details.
Let us retire the questions that cause people to brace themselves when walking into church.
Let us replace them with grace.
Let us be sensitive.
Let us be safe.
Because you don’t need to know everything to love someone well.