Mother's Day

As we approach Mother’s Day this weekend, I cannot help but reflect on the last year of my life, how much has changed, and how my heart is still full of hope and grief for my fellow sisters who so long to become mothers.

Last year, I anticipated Mothers Day with a fake brave face and a sense of dread in my heart. Last year at this time we were still not pregnant and were waiting on a match from our adoption agency. I had two sweet friends and fellow bloggers who asked me to write something for their readers covering the heartache and pain of a day that celebrates something we find so sacred - mothers - and yet feels like a day of exclusivity and isolation for those who cannot call themselves by that name yet. You can read the posts here and here.

I went into Mother's Day feeling like I should hope, but I left it in a puddle of sad heartache. I cried the whole way to church because I knew the pastor would ask all the mothers to stand up so we could honor them, not understanding that there were women who so desperately wanted to be part of that group. By the grace of God I was working as a volunteer in the nursery that morning so I avoided the awkward recognition all together.

Last Mothers Day, we spent the evening at the beach in South Carolina, in the company of two other couples, both blessed with children. The men made a celebratory dinner for the two mothers, each acknowledging the sacrifice their wives had made. Matt delicately avoided talking about the holiday with me, anxious that I would break down at any moment in front of the group. It was tense and awkward and I made jokes to dispel the atmosphere in the room.

Later that week during our vacation, I decided to take a run at sunset. I pounded the hard sand into place, running to the end of sound that overlooked an old lighthouse. I was totally alone - it was just me and the water and the sand and the sky. Despite my internal protests, I started to weep looking at the beauty of the world and comparing it to the brokenness of my heart. I called out to the Lord and asked why He had chosen to let me endure one more year of a dream unfulfilled.

In return, all I heard was silence. I stared out onto the water, tears spilling down my sweaty face. I was totally convinced that He was being silent because I wasn't ready for the answer - that for some important reason, maybe I wasn't a mother because I wasn't capable or because I had done something so drastically wrong that I would need to be changed in order for him to bless me in that way.

I left the beach in a huff, my heart aching and bitter. That was the day I put God on a shelf and let Him work and speak into my life only when I felt safe enough to allow Him in.

Of course, you know how my story ends - a year later I am pregnant with a healthy baby girl, but I also lost a son through a failed adoption.

Maybe the Lord's silence that evening on the beach was His protection. I mean think of what transpired over one short year - a match with a birthmother in June, five months of waiting and planning, then in October losing our son to be; then two months of awful, life altering grief to only find out we were pregnant in early December. Now we are growing a baby girl, but still grieving the son we lost. It has been a crazy year!

Life is such a mystery to me and God, in all his power and glory, knew what was going to happen all along. If He had told me what was to come that night on the beach as I wept to Him, maybe I would have tried to change it all. I don’t know why life has turned out the way it has.

What I do know is this- Mothers Day will always have some element of sadness for me. I cannot forget where I came from and what this journey of infertility and hope and loss and love has done to my spirit and heart and mind.

This Mother’s Day I will praise God for the blessing of my daughter, but I will also be praying reverently for those women who so long to become mothers.

If you are one of those women who have experienced the blessing of children, Happy Mother’s Day to you.

If you are one of those women who are not yet a mother and so long to be, I want you to know that you are not alone. I love you and I am praying for you.