I know… There was more than one Mother’s Day we skipped church because it was just too much. We had been trying to have children to no avail. We had been trying to adopt with equal lack of success. And it just hurt too bad to go hear one more time how great it is to be a mom.
Of course we love our mothers and did our best to celebrate them. Moms are important people in our lives. It’s just that we wanted to have what they have… but we didn’t.
All these years and two sons later, we are still sensitive to all the ladies who wish they were mothers, but are not yet… at least in their minds. We weep inwardly for those battling infertility like we were. Our hearts break with those who have faced miscarriage. We ache with those who have had to give up foster children, or those who have seen an adoption fall through at the last minute. And feel sorrow for the one who wanted to marry and have children, but never has for a multitude of reasons which no one has the right to judge.
I know it doesn’t seem fair. I realize you want your miracle, too. No glibly quotes Scripture verse or trite saying like, “All in God’s timing” will heal the hurt. The only balm, it seems, would be if your arms could hold the child for which you so desperately long.
And yet… I celebrate the heart of the mother in you. I celebrate that you want to love and nurture. I see how you teach those kids each week at school or church as if they were your very own. I recognize how you pour yourself into those young girls becoming ladies. You give to help others adopt. You go on missions trips and serve in orphanages. You are a “mom” in the truest sense of what it means, whether or not you have children of your own yet. I know that it’s not the same. I’m not suggesting that it is. I’m simply celebrating what I know is deep down in your heart… all that love.
And this Mother’s Day eve, I believe with you for a miracle. I pray that this would be the last time a Mother’s Day would cause you heartache. I ask God to step in and give you the gift your heart yearns for nearly as much as your next breath or heartbeat. If your pillow is to be soaked with tears, I pray it would be with tears of joy rather than sorrow and longing.
You are not alone. You are not abnormal. You are loved. And you are known deeply by a loving God.
Do not give up hope.