I'm feeling a bit Debbie Downer as I write this post. Really, it's not about you. It's about me.
Mother's Day from about 1994 to 1998 was one of the saddest days for me. We were deep in the bowels of infertility and every day felt like a stab to my heart. A heart that longed with infinity for infinity numbers of babies. I remember literally weeping in the back pew of First Presbyterian Church in Wichita Falls, Texas, unable to hide my pain.
It's a period of my life that I would love to forget. To cover over. To ignore. Birth announcements arriving often from precious friends who had been married for a far shorter time than my sweet husband and me. Jealous, angry tears and a general sense of the unfairness of life plaguing my soul. I wasn't who I wanted to be to my pregnant friends. I was envious. I was really sad. I was bereft.
I didn't think I would ever have children and I knew I wouldn't bear them in my body. It is still hard for me to see the swollen belly of strangers and not feel a piercing stab to my heart.
Fast forward to February of 1998, and a picture of a 5 month old Chinese orphan who is being fast-tracked to our family. Bliss. And again in 2002, this time a chubby cheeked 10 month old. And really, a third? Our sweet boy with just as chubby cheeks and superpower fleeing skills with his chubby legs. I am blessed.
And yes, the pain was worth it. Infertility was a part of my labor, I think. And yes, I wouldn't change a thing. And yes, it still hurts.
So I'm sending out this Mother's Day prayer to those who are longing. This world is full of babies who need mamas. I pray that the two of you find each other.
And tomorrow morning this PW (pastor's wife, silly) will be sitting in the front row, scolding sisters for stirring up their brother and smoothing down Asian hair that grows straight out from its roots and smiling.
"You didn't grow under my heart, but in it."