It's that time of year where mothers are lifted up as the paradigm of all that is good and right and well with the world. Where gifts of jewelry, candy, breakfast in bed, and lavish luxury are touted as the end all be all of honoring and loving the woman in your life who is a mother. It's bumbling dads trying to corral a herd of unwieldy, dirty faced children wearing mismatched clothes with filthy hands into the bedroom with runny eggs, half-dead flowers, and half a glass of orange juice. What they show awaiting the mom in the kitchen is an absolute mess that for some reason will obviously be her responsibility. (This awful, irresponsible portrayal of dads will be the subject of a future post). So, even though I'm supposed to be enjoying this time that is dedicated to elevating me in all my glorious mom-hood.... (And I do mean in ALL my glory and loveliness)... Yeah... See, glorious. So even though this day is lifting the total beauty that is me... This is a very difficult time of year for me. Still. I know. I have a beautiful four year old son. I am in the process of adoption again. We are a family. I am a mom. And yet, on mother's day I still get a twinge of pain in my heart. There is a sadness that shrouds the day for me even with all of my reasons to be joyful. Somewhere in my heart I still mourn for the child that I will never be able to conceive. That child is there... in my heart. There were hundreds of futures I planned which had that child in every scene. That child was real to me. When David and I made the decision that we would no longer seek to conceive, the loss that we experienced was very real even if that child was never more than a hazy, never quite in focus dream. Because that child of my heart lived a thousand lifetimes in my mind. I saw my pregnancy, David resting his head on my belly... the birth. I saw the diaper changes, the late nights, the features that were a mix of David and me. She had his eyes... he had my nose. The poor child had the thickest hair known to mankind. He and I went on our first mommy son date. David and her went to the father daughter dance. David, his dad, and our son had an annual date to see a Steelers game together. My mom, daughter and I sat down and looked through old pictures and laughed. She came down the stairs in her prom dress, ready for this iconic night of her life. We dropped him off at college and said goodbye. I went with her to pick out her wedding dress... David sat with him the night before his wedding and shared a Guinness and the secrets of a great marriage. I watched as she was walked down the aisle by her daddy... I held my grandbaby and told him how happy I was for them... That child was real, as real as any child that has been flesh and blood. And that child had more joy, more careers, booboos, successes and failures, than any one child could have. So, yes, I still mourn the loss of what could have been even while being grateful for all the gifts that God has given us. There is an important quote that helps me at these times. "Your loss is real and your ache is not crazy." I have needed to hear this from time to time as I grieve. There are times that people really struggle to understand how we could possibly grieve someone that never came into this world. Even after explaining it. Even after sharing something that can leave my emotions raw it can still be beyond people understanding. I need to know that I am not crazy if someone else cannot understand my grief. Which means that mothers day, while still being a joyful day, can still bring with it grief, shame, and anger. Grief for what can't be. Shame because I still, at times, feel like there is something wrong with me for being unable to conceive. Anger because it can be so easy for others, because we have to go through hours of education on being parents and adoption even though we've been and done both so that we might be able to adopt.
As I get ready for mothers day I find myself in a difficult situation. I get angry when I think about the gift of God given to women who had been in similar situations. Sarah, Elizabeth, Hannah, Rebekah, Rachel and others all struggled with infertility and God remembered them and provided them with children. It feels really awkward to be mad about God giving blessings to others. I want to know why God gave them that gift and not me. Preaching and leading worship on mothers day in the past has been a mixed event for me. Before Lucas I would be aware of the lump in my throat. The tears that burned at the back of my eyes and the way I would grip the pulpit a little more tightly. Even after Lucas, I still need to stop and clear my throat and blink back some tears, because of my own grief... because of the grief that I know weighs on people in the congregation. Eventually, I recognize that God provides and oftentimes ways that don't look at all like we thought they would. My comfort, then, comes to me through an atypical Scripture passage. Isaiah 43:2- "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you." Wherever I go, whatever grief I experience, whatever anger I feel, I know that I am not alone. My God goes with me, my amazing husband goes with me, my friends go beside me, and even though I may stumble, I'm still standing. For all my sisters who struggle this mothers day, know you are seen, know you are loved, and know that even if you feel broken, hurting, or angry, you are beautiful!
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AuthorI've been Robyn for my whole life. I've been a wife for 10 years and a mom for 5 years. I've been a pastor for about 10 years. I'm still stumbling, but I'm still standing. Archives
April 2019
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