9 Years of Mother's Days: A Personal History

I have a long, sordid past with Mother's Day. Years 1-5 of our marriage I still loved the sentiment of the holiday. Not quite ready to be a mother anyway, it wasn't a holiday I yet applied to myself. I was content to allow my own mother that role and my thoughts on that day centered on her many, unrecorded sacrifices for me.

Something changed in year 6. Then in our late 20's, it was evident that we were lagging behind our peers in the progeny department. We had begun fielding questions like, "Are you EVER going to have a baby? When are you going to start a family? Do you guys even want kids?" The outside pressure mounted and inside the quiet walls of our marriage we had questions of our own, like, "What is wrong with us? Why isn't it happening? Have I done something wrong to make this happen? Will he/she still love me if we can't have kids?" Mother's Day became an uncomfortable reminder of what we felt was missing in our lives, but I was able to force a smile and endure.

My journal entry in year 7 is very revealing: "It is Mother's Day today. I woke up dreading it. It's kind of an awful reminder to those without children, and it's rather humiliating to see the pity in the eyes of other young mothers who give you a little extra enthusiasm as they tell you what a 'wonderful mother you'll be someday,' and then they hug you a little harder and longer than normal. The worst part is when the young women pass out the Mother's Day presents [at church]. Either they rush over to make sure you're not left out, or they look as if they don't know whether to give you one or not. Either way it is quite awful.

"I have not started my period this month, and I am haltingly hopeful. I have felt nauseous all week, but a pregnancy test showed a negative result. I dare not hope, but I can't help it. Hope springs eternal. I hate how I wait each month, listening desperately to my body, conscious of anything unusual. I don't really know what I'm looking for. It seems all of the symptoms of pregnancy are the symptoms of PMS--that's a nasty joke on women! I doubt that I am, but wouldn't it be marvelous?

"...I know [Thomas] is as impatient as I. He is wonderfully gentle with me. He loves me intensely and I am sure of nothing more than his eternal devotion. He is truly a man in all the goodness and strength which that word implies. He is 'as constant as the Northern star.' He is the only man I have given my entire trust and dependence to. I would so love to give him a child. If I can't...The thought brings tears to my eyes, and I can not think of it."

By year 8 we were in the midst of doctor's visits and unanswered questions. I had reached my breaking point. As I recorded in February of that year: "These last few months have been the most difficult of my life. There are two unfillable voids in my life: The loss of my father and my desire for children. The great emptiness I feel on both counts weighs heavily. I have gone through a myriad of emotions: sorrow, anger, disbelief, self-pity, humility , lack of faith, and then faith again. I try to fill my life with study, prayer, and good books to fill my spirit and inspire me to continue one step at a time trusting in the Lord. But my arms feel so empty. I can't describe it, but I had this visual image last night come to my mind: I'm surrounded by women, and we are bringing our offering to the Lord. Those around me raise their arms to heaven and I see one with an abundance of grain, another with wheat spilling over; it's a thing of beauty watching them offer up that which they have toiled over; that which has grown beautiful through their care, but which has also created glory in them. And I look to my own arms finding them empty. How did this happen? I want to hide them--those empty arms--and I fall on my face hoping that the Lord will be merciful.

"I can not see the Lord's will. I'm not even sure what to hope for because to hope seems frightening. But I declare that I trust in His plan for me--whatever that is. I will abide by it because I know the process will benefit me in the end. He is in the midst of creating my better self; and although I can not see the final product, I am beginning to see some refinement."

We skipped Mother's Day that year. I couldn't take it, so we got in the car and drove up into the mountains and spent the weekend in a little motel watching movies and reading. Trusting in the Lord or not, sometimes you just need break.

Little did I know, however, that His promised silver lining was just around the corner. That summer we began the adoption process and by the next Mother's Day I had this to say:

"Logan Darling, This year has been the first Mother's Day in many years where I've had something to celebrate. I had you my sweet, little darling sleeping in my arms and tears of gratitude in my eyes. I can't remember my life before you. It feels as if my life really began on the day you were born. Every part of my existence is wrapped up in you, and I love it! Logan, my love, there are no accidents. I believe in a divine plan. God is good. He is in control. He made us a family."

This year, as I tried to write an entry the only sentence I could write was: "Today I am just grateful." In the hectic drumbeat that is daily existence, when I have a moment to stop and contemplate the true joys of my life, my thoughts always center on my children. I know exactly how lucky I am. I know because I walked on the other side for a brief time. I am truly lucky and blessed to be a mother.

Yet, even as I write this, I realize that there are other women out there struggling through the sadness of lost dreams or seemingly unanswered prayers. I never pass a Mother's Day without thinking of them, the sisters of my heart. To them I would say, God has not forgotten you. He is in the midst of your sorrow, and he can create miracles out of painful circumstances. The story is long and His silver lining, in its vast and varied versions, is promised. Hold on.