5 years ago I was swallowed in motherhood. Overwhelmed,
lonely, trying to keep my head above water with a 1 year old and 2 month old
and a husband who was working non-stop to get his business running. I was in a
new town, no friends, no roots. I struggled to be grateful for my blessings
instead of just seeing the demands of my minute by minute.
4 years ago I pushed myself to be grateful. With a 1 and 2
year old life was busy and it was hard to get time to myself to recharge. I was
sure our family was complete and very set on adding no more children to our
family, finally making it out of the trenches just a bit.
3 years ago we were starting to hit our stride. Mother’s day
was fun and enjoyable with handprint flowers and pancakes in bed. I finally
enjoyed motherhood far more than I was overwhelmed or swallowed in worry or
stress from it. I was so thankful for our two kids and life was finally getting
easier.
2 years ago on mother’s day was the time God planted that
seed in my heart…are we done? Really? It was then that we started exploring
adoption again and just a month after mother’s day that year, we embarked on a
journey to adopt.
1 year ago, mother’s day hurt. Where were my children? What
was their mom going through? Our family was not complete and we all tasted the
hurt of longing and a lack of wholeness in our home. Mother’s day without my
children made my heart ache in the waiting but yet still trying to enjoy the
moments with our two at the time.
This mother’s day is a flurry of emotions. I am so grateful
for where we are. 4 kids later we are busy, life is a little chaotic, loud and
unpredictable. But it is also fun, hilarious, and right where I want to be.
There are still hard days, even some every now and then where I recall very
closely those days of trying to keep my head above water. But more so are the
days of laughter and interesting conversations, funny questions, deep talks,
silly games and hours outside.
But my heart is split this mother’s day too: For the mom
that my children are surely starting to forget. I pray her face isn’t fading
from their mind but it has now been at least a year since they were together.
Maybe a lot more. The few memories Maran has shared with me are all positive
about her mom. And I see her everywhere in Maran and Levi. In their round dark
eyes, in their precious pouts, in their desire to help, in their compulsion
with organizing and closing things, in their gentleness and desire for
affection. I know that their mother loved them well. But most likely, death or
poverty separated them from her. No family should ever be separated due to
poverty. My heart aches for her if she is alive on this day without her
children. My thoughts go to the aching in her heart, much greater than mine
last year on this day. The two children she bore, she has no idea where they
are, if they are alive, if they have a family. What I wouldn’t give to sit down
with her and tell her all the joy she has brought into my life. Her pain and
tragedy is my incredible gift. She has done the greatest thing. Laid down her
desire, for our children’s survival. I cannot imagine being in that place. No
one should ever be. This is the messy part of adoption. In a perfect world, in
heaven, there are no orphans. There are no families separated by preventable
illness, a shortage of money or food, or war. This is not how God intended.
That is why our family will fight fiercely and give extravagantly to prevent
orphans from being created in the first place. This is our passion. But
sometimes you have to respond to tragedy. Adoption is that response for us as
well.
I’ve written their mom several letters, letters that will
never be sent, but just trying to get the weight off of my heart and the
thoughts off of my mind. But she will always be in our lives. I will pray for
her frequently. I will tell Maran and Levi about the woman who made the
impossible choice for life for them. The complete self-sacrifice she most
likely made to give them a chance at hope.
You see, they are our children, both hers and mine. Just
because I hold a paper that says they are now mine, that takes away nothing from
the fact they were hers first. She saw their first smiles, rolls, coos, crawls
and steps. She felt the pain as they entered the world, she felt the pain the
last time she saw them. I walked alongside their pain as they mourned the loss
of her, the loss of the life they knew, the loss of the “comfort” of the orphanage.
My thoughts went to her as Levi took his first steps. As we clapped and cheered
for him, I thought of her. My heart went to her on Maran’s first day of
preschool, how proud she would be of her daughter that is now speaking English,
sharing, and venturing into brave new territories. My thoughts went to her as
we got back all of our medical tests, how she fought valiantly to protect them
the best she could. While I don’t want to “glorify” her to my children, I know
she made some courageous decisions. Decisions that some people would see as
selfish or unnecessary, she made the best choice she could.
You see we are all mothers facing different decisions,
hardships, and challenges. Unfortunately her hardship caused her the loss of
her two babies, her hardship is my blessing. She bore it for me. I will never
know the true story of her choice, but I see it in the eyes of her children, my
children. It is rare for two women to share such a fierce love of the same two
children. We are forever linked through the chocolate skin and almond eyes of
our children. Hers. Mine. Tragedy. Victory. Pain. Blessing. Loss. Redemption.
We were reading the story of Lazarus the other night and
talking about resurrection and God changing things for our good and his glory. The redeeming power of Jesus. What Satan intends for
harm, God turns for the good of his children. I shared a sweet moment with
Maran, this is your story my sweet girl. What Satan intended to leave you
robbed, alone, orphaned on the streets of Congo, God used for good, for her
good, for mine mostly I am sure. God gets the final word. Jesus has the victory
here. Even though their mother still feels the pain of this, even though as a
family we will walk through seasons of suffering and pain as a result of a
heart full of hurts, confused identity, or past baggage there is still victory there. And we are each a
grace-filled picture of beauty from ashes.
