"Ugh, this again?!".....and other thoughts on Mother's Day

 As you may remember, I have conflicting opinions about Mother’s Day.  It’s a day where I get a PRESENT, so (duh) in that sense I LOVE it!  But for some women it can also be a reminder of what they are missing.

Me "hearting" Ethiopia, of course.

The blessings of this past year were huge.  Friends resigned to singleness, now married and crazy in love.  Companions in the trenches of infertility, who are currently holding an infant in their belly or arms.  An adoptive family (and a little orphaned girl in China) wait-wait-waiting to be whole, together finally as a complete unit.  Jesus works.

But selfishly, these same things (the marriage aside) are hard.  I feel our daughter’s absence, the lack of another pregnancy, more acutely while others are celebrating their new blessings on Mother’s Day.  I’m not claiming this is a pretty emotion, but it’s an honest one.

I know I am not alone.

I think of Kris.  My sweet/crazy friend as bluntly honest as me.  Who is right smack in the middle of a legal battle to bring her daughter, Leticia, home from Uganda.  Lord, be with her today.

I think of Meghan.  We constantly joke that our families love each other so much, we should go ahead and move in together.  She will look at her 3 smiling children and always be reminded of her 4th one already in heaven.  Lord, be with her today.

I think of Erin.  A local mom I know only because of her courageous, inspirational blog chronicling her struggle with cancer.  Because treatment was ineffective, they’ve stopped altogether.  Barring a miracle, this Mother’s Day could be her last.  Lord, be with her today.

I don't believe I am just speaking for myself when I say that holidays tend to stir up emotions that have fallen silent for awhile.  So naturally, I didn’t even recognize the start of this cycle until I attended a women’s conference last weekend.

Oh, I failed to mention that the keynote speaker of this event was…..(Drumroll please)....Jen Hatmaker!!  If you haven’t read about my slightly over-zealous love of this amazing author/speaker, please revisit this post (also you could read about my slightly over-zealous love of her book “Seven” here or here).  To summarize: She adopted kids from Ethiopia and writes hilarious books about Jesus.  This is so how I want my life to be in several years.

So yeah, got to hear Jen talk and she was fabulous.  Also since the conference was *much* more intimate than I previously envisioned, there was real opportunity to (maybe) meet her (Be still my heart!).

Between workshops, I dutifully stood in line clutching my book.  Then the overhead lights went off, signaling the beginning of another session.  My heart dropped.  Jen, in typical Jen-fashion, looked at the girls standing before her and said, “Oh no, don’t you move!  We’re doing this!”  When I finally got to the front (since my dear Chandra had already talked her up about our adoption), Jen gave me a giant hug, held my shoulders, and said “I know.”

Jen and I talking like old friends.  No biggie.

And now we're posing like old friends.  No biggie.

Well, actually she said a lot of other stuff too, but what I heard was: “I know.”  I know the struggle of adoption.  I know the pain of having an incomplete family.  I know the strong, unexplainable love you feel for a child you have never met.  I know.

This kind of understanding is incomparable (in nearly any circumstance).  I remember very early on in our adoption process having another moment reminiscent of this one.  It was precious.  But still following this encounter, I felt strangely unsettled.

Hear this about me: I can kill a moment because of my super high expectations.  Potentially meeting a role model/celebrity/idol of mine had (obviously) not escaped this avenue of drastic over-thinking.  So walking away from Jen (Yes, we are on a first name basis now) had me thinking, “So THAT happened.  Now what?”  I hadn’t realized how hungry I was for enlightenment.  How much I hoped her words would be a magic wand granting the catharsis of my dreams.  And that simply didn’t happen.

Here’s why: Jen Hatmaker is just Jen Hatmaker.  She is human.  Sarcastic.  Has braces on her bottom teeth (Information gleaned from our face to face chat.  Ooops, did that sound braggy?).  Imperfect.  And she doesn’t really “know” me.  She comprehends a small but crucial portion of our life story, which is important and fantastic.  But that isn’t the same as knowing.

I was expecting a revelation, an epiphany, but what I got was a reality check.  I mean, I still love Jen, but I need to intentionally invest my hope elsewhere.  I cannot expect from a person what I’ve already received from my Savior, Jesus.  The one who understands me best:  

“You know me inside and out, you know every bone in my body; You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit, how I was sculpted from nothing to something.  Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth; all the stages of my life were spread out before you, the days of my life all prepared before I’d even lived one day.” --Psalm 139:15-16 MSG

On this Mother’s Day, I take comfort in the fact that I am known.  And you are too.  Whatever your situation might be.  Whatever your emotions might be (Even the ugly ones!).  So often we let the former determine the latter (our circumstances shape our feelings), but recently I’ve gained a little insight on this thanks to Nancy DeMoss’ book, “Lies Women Believe.”  She says:

“In the midst of the roller-coaster ride our emotions sometimes take us on, we have to constantly bring our minds and thoughts back to the Truth.  The Truth is, God is good, whether I feel like He is good or not.  The Truth is, God loves me, whether I feel loved or not.  The Truth is, through faith in the shed blood of Jesus Christ on my behalf, I am forgiven, whether I feel forgiven or not.  The Truth is, God will never leave me or forsake me; He is with me all the time, even when I feel alone and forsaken.”

Dear friends, I’m not sure what your life looks like right now.  Maybe you are (for whatever reason) creeping through this holiday like the walking wounded (You’d have great company-Me!).  Please hear this: You are not alone.  You are known and loved by the Savior of the World.  He hasn’t forgotten you.  Your importance is literally etched into the scars on his hands and feet.

“Can a mother forget her nursing child? Can she feel no love for the child she has borne? But even if that were possible, I would not forget you!  See, I have written your name on the palms of my hands….”  --Isaiah 49:15-16a