When Mother's Day Hurts

I've been that woman. The woman sitting in the church pew on Mother's Day Sunday morning, gripping the edge of my pew with both hands so I won't leave. I hang my head during the songs of worship to hide my tears. I feel guilty for not being happy...for not praising my God for all He has done. I feel guilty for not raising my voice in song because of the fear that if I utter a sound, I'll loose my composure. I ache because of my barrenness. I envy the new mother next to me. I fight bitterness at the sight of all the beautiful families dedicating their tiny babes to the Lord during the baby dedication service. I fear that I will never be the woman holding her own child. I want to scream, "why you and not me?!" at the barely out of high school girl sitting behind me as she shifts because of the weight of her pregnant belly.

I've been that woman.

I've been the woman who, on Mother's Day, is not grateful for the blessings that I have been so quick to forget. I don't rejoice in the fact that I am still fortunate to have my own mother alive and well. I don't rejoice in the fact that I have a husband who has stood by me, month after month, as I experience the hormonal highs and lows of the fertility meds, and then holds me when I cry myself to sleep because of yet another negative pregnancy test. I've been the woman who wonders if God truly hears the silent prayers of my heart and the outpourings of my words as I weep in the silence.

I've been that woman.

And yet...I am better because of it. Little did I know at the time, God was preparing me for something bigger than myself. He was writing our story...a beautiful story of hope. He was developing my testimony. He was cultivating my relationship with Him and strengthening my relationship with my husband. He was ensuring that I would not take a day with my children for granted. He was shaping my yet to be ministry.

If someone would have told me during my infertility journey that God would be leading me into such amazing, Kingdom building things, I would have refuted the words. I was so broken. I'm proof that God can use even the broken. He can heal. He can astonish. He is still in the business of miracles.

5 years later, I can say with certainty that while I may have been "that woman", I am no longer "her". I am stronger. I am more grateful than I have ever been. I am a mom of two beautiful, miracle babies who prove God is so much bigger than what the world deems possible or probable.

Let me encourage you my dear sister. You are not alone. Your pain is for purpose. Your heart's desire has been rooted deeply so that you may cling to hope...the hope that God is not finished yet. The hope that will allow you to be in awe of how your miracle of either children or peace and contentment come to be.

While you may find it hard to find joy in this Mother's Day, I pray you find Hope. I pray you find Peace. I pray you remember there is purpose.

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