Reflections on Motherhood

In recent days I have shared in the grief of a young mother giving premature birth to twin boys, one already dead, the other breathing in her arms for a few precious hours before joining his brother. I have watched my friend’s devastation as the plans for adopting a little boy suddenly fell through at the last moment. Another friend with a similar adoption heartache received the doctor’s news that she is unlikely ever to conceive. And another mother with four grown children had to bury her only son after a tragic accident.

And isn’t it true that for all of us mothers—those with living children, those with children who have died, those with children they dream of one day holding, and those with children who will never know the mother who loves them—the love is always intertwined with heartache. The letting go begins the moment we begin to love.

And this, I think, is the picture of the God whose love and heartbreak tinge this world. The One who dreams of us, labors over us, loses us to rejection and selfishness and confused seeking after anything but Him—this God opens His heart and allows the love to break it, all for the joy of holding us again someday. In this hope He pursues and blesses, speaks and breathes over us day after day, pouring Himself out over and over in quest for us. He sacrificed all. He held nothing back.

And so I am learning that motherhood is sacrifice. It is opening my heart completely to those who may reject me, who will certainly wound me, and who may never know the depth of my love. It is choosing to believe that it is worth it to give all.

I think of those who long to be mothers and find encouragement in the words of Adriel Booker:

Will you remember that your children, your role, your name—Mama—is not something you’re entitled, but something released to you as a gift?

Why do we enter so willingly into certain heartbreak? For love, of course. And because, mothers or not, giving and nurturing life is the greatest gift. There is no joy like holding your baby for the first time, like those little arms around your neck, like hearing the first “I love you.” There is no greater joy than watching a child embrace faith and grow in wisdom and strength. We find fulfillment in emptying ourselves for another.

Unfortunately I fail my children. I wound them too. I often close my heart to them, turning away from the hard. It is hardest to forgive myself in these moments. But the God whose heart I have broken promises to “gently lead those who have young” (Is. 40:11) He is gentle with me. He understands.

I can only pour myself out when I am filled with Him. I can only let go when I trust He will step in where I fail. I have His promise regarding my children: “He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart” (Is 40:11).

We too are His lambs. The mothers who suffer the most are those He holds the closest. We can find comfort in knowing that what seems invisible here is written large in eternity.

What they say is true: we cannot understand what our own mothers sacrificed for us until we become mothers ourselves. Thank you, Mom, for daily pouring yourself out for me. For being willing to suffer on my behalf. For the thousands of meals and loads of laundry and wounds overlooked and hurts healed. For the days you chose me when you longed to be somewhere else. For the countless prayers you prayed. For knowing I would never understand what you daily gave and gave up, and loving me anyway. For living out a faith that has weathered many storms and still bears up under sadness. For choosing hope. For supporting me now that I am a mother, for always standing by me in love and not judgment. You could have spent your life in many ways, but you chose to be a mom. And being your daughter is truly a rich gift.