Mother's Day Prayer

Reposted from Mother's Day 2006

As I was enjoying a rare and blissful pleasure this morning, an uninterrupted shower, I was praying and thinking about Mother's Day. I find it peculiar that now that I am a mother, I don't have the unreserved joy on Mother's Day that I had once thought I would enjoy once I attained the illusive title, "Mommy."

Maybe the joy is muted by the memory of the many babies I never held or the lingering scar of years of infertility and childlessness. Maybe it's the knowledge that this day holds pain for some that are precious to my heart. I think of those who fear they may never know the joy of raising a child, those whose arms are empty because they loved a child selflessly enough to trust another mom to give what she cannot give, those who are separated from their mothers by death or estrangement or many miles, those who find it hard to celebrate a mother who seems unworthy of praise, those who don't have food or shelter for their children, those who are suffering the pain of watching a grown child make devastating choices, or those who fail to be the kind of mother they know God is calling them to be.

Still, as I enjoyed a pancake breakfast prepared by my husband this morning, I was overflowing with joy. It is a breathtaking privilege to look around the table and see the beautiful faces of two children I have been given the honor of raising. I am joyous this morning because of sticky hands and obnoxious noises that come from my two charges, and I thank God with all that is in me, again, for making me a mommy.

For those who are on the painful side of this day, I want you to know that you are not forgotten, you are loved and needed by many. And I prayed for you today.

The Box Part 2

For ten years now we've dug the box out of our Christmas things, opened it, looked at each little stocking, given each other sad smiles and a hug, and then closed it back up and placed the box on our tree. But this year as I was holding the box in my hand, my four-year-old son asked, "What's in that box?"

The question didn't surprise me or catch me off guard exactly, but I hadn't anticipated having this conversation during our tree trimming celebration. My husband sat down next to me, and we pulled our two precious children close to us as we told them about the box. They had more questions, some of which we had answers for and some we didn't. Then they were satisfied and we went back to decorating this year's Christmas tree.

What a joy the last four Christmases have been! Sometimes I am overcome by the simplest things that remind me how very blessed I am to be a Mommy. As I watched my children excitedly running back and forth between the box of ornaments and the tree, my heart skipped a beat and my eyes filled with tears. It was one of those moments I had dreamed about all those long years when I was aching for children. The joy and fulfillment (and, yes, challenges) they bring don't erase the pain and sadness of the years we collected the stockings, but it gives our joy depth and richness and a perspective I am grateful for.

Though I should have known better, I assumed the kids would forget about the box until next year. But it had an impact, and they are still thinking about it. Abby has been talking about her brothers and sisters in heaven and how she can't wait to give them all a hug. And as I was pushing our grocery cart to the van this week, Ryan looked up and me and said, "Mommy, will you tell me about the box of stockings again?" Yes, Ryan, I would be happy to.

The Box Part 1

It's there every year, inconspicuously nestled into the branches of our Christmas tree. It began the year we found out we were pregnant for the first time. We were thrilled, scared, and dreamy like most first-time parents-to-be. We discovered the news at the beginning of December, and that year for Christmas we were given some things for our baby including a large plastic baby bottle bank filled with goodies and wrapped with a ribbon and a tiny stocking. It was a joyous Christmas despite the horrible morning sickness.

Then February brought heartbreaking news and our hopes and dreams came crashing down around us. We weren't going to hold and cuddle this baby afterall, we would never find out if it was a boy or a girl, we wouldn't be a Mommy or Daddy that year or perhaps ever, and we wouldn't be hanging a third stocking up beside ours next Christmas. We mourned instead, and we would mourn again three more times that year.

The next Christmas had an altogether different feel to it. As we opened up our Christmas boxes half-heartedly, we found the tiny stocking from the year before carefully packed away. I ran my hand over the red felt and remembered the joy of the year before. Suddenly I was surprised to feel something inside. Now intrigued, I looked inside and pulled out a small ziplock bag that had $100 bill and a Post-it note that read "For Baby Garner, to put in the bottle bank when it is empty. Love from Gramie and Granpa."

Though we didn't have the heart to hang up the tiny stocking, that Christmas we bought three more tiny stockings and put all four into a box. In subsequent years we sadly added more until our box now holds 11 tiny stockings, a small rememberance of precious lives dearly loved and wanted.