God's Other Plan. . .

More than thirty-three years ago, I married a wonderful man.  We had a mutual love for children and our hearts’ desire was, after taking some time to be husband and wife, to have children of our own.  If there’s one thing in the life of a child of God that is fact is that His ways are not our ways and they are certainly past our finding out. Isaiah 55:8-9 ESV “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord.  For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.”

I immersed myself in full-time ministry for many years and side jobs to supplement our income.  It did not affect our marriage as we were quite happy and fulfilled in being about “our Father’s business” but I always felt left out whenever other couples with whom we were friends talked about and shared photos of their children.  How I secretly longed for that.  I remember doing everything and anything my girlfriends suggested for me to try to get pregnant, but it was not to be, not then, not ever. It was not in God’s plan. He had other plans.

Seven years after we were married, numerous disappointments, fertility tests, depression, and many tears, in His time, God blessed us with an infant son through the gift of a beautiful young birthmother whom we love dearly. “For this child I prayed, and the Lord has granted me my petition that I made to him.  Therefore I have lent him to the Lord. As long as he lives, he is lent to the Lord.” I Samuel 1:27-28. Our son was (and still is J) the apple of our eye and a very much loved child for ten years. He was also an only child for ten years. He often talked of brothers and sisters, but we told him how God had chosen him just for us.  There just had not been any brothers and sisters available.  Then, just before his eighth birthday, we were contacted about another possible adoption and our biological clock started ticking again which, after nearly two years of frustration dealing with the conditions of a foreign government, ultimately led us to a very l-o-n-g stay in Brazil and two new additions to our family of three – a six year old little girl and a five year old little boy, siblings.  

Many challenges lay ahead, at that point – many of which we were totally unprepared for.  We soon learned, first-hand, what sibling rivalry was all about and we quickly learned that not being able to shape and mold a child from his/her infant stages presents issues you cannot imagine unless you are the parent of an adopted older child.  When I was about at the end of my rope, God sent a Christian psychologist who was able to shed light on the things that were happening, but a very difficult road still lay ahead, one which would tear at our hearts and our relationship, a path that would lead us to the point I can lovingly write this blog. 

Sometimes it seems that I have spent my adult life trying to live up to the mothering standard set up in the thirty-first chapter of Proverbs and I certainly felt like I lived in the I-can’t-quite-measure-up cul-de-sac. I have come to believe with a somewhat sneaking suspicion that woman of Proverbs 31 was a combination of several mega women, a wishful hope, or a case of one woman mistakenly believing she was Wonder Woman’s clone!

Nonetheless, it is Mothers Day and in my closet and in my office are countless hand-drawn, precious cards, hand prints pressed in hardened clay and paint, little, precious hand-made gifts, pressed and dried flowers, hand-made booklets, photos, popsicle stick picture frames, and many assorted precious other keepsakes that were made by chubby little fingers belonging to mischievous little boys, now grown into handsome young men, and a little girl, now a mother herself,  who always had to do the best in all she did to make us proud. Pictures tucked neatly away in albums remind me of simpler days - toothless grins and smiles, first roller skating and ice skating parties, snowmen, cannonballs off the diving boards. . .can you see them?

Most of all in the closet of my heart are memories. . . memories that can’t be made by popsicle sticks, colorful construction paper and paste, or modeling clay figurines.  Memories of a little boy so ill that all he wanted was to lye against my breast as I prayed for God’s healing.  Memories of countless readings of The Tales of Peter Rabbit, Jemimah Puddle-Duck, Bible Stories, Dr. Seuss, and primary readers filled many evenings.  Mr. Bubble baths, shiny soft skin and the smell of three freshly bathed, slathered in Baby Magic, children is a sight and smell I know love and enjoy still in my grandchildren.  

Standing at the altar dedicating our children to the Lord, days of coaching soccer (10 years!!!) helping with homework, walking as a proud parent across a soccer and football field, taking pictures of prom princes and princesses, shuffling kids to music lessons and band camp, enduring horizontal sleet, snow, and rain huddled under sports blankets on bleacher seats are all a part of the memory bank now.  No longer are there arguments about doing homework, late curfews, cleaning rooms (except one), mowing lawns, and doing chores, or careful choice of friends. . . no rushing from a baseball game on one side of town to another little league game at Sully’s field; no more parent teacher or team conferences. . .they are all past, but they are not all forgotten.  The thrill of your son pitching a no-hitter or sailing a baseball over the fence for a homerun; the cheering, whooping and foot-stomping as your soccer player scores a goal or stops the other team from scoring – those cannot be replaced nor can time erase them.  A tear that creeps into the corner of your eye as two of the graduates sing “The Prayer” – remembering what it was like to once stand in their shoes – remembering, too, that once it has past, this fleeting moment of childhood, of adolescence, is now history.  Life, as we knew it, will not be the same.  Now there are prayers of a different sort, cries to God for wise, smart, and Godly choices to be made, commitments to Christ to be kept. . .

These are my memories.  Memories that I hold in the secret chambers of my heart, that no matter what I may “say” or how I may react – the memories are there.  The Tales of Peter Rabbit remain on my bookshelves to be shared with grandchildren.  The sports blankets and soccer chairs are hung in the garage. . .it will be awhile before the games begin again!  Children’s trophies, ribbons, and keepsakes are packed neatly in the storage area of the basement.  Two of my adult children are now married and my daughter has presented us with two beautiful granddaughters. 

So, it’s Mothers Day. . .and I couldn’t celebrate it without my children.  My own and my husband’s moms and grandmas have long since journeyed home to be with Jesus.  I have taken “Mom’s place” now and I am grateful for that title.  To be an educator, a master teacher, with several degrees means nothing compared to the degree of motherhood – I am Mom.  I am somebody to someone.  I love deeply and I’m loved in return.  Happy Mother’s Day!!! 

My best Mother’s Day Gift ever is: “I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.” III John 4

–RLS