Many people may not understand this, since I now have two adorable little girls. Empty arms? Aren't my arms (and hands) full with a toddler and an infant? Just ask anyone who saw me at the grocery store this morning, both kids in tow, my little stroller basket overflowing with much needed groceries as one baby cried and the other ran along beside me "trying" to calm her down. The looks of pity were enough to slay a kitten. Yes, my hands are full but my arms still feel achingly empty at times. While I love Gia and Joanna more than I ever thought possible, I still miss Whitney tremendously. Having children after a loss will not replace the baby who's gone any more than adding salt instead of sugar will sweeten your coffee. Something, some one is still missing.
A lot of churches have a Baby Dedication Sunday usually in the same week or month as Mother's Day. While I understand that this completely makes sense, its kind of like a double whammy for a heart that is already grieving. The year Whitney was born, I didn't go to church the entire month of May-- I just couldn't handle it. And when I was at church, I wanted in and out with as little interaction as possible. I was doing my best to enter the sanctuary. My absence was not met with compassion or understanding, rather criticism and judgement. God-forbid I miss the Hallmark sermon, and the gift afterwards of a carnation and Bump-it. (yes, they gave away Bump-its to moms. No, I am not kidding.) What I would have given to have been met with open arms, understanding and good gracious, grace! We are no longer at that church and I'm thankful we are now serving at a wonderful church, full of grace and caring people who love us deeply.
But my point in sharing all this is not so you will feel sorry for me. Its to give you permission. Permission to grieve however you damn well need to grieve. And permission to do whatever the hell you need to do on Mother's Day. Nowadays, I don't mind Mother's Day so much. I enjoy going to church and even accept the pangs of longing I usually feel... longings for Heaven, where death is conquered and eternity with Christ is reality. Where I'll get to hold my baby girl again, and she will praise our mighty God alongside her sisters. I enjoy the day as a mom of three beautiful daughters, for whom I am so deeply thankful to God. Its definitely one of those bittersweet days. But I can't help thinking of the many people who are struggling on Sunday. Who are just doing their best to enter the sanctuary. The daughter who's mom died this year after a fierce battle with ALS. The couple who just had another negative pregnancy test after years of infertility. The man who's mom died when he was 16. The young woman who's mom was emotionally absent and chemical-dependent. We all enter with wounds that can only be healed by the wounds of Jesus. (1 Peter 2:24; Isaiah 53:5)
So if you're a mom (or even a grandma, aunt, dad, etc) who is dreading this Mother's Day because your baby is missing from your arms, know that you are not alone. If your relationship with your mother is more complicated than the commercial cards you can find at Kroger, you're not alone. If the only address you have to send a Mother's Day card is "Heaven," you are not alone. And please know that we won't judge you if you want to stay home, or if you need a "bathroom break" when all the babies go down front, or it just gets to be too much. Know that I am praying for you, from the depths of my soul to the feet of Jesus, praying his grace and mercy on your heart. I am praying that the God of hope will fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit (Romans 15:13), even in your seasons of grief.
So if you're a mom (or even a grandma, aunt, dad, etc) who is dreading this Mother's Day because your baby is missing from your arms, know that you are not alone. If your relationship with your mother is more complicated than the commercial cards you can find at Kroger, you're not alone. If the only address you have to send a Mother's Day card is "Heaven," you are not alone. And please know that we won't judge you if you want to stay home, or if you need a "bathroom break" when all the babies go down front, or it just gets to be too much. Know that I am praying for you, from the depths of my soul to the feet of Jesus, praying his grace and mercy on your heart. I am praying that the God of hope will fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit (Romans 15:13), even in your seasons of grief.
And if you are doing your best but still can't make it into the sanctuary this Mother's Day, please know that's ok. Because our God is so big, he will come to you. He will meet you from wherever you are seeking him-- broken heart, shambled soul, empty arms, cried-out eyes. In fact, he wants that part of you, because he wants all of you. No need to pretty it up for Sunday. Don't cake make-up over your tear-stained cheeks. Run to him who is able to do infinitely more than we could ever ask or imagine (Ephesians 3:20). Give him your grief and accept his grace, which is so much more than sufficient for all of our needs (and even made perfect in our weaknesses- 2 Corinthians 12:9). And know that you are loved and I am lifting you up in prayer. And if you happen to be at my church tomorrow and need an extra hug, let me know you're doing your best just to enter the sanctuary and I'll know exactly what you mean.
