I Am A Mother

“Made it to my gate, and we’re getting ready to board. I’ll text you when I land in Charlotte.” It was Sunday, May 9th, and I was in Milwaukee, on my way home from my good friend’s college graduation. For probably only the second time in my life, my flight was actually on-time. I was tired. It had been a long weekend.

I stood up with my teal roller carry-on and my backpack, and walked over to the gate attendant.

He scanned my ticket, then asked, “And are you a mother today?”

“Excuse me?”

The gate attendant held out his bag of goodies, with the words Happy Mother’s Day written in a pretty script, and cheerfully asked his question again, “Are you a mother?”

Tears choked my words off, as I buried my face in my hands, and ran down the boarding ramp.

“Am I a mother?”

Yes. I’m a mother. But no one will ever meet my baby. No one will ever know that he or she made me a mother. All they see of me is my empty arms and my tear streaked face.

I sobbed in my seat the entire two hours and seven minutes to Charlotte. The poor man in the seat next to me must have wondered what kind of hysterical woman he had gotten stuck with.

Once, when I thought my tears were gone, I read the note my mother in law had given me as she dropped me off at the airport. It was a Mother’s Day card. Her sweet gesture of acknowledging my baby brought a fresh wave of grief over my heart, and my sobs were renewed.

I was miserable. I was hurt. And I thought I might never experience joy again.

When my flight landed in Charlotte, I did what everyone else does – I turned back on my phone. The screen illuminated with half a dozen messages. My mom, wishing me Happy Mother’s Day, and telling me that she loved me, and Colton, and our little Peanut. My dad, saying almost the same thing. Several ladies in our church sent the sweetest messages, and their prayers for me, on Mother’s Day, were a balm to my aching heart.

My pastor’s wife sent a text that, while it made me cry anew, was such an encouragement and blessing to me. She saw my pain, and she loved me through it. I know it’s long, but I think it’s worth repeating verbatim. Here is what she wrote:

“Sarah, thinking especially of you this morning…Today carries both tears and joy for you. Asking the Lord to comfort you and Colton…Sin always complicates things, doesn’t it? Robbing us of the purity and simplicity of the life God intended for us in His goodness. Even something like Mother’s Day becomes complicated because of life on a fallen planet. Words like adoption, barrenness, and miscarriage are sadly a part of our human experience. Rather than simply celebrating the life-giving sacrifice of mothers today, our hearts are torn between joy and grief.

“Tears of gratitude and tears of sorrow often mingle together on days like this. I rejoice in God’s goodness–gifted with a godly mom and mother in law, the long years of praying for children graciously answered, deeply grateful for so many spiritual mothers who have nurtured my faith in Christ.

“And yet, at the same time, my heart is touched deeply by the grief of those who know the pain of failed nurturing in their past. And I hurt for my friends who long to be mothers and are faced with the reality of empty arms today.

“How gracious of God to speak to this brokenness in our lives so simply and so clearly. The Lord uses the deepest attachment known by humans, a mother and her nursing child, to communicate His love for us – a love that ‘transcends in permanence the best earth can offer.’

“There is no failed nurturing with God. And through Jesus, who led the way in nurturing life in the face of death, we too – whatever our experience – have the hope of being like Him!”

My wise, sweet friend turned my thoughts from my own suffering and hurt, to the love of my Savior. To the hope that comes from being His child.

We do live in a sin-cursed world. And for me, the pain of that sin is so evident and clear on Mother’s Day. As I’m writing this, it’s been fifteen months since our miscarriage, and we have not been able to get pregnant again. I can count over half a dozen women in my life who have either experienced loss in the last year, or who have been dealing with the inability to get pregnant for years. This is one way that sin shows itself in the world around me.

But hope shows itself too. Grace shows itself too.

Also in about a year, our church has had two babies born after a previous loss. Two other babies have been born to mothers who were told they might not ever be able to have children. These miracles are such a clear picture to me of the gracious gifts of our good God.

Lamentations 3 has become so dear to my heart. Verses 31-33 say, “For the Lord will not cast off forever, but, though He cause grief, He will have compassion according to the abundance of His steadfast love; for He does not afflict from His heart or grieve the children of men.”

Verses 55-57 go on to say, “I called on your name, O Lord, from the depths of the pit; You heard my plea, ‘Do not close Your ear to my cry for help!’ You came near when I called on you; you said, ‘Do not fear!’”

Verses 21-24 may be some of the most remembered verses in the Old Testament: “But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. ‘The Lord is my portion,’ says my soul, ‘therefore I will hope in Him.’”

I don’t know what Mother’s Day brings for you. It may be the pain of not having children or having lost a child. It may be the sorrow of having lost a mother or a sister or a friend. It may be that Mother’s Day holds no sorrow, but only joy.

Maybe your thoughts echo that of the people in Isaiah 49:14. “But Zion said, “The Lord has forsaken me; my Lord has forgotten me.”

Whatever it is, can I remind you that the Lord’s mercies are new every morning, even on Mother’s Day? He loves you more than any mother ever could.

The very next verses, Isaiah 49:15-16a, say, “Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands…”

I’m still dreading this upcoming Mother’s Day. I don’t relish the reminder that I don’t have a child in my arms. But I am so thankful for the hope that I have in Christ. The hope that comes from the sacrifice God made when He gave His Son to die on my behalf, for my salvation.

Yes, I am a mother, But, even more important than that, I am a daughter. A daughter of the One in whom all hope is found!

Sarah Lingle lives with her husband of almost 3 years in the mountains of North Carolina. She stays busy teaching prenatal classes at a crisis pregnancy center, assisting families as a birth and bereavement doula, and serving in church ministries.

In her free time, Sarah loves exploring God's creation with her husband or curling up with a good book and a hot mug of tea.