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Well, it’s finally over. While the world took their Christmas stuff down at midnight on the 25th, we held strong, our tree blazing straight through New Year’s and the whole week after. But now it’s officially over. Bye, bye Christmas, hello Ordinary Time. Though the color for Ordinary Time is green, what we see a lot of here in the absence of snow is muddy brown. It’s time to hunker down into winter, with nothing but Valentine’s Day to tide us over into Lent.
As we enter this season from Christmas, my thoughts have turned to the Holy Family’s long stretch of ordinary time. They had some absolutely amazing experiences that first Christmas, didn’t they? Visits from angels, a few long road trips, a huge star, visits from shepherds and Magi, prophesies from Simeon and Anna, royal gifts and stern warnings in dreams. Later, there would be more amazing things: healings and walking on water, huge crowds of followers, the conversion of sinners, controversy with authorities and of course a humiliating death and triumphant resurrection. But in between these two brief spans of years where God manifested himself very plainly were 30 years where he settled into life as any ordinary carpenter’s son.
Isn’t this how our lives are? We have very profound events in our lives: marriage, births, deaths, illnesses, graduations, milestone birthdays. We have profound religious experiences too: initial conversions or reversions, intense retreat experiences, spiritual epiphanies, etc. But the majority of our lives are much more mundane. We settle into a routine of commuting, house cleaning, nose wiping, errands and carpool. Our spiritual lives take on a pattern too of daily prayer, grace before meals, Sunday Mass, monthly confession and whatever other practices we make part of our family’s religious life. There can be a temptation to become a little ho-hum about everything, or to live distractedly, always latching on to the next thrill, whether it be the next night out or the next retreat.
This is a serious thing, since the mundane makes us such a huge majority of our lives! It is also why I think God decided to make it such a big part of his own earthly life. He could easily have come as a conquering king, swishing down from heaven in grown-up form to save the day. He could have started his ministry that day in the Temple, when at 12 years old he was already blowing away the Rabbis. But he didn’t. Taking on our humanity meant taking on the vast expanse of years in simple, poverty-line family life. Everything Jesus touches turns to gold. That is why he chose to live a quiet, hidden life in Nazareth for those 30 years. It’s where his sanctifying work began. Not only did he begin suffering for us then through hard work, obedience to his parents and the humility of not being recognized as the creator of the universe, but he transformed those daily things so that they could sanctify us, too.
What will you do today? I will attempt to teach my son to add, read and know more about Jamestown and mountain habitats. We will probably go to the library and the grocery store. I will likely change 2 or 3 poopy diapers, check work email and fret about getting a babysitter. I will make three meals and two snacks, give out several reminders, text back and forth with my husband and my mom. While I hope that these things are done with a smile, I will not be surprised if they are accompanied by whining and grumbling: by either me or my family. Therefore, the day will also likely contain several apologies. With my list or with yours, there is hidden grace. The grace of doing our duty with love.
So today as I run through my to-do list, I will try to steal away a moment to think about Mary making bread for the evening meal, going to the well for water, mending and washing clothes. I will think of Joseph who scraped by a living for his family by the sweat of his brow, and little Jesus, wisdom incarnate, doing his chores and memorizing his lessons. I will think of the inconceivable miracle living in that tiny Nazarene household and ask that family to help me see the miracle in mine, as well.
Around our house we try to keep Advent as its own season, which means we are constantly fighting the slow seeping of the penitent season of waiting into full blown jingle bells. With kids, this isn’t always easy. One thing we do is we put up our Christmas tree first Sunday of Advent, but dress it with purple, and use it to hang our Jesse Tree ornaments on. The first year I thought of this, we didn’t switch from Jesse Tree to Christmas Tree until Christmas Eve. That proved to be one too many things for Mom to do on Christmas Eve. Plus with our Christmas season always including travel, we only got to enjoy our fully-decked-out tree for a few days. The compromise I’ve now adopted is that on Gaudete Sunday, we can start putting ornaments on. My 6 year old son was super excited, and we enjoyed looking at our “special ornaments”, which are a trip through time for all of us. (I still have one I made in preschool– my class picture with a lacy edging and glitter!).
Gaudete means rejoice, and it’s the theme of the third Sunday of Advent. My son rejoices in the fun things of Advent/Christmas and gets more excited the closer we get to Christmas. But as I reflected on the readings last night, the first reading from Isaiah caught my ear. He says that he rejoices in the Lord for He has wrapped me in the garment of salvation and the robe of justice. It struck me: yes, we are rejoicing this week. But over what?
One of my professors in grad school, when he did spiritual direction, would ask his directees to tell him their biggest sorrows and joys from the past year. There, he said, you find out what they love. What do I rejoice in? A day that is open where I can get lots done? An unexpected check in the mail? Time with my family? These are all good. But do I REJOICE in my prayer time? In sitting before the Lord in adoration? Receiving him at Mass? When it comes to Christmas, do I rejoice in the Giver or the gifts he has given me?
The result when we rejoice in the Lord himself is that when other things are absent, we are still joyful. When I heard the reading from Philippians the Advent after my Peter died, I thought, “rejoice in the Lord ALWAYS?! Oh, like EVEN NOW?” and came to a deeper understanding of joy. It is not a feeling, but an assurance in God’s provision, a look to eternity, a deep trust in His plan for us all.
Further, if we focus on the Gift himself, we can suffer the little things (or big things) with joy. I know of two babies born yesterday. What a great day to be born! But imagine these two little ones’ parents rejoicing in the baby gifts and the free meals from friends more than the babies themselves! When the rejoice in the baby, it is not as hard to endure the first few days of nursing or the sleepless nights. If they were in it for the gifts and photo ops? Not so much!
Of course, Christmas should be a fun time for kids. Of course we don’t expect them, (or us!) to be able to strip away all the candy canes and elves and such to just be serious and stare at the manger scene all day. But as I prepare during these last two weeks of Advent, I am going to try hard to be rejoicing in that little baby and all he has done for me.
My 3 month old son Peter died on the Feast of Christ the King, 2006. That year, it was the Sunday following Thanksgiving. As we buried him right before the start of Advent that year, many people commented to us on how the impending holidays must have compounded our grief. I won’t pretend that it was fun to pass by the “baby’s first Christmas” sleepers, or to see TV commercials where rosy-faced children are snuggling up to the hearth with homemade sugar cookies and cocoa. Our secular culture has labeled December “the most wonderful time of the year”. Needless to say, grieving the sudden death of a baby is in stark contrast to these images and can make grief seem a little fresher.
All that being said, that year I entered into Advent in a deeper and richer way that year than I think I ever had before. For four Sundays, we could leave the jingle bells of the outside world and enter into a sanctuary where all was quiet, and expectant and still. Our souls were mirrored in the hauntingly beautiful liturgies. We heard Isaiah speak of the longing of God’s people to be brought back from the land of exile. We heard them pour out their sufferings and their fears. And God’s reply? I have not forgotten you. A day is coming when every tear will be wiped away, when “no longer will there be an infant who lives but a few days” (Isaiah 65:19-20).
Advent is a time of waiting, a time of penance, which I think is uniquely suited for those who suffer. By definition suffering is a lack of something good that should be there. We suffer because we should be healthy, but we are not. We should have peaceful family relationships, but instead they are a mess. We should have our loved ones with us, but instead we are separated by death. In the beginning, we were created in a state of perfection where sickness and death had no place. It was original sin that screwed things up. And the baby we celebrate at Christmas is Jesus– the Child of promise, the One that God promised would right the wrongs of the Fall. It is this Child that the Israelites hoped for down through the generations. Advent is a time of joining in their waiting. We remember the long dark years before he came. We wait for him to come with a unique gift of grace to our own hearts now to help to heal and strengthen us, and of course we wait in joyful hope for his coming again in glory.
Even Christmas does not need to be a foreign time for those who grieve. Of course, it is hard to be suffering during a time that makes joyful memories sting, or while it seems everyone else is wrapped in tinsel and gingerbread and laughter. But again, we need to go deeper into what Christmas really is. Did the baby Jesus get to drink egg nog and go caroling and open presents? No. He was rejected by those he came to save and was born in a barn filled with animals. Yes, he was given gifts, but two of the three reminded his parents that he was to suffer and die. On the day of his presentation, Mary was told a sword would pierce her heart. And to top it all off, the newborn had to flee the swords of soldiers out to mortally wound him.
This isn’t intended to make Christmas a downer. It remains a time of great joy. Why? Because Jesus intentionally entered into our suffering. He chose to come and be with us while we wait for the days of glory. Christmas teaches us that God is with us in our sorrows, that he brings great good from them (if we let him) so that one day we can celebrate with him in the joy of heaven.
So, this Advent, like every one we have celebrated in the past five years, will have its moments of sadness. We will put ornaments on the tree that remind us of our little saints Peter and Gianna. We will have a moment when we see our two children and wonder what our two missing kids would be doing. But our loss also helps us deeply and sincerely pray with the whole communion of saints, “Come, Lord Jesus!” My hope for all who grieve this Advent is that they do not allow themselves to feel like outsiders but rather find true comfort and joy in the coming of the Christ Child.
Gotta love the Book of Daniel. In today’s reading, King Belshazzar gives a feast and after a few glasses of wine decides it will be really funny to use the vessels pilfered from the Temple in Jerusalem to drink out of. His guests drink wine out of them, praising their gods of “gold and silver, bronze and iron, wood and stone”. God does not think this is very funny. He expresses his displeasure by sending a disembodied hand to write a note on the plaster wall, which Daniel interprets: you offended my God and he is going to take your kingdom away.
While today, we’re not so tempted to grab the chalice and paton from the local parish and put them out for guests, we are prone to profanation. First, a definition: profane means to use what is sacred for everyday purposes. Like wearing your wedding dress to run errands. We should kind of cringe at the thought. But the king in the story, whose gods were “gold and silver, bronze and iron, wood and stone”, fails to see a differentiation between the sacred and the everyday.
Today there are some outrageous examples of profanation or even sacrilige, but most of us aren’t guilty of that. Our profanation tends to be more subtle. We put priority on our own “gold and silver, bronze and iron, wood and stone”. In other words, we put all our energies into the tangible, everyday things without remembering God. We use Sunday, a sacred day, as just another day off to run our errands. We use God’s name as an explative. In a more subtle way still, we try to bring God down to our level, shrink him to fit our own understandings or our own personal theologies.
God is way, way, above us. Sometimes, because he is so generous as to draw so close to us, we can get a little too comfortable with him. Granted, he desperately wants us to be near to him, as a loving Father. However, we do well to remember how great he is. This is what sacred things remind us of. And like I always say, better to remember this on our own then to get a visit from a creepy ghost hand.
I sat next to a child at Mass today who had a very irritating, hacking cough. About every 45 seconds, he would let out a string of very loud coughs. In between, he would slump down in his chair, looking miserable. I questioned whether this child should have been out at all- not only for his own health, but for the health of everyone else in that gathering space/cry room area where we all were. After all, he was giving the old “cough into your arm” thing his best shot, but let’s face it, he didn’t have the best aim. I tried to read other people… are they noticing this kid? Were they wondering what kind of mother would drag their sick child to church on a cold Sunday morning—risking his health and that of the whole parish?!
If you haven’t guessed, the child was mine, and though I am not proud to admit it, I was slightly more preoccupied with whether I was being judged than by my son’s health (I know he’s fine… he just gets coughs and they hang around for a long time!). Do you do that? I think as parents we are very prone to this, because no matter what we do with our kids, we can get judged for it. Let’s say your two year old is whining for candy at the grocery store. If you give in, people may judge you for spoiling your kid. If you don’t, your child may end up in full tantrum mode and you may be judged for having that loud, ranting kid at the grocery store. There may even be some people there who judge you for your child whining in the first place, and if you have more than two children with you, you will most likely be judged for overpopulating the world. (If you have only one, you may be judged as selfish for only having one—who knows?!)
Childless people, I’m sure experience the same thing. We all do. Generally, we experience it because we know how often we make judgments about others. How many times in a day do we critique a stranger’s driving or clothing or diet? We text and tweet about these folks and even put them in our Facebook statuses. We laugh and snarl about others’ habits to each other.
Judgment is an ugly thing, so we try to rid our world of it by “tolerance” and “diversity” and all kinds of “let’s get along”- type stuff. We quote the plank-in-your eye verse from scripture. We throw out the concept of sin and explain guilt away as a remnant of oppressive religious structures. We have created a world in which every person is allowed to decide for himself or herself what is right.
It’s a noble idea. After all, we all hate to be judged! The problem is that we know in our hearts that there are still things that are wrong. If we throw out all moral codes, if it’s fine for everyone to just do their own thing, then what exactly are you supposed to tell a child whose dad just gambled away the family home? What do you tell the rape victim or the spouse who has been betrayed or the elderly man whose nest egg was stolen by an identity thief? Obviously these things are wrong. But how can we say they are wrong if there is no such thing?
This situation has led to a state where (someone wiser than myself said), “everything is permissible, but nothing is forgiven”. We have the most tolerant society in history, but we are perhaps the angriest people ever. And depressed. In my own scientific opinion, we’re a mess.
Judgment is an ugly thing, but we need it. The trick is, we can’t each be our own sheriff. When there is no overarching system of morality, we have to each judge for ourselves, and generally, we aren’t the most objective when it comes to that which has wronged us personally. We need a judge. A good one. And luckily, we’ve got one.
Today is the feast of Christ the King and in today’s gospel we see the final judgment—that time when Jesus will judge all the world, and all of history. We may be uncomfortable with this, but we really need it because our hearts crave justice. We know deep down that it isn’t fair that some people are born into poverty while some squander riches and get richer off the backs of the poor. We know it’s an outrage when a murderer goes free on a technicality and claims another victim as a result. These are big things. But we also know how much each unkind word has hurt us, or how we were only trying to help a situation but instead had it blow up in our faces. At these times, we can take comfort in knowing that one day all things will be put right.
The final judgment can be terrifying, too, since we know that we never quite measure up. We know the things that we have gotten away with. In this sense, we can take comfort in the character of the judge. Jesus, the King, is just, not spiteful. As CS Lewis would say, he is not a tame Lion. But he is a merciful one. Christ reigns from the wood of the Cross. He conquered his kingdom by dying to save her. If we can admit where we have failed, we never need to fear to approach him. For Jesus, not everything is permissible, but EVERYTHING is forgivable.
This feast has a special place in my heart because it was on this feast five years ago that my son Peter died. This brings me to the last reason why the final judgment is a good thing. Sometimes things happen that aren’t anybody’s fault, but they are still unfair- like a baby only living to be three months and two days old. Sickness and death were never meant to be part of the plan. We were created to live forever and to use those long lives to build one another up in love and respect. In the final judgment we will see how things were meant to be, and provided we have done our best on earth to live in love, it will be the beginning of an eternity of perfect peace and justice.
I am normally very skeptical about parenting “experts” because in my experience many of them seem to have never met a real child. So when my mom bought a bunch of parenting CD’s for me, I listened just to try and keep the Fourth Commandment. I was pleasantly surprised. One of the methods suggested by this particular expert was called descriptive praise. She suggested that you simply state all the things you notice your child doing right in a given day. I liked the idea because you aren’t making stuff up or embellishing (“Honey! That finger painting is so WONDERFUL it belongs in a museum!”) because children know that is false praise. What she suggests you do is just point out when the child is doing a behavior you want her to keep doing (“You didn’t want to stop playing with your blocks, but you cleaned them up as soon as I asked you. That is being cooperative.”). The idea is that children will want to please their parents and when they see that good things get them good attention, the good behaviors will eventually increase.
We have tried this in our house and so far it is working. It hasn’t solved all of our behavioral problems, but I can see the effect it has on our son who is almost 7. At the end of the first day he said, “Wow! I must have been really good today!” Since then, we explained that we are going to focus on telling him the good things he does, and it has really helped him be cooperative and more self reliant.
The best part about this new method is that it has slipped into my relationship with my husband. It started out as a joke, with us using the somewhat clumsy-sounding formulas on each other. It has developed, though, into us noticing and affirming those things in the other that are a good change and especially that we know the other struggles to do. After a few years of marriage we all know what we should be doing better. Being affirmed for actually doing it instead of reminded to do it improves the atmosphere in the home greatly.
Where this descriptive praise thing needs to go next is into my relationship with God. Not that I need to tell God, “You didn’t have to come down to earth and die for my sins, but you did. That’s being generous”. God doesn’t need any motivation to be good. He is the source of all good! What I need is to start focusing on all the amazing blessings he has given me, rather than the few unanswered prayers I still have out there. The thing about pointing out to my son or husband all the things they do right is that my focus has shifted to the large body of good things versus the small number of irritating things. Couldn’t we all stand to do that with God more often?
Our concerns are legitimate. We have been asking St. Joseph for a renter for the home we still own in Minnesota. Many of you have even more serious concerns: illness, family problems, unemployment. But when we start to thank God for the things we do have: food and shelter for today, friends, kids, etc (even if you don’t have any of those you are drawing breath and that’s a pretty significant thing!), we do more than just see the glass half full. It’s more than just trying to make the best of things. It can start to change us into genuinely grateful people.
For many of us, Thanksgiving is one of those freebie holidays that is big on food, family and football, but short on meaning. Sure kids make pilgrim hats and paper plate turkeys, and maybe it’s the one awkward time a year we say grace with our extended family. Let’s challenge ourselves this year to take some time of prayer and ask God to transform us into people filled with gratitude.
We recently moved out of state. We accepted the new job right after the July 4th weekend and moved right after Labor Day. I am still tired thinking about it. Aside from purging 7 years of garage sale finds, free furniture and well-intentioned but outgrown gifts and then packing everything that was left, we also completed every project we had meant to do since we moved in. We put in a new tile floor, painted,insulated the attic, removed an old drop ceiling, changed out light fixtures, replaced gutters, remodeled a bathroom and refinished hard wood floors. With the help of some wonderful friends, we even removed ballerina wallpaper border from our daughter’s room that had bothered me since day one. By the time we left, the place looked good enough to live in!
When we told people about this flurry of home improvement activity, almost everyone nodded and mused, “Yep. Isn’t that how it always goes? You get it nice right before you go!” Usually ,they would then proceed to share a similar story from someone they knew, or from their own experience.
Needless to say, we wish we could have lived in our own beautifully remodeled, de-cluttered house all along, and I think it’s not an uncommon regret. In fact, several friends who helped us in this process remarked to us that we had “inspired” them. Oh, good, we thought. You are inspired to follow God’s call even if it involves doing something difficult like moving several states away? No, they would answer. We had inspired them to clean out their closets and get rid of junk so they would never end up like us!
We can all see the wisdom of remodeling sooner so we can enjoy it while we still live there. However, in our spiritual lives many of us are still on the path of “remodel and run”. Some of us plan to get serious about God later in life. When I’m old I will start going to Mass regularly or every day. When I retire I will start serving the poor or praying the rosary or make up with that relative I haven’t spoken to in 20 years. There are lots of reasons people do this. Some think they are beating the system by living the “good life” of self indulgence now with a plan to repent at the last minute. Others find spiritual exercise too hard and hope it will be easier in time. Many of us really mean to work on things, but just get too busy to ever get around to it.
Whatever the reason, just like in remodeling, we look at the effort instead of the end result and we let it deter us. Sometimes, like with home repairs, we wait until some crisis comes up that necessitates getting things in order. In a house, such things can be our move, or perhaps water pouring through the ceiling or a persnickety in-law coming to visit. In the spiritual life, we may be moved to act by a sudden illness or death, a job loss or a threat of divorce. When a crisis arises, suddenly there is enough time and money and the schedule clears in order to do what we never seemed to be able to accomplish before. Just like in our physical homes, we would be so much more pleasant to live with and we would enjoy life so much more if we could make room to work on things during our normal daily life.
The month of November is the last month of the liturgical year, and in it we are always reminded that we need to always be ready to meet our end, whether it comes at our personal death or at the end of the world. We are reminded this month to get our spiritual houses in order.
Living in the peace that comes from praying and taking care of our relationships should be motivation enough, but God is a loving Father and doesn’t shy away from pulling out all the stops to convince us to get ourselves in gear. In today’s Gospel of the parable of the Ten Virgins we are reminded that putting things off to the last minute could result in disaster. The five foolish maidens weren’t prepared and therefore didn’t get into the party. This should give us serious pause. If we neglect forgiveness of a loved one, we might not get a chance to reconcile with them before they die in a tragic accident. If we aren’t praying, we might not have enough grace to deal with the trial that waits for us around the corner. Worst of all, if we are living in serious sin, we may not be strong enough to repent on our deathbeds. The truth is that getting our spiritual house in order isn’t something that can wait. Our eternal destiny and that of those around us depends on it.
What do you need to get to today? Confession, Mass, forgiveness of yourself or others? That good deed that you have been meaning to do and haven’t? Remember that you can always offer suffering up for others, too… so maybe you can clean out that front closet and kill two birds with one stone.
I never intended to be a long-distance person. I moved into a suburban NJ home at 3 years old and didn’t leave until college. I fully expected to grow up and stay in that area. Instead, I have ended up with friends and family all around the country. Between my family, my husband’s and now our close friends in the city we recently moved from, we have quite a varied array of markers on our map.
One of the hardest parts for me is with my son. He has come to understand that every time we visit with one person, we are separated from another. Almost never are we able to be with everyone we love at the same time.
Of course, we also have two members of our family who are even more remote. Our little saints are separated from us not by miles, but by death. And yet, we believe we will see them again, too. Although healing makes the feelings less raw, we never stop missing our little ones. Today, All Saints Day, is one where we feel closest to Peter and Gianna, and a day in which we are invited to reflect on the fact that one day, we will all be united with everyone we love, all at once (provided we all get to heaven!). Last night as I rocked Maggie to sleep, my heart skipped with excitement with the thought: we will see those little ones again! It will be sooner than we can imagine. The saints (especially saints we’ve held and touched and changed) not only give us a good example—they remind us that eternity is real, and it is waiting.
So, as we look forward to our next trip back to the great white north for Thanksgiving, or our next holiday trip home, or the next visit, call or note from a far-away friend, we will also try and prepare for the great journey into eternity so that we can be part of the celebration that will never end!
Several times a week I comment that my husband and I, having zero experience with home repairs and maintenance, should have bought a condo. But we didn’t. We have a wonderful home with lots of projects patiently waiting for us- inside and out.
One thing we finally did last year after being here for seven years was fertilize the grass. We had cut it dutifully, but other than that, we had pretty much just let it go. What finally moved me to action was the impending sense that if we did nothing again, the balance of dandelions to actual grass would tip in favor of the weeds. So we went to the local hardware store and got some instructions on what to apply and when. While we still have some dandelions, the quality of the lawn has improved greatly just from that one application last year. (So much so that I actually did it AGAIN this year!)
Jesus is no stranger to agricultural metaphors, anad no wonder. I’m sure he also had his mind on our souls when he created the beauty of the natural world. But in today’s Gospel, he reminds us that our souls need to be cared for. We are vines that need connection to our source.
I think one of the reasons that we don’t always buy this analogy is that our souls are kind of like my lawn. If we were orchids or some other ridiculous plant, we would realize how much we needed God. For instance, if we got struck by lightning every time we forgot to pray or missed Mass. But it’s not quite like that. We can coast for a while before we notice we’re off track. We skip a mowing or two, or cheat on edging and things still look okay to the neighbors (after all, how often do you actually see your neighbors with their spreader? How do you KNOW they are actually fertilizing?) Then maybe we skip a treatment cycle. Or four years worth. Pretty soon it starts to look bad. Even then, we may just lop off the dandelion heads and skate by with the sort-of-looks-okay state when its freshly mowed. Especially if everyone else’s looks similiar, its easy to justify and get comfortable with.
Then, we may even develop contempt for the neighbors who are diligent in their lawncare. I know I did… at least as a joke. (I called their lawns Disney World.)
The point of all of this is that when we let ourselves go spiritually, we don’t get instantly smited. We slowly fall into disorder and weeds. Our souls need great care and maintenance. We need the right combination of prayer, works of kindness and charity, working on our faults and a huge dose of grace that is most concentrated in the sacraments. Without which we begin to slowly starve ourselves, and die spiritually. Keeping ourselves spiritually healthy is hard work, often a lot of hard work that no one else sees. But those neighbors who dutifully pull each dandelion, and who actually fertilize in the fall (gasp!) have great looking lawns to show for their efforts. So do the saints– people who meet them can just tell that something is exceptional about them. This summer, I resolve again to take better care of my physical garden, and also my spiritual one.
Plus, spiritual maintenance is 100% organic!
My daughter is 9 months old today, Mother’s Day. I don’t know if it’s common with adoptive families to feel some significance to the 9 month birthday, but I feel that it should be recognized in some way. It’s not as significant a step as when parental consent was final or the adoption itself was final (those were huge moments for a sigh of relief), but it is a symbolic date. From here on out, we have had her longer than her birth mom did. I know that it is natural for adoptive parents to feel some sense of jealousy or competition with their child’s birth family, or to wish that the child had come to them the old fashioned way. I really haven’t struggled with any of that, maybe because I have had the privilege of three healthy pregnancies and deliveries of my “own”, maybe because I know any of my biological kids have a higher-than-normal chance of dying at 3 months, or maybe because there is no way my husband and my genes could have produced a child with such gorgeous brown skin, hair and eyes. I love the way she is, and the way she is came in large part from her birthparents.
Which is perhaps the reason I am a bit pensive today. What does the 9-month mark mean for my daughter’s birth mom? Is today a double-whammy, a double reminder of her motherhood lost? Or is it a joy, that while she joins in honoring her own mom, that she knows that God and the few who know her secret will honor her in some quiet, significant way. I would imagine there is some combination of both.
As a person who likes to smooth over others’ hurts, it’s hard to know that my daughter’s birth mom may be in pain and be powerless to do anything about it. We send updates to her through our agency, but it’s a one-way communication. But there is wisdom in that. I know better than to take on her pain as somehow my fault, and I know that my happiness does not correlate with any loss she may feel. Two of my own little ones are in the arms of another Mother, and the fact that they are in a home more wonderful than I can fathom is of great comfort to me. Our home is not heaven, by any means, but aside from prayer, the best thing I can do today to honor my daughter’s birth family is to simply love her the best I can.
If someday we meet up with my daughter’s birth mother again, I hope she is proud of the way we have raised the precious child that she carried for the first 9 months of her life. But today on Mother’s Day, I also realize that all four of my children are given to me ultimately by God, and it is he that I seek to please with my motherhood.
Happy Mother’s Day to all of you moms, especially those moms whose children are in the arms of another mother.
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