Mother’s Day. Or: It is well with my soul.

I took my kids to Ikea today, to get out of the house, and to do a little shopping.  As we drove, we listened to Adventures in Odyssey, a Christian radio program that tells tales from history, and brings them to life.  My kids love them, and I find the drive goes faster with them on too.

We started off with the story of Horatio Spafford, the author of the hymn “It is Well”.  He was a lawyer in Chicago, who lost his only son to pneumonia, then all of his investments to the great Chicago fire, then all four of his daughters drowned on a trip to London that he was supposed to take with them.  When his own boat reached the point in the journey where his daughters’ ship went down, he went on deck, and penned the words to one of the most loved hymns in Christianity.  Many have found comfort in knowing that someone has experienced grief greater than our own, and can find solace in the Lord.

This hymn became personal for me when I sang it through tears next to my sister, who lost a babe only a few weeks into her pregnancy.  A couple years ago, I had no idea until days after Brad and I came home from Florida  that Laurel had miscarried, on Mother’s Day, while she sat at my dining room table, helping my children make jewelry for me, to celebrate their own mommy.

I can not reflect on my own blessings this year, without acknowledging the mommies in my life who celebrate Mother’s Day with empty arms.  I know Laurel’s little ones are bright souls in heaven.  I have no doubt she and Leland will some day rejoice with them, when the Lord’s goodness is fully revealed to them.  But sometimes, how I long to see them hold their own!  I pray, beseech the Lord, that this is the last year they have no baby to hold on Mother’s Day.

Every year, I want Mother’s Day to be about me.  About how great a job I do all the other days of the year, and how I deserve: sleeping in, breakfast in bed, rings, and cards, and flowers, and chocolate.  And so rarely, in my selfishness, and depravity, do I pause to think of how miraculous it is that I have these little people that adore me….

If I did not believe in the Lord’s sovereignty, I think I’d be overcome by guilt this year.  Like somehow me having less children, or my own grief in conceiving would make her pain, and the pain of others in her situation okay.  But I rest in His goodness, the same way I know she does.  And I know that He is the God of all comfort….

May all you mommies, who have yet to meet your babies, or who knew them for only a brief moment, be able to find comfort in Him this Mother’s Day.  No less mommies, for having not yet held them, I pray that tomorrow feels special for you too.  Bitter, I know, but special…

Laurel.  I love you more than I could possibly, ever, express.  My love for you is second to only that of my love for the Lord, Brad, and my children.  I feel your pain more acutely than I ever acknowledge.  I admire your strength, and never-ending trust in our Savior.  You are beautiful, and strong, and tenacious.  You are wise, and patient, and forever seeing the best in others.  I think you are one of the most special people the Lord ever saw fit to create.  I love you, sister, best friend, mommy…


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