In anticipation of Mother’s Day

It was a hard day last year. Amidst the celebration of mothers old and young, I was standing in church with an empty womb. Still. After losing my first baby seven months earlier I was crying out to the divine Mother - hoping, praying, begging for a blessing.

Like the Biblical matriarchs, I was now on my knees, desperately turning to God. Maybe, turning as a last resort. Because I thought I could control this creation-of-new-life business. That, in my time, I could decide. Oh, the human condition of wanting to hold the future. So there I was, right alongside Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel, Hannah, and Elizabeth of old. I too was now a barren woman, in need of grace.

In this time, I was carried by my church sisters: a small group walking the road beside me. Month after month they would cry with me, and fast for me. Together, they lifted me up to the heavens, asking, praying, petitioning for a miracle. A solidarity in sisterhood like I have never experienced before.

But slowly, time passed. I started to re-imagine my life: one without children. The travel we will do, the aunty I will be. Rationalise, strategise, re-prioritise. Let me take back control. Because the vulnerability of waiting is too much. Because in waiting there’s no power. There’s no certainty. Its a being in-limbo, where the thing we most desire is out of our grasp. Waiting is frustrating and heartbreaking and almost unbearable.

And then, the test was positive. I stared and stared and stared. And I fell to my knees, like Hannah did over Samuel, saying,

My heart rejoices in the Lord!
The Lord has made me strong.
No one is holy like the Lord!
There is no one besides you;
there is no Rock like our God.

– 1 Sam 2:1-2

The first wait was over. The second has begun. It was finally my time. The Lord has heard the faithful prayers of Her daughters. Like She did for the mothers of old, She saw my empty womb. Ours is an embodied spirituality. Its not a mental ascent to some ideology. Our God is the great healer and restorer of our bodies. She sees those of us with unseen longing. With hidden shame. With unanswered questions.

One of the words most used to describe God in the Bible is the Hebrew word רַחוּם (rakh-oom’), which means compassionate. This word is closely related to the Hebrew word for womb, רֶחֶם (rekh’-em). Like a nursing mother, God feels deeply for Her children. It’s a deep stirring. It’s the word used for the mother who begged King Solomon not to cut her child in half (1 Kings 3), but to rather give him to the other woman. God’s love for us is like that of a deeply compassionate mother for her child. She feels our pain with deep love.

Would I be sharing this if I wasn’t holding my baby girl right now? Probably not. Most stories are not resolved and tied with a ribbon. So many are still waiting, this year. So I am writing my story, simply to say this: If Mother’s Day is hard for you, I am sorry. Amidst the flowers and joy, I hope there is someone who sees your pain. Someone whose shoulder you can cry on. Someone who doesn’t pretend it’s not a hard day for you. Our Mother in heaven sees you, and weeps with you.

Natalie.