Gratitude Friday...

So the Evans' had breakfast for dinner.  Bacon is good stuff.  Until three hours later (or the next day) when the entire house still smells like bacon.  I have not figured out the perfect formula for getting rid of the smell.  And sooner rather than later.  But regardless, I clean.  Everything.  

Just now sitting down from all that.  But the floors, counters, stove and every dish or skillet I used to cook is getting the extra long wash in the dishwasher.  

The bacon was good though. 

So gratitude.  It's a long one this week.

There is something about dedicating babies on Mother's Day that still really stings for me.  Honestly, Mother's Day is still genuinely difficult.  Like every infertile I know (and there were so many sweet, sweet posts about this from them last week), my heart breaks for the women longing for a child, or mourning the loss of a child, or waiting for their adopted child still living in an orphanage, or living with the absence of their own mother.

All day, all weekend really, I look at every face I pass.  In the grocery store, at the park, waiting outside the sanctuary.  Studying each one in that fraction of a second.  Looking for the pain in their eyes.  The strained smile.  The ridged stance protecting herself by forcing her back up tall, bravely facing what she knows will be piercing.

Mother's Day.  A day that is supposed to be joyous.

This year, in an only God ordained meeting, we have a new couple in our small group.  They have been trying to start a family for five years.  The Friday before I met them on Saturday, they met with their RE (my precious friend, Jennifer's doctor) to begin diagnosis.  They have some information but well, there are still a zillion tests to do to find out exactly what steps they need to take.  This week, she starts those tests.

So my heart was aching for my new friend.

This year was the second year I had the joy of spending Mother's Day with my own mother.  Last year we celebrated in Oklahoma as Chris finally became Dr. Evans.  Year two, she came to help us dedicate our son.  Regardless of where she is, I am always aware of the pain she must be feeling since her mother, my grandmother, is no longer with us here.  No one can ever replace your mother.  No time can erase the longing.  No Mother's Day is ever the same.

So my heart was aching for my own mother.

Also this year, my dear friend, Linda, joined us for Rhys' dedication and worship.  I feel certain she will likely appreciate and mourn knowing I feel such sympathy for her and I cannot see her without feeling a little sad for her.  She is not sad, at least around me, but we all know everyone gets sad.  She lost her husband to suicide a little over six years ago and then almost lost her daughter to the same fate.  I am sorry for the struggles she faces as a mother.  Watching her daughter fight.  I am sorry she has to do this without her husband by her side.

So my heart was aching for my dear friend.

For years, I heard lots of sermons about motherhood and how much mothers should be appreciated and loved.  The oldest mother (though not the youngest anymore) would stand up to be recognized.  Some churches give carnations or roses.  Some just have the mothers stand all at once to be applauded.  There were some jokes about making sure the husbands took their wives out for lunch or called your mom or at least gave her time to get her nails done.  

The day was approached with a spirit of lightheartedness with a touch of silliness.  

Because not all women want to spend their free time (what very little they have) getting their nails done.  That's just a stereotype.  

I knew if I was sitting there in pain, so were others.  Surely.  But there was never any mention of that.  

Here's what I know about being a mother:  It is an absolute joy.  And the hardest job I have ever had.  

Here's what I know about how the world sees us:  We are bombarded, every day, with how bad we are at it.  

If we stay home, we clearly couldn't cut it in the working world.  If we continue to work, why did we bother to have children at all if we were just gonna let someone else raise them.  If we check our phones for a text message or to read Facebook, we get reminded how we'll miss our little girl twirling around on the playground.  If we keep a clean house, we're told only messy ones are where kids make memories.  If we buy a gift card as a gift for their teacher, we get stared down by the other mothers who spent hours hand-making a gift basket.  If we buy conventional produce or feed them chicken nuggets, we get articles about the side-effects of pesticides and preservatives.  

We are told we are failing.  No matter what the choice.  No matter what the circumstances.  

That is the reality.  

All that to get to this:  I am so ridiculously grateful for our pastor and his wife.  

This Mother's Day, they spoke together.  Talked about valuing yourself as a woman.  What do you do to refresh yourself?  Have you put all the talents, passions, and dreams God gave you up on a shelf?  Do you continually remind yourself to push your emotions down?  

Keep sacrificing.  Keep giving.  That's the call of motherhood.  Right?  

No, it's not.

They reminded us to be real with other women.  Reach out for support.  Be authentic with them.  Let them in so they can build you up when it feels like you just might fall right over.

Most importantly, Christ is waiting for us to come to Him.  He is our Comforter.  Bring Him your whole heart.  Pour it out to Him and let Him give you rest.  

At the end of the message, they asked mothers of all kinds to stand.  Women waiting to be mothers.  Women who have lost mothers.  Women who are spiritual mothers (thought of my best friend and the godmother of my children).  Women who's children are hurting.  Women who are fighting a medical battle.  Women who are lonely.  Women who are tired.  Women who are hurting.  Women who are joyous.  Women who living in victory.  

All kinds of mothers.

And we stood.  

A sea of women.  All with their own story.

They both prayed for us.  Prayers for healing.  For open wombs.  For restored spirits.  For comfort.  

It was the most honest and real Mother's Day I have ever experienced.  Either before children or after children.  

Healing took place in that room.  I felt it.  And based on the number of women crying (like me who reached ugly crying on Saturday night - yes, we went twice.), for so many others as well.  

I am so grateful for our pastor and his wife.  Grateful for a church who allows them to be real and authentic.  Grateful for a church culture who welcomes those in need of healing.  Grateful for all the real women in my life.  Grateful to know their story and that they know mine.

And most importantly, grateful God met me there and healed a part of me through that message.  

(If you'd like to watch the message, click here.)