TV Appearances & On Being Childless on Mother's Day

Hi Friends,

As you probably know, I'll be headed out this week to appear on 100 Huntley Street and The Harvest Show, as well as Moody Midday (that one's radio). I'll be talking about infertility as we approach Mother's Day. If you don't get the shows on your TV system, you can always watch online at http://www.harvest-tv.com/ and http://www.100huntley.com/. I'll be on The Harvest Show on Wednesday and 100 Huntley Street (their Full Circle program) on Friday.

So, I'm posting some thoughts early this week on being childless on Mother's Day. Below is the story of how I learned to face Mother's Day when I was childless and hoping so much for a baby.

On Being Childless on Mother’s Day:

It was the Sunday I dreaded most of the whole year. I almost stayed home. I almost pleaded sickness. I almost rolled over in bed and pulled the covers over my head. But I didn’t. And now I wished I had.

I clutched my Bible to my chest and stepped into the church sanctuary. Gauzy dresses and scrubbed-pink children met my gaze. Snippets of muted conversation mixed with the quiet notes of “Great is Thy Faithfulness.” In front, a banner proclaimed Happy Mother’s Day, and below it, a vase brimmed with delicate roses. Their velvety petals shimmered with tiny drops of dew beneath the church’s incandescent lights. The sight was beautiful, and I hated it. Dozens of perfectly formed roses - one for every mother in the congregation. But not for me.

I was childless. Month after month, year after year, I’d planned and waited and hoped. And still Mother’s Day came along and left me sitting here, with a hollow feeling in my gut and a tissue gripped tightly in my fist. I didn’t think this year would be any different.

I rubbed my hand over my suddenly-chilled skin. Thou changest not, Thy compassions they fail not . . . came the voice of our music director.

Compassion, Lord? You know what’s going to happen. It’s the same every year. The pastor will call all the mothers up front, and all the women will go, smiles wreathing their faces, some with babies in their arms. And I’ll be left sitting out here in the pews, the only woman among a horde of men and children. I can’t bear it again. I just can’t.

Too soon, the service began and the part came that I dreaded most. The Pastor stepped to the pulpit with a huge grin on his face. “Can I have all the mothers come up front, please?”

I lifted my chin and tried to keep it from trembling as dozens of flowered dresses rose from their seats and swayed toward the altar. Then, as I feared, it was only me, the men, the children, and . . . wait a minute!

To my right and three rows from the front, a little old lady with white hair still sat. Dora. Why hadn’t I noticed that she never went up on Mother’s Day before? Could it be that she, too, was childless?

From where I sat, I could see that her shoulders, though rounded now with age, didn’t tremble as the Pastor handed a rose to each mother. Her eyes weren’t watery like mine, and her mouth wasn’t turned down. Even as the women came back down the aisle, their roses in hand, Dora was smiling. Really smiling, not just that “I-need-to-try-to-look-pleasant-so-no-one-suspects” type of smile. Her whole face was a-bloom with contentment and joy. Joy - even though she never had children. How did she manage it, especially on Mother’s Day?

When the time came to stand up and greet one another, I hurried toward Dora. She turned and smiled at me, her hand extended.

“How do you do it?” I asked.

Her smile broadened, as if she knew just what I meant. “It will always be hard, dear,” she said and patted my arm with one thin hand. “You never get over the wishing.” Her voice softened.

“But for today, just today, let God be enough.”

“Enough of what?”

Dora paused and looked me directly in the eye. “Enough to love.”

Enough to love. As I pondered those three simple words throughout the day, I discovered in them the secret to surviving Mother’s Day, to surviving every day where wishing and disappointment clashed in my heart. Despite the pain, despite the longing, I needed to remember God’s love for me, and mine for Him. I needed to look beyond my ache for a child, and focus on telling Jesus that I loved Him, even now when my arms were empty, even on the hardest day of the year. And if I could do that, perhaps, just perhaps, I too would find the joy that was more beautiful than any dew-tipped rose.

FOR MORE HELPS ON INFERTILITY, AND GREAT TIPS FOR SURVIVING MOTHER'S DAY, CHECK OUT THE RESOURCES PAGE ON MY WEBSITE AT: http://www.marloschalesky.com/html/resources.html