Mother's Day

March 4th is the only day of the year that is also a command: march forth. As in: move ahead, get going, don't just stand there - do something, make it happen.

So yesterday, March 4, 2012 was Eli's thirteenth birthday and I made a somewhat corny - at least I'm quite sure it will appear that way to you, but meaningful - to no one else but me - connection.

March 4, 1999 was what I often call "my mother's day", the day I became a mother. Previous to that I had been around kids: babysitting, helping with my mom's daycare at our home, summer camp counselor, helping with Sunday School, VBS, Bible clubs, an internship with the Girls Club of America, working with the church youth group; but those kids didn't require my undivided, on-going attention. Those kids weren't my sole responsibility, they eventually went back to wherever they came from.

On March 4, 1999 the call to "march forth" became real - and scary. I had been prepared (as much as anyone can be) for the actual birth of my baby; we had all kinds of professionals helping and standing by, nurses to soothe anxiety and answer questions. And then forty-eight hours later there was no one but me and Stan and this little person; no doctors, no nurses, no answers. So we had no choice but to move forward and do the best we could to get on with it and make something happen.

God was so faithful to me then. He had prepared me for motherhood by putting me in all kinds of situations with children of all ages, by leading me through opportunities of watching already established moms do parenting well, and by giving me my own mom as perhaps the best example of a Godly mother that exists

When Eli was seven months old, we began the process of becoming foster parents. After completing most of the paperwork and part of the home study, we found out that I was pregnant. We notified the worker at our agency, and she asked if we wanted to put a hold on the certification process. We decided to continue, but take our time to begin foster parenting.

At nine weeks into the pregnancy, I miscarried the baby. Sadness, confusion, grief, and guilt overwhelmed me. And for about a week I felt useless; after all, if I couldn't even carry a baby, what good was I as a mom?

Again we notified our agency, and the worker was very gracious and sympathetic and encouraged us to wait to pursue foster parenting. That seemed like the reasonable thing to do, but it wasn't the decision we made.

One afternoon, a week or so after the miscarriage, I was laying on my bed crying, praying, and trying to rest. As my heart was breaking over our lost baby, God spoke clearly to me in what seemed to be a hear-able spoken voice and said, "I'm taking care of this baby, I have other children for you to take care of." And although that thought, that wisdom brought comfort, it also brought a sense of responsibility. God was asking us to continue on, to march forth. And so in November 1999 we became certified foster parents and took our first placement the following month.

Without a doubt, God has fashioned me to be a mom; it is truly all I've wanted to do and be. The honor and privilege of raising my children cannot be topped; the awe of the responsibility that God would entrust His children -His special gifts - to me is just unspeakable. It continues to be the command that I hear, especially every year on Eli's birthday - March 4th.