Mother’s Day is always a difficult day. There is always a
subtle ache just beyond my peace. I think about what Nathan would be making me
in school to celebrate the Holiday. I think about what He and Daddy would cook
me for Mother’s Day breakfast. I think about all the moments that could have
been. But honestly, I don’t think about
Him any more or less on any given day. The ache is the same no matter what day
it is, but Mother’s Day can hold a particular sting for me.
I have been blessed
by adoption on my journey. Through it, I have been able to bring a child home
and experience all of the little moments I dreamed for. My heart overflows with
gratitude that I have been blessed with such a miracle. I sometimes feel guilty
that I ache at all. I have been beyond blessed and provided for on my grief
journey. How dare I complain when so many others are not as fortunate? But then
I remember that unrest is the human condition and quite normal. It does not
negate my gratitude, and I should not feel guilty for my moments of grief. The LORD
understands, forgives, and restores.
On Mother’s day and Father’s day , I often think about
parent’s that have to choose to let their children go. This always makes me
reflect on how fortunate I am. I did not have to choose. The decision was made
for me by the LORD. I could focus on that fact and begrudge Him. However, I
choose to see it as mercy. I cannot imagine what it would be like to have to choose
to let go of your child. Parents have to make this heartbreaking decision every
day. They have to watch their children suffer. I was spared this anguish, and
the mercy of that is not lost on me. I lift these parents up every day. I pray
that they be comforted and covered in peace with their decisions. Why was I
spared, and they are not? I will never understand this, but perhaps it is so I
can minister to them.
I wonder a lot about parents over the ages. So many have
lost children. So many have had to let them go. One story that resonated over
the years is Moses’s Mother, Jochebed. She set Him afloat to preserve His life. Many are familiar with the story of Moses. Here is my take on His Mother's courage and strength.
1. The
reigning Pharaoh, at the time, was determined to stamp out the threat of the Hebrew
people; and issued his command to the Hebrew midwives, that they should destroy
all the newborn sons of the Hebrews.
2. Moses,
was born during this time, and was hid for
three months by his parents.
This means that Moses and his parents
bonded for three months. His Mother nursed Him, sang to Him, and cuddled him
for 3 months. The cry, and giggles of a healthy child would have betrayed his
whereabouts, and the day arrived when she could hide him no longer. So after
probably much anguish, and prayer she set him afloat on a carefully made vessel.
When the water was calm, the little vessel might ride safely, but any flood or
even rise of the water might float it to the mid‐current, and carry Him off
course, and into danger.
Can you imagine? The fear during the time
of hiding Him? Then deciding to set him afloat? No matter how big Jochebed’s
faith was, she had to have fear and doubt. She was entrusting Her son to the
safety of a physically unseen God.
3. The
daughter of Pharaoh came down to bathe in the river, and her maidens walked
along by the river side. Probably some movement of the child, or some cry, may
have drawn her attention to the vessel. She decides to take the child as her
own.
4. Moses’s
sister Miriam had been watching, and then said to Pharaoh's daughter,
“Shall I go and
call a nurse for you from the Hebrew women that she may nurse the child
for you?”
Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Go ahead.”
So the girl went and called the child’s mother.”
I imagine Moses’s Mother, Jochebed, was at
home in anguish. Undoubtedly sick with worry.
Beside herself. Wondering if she had done
the right thing. Questioning her Faith. And then here comes her daughter
summoning her to the Pharaoh’s daughter. She probably approaches seeing her
holding her baby. She probably had to restrain herself from reaching for Him. Because
to do so would be the final proclamation that He was, in fact, a Hebrew male,
and feared He would be slaughtered.
5. Then
Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Take this child away and nurse him for me and
I will give you your wages.” So the woman took the child and nursed him. The child grew, and she brought him to
Pharaoh’s daughter and he became her son. And she named him Moses, and said,
“Because I drew him out of the water.”
This is the part that really sticks with
me. Back then a baby was nursed anywhere from 3-5 years of age. The lack of
nourishment in foods made nursing crucial to infant and toddler survival.
So Jochebed, continued to raise her son for
at least 3-5 more years. She continued to care for him, teach him, comfort him,
and all that exists in the journey of motherhood. All the while knowing that
she had to again let him go. If she denied the Pharaoh’s daughter her son, then
He would have been slaughtered. He would have at that point simply remained a
Hebrew Male. And his very existence was forbidden.
Can you imagine all the years of caring for
Him, knowing that their time together was limited? She rocked him and nursed him over the years,
knowing that one day they would be separated.
Jochebed, to me, must have been a Mother of
extreme faith. It is the only explanation for her strength.
Can you imagine the day she held his little
hand, and took him back to Pharaoh’s daughter? I imagine she bathed him, and
sweetly whispered in his ear, all the things she prayed He would remember. Would
he remember being called a different name by his birth parents? (seeing as they
did not name Him Moses) Would He remember her face? Would He always know how
much she cherished him, from the very beginning? As she hands him over, I stop
and wonder, did she hesitate. Was she crying? Was Moses afraid? Was she allowed
to comfort him? Can you imagine the pain in this second transaction? To let him
go not once, but twice?
When I read this story I am filled with so
many questions about Jochebed. I am overwhelmed
by her strength and resolve. As a mother I cannot fathom what it took to travel
this particular journey. At the end of her life, I wonder if she was at peace
with her decision so many years prior. I wonder if she had peace beyond understanding.
Perspective can change through the years.
Since Nathan’s passing, when I feel torn between gratitude and grumbling, I
turn to this particular Bible story. I look at the grey areas of it, and find
reflection. I always walk away in awe.
To choose, to let your child go, does not diminish
parenthood. If anything it makes the light of parenthood shine brighter.
Whether it be physical or metaphorical, all parents of lost children must at
some point let go. That is not to forget. We never move on. We always hold on
to them in our hearts. But we let go of the physical. We let go of the
tangible. We hold on to the spirit. We hold on to the song that their lives played
in our hearts. Letting go, makes breathing possible. Letting go does not make
us less of a parent. Letting go, comes from a place of faith. Letting go simply liberates our hearts. Sometimes the faith is big. Sometimes it is as
small as a mustard seed.
Some of us are spared the choice, and others
are forced to make it? Perhaps it is so
we may all come together and see from different sides of the river. Each angle
of the ripple is viewed differently. But
when we minister to one another, all waters of the journey, reflect the same
love and peace.
