A Day for Special Mothers

Three years ago, I dreaded Mother's Day. My husband and I had been struggling with unexplained infertility for 4 1/2 years; although, I always referred to it in monthly time slots. "It's been 50 months," I cried. Then, "We've been trying for 51 months," "Now it's been 53 months," I wept.

I always loved going to church, but not on that day. Every Mother's Day, well-intentioned volunteers would pass out a single rose or daffodil for "all the mothers out there." Most times I would smile and say, "Not for me, thanks." One year I burst into tears, and the kind elderly grandmother said, "There, there, honey, you are a mother-to-be," as she pressed the flower into my empty hand.

This Mother's Day, my husband and I will be celebrating with our three daughters: Natalie, age three, born in China; Alem, age 8, born in Ethiopia; and Alem's biological sister, Dabash, age 10. My heart feels like it will burst with love and joy. I am writing this today to encourage every woman who has felt the torrent of grief, pain, resentment, bewilderment, and anger that pours down due to infertility. Please know that your pain will be transformed into joy.

The path to becoming a family has been long, expensive and challenging. I often thought we would never see it through to fruition. Anyone who knows anyone who has gone through international adoptions knows that this is not a path for wimps.

Today, however, I am not focused on my daughters, or even their biological mothers. (I think about them every day. ) This day I am acutely aware of the women, half a world away, who served as my girls' "special mothers" in their orphanages. These are the young women, Asian and African, who fed and clothed my babies when I was pining for them. They sang songs to them when I all I could do was cry. These gentle, sweet souls prayed for my daughters while I prayed, too. Together, our prayers mingled and raised like incense which I know was pleasing to our Lord.

When I met these ladies--in China they are called "Baby Nannies" and in Ethiopia they were named "Special Mothers" -- I was struck by their sincerity, their joy and their love for the children I would call my daughters.

"I prayed for your girls everyday," one whispered to me in a flower garden outside the African ophanage, "and I also prayed for you."

When the baby nanny hugged my Chinese daughter for the last time she said sweetly in English, "It's time for you to go to your American mommy now, my darling," and she swung her gently to make the baby laugh one last time in her arms.

These are the women I will be thinking about today. You are always in our hearts.