I think of her fervently two times a year. My birthday and Mother’s Day. I imagine her young, scared and alone. Living a hard situation in a dark place without many options. So, she made a choice. She couldn’t keep me, so she did what she thought was best. I’ve never seen her; I’ve never uttered her name.
She is a stranger.
She is my mom.
She gave me life through a labor of love mixed with heartache and pain.
I wouldn’t be here without her and I wonder if she thinks of me. For nine months we grew together, but in the end she walked away. Empty arms where her baby girl should have been. That couldn’t have been easy, to leave a part of herself behind.
She made a sacrifice.
A sacrifice of love.
Another mom found me. She came and took my broken up life and wrapped it in pink cozy blankets. She surrounded me with love so tight and whispered throughout the night that everything would be all right.
“I chose you,” she said. “You are mine.”
She may not have given me life, but she is my mom.
It’s hard to reconcile my two moms. I almost can’t think of them in the same thought. On the one hand, I’ve walked through seasons of grief and loss. I’ve had to make the choice to yank out the seeds of rejection that have tried to take root in my tender heart. But then, I can’t ignore the blessing I’ve been given in the wonderful love of my forever family. Above all they gave me, the greatest was their faith that became my own.
Through the sacrifice of one, I got the best gift in the other.
One gave me life; one showed me how to live life.
A painful beginning that flowed into a beautiful story.
I don’t think I’d write it any other way.
It’s not lost on me, the spiritual picture of adoption. Of our heavenly Father who calls us His children. That we can call Him Abba and that we belong — and it’s all because of the sacrifice of His Son.
Sacrifice precedes belonging.
His Word shows me the places where true belonging matters. And what real sacrifice allows.
Maybe one day I’ll meet the mom who gave me life. If I do, I’ll walk right back into her empty arms. I will tell her I love her, and that it’s ok that she made the choice she did. That I understand her dark places, and that I’ve never had to walk alone.
Her sacrifice was the best gift that she could have ever given me. It made me belong. In the places that matter most.