To The Waiting Mother, on Mother's Day..

Although I am now a mother, and will celebrate my fourth Mother's Day, my heart still breaks on this day. My heart still grieves all the years of pain this day caused. It makes me want to come find you, Waiting Mother, wrap my arms around your neck, grab some Ben and Jerry's, and eat until we see the bottom of the container. If I could, I'd tell you it gets better.

God is so faithful and He answers prayers in the most beautiful ways. Ways we would never imagine, but always better than our greatest dreams. Although I know this to be true, on this day for you, it feels so far away. And every commercial, every present, every lunch, every barren second of this day, holds the reminder that you are not a mother...yet.

If I could, I would hug you, and remind you that "yet" is the word to breathe in, breathe out, and repeat today. I pray from the depths of my heart that these words meet you in your need, and more than anything, I pray that you will find Him here, right in the midst of your waiting.

To The Waiting Mother,

You, precious one, are not alone.

God sees your broken and weary heart. He is here, right now, holding all things together. Quiet your heart, just for a second. He is holding your very existence together, spinning your world, telling the sun when to set and fall, and holding each star in it's place. And in His grace, knows what you ate for breakfast, your favorite song, how you like your coffee, and the very depths of your aching heart.

Most people would tell you, Waiting Mother, to sleep. Because you will literally never sleep on your schedule again. Seriously. You will walk around like a zombie for the first two months (if you have a good baby). You'll wash your hair two or three times in the shower because your so tired you won't remember if you did it. And they say, "sleep when the baby sleeps." Yeah, right. Only if you don't want to get a shower that day. Eventually, sleeping in on Saturday, will mean your body (or a little squeal) waking you up at 6:30.

But you won't care. You'll run to that nursery. You've dreamed of this. What it would be like. How it will feel to be someone's mommy. You've imagined those tiny hands holding onto your finger as you softly sing Jesus' name. You'll eventually learn how to function on very little sleep and those baby love snuggles will be even better than caffeine.

Some people would tell you to go on dates with your husband. And I know you say, "That won't be us. We'll have a date night once a week." Well maybe so, if you get to stay at home during the day and you don't feel guilty leaving your baby with another baby sitter. Or if your willing to pay 10 dollars an hour, plus your actual date, every week.

But you won't care. It'll be hard. You will make it work. And when you do get those sacred moments where you just get to be a wife to your husband, you will cherish them more than ever before. And ultimately, he is your first ministry, so you will find a way to make him your priority. It might come with lots of trial and error. More losses than wins, but you'll make it work. After all, your marriage is the Gospel on display. Your little one, and the world for that matter, is watching.

Other people will tell you to get your nails done, shave your legs, do the laundry, organize, and clean. Really clean. Because you won't have time to even cut your nails, so you'll just bite them. Your legs won't see a razor until your husband starts to complain. The laundry....there just aren't words. It will NEVER, I mean NEVER be done. Just accept it. And your house won't ever be clean again. Really clean. You'll find puffs in your couch, paci's in random drawers, and green pea splatter on the walls.

But you won't care. You'll learn that all those things can wait. Your life, will indeed, go on even with a messy house. You will never have this day with your baby again. You won't want to miss one gummy smile, slobbery kiss, or squishy hug.

But you do care. You're not there...yet. Telling you to enjoy your sleep, go on dates, clean, and shave your legs is just ridiculous, and honestly insensitive. Your heart aches.

So while you wait...grow.

All those nights when you are crying out to the Father, begging Him to answer your prayer for a child, you are learning how to need Him. Because you will.

Lean into that.

Every time your friends tell you they are pregnant, deep in your heart you wonder why it can't be you. And you run to your Dad, to feel His big, safe arms wrap around you. This is how you will comfort.

When you feel like you are the only one in the whole world who isn't a mommy, you remember the story of a woman named Hannah and the big prayers she prayed for her Samuel.

And you'll pray those same prayers for your promised one.

It hurts.

It's so uncomfortable. The pain is just too much some days.

But don't fight it. Open up your hands and ask Papa to teach you how to wait. Ask Him to help you grow. Savor your desperation for Him. And then watch. Watch Him make your angry, winter heart a beautiful, spring meadow.

 And while your eyes are on Him, you won't even notice how He surprises you with your dream.

"Therefore, behold, I will allure her, and bring her into the wilderness, and speak tenderly to her. And there I will give her her vineyards and make the Valley of Achor a door of hope.."

Hosea 2:14-15a

*Photo by the amazing

Rachel Ackerman Photography


When God is Silent

Beads of water were dripping down my back from wet hair.

My legs were tingling and numb from sitting on them for so long. Her going to sleep, which normally was very routine had turned into bursts of crying. Not the I'm okay, but don't want to go to sleep, crying. But I'm scared. I need you, crying.

They started once again, her cries, and that little brown hand reached out of the crib rails to grab mine for the third time. She just needed to make sure I was there. "It's okay, baby. Mommy's here."

I've walked with the Lord for the majority of my life. I first met Him when I was five. I'm so thankful for the vivid memory of meeting Him. I pray often that my children's memory of meeting Him will forever be etched in their minds, like mine. I skipped into Sunday School, because five year olds skip everywhere, told a teacher that I wanted to meet Jesus (after many conversations with my mama), and I went into an old closet that she had turned into an office. And I met Him there.

It was Spring, and with the newness of the season, there in that closet, new life was born in my five year old heart. I clearly understood that I was in need of the grace that only God gives to forgive my sins. I realized that my five year old heart, was an enemy of God. And that through Jesus' death on the cross, I now had a way to the Father. It was that day, that I was brought from death to life. That day, in the closet, my journey began with Him.

I've gone through many seasons in my

dancing with Him.

Some, where my heart was so tender to His speaking, and I heard Him everywhere. There were the times when He carried me because life was just too hard to walk on my own. There were days of not having the words to pray to Him, because my heart ached so badly. But there were also times, I couldn't stop singing to Him because of His faithfulness and goodness. And then, there were times of silence.

Here, in the silence, is where I find myself now.

These times, might be the hardest. We all have them, the seasons of silence. The Israelites, at one point, went 400 years and didn't hear Him. They had seen Him perform miracle after miracle. He spoke through prophets. They saw Him in pillars of fire and clouds. His Words were written in stone. And then all of the sudden...nothing.

In these times, I pray and whine and beg Him to respond.

And all the while, He is.

In His silence, He speaks, "It's okay, baby. I'm right here."

Just knowing that He is near settles my heart. His nearness calms my anxiety. His hand holding mine, reminds me that I am not alone. He has not forgotten me. I am His. And He is mine.

You might be in a hard place today, sweet friend. You might be crying out to what feels like silence. You might feel like He has forgotten you. You might feel scared, broken, and alone. But just reach out your hand. He is here.

He wraps His arms around you in the hug of a friend. He speaks truth and grace into your heart through His Word. He smiles at you through each sunrise. His hand lovingly holds your face when you feel like there is no hope. He catches every tear you cry. He might be quiet, but He's near.

And He's waiting.

Just reach out your hand.

He's right here.

"Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hand; your walls are continually before me." Isaiah 49:15-16 ESV