on lent, motherhood, and the hope of the cross


Yesterday marked the second Sunday of Lent. This tradition, observed by Christians around the world, refers to forty days of fasting, reflection and repentance leading up to Holy Week and Easter. The forty days represents Jesus' time of fasting in the wilderness, where he was tempted by Satan before embarking on his ministry. Observants of Lent typically choose something to fast, or abstain from, during these forty days.

Until last year, I had always approached this time period as an opportunity for personal improvement. When it came to thinking of what to give up, I would choose things that inevitably I would be better off without anyways. One year I fasted bread and desserts in hopes of shedding a few pounds. Another year, after experiencing intense caffeine migraines, I gave up coffee. Next I fasted social media and "secular music" (don't laugh). The so-called sacrifices were hard at first, but eventually the habits no longer interested me, and the fasting didn't faze me as much. I didn't feel more drawn to God during those times and honestly, it was a pretty superficial way to approach such a reverent tradition.

Lenten lessons after loss

Last year as Lent approached, I intentionally decided to not fast anything. I thought, Why would God require me to give up something when I had already lost my son? Receiving ashes on Ash Wednesday brought me to tears as I thought only of the tiny urn of ashes I had tucked away in Xavier's keepsake box. Everything, and I mean everything, just felt so wrong without my baby with me. I moved through the season still in the throes of grief. Around that time I also started going to therapy and doing the hard spirit work that I had been avoiding since Xavier died.

As I pressed more into the true meaning of Lent as a time of lamentation and repentance, I grasped a new understanding. Turns out it is more than a 40-day period of self-betterment. It's not an opportunity perform piety. It's a time to set our hearts towards Christ. Similar to Advent, Lent is about waiting.

During Advent, we wait to celebrate the birth of Christ; through the season of Lent we wait to rejoice in His death and resurrection at Easter: the fulfillment of the promise and the hope we have that all things wrong will be made right. That hope was what kept my faith alive when I was ready to walk away. I just need to make it to Easter, I thought, and maybe then something would be different.

And so I waited.

Motherhood and waiting

There are many ways the Lenten act of waiting reminds me of motherhood. For those in the world of trying to conceive, it feels as if you are always waiting...waiting for a period, waiting for a positive ovulation test, waiting to take a pregnancy test, and if it is negative the process begins all over again.

Expectant mothers anxiously await the arrival of their child. During that wait, many women experience fear and doubt, along with the hope and joy of possibly bringing a sweet baby home in nine months. Miraculously most women carry their babies to term, bringing tiny new lives into the world. Heartbreakingly, for 1 in 4 women intense pre-term labor contractions, early membrane rupture, or a bloody visit to the bathroom bring many pregnancies to an end and make it seem as if their hope and waiting have been in vain.

For the adoptive mamas in my life, I've seen just how huge a part waiting plays in their motherhood story. Even after all of their preparation, they find themselves in a season of waiting. Waiting for social workers to follow through on deadlines and for paperwork to be processed, waiting to be matched, waiting for birth mamas to go into labor and for that prayed-for phone call telling them to come to the hospital and meet their baby.

Foster mamas juggle so much at once while waiting for court decisions to be made, for children to be added to their home or removed depending on the decision of outside entities. So much seems tentative and unstable--as if they are forever waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop. Yet they mother through it all.

For mothers with estranged children, they wait for reconciliation, a phone call to hear their child's voice on the other end of the phone. They wait and hope that things can be different, all the while recognizing that their situation may never change.

With all these scenarios in mind, I don't think it is by coincidence that God makes mothers so well acquainted with waiting and longing. Our calling as mothers reflects such a painful truth: so much in this world is not right. It is not right for the pages of motherhood stories to be so tattered by loss, empty wombs, difficult and traumatic labor, postpartum depression, loneliness, striving, or whatever else you may be dealing with. But there is One who makes all things right, who claims us as His own, and who will redeem every broken aspect of our stories. And so we long for Him, for our souls are satisfied in Him alone.

Remaining hopeful in the wait

As a mother still holding onto the hope of having a living child, I once again find myself in a season of waiting this Lent. Even while intentionally fixing my eyes on Christ and the promise of the cross, it is still so very hard to wait in hope, with peace, without worrying. In a lot of ways it feels like I'm just holding my breath day after day. Gasping in just enough air to sustain me for spurts at a time, clenching my mouth closed tightly afraid to let any air out, until my chest burns and I involuntarily release a sigh, more so of exasperation than relief. Once you become acquainted with the sting of death and loss, it is so very hard to remain hopeful in the wait.

But our Lord is faithful, friends. He leads me beside still waters and restores my aching soul. When I walk through death's darkest valleys, I need not fear because He is always with me. And where Light is, the Darkness cannot be. And because of His sacrifice of his own son, I know I have a dwelling place in his house forever, whatever comes in this life on Earth.

As you may be taking time to reflect this Lent, what are you hoping and waiting for? And more...how does the hope of Easter on the horizon help sustain you through the wait?



Comments

  1. Thank you for your blog. I'm just going through the loss of a baby now and really needed this perspective. The waiting and unknown future can be so overwhelming and crushing at times. I'm so sorry that you also had to lose a child, but your journey is a hope to me and has helped me to continue waiting on the Lord in the grief and unknown. Thank you!

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    Replies
    1. I am so sorry for your loss. Thank you for your kind words, and please feel free to reach out!

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