All I ever wanted to be when I grew up
was a wife and a mother. (Well, in third grade I wanted to be a
poet. I still remember tinges of my
first creation – something about a red hen who drank a coke and then he awoke…)
So imagine my surprise when year after
year I still had no children of my own. I still can’t believe it sometimes. Barrenness
is a deep indescribable pain. Those who’ve
experienced this bursting of the heart understand there are no adequate words
to describe its private ache. I remember
asking God if I could just have a miscarriage so I’d know I had a child in Heaven.
I used to look forward to Mother’s Day like
you’d look forward to salt being poured in your wound. On regular days your heart could be nursed in
the closet, but holidays shoved it out bold into the party. Days like Christmas and Mother’s Day. It’s difficult to smile and nod when your
heart is about to explode into deep guttural sobs.
I always pulled out my brave mask to wear
to church on Mother’s Day. Asking all
the mothers to stand no doubt it made it especially sweet for first time
moms. They’d been waiting for the day
they could be added to the sorority of motherhood. Church planners meant the gesture to be
strictly honoring, but had no idea how it cut so many to the core.
Then there were the first few Mother’s
Days after I married my husband. He has
a darling son, which makes me automatic “stepmom” regardless of circumstances. At
first I didn’t really know what my obligations were as a “stepmom”. (Just
for the record what the heck does that mean anyway!)
It felt horribly awkward those first few
years when we were all trying to navigate through this stepmother business,
especially at Mother’s Day. It all felt
so unnatural for Pete’s sake.
Take the poor child for example. That
dear boy has a mother who loves him. She is very much his mother, as she should
be. Praise God he actually did like me, to which I’m so grateful, but I knew he
felt torn with his natural loyalty to his own mother. I certainly didn’t want to cause him more
confusion and hurt.
But not just him, actually, poor
everyone! They tip toed around the day not knowing for sure what to do. Friends
and family who knew my ache did their best to make it feel like a real mother’s
day for me even though the child was away celebrating with his mom. I appreciated it to no end, really I did. I know they love me and wanted me to be happy
and honored.
And actually poor me too… (And poor you too if you find yourself in
these shoes.) I didn’t know what in the world I was supposed to do. I knew I wasn’t the boy’s mom. I wasn’t trying to take her God given
place. But I didn’t want to sound like I
didn’t care and love the boy. So for a
few years I tried to play the charade.
Finally, after the dust settled, I knew
it was time to clear the air. I said to
my husband, “Honey. I love the boy. I know that God has allowed him in my life
and I’m thankful. We have a unique and
special relationship. I don’t know
exactly what you call it, but I also know it’s not mother…”
He listened… processing…It took some for
him to realize our home wouldn’t just pick up where he and the boy left off
when she decided to leave. Then the
tension lifted and he put it all in perspective for us, “No, but you are the
mother of this home…”
Yes. Yes I was. That I could handle. I could take a rightful place in that
role. I would always defer to the boy’s
God given mother. I would do my best
never to interfere with their parenting, regardless of my personal
choices. They would always be honored as
his mother and father in my eyes.
Actually maybe this new role wouldn’t be
so bad. Mother’s have a lot of
responsibility. It’s their job to
discipline and correct. I’m not the
mother so my role is only to support the guidelines they initiate. So maybe I’m not on the short end of the
stick… That leaves me to laugh and play!
If you’re a stepmom (Could we please come up with some other term? All I can think of is Cinderella’s story)
with children who have a mother this Mother’s Day, God bless you! We have our own secret sorority. I know you
sacrifice a lot that others will never know.
But God sees you. Please trust
that His way is good. I know it’s probably not what you imagined, but He has a
special role for you to play…regardless of what they call it!
Much
Love ~
Rebecca
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