To your first mom:

Thank you for carrying him for nine months. Thank you for tending your body well enough that he thrived and flourished. Thank you for birthing him into the world. I don’t know your story, nor would I share it if I did; but I know that you kept him safe for nine months and were with him the first moments he entered the world. I know it was your eyes he saw first and your voice he knew first. And I know that parts of you are in him in ways that I never will be. I know that you held him first and knew him as a son first. And I know that he loved you first, as only a baby can do with the woman who carried him. You will always hold these special, cherished moments in his life. And for these reasons, you will always be tightly woven in our hearts and in our family. And I am thankful.

To your ayis:

I don’t know how you pour out your hearts, day after day, loving these kids who aren’t your own, teaching them to love so that you can then place them in the arms of another mama. You hold so so many firsts in your hearts- first words, first teeth, first steps. I know our story is definitely not everyone’s, but your love for him was so clear. In the pictures you sent, in the cherished videos of you laughing and being silly with him, in the baby book we have full of pictures of you cooing as he rolled over, feeding him his bottle, holding his hands while he took his first steps, teaching him to color. You fed him, changed him, brushed his teeth; you mothered him. And the love you filled him with is evident in who he is: his fierce loyalty, his reckless confidence, his mischievous playfulness, his big love. He loves us because you loved him. And I’m so thankful that you did.

As his mama, I’m woven together with these other women. The woman who carried and birthed him and knew him first. The women who nurtured him, held him, and taught him how to love. And now me. The mama who knows him as beloved son. I grieve deeply the firsts I missed at the same time I mourn the firsts that these other women will now miss. I rejoice at the gift of loving him while thanking the women who showed him his first love. I call him son while thinking of the woman who no longer does. And I carry all of these women in my heart knowing I probably won’t meet them again. These women who each made him a part of who he is, who each held him, who each let him go, are forever a part of his life and our family. And I’m deeply grateful to share Mother’s Day with all the women who mama’ed my son.

You know how sometimes you think you’re TOTALLY FINE until you start to tell someone you’re totally fine; then, all of a sudden you realize you’re not totally fine?? That was me today. I’ve been having this weird upset/ nervous feeling stomach once or twice a month for the last few months and I was telling Adam about it. I told him “I just don’t know what’s going on because I genuinely haven’t been worrying or stressing through this.” And as the words came out of my mouth, tears suddenly quivered in my eyes and then spilled over until I couldn’t talk. Then all of a sudden, words I didn’t even know I had inside of me began tumbling out through my crying. “I just don’t even know how to figure out what the truth is.” “How can there literally be two exact opposites claiming they are both exactly right?” “Who are we supposed to believe when everyone says something different.” “I think I was naive before and just felt falsely safe and secure.” “Overall I used to feel like the world was generally safe and now I feel scared.” “How can we make sure our kids’ foundation is so strong and secure, nothing scary will shake it?” “How do I decide the truth for my family??” “When will things be normal again?” “What will that normal even be??” Turns out all my Facebook scrolling and news reading had really shaken my world and my heart. And today, I felt fearful and unsure; and I’ve felt that way for weeks.

Because what I’ve realized these last few months is that the world is actually scary. It is full of sinful people who really don’t care about what’s best for me or my family. I was naive to feel secure based off of the safety in the world. But Jesus said “There is trouble in the world. But take heart, for I HAVE OVERCOME THE WORLD.” What does that mean for us in a time like this, or any time? It means that our security and peace isn’t determined by who’s in power or who’s not, or a pandemic. It means that our security and peace isn’t determined by the economic outlook of our country. It means that our security and peace aren’t determined by a news station or newspaper. It comes from Jesus Christ. Fully God but fully man, He walked this earth and experienced our humanness. He knows the pain felt in a groaning and sinful world. He is the author of our days. He knows our every breath, every hair on our head, every nervous heartbeat and flutter of our stomach. He is near us. And He reigns.

The hymn says:

Because He lives, I can face tomorrow

Because He lives, all fear is gone

It is hard to rest in this truth sometimes. It’s hard to trust His goodness sometimes in the midst of unknowns. It’s hard to say all fear is gone. But BECAUSE HE LIVES, we can. Because He came to this earth to overcome it, we can. Because He walked out a perfect life in a sinful world, we can. Because He defeated sin and death on the cross, we can. Because He promises to be near us, we can. Because He promises empowering grace, we can.

Honestly, I’m wrestling this a lot now. It is SO HARD to rest and trust with all the scariness around us. It’s hard to rest and trust when every time I turn on my phone, sensational headlines flash out at me. It’s hard to rest and trust when nothing is familiar or normal. But every time I feel my head and my heart spinning out of control, Jesus gently reminds me that my security is not in this world. My security rests with gaze up and arms out; praising Him through it all, trusting Him through it all, drawing ever closer to Him through it all, and knowing that because He lives, my fears are gone.