Reflection on Motherhood, updated

Reflection by Megan Sorensen

December 22, 2019: Lessons and Carols, Celebration of Mary

One year ago, on this very Sunday, I stood here and gave a reflection on motherhood.  That reflection was themed “Perfect Love in Imperfect Circumstances” and I am going to read you an excerpt.  You see, without the context of that, this would not exist. My words from a year ago….

“No experience brings such clarity to this hope as the one we have been through personally in the past weeks. In the midst of imperfect circumstances 26 years ago, Chris and his partner decided to give a child up for adoption. Perfect love in imperfect circumstances. Perfect love that put the needs of another above their own. Pain and grief that then waited in hope in preparation. Life moved on. Marriages, children, careers, but still hope and patience. In the perseverance and the hope, God was there. Several weeks ago, we received word of a son. A 26 year old, now man, with blond hair and an affinity for all things sports. A son who is seeking to connect with his birth parents. After a lifetime of patience and guilt and hope and grief, we see that glimpse of perfect love. In a matter of seconds the possibility of a step son became a reality and the depth of that love was instant. Perfect love in imperfect circumstances.”

(If you would like to read it in its entirety, it is posted here on the Urban Abbey blog dated December 24, 2018)   

One year ago, I stood here full of excitement, anticipation, and anxiety.  I had no idea that in a few short weeks, we would meet that child. I was surprised when, in an effort to better understand my husband’s experience as well as empathize as a mother, I began to have ongoing conversations with his birth mom.  And I was joyful when those conversations went from mutual respect to understanding to love and friendship. A year ago I never would have imagined that 6 months later we would, along with Jennifer and her husband, host a “baby shower” complete with “It’s a Boy” balloons and lots of great aunts.  A year ago, I could only pray that my children would be understanding and welcoming of their brother and I rejoice now when I hear their interactions and they include phrases like “finally, a brother” and “I am so proud to be your sister.” My chest aches with gratitude when they tell him they love him as he heads toward the airport or at the end of a phone call.  A year ago, the things we have shared; baseball games, hockey games, concerts, picnics, family trips, even a weekend with his adoptive parents, existed only in hope. How fitting that this journey started in advent. We hoped and prepared and in time felt the reality of that first Christmas. Behold, I bring you glad tidings of a great joy. We have experienced, first hand, great joy at the end of a hopeful wait.  

We have all told this story several times.  It is our reality and our normal now, but when people hear it, especially for the first time, they are often overcome with emotion.  If I had a dollar for every time someone says to me, “this story could be a movie…” It is Hallmark channel material if I do say so myself.  

As I considered this service and how we take time to honor Mary’s story and consider other vulnerable parents, I have been trying to be honest with myself.  You see, in this movie, as beautiful as it is, I tend to see myself enjoying it from the front row rather than as a character. Please don’t get me wrong, I love this new chapter of our story and I love that child with every fiber of my being…the way I love my own children…I make him text me when he’s traveling so I know he arrived safely.  It’s that depth of love. But admitting now how I feel on the outside of the story is the most honest I have been with anyone about me. I have coordinated and supported and checked in and pried and make sure everyone has the opportunity to say and feel exactly what is on their heart and mind. I have been downright pushy with my husband and kids…demanding they tell me 10 times “I’m fine…I promise”  before I believe them. I rarely, and definitely not to the main characters, say what I feel. In the past year I have done a lot of pondering. More than anyone around me knows. 

“But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.”  Does it not sound beautiful? A radiant new mother soaking up the wonder of the Nativity, the beauty of this story she is living.  The Good News translation of Luke 2:19 reads “Mary remembered all these things and thought deeply about them.” That language seems more realistic to me.  In his Advent devotional, Low, John Pavlovitz writes
“We tend to sanitize the birth story of Jesus, fashioning it into a pristine, shimmering nativity scene adorned with gold accents and residing comfortably on a hallway table or atop a fireplace mantel.  It all becomes so benign and serene that we forget the visceral reality of the moment, that it was as loud and chaotic and messy as childbirth is. Jesus was pushed through Mary’s birth canal and into a strange world.  To miss this fact is to cheapen the event by trying to soften it into something neat and orderly, when in truth (as with all births) there was surely mess and chaos in the moment. “  

In this season, and especially on this Sunday, as we honor the vulnerability found in the holiest of events, I need to honor the vulnerability of my own experiences.  And to honor it, I need to share it. When people gush over this amazing and life changing story am I doing them and it a disservice by not acknowledging that with every new development I have also felt profound insecurity?  In each moment of new and exciting and complex, I feel a pang of grief for the simple. As our family crosses into the nontraditional, I worry and I pray it is stronger than the confines of tradition. Deep down I know it is, but the complexities of living still feed my insecurity.  In acknowledging my vulnerability, I hope I honor the vulnerability of Mary and of every mother.   

In all of my conversations, our story is perfect.  But that’s not reality is it? It wasn’t reality for Mary and it isn’t for any of us in any story.  Advent is a time of preparation for the incarnate God. Emmanuel. God WITH us. God became flesh and walked among us.  Truly human. Advent is not a preparation to elevate humanity toward heaven but for heaven to come down. In acknowledging the humanity of our shared experience we can recognize and honor the holiness of it all.  

In only pondering quietly the messier parts of my story, I have not honored the vulnerability of others.  The exact place where Jesus meets us. Pavlovitz continues…” We do this with spiritual journeys too, wanting them to be comfortable and clean, desiring something attractive that we can easily accessorize our lives with-but that isn’t reality is it? Life comes with the collateral damage of living, with failed plans and relational collapse, with internal struggle and existential crises, and we carry these things with us into this season.  The good news is we don’t need to discard our messiness to step into this season, and we couldn’t even if we wanted to. Bring every bit of your flawed self and all your chaotic circumstances into this day. Welcome to the mess.”  

For me, acknowledging the complexities of my personal story over the past year does not lessen the joy and excitement.  It simply reminds me that, in the holiest of seasons, there is still chaos and uncertainty. It’s just in that place where I see Jesus and maybe, in the messiest parts of my story, others will too.