second mother

Whether through adoption, foster care, or marriage, there’s a unique vulnerability in becoming a child’s second mother.

We’re 21 months into this adoption journey, nine since my littlest dragon joined our family.  It’s been both an eon and a finger snap.

The hard truth is that ‘mom’ love wasn’t automatic. Nurture, sure. But, every single ounce of genuine mom-level love has been earned through blood, sweat, and tears; a slow expansion of the heart.

I celebrated the day when authentic mom love finally began to spring forth on its own. But then the floor opened to reveal a whole other layer of uncharted territory — the ‘nameless’ territory.

Extending mom love and receiving back nameless engagement… Who am I in this little dragon’s life? More than a caregiver or guardian. Different from an aunt or grandma. Not yet (ever?) a mom. [And does an expansion of the second mother relationship require some sort of diminishment of the first mother? That seems crazy!]

The place of first mom will always be sacred. I get it. I honor it.

However, life in this waiting space requires staring into a huge, gaping gateway to the unknown. Questions fly by like ghastly phantoms, haunting me with unanswerable wonderings.

In between these aches and wonderings I’ve been thinking about God’s relationship with us. [Please don’t mistake this for bragging about some sort of *super* holiness. In the helplessness of this waiting space I’ve leaned into the only source of comfort I know; He has responded with kindness.]

All throughout the Bible God declares his unconditional parent-level love for his kids – each one of us – as seen in Jeremiah 31:3…

I have loved you with an everlasting love. I have drawn you with an unfailing kindness.

And all throughout he depicts the pain of us not loving him in return.

God, the one who offers perfect love, has kids who’ve chosen other ‘firsts’. He understands my aches. He surrounds me with tenderness and love as I face the unknown.

My work as a therapist and observations of friends who’ve adopted has also provided some comfort. Unfortunately, the reality is that no one can perfectly predict the terrain that lies on the other side of a waiting space.

Therefore, I must face the unknown with greater assurance than what can be drawn from circumstances.

Six years ago, acute pancreatitis landed me in a trauma unit – a huge, gaping gateway to the unknown.

The point at which I could no longer change my circumstances smacked me like a giant brick wall. The aches and wonderings threatened to swallow me whole. There, in that waiting space, Christ met me as Jehovah Nissi (The Lord My Banner).

He taught me that my warrior nature is from him so of course I’m to use it. Then, he added a critical component: press forward but slow down. Allow my heart to stand still in the midst of the fight so that my eyes can open to the miraculous power and peace that comes from his presence on the battle field.

Six years ago, I watched him work and I fell to my knees in awe proclaiming look at my God. Look at what’s he’s done!

Life has landed me on my knees again.

Jehovah Nissi, open my eyes to see your work on the battle field. Still my heart to sense your presence.

Laura