Planning Mother's Day

A mere half a day earlier, I was having fun brainstorming with my husband about what sort of Mother’s Day celebration I wanted next week. After years of yearning to participate in this holiday, it means a lot to me every year to set aside a special day to consider and celebrate the blessing of earthly parenthood. Did I want a special meal? Or a special gift? Or a hotel stay?

What I didn’t expect was to be in the Emergency Room by midnight, caring for a crying, hungry, vomiting toddler while we wait to see if his hydration levels would require hospitalization - less than 48 hours after having had to do the same for his sister. One is the rosy image of motherhood: all cards and hugs and smiles and food. The other is the actual pulse of motherhood: nurturing, laboring, comforting, weeping, and giving of yourself until you feel you have nothing left to give.

One makes a mom feel special through pampering and praises. The other compels a woman to rise above her circumstances and rely on God for strength she can never have on her own.

By God’s grace, after medical intervention, both babies are back home, poised to continue their hydration regimes in a more comfortable setting even though their stomach bugs are not fully recovered. It’s still not over, but we’re thankful to get to care for them where they thrive best. We pray that they will quickly improve and not face further complications.

But there has never been a more stark reminder for me of what motherhood seemed to look like from afar versus what motherhood really entails on the ground. All those years of wishing I could have the sentimental version of motherhood never taught me to appreciate the nitty, gritty, harsh reality version of it. The former makes me feel good about myself. The latter makes me cling onto an omnipotent God.

Experiencing the challenges of motherhood firsthand also makes me appreciate all the more the parents who have been entrusted with children with various types of health issues. Whether these children face disabilities, accidents, congenital defects, recurrent illnesses, or even more serious challenges, their parents step up, and I admire them and praise God for them as I witness their unwavering dedication to their children.

God empowers us to carry the yokes He places upon our shoulders, and I thank Him that we can always hang onto to His promise that He loves and cares for us like as a Shepherd and as our Heavenly Father.

Blessed Be the Name of the Lord

It's been a year. It's been 365 days since we were told by our somber-faced doctor that the twins in my womb were decidedly, irretrievably gone. We knew about the pregnancy at the 3-week mark. We learned that we were expecting identical twins at the 6-week mark. Then, at seven weeks, our short-lived parenthood came to an end.

It wasn't a simple matter. The products of conception would stay stubbornly in my body, anchored to my system with ironic security, for another two months before we proceeded with a D&C. I suffered morning sickness, including all the sores and vomiting, without ever meeting our children. The journey before and after those three hopeful weeks ran the length of almost an entire year.

It took me time to open up about it. We tried to grieve privately, telling only our immediate family, closest friends, or people whom we knew had similar experiences. We were aware that there were people who would care and offer genuine, godly comfort in the face of our sorrow. But I also knew there would be way too many people who would react (intentionally or misguidedly) in unhelpful ways.

I saw my friends who'd had miscarriages before bombarded with judgment or demands: "Maybe it was something you did or something you ate." "Maybe you didn't rest." "You were too stressed." "You didn't do this." "You should have done that." "You should have known better."

Pregnancy loss is a keen, life-changing sorrow - and all these empty words just sound like "It was your fault. You killed your baby." to couples who are already grieving.

The length to which expecting couples, especially mothers, go for the benefit of their unborn children is immeasurable. It's heartbreaking that their sacrifices and adjustments could be so flippantly discussed just because the Lord has chosen to give and then take away.

So I kept quiet.

I chose not to tell people because I was so afraid of the inevitable condemnation that I would rather sacrifice the potential solace.

Thank God that His grace is always sufficient.

During one session of our shared devotional time late last year, the book Tim and I were using asked us to discuss what the darkest time of our married life was.

To our surprise, we realized that the loss of our twins - our detour into the valley of the shadow of death - was the time when the goodness, faithfulness, and sovereignty of the Lord shone the brightest in our lives.

Sometimes, it takes darkness for us to appreciate the light even more.

Three months after the miscarriage, an older sister in Christ pulled me aside after church. This was a mother of one of our close friends. I figured she might have heard of what had happened to us.

I braced myself for the queries and judgment - for the abundant unsolicited advice so inevitable in our tight-knit Filipino-Chinese community.

What I didn't expect was for her to hug me and whisper, "Wen, I admire you so much. To know what you guys have gone through and to still see you and Tim loving and serving the Lord so faithfully. I appreciate it so, so much. Praise the Lord for your faithfulness."

I cried.

Even now, as I write about the memory, I cry.

We don't know what the next chapter of God's story for us will be. We have our hopes and our wishes - but, most of all, we seek for His will.

And I pray, I pray so hard, that no matter what He chooses to give or to take away in His omnipotence and grace - that we would be able to show with our lives that, indeed, blessed be the name of the Lord.