[I originally posted this article on my Georgia Angel blog on 5/31/07, but I thought I would include it here.]

 I first wanted to be a mother because my husband was the last line of his family. I wanted to help him carry on his family name, nuture a son to grow up to be a fine upstanding citizen of the human race, and a child of God. My son was born in 1987, and I believed I had fulfilled all those goals, at least for the first 2 years of his life. His father and I divorced in 1990, and we agreed that he should retain custody of our son. I have never regretted that decision, and today, you could not ask for a better son. For the next 13 years, motherhood, in the truest sense of the word (pregnancy, raising and caring for a child daily), was not in my vocabulary. It was not a word that filled my soul with longing, or joy and happiness. I’ve just never felt that was my calling.

In 2003, at age 40, I found out I was pregnant. Quite frankly, I was devastated. I was not prepared for it, and to top it all off, the father just wasn’t the man I thought he was. My future, which only the month before had been bright and full of promise, now loomed before me and filled me with dread and anguish. How was I, a lowly human, to carry this child for 9 months, and care for it, and nuture it…. ALONE? I was scared beyond belief. Of course, my biggest worry was birth defects, which was more likely than not. My second biggest worry was my body. I was a little overweight, and had not taken care of myself. I was concerned that my physical body would just give out, and my mental state would collapse.

Needless to say, I managed to survive, both physically and mentally. However, my first fear did come true. My daughter was born with a rare genetic disorder, called Freeman Sheldon Syndrome, and a midline cleft in the soft palate. The disorder affects the musculoskeletal system and materializes in bone and muscle deformities that require surgery to improve her functionality. She has been through 6 surgeries, and is doing very well. Her mind is alert and intelligent, and she is a vivacious, energetic preschooler.

Every day I wake up to face a new day of single motherhood, not always liking it, but seeing gifts often eough to carry me through. I bravely face the trials, and try to keep my worrying at bay (which is not easy). I have been told, frequently, that God will not give you more than you can handle. I have to admit, I do question this, because there are days when I feel that I can’t take one more mountain to climb, another financial concern, another health concern, another day of no rest. Recently, I received a visit from a Bible Story salesman and, after hearing my story, told me that I must be “very special” because God only gives those children to the mothers who are “special”. My heavily burdened heart was brightened a little by his words, and my “mustard seed” faith blossomed.

In searching the Bible for a passage to encourage me, I came across Ecclesiastes 11. In particular, verse 5… “As you do not know the path of the wind, or how the body is formed in a mother’s womb, so you cannot understand the work of God, the Maker of all things.” I do not know why I was chosen to be the mother of this one special little girl. I only pray that I can, by the grace of God, walk on the right path, and be able to withstand His judgment on my day of reckoning. I strive daily to banish anxiety from my heart and cast off my troubles (Ecc. 11:10). I may not know God’s plan for me and my daughter, but I do know that I must place my faith and trust in Him to provide and carry us through. “…be strong in the Lord, and in the power of His might” (Eph 6:10-18). “It is of the LORD’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.” (Lam 3:22-23).

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