She was young, unmarried, and had no means to support herself. My sister’s birth mother, that is.
I remember meeting her when I was eleven. We sat across from each other at a diner, eating breakfast. I spilled my milk, and though I was embarrassed by my clumsiness, she found comfort in it. Why? Because of my parents’ reaction. They didn’t scold or punish me; instead, they reassured me and helped me clean up the mess.
That was the moment the young mother knew she would hand over her precious six-week-old baby girl to our family, knowing she would be loved and cared for. For me, that was the moment I gained a sister. And a hero.
I’ve always believed that’s what birth mothers really are—heroes. We rightfully celebrate adoptive families and enter into the joy that comes when they bring a new child into the home. But what about the birth mothers?
I can’t help but wonder about many of them and the events that lead to their painfully beautiful decision to allow another family to raise their child. They are the givers of great gifts to families like mine.
The world needs more of these heroes. But you and I both know they can’t do it on their own. They need us, they need the church, and they need to know their child has a life worth living.
Only God knows the circumstances of each woman carrying a child whom they know for a multitude of reasons they cannot care for. But if we are willing to do the hard work of being in their lives, of coming alongside them, of showing them the love of Jesus when they need it most, we might see fewer of the headlines that plague our culture today.
It’s time for us to run, not walk, to these women. To carry them straight to the arms of Jesus.
It’s time for us to turn the helpless into heroes.
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