Redeeming Mother's Day

For the whole past week, leading up to today, my thoughts about Mother's Day were getting blacker and blacker.  Who made up this holiday?  And why? 

There are so many hurting women out there - doesn't "Mother's Day" just rub it in their face?  (I've heard many say "yes.")  Mothers who had many miscarriages and no babies to hold in their arms.  Women who tried for years, but were unable to ever even become pregnant.  Women who had babies but didn't even want them.  

What about orphans?  What about abused kids?  Neglected kids?  Adults that still hurt because of things their mothers did or did not do?

What about mothers that are hurting because of children they have that made terrible choices in life?  Children who became addicts, criminals, or completely rejected God?

I don't think whoever made up this day thought about all these things.  Maybe you're reading this wishing I hadn't either!  (Though I'm not the only one.  Here are two good blogposts I read this week:  Not Every Mother's Day is Happy (from Teaching Good Things) and Maddux Will Always Be My Son and I Will Always Be His Mother (from Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep).

As for me, I find myself reliving Mother's Day 2011 when I was in the hospital with Lilly.  And she code blued.  And almost died before my eyes.  Watching the doctors work to save her.  They did.  But she now lives in heaven and I can not hold her again until I die.  And Blueberry.  The baby I miscarried last fall.  Was it a boy or girl?  What do they look like?  Another child in heaven that I long to hug and talk to.  What about struggles with my living children and how I often feel so inadequate as a mother?  I certainly don't deserve to be "honored."

Blah blah blah.  Right?  The whining needed to stop.

Last night I asked God if, just maybe, He'd have one of our goats give birth on Mother's Day.  New life is happy.

Guess what?  God is so good and He answered me!

Frank woke me up this morning to tell me that the dogs were hanging out around the goat pen and barking.  I jumped up and pulled on my overalls.  Hunter had just gotten up and the two of us hurried outside. 

Right inside the goat pen door was a tiny brown goat that was "meeeehhhhhing" loudly!  It was the color of Nutmeg. (Tabby and I had been expecting Pippi to give birth first so I was surprised.)  Awwww!  I picked up the soft, furry little goat.  What a wee little thing!  Then we walked around the corner and I saw a little black goat standing in the manger area!  (Goats often give birth to twins.)  Another Awwwww! 

I got both babies into a stall and lead Nutmeg in.  Hunter went in with them to watch. 

Tabby had joined us by this point.

 I had to use scissors to clip off the umbilical cords on both kids, then sterilize the area with iodine.  (The mama goat bites the cord but if it's hanging down a bit too long, it's good to go ahead and trim it.)

By this point, the kids had names.  We wanted something in the "spice line" because of their mama, Nutmeg.  (Nutmeg's sister is named "Cloves.")  Tabby named the brown goat "Cinnamon" and Hunter named the black goat "Pepper."  Cinnamon is a boy and Pepper a girl.

Cinnamon

Pepper

Holding these precious little goats is such a blessing:

me and the twins

I sat in the goat stall for awhile, holding Cinnamon in my lap.  He fell asleep.  Pepper was curled up asleep in the corner.  And Nutmeg was eating like she would never get full!  It was a peaceful moment and helped me let go of my many black thoughts and refocus on little blessings:

I'll leave you with one more picture - this one really made Tabby laugh - she said that Cinnamon was already photobombing pictures:

Pepper nursing and Cinnamon photobombing

"Draw near to God and He will draw near to you." - James 4:8a