A Mother’s Day Lament

A Mother’s Day Lament

Be merciful to me, O Lord!
   Where are You when
       my cries ascend upward?
   How many nights must
       my pillow be drenched with tears?

Do You have no compassion on me
       as I sit in the quiet?
   All my friends post to social media
       their perfect families, but me?
Though I long for children
      and seek Your face,
       all I hear is silence.
       Deafening silence.
   No baby crying.
   No patter of feet in the hallway.
My eyes are swollen from weeping,
       and my arms are heavy though empty.
How long, oh Lord?
Will You never bless me
       with these good gifts?

Where are You, Lord?
       You seem so far off.
   I read of Your loving-kindness,
       but all I feel is pain.
I’m on an awful roller-coaster that I want off.
   Every time I see those two blue lines
       my soul soars, but then fears creep in.
   And then it happens.
       The pit in my stomach
       when things don’t feel right…again.
I loathe my body.
   How many children will I lose?
   Why is my womb a grave instead of a haven?
You who knit children together in the womb,
      will You not give life instead of death?

Do You have no mercy on me as I sit in anguish?
   Night by night I plead before Your throne.
   Pleading that You will protect my child
       from the wickedness of the world.
       From the sin lurking in her heart.
How many texts will go unanswered?
   Every time the phone rings I wonder:
       will it be her at last
       or the police with the news I dread?
How deep will You permit her to plummet
       before Your merciful hand catches her?
How long, oh Lord, until I can just see her
       and hold her in my arms?
   How long until You break these addictions
       that have stolen her from me?

Do You have no sympathy for me
       as I sit by this grave?
   No mother should have to endure this.
In this grave lies my child and my dreams.
   No prom pictures.
   No dance at his wedding.
   No grandchildren that shared
       his dazzling smile and wavy locks.
Oh my son, how I long to hold your hand
   and gaze once more into your beautiful eyes!
No matter how many times I visit here
       the pain remains.
Why do I have to be the one
   weeping at a cemetery on Friday nights
   instead of cheering at the ballfield?
How long, oh Lord,
       until You make all things right?

But I have trusted in You,
       and Your Word.
       It never fails.
O soul, hope in God!
O my soul, know that this pain
   is only momentary.
I will hope in You, my God,
for You have dealt bountifully with me!