Birthmom musings

I’ve been thinking so much about the mother of Moses, Jochebed. We are introduced to her in Exodus chapter 2. She finds herself large with child at a time when newborn baby boys are unmercifully thrown in to the Nile, as Pharaoh has commanded. Can you imagine the anxiety she experienced as the time for her to deliver drew near? Surely she must have been pleading with God to let her baby be a girl, so precious little one would be spared….

It was getting harder to find the strength to take care of Miriam and Aaron. This pregnancy seemed to Jochebed much more physically taxing than her previous two. Perhaps it was the crushing weight of worry that seemed to mount with each passing day. The closer to her date of delivery, the more she found herself begging God for His mercy. Please, Jehovah, let this child be a girl. Let my baby live. Jochebed felt her abdomen harden as another contraction squeezed tightly. It’s too early, she kept repeating silently. I still have a few weeks yet. As the afternoon wore on, she realized that whether it was the right time or not, this baby was indeed coming.

The midwives got there just before her beautiful baby entered the world. They lifted the child high for Jochebed to see. She skipped looking at its face at first and her gaze traveled instead directly to its midsection. A boy. Her heart sank with all this implied. Oh, Jehovah. How could you? Then through her exhaustion she lifted her eyes to his face. The grayish color was being replaced by deep red as he let out lusty little cries. He was beautiful. She did not remember Miriam or Aaron looking so beautiful at first. Her heart was instantly captured and she moved to take him for a moment. She barely held him when one of the midwives gently took him from her to clean and swaddle him. She lay back and let the knowledge sweep over her that she had a son whom she could not let Pharaoh discover. A courage that she never felt before entered her soul. She knew she would choose life for her son.

For three months, Jochebed and her family kept Moses a secret. He was with her every moment and, at the first cries of hunger, she immediately took him to her breast to quiet him. The midwives feared God and valued human life. Jochebed knew her secret was safe with them. Daily she prayed for wisdom. She and Amram talked late into the night about what to do. They knew they could not hide their son forever. Jochebed wept bitter tears over her precious son. She could not explain it to anyone, but she knew Jehovah had a plan for her son’s life. Yet she would not be part of it, she was certain. This is what caused the most searing pain of all.

Then the day dawned when Amram looked at her early in the morning and said, “Do it today.” Her heart knew it was the only way. She gathered up the basket she had woven, and then daubed with tar to make it water resistant. “Miriam, come,” she said brusquely. She clutched her precious son as her tears soaked his head and cheek. He lay sleeping against her breast. Child of my flesh, her heart cried, as she made her way to the banks of the Nile. I would give my life for yours. Jehovah has given you to me and I am giving you back to Him. I beg Him to watch over you and keep you safe. I cannot keep you safe the way I want to.

She kissed him and placed him in the basket. She gasped at the thought of a crocodile getting to this basket. I can’t watch him be eaten alive! With this, her last desperate thought, she relinquished the basket that cradled her son into the water. “Miriam, stay here. Don’t leave your brother!” she sobbed, springing up and running until she was certain she could not hear his cries when he awoke hungry.

I pause here to say that this story is dedicated to birth moms who courageously choose life for their baby, even when it means they aren’t able to share life directly with their birth child. This is what Jonathan’s birth mom did 2 years ago. This is what Elizabeth’s birth mom is choosing to do at this time. I write this story with respect and awe of women who choose to do such an utterly unselfish thing when an abortion, in the short run, is touted by society as the more convenient way. Abortion is deceitfully clever in that it appeals to a woman’s sense of urgency to take care of a “situation” immediately and quietly. There is nothing neither immediate nor quiet about a nine month pregnancy that results in a birth mom making an adoption plan. My hope is that those who read this will gain insight into the heart of a birth mom and that more compassion will be extended to a woman who chooses to make an adoption plan.

As I go about life and share with others that we are adopting again, the questions I hear repeated the most consistently are as follows: why doesn’t she want her own baby? Doesn’t she care about her own baby? Yes, she does care about her baby very much. She is doing something for her baby that most of us can never fathom, and thankfully, have never needed to fathom. Some of us have been recipients of God’s grace at an earlier age than others. This grace has constrained the effects of our sin and guides the choices we make on a daily basis. It is only by the grace of God that any of us are married and stable and can provide a home for the children God allows us to adopt and/or conceive. It is also by the grace of God that some women make a courageous choice for life in the midst of the turbulence surrounding them. There certainly ought to be no shame or disgrace in such a choice or in the person who is making the choice.

I am just about out of time for today. Jonathan will be up from his nap any second. I will try to finish the story very soon!