My girls’ stories break my heart. Each. And Every. Time. I. Hear. Them.
People ask me all of the time about my pregnant teenagers – “What are their stories? Why are they here? What happened to them?”
And I struggle. I want to and try so hard to explain, but so often, I fail. Where do I begin? How do I say? I tell myself, “Amy, don’t cry – this person does not want to see you cry!” Yet still, I fail. I can either think about the reality and completely lose it emotionally, or not think at all and distance myself from the story entirely. Either I put on the hard face just to try to get through it with no emotion and pretend that the story is not the life story of my precious teenager, or I let the reality sink in and tell the story from my heart and end up a weepy mess. Two ways: Hardened. Or Weepy. I just can’t seem to do much in between.
But either way…I struggle.
It just doesn’t get any easier for me. In fact, the more the stories sink into my mind…and into my heart…the more they almost become mine. I can recite them and tell the stories almost as well as my girls can. Sadly, I even remember the details sometimes when they forget…or block them from their memories.
I remember them because they are so horrifying and utterly heartbreaking to me that I just can not forget. I have not walked the paths and experienced the evil of this world in quite the way that my girls have. I have experienced my own pain, heartbreak, and evil, but God still allows my heart to be completely broken over the hearts of the teenagers He has given me to love and mother.
I remember each detail when sometimes, I believe that my girls would rather forget the stories and pasts and histories…those details that hurt the most...in an attempt to save themselves from the pain. They bury the hurt far down within their minds…almost hoping, I think, that those details will one day be forgotten.
I know them. My girls. The stories. The pasts. The histories of their short lives so far. Only just teenagers. Only having walked through a number of short years, yet, they have been through so much more than I want to admit…to stand before me today as proud mothers of their infant little girls or still expecting their precious baby.
All four of my teenagers that have already given birth have produced baby girls. By God’s beautiful design :) And I believe for a much bigger purpose than any of them can even fathom right now. As I am constantly reminding about burping the baby after feeding; as they are still trying to figure out the whole breastfeeding thing and how to hold the baby correctly; as they hear me yell yet again, “Hold the baby’s head!”…I don’t think that God’s master plan has even thought about entering their minds, but oh, has it entered His.
I believe that these infant baby girls represent so much more than any of us yet know. They represent so much hope. So much future. So much bondage breaking. So much redemption.
These babies represent redemption from what the enemy had stolen from their mothers but what God has claimed as His once again. Redemption of the beauty of motherhood. Of the bond between mother and daughter in the way that was His original design.
These infant baby girls do not represent the broken relationships that have existed between many of my teenagers and their own biological mothers. They do not represent the broken hearts, the devastation, the distrust, the rejection, the hurt, pain, and anger.
No. These babies represent the beauty.
The beauty coming up from the ashes.