The Last Girl on the Hill series was a hit last month. For me, it was an answer to prayer. As my blog grew I knew I wanted a dedicated space for the treasured words of my fellow infertility warriors. As I invited women to share their stories God spoke, breathing fresh air on the heart of my vision. The Last Girl on the Hill series is the manifestation of a dream.

In tribute to all women, everywhere, and the various paths we take to find our way to the sacred calling of motherhood, I’m opening the space for a few special guest posts. Today, I’m blessed to share the words/work of my dear online buddy Marcy Hanson. Marcy is a spit-fire, go get it kind of girl. She’s filled through and through with the God kind of warrior heart. We met online through the shared experience of infertility and adoption and I got to hug her in real life at the Faith and Culture Writers Conference in March.  Marcy is the author of No Maybe Baby and is an advocate for policy change in foster care.  Show her some love in the comments and check out her blog here.

Happy Mothers’ Day!

I have four children, but I’ve only been present for one birth. Now by present I don’t mean I wasn’t present, because mentally I was in my happy place – thanks to medication and good physicians. I mean present as in physically, mentally and emotionally present. My whole being. Only once. And I have four kids.

When I was a child I was under this impression that family came easy. I was the youngest of five kids. The surprise that followed three boys and a girl. By the time I was 8, my first niece was born. My family was big. It was loud and hugging and overflowing tables and mom hiding the M&Ms and chocolate chips. Family was Sunday afternoons at Echo Lake when summer slipped by like my dripping popsicle. Family was slow dinners by candle light and the big white Bible on Christmas Eve. Family was my mamma’s homemade bread and my daddy’s big work-worn hands. Family was mess-with-one-mess-with-all and always there. Family was easy.

Motherhood? Motherhood was not. I took fertility for granted.

When I walked down the isle at the tender age of 19, I thought the man with the crooked smile and I had the whole world ahead of us. In a way we did. But when it came to family, our family, the world would be cruel. We tried for eleven years to get pregnant. Eleven years of ovulation tests, hormone treatments and negative results. And we never got pregnant. But.

But I’m still the mother of four. Yes four. To say my road to motherhood was difficult is an understatement. But like all plans laid out by the father, it happened just and when it was supposed to. Looking back now, with hindsight at 20/20 and all, it really was expertly orchestrated. It all started with unemployment.

I had never had a difficult time getting a job. Not until we moved to Idaho and I was going to nursing school. Every single place I looked had just hired their perfect candidate and I was floundering for a job when I stumbled into one through school. We were doing our mental health rotation and our instructor took us to a residential treatment center for adolescents. I knew, deep down in my soul that I was supposed to work there. So I applied and was offered a job working in the girls’ home. Every girl that I worked with had two things in common: they had been or were in foster care, and they just wanted a family.

When we moved to Montana and were finally settling down roots, we knew that there were so many kids out there like the girls I worked with. And we knew that we could meet their need: we could be a family. So we registered with our local social worker and began taking the classes to get licensed and finish our home study. Right off the bat our social worker told us of this little girl who would be perfect for us. She was a little older than what we had initially agreed on but we couldn’t say no. We had anticipated things to go quickly, but instead they moved like molasses. She went back and forth between two placements and we were told off and on that she needed a home and then that they had found a placement for her. This went on for nearly a year. During that time we submitted home study after home study for different kids.

One social worker didn’t think Montana would be a good place for the little boy she had as he was from Texas and didn’t we get snow? For other children we made it to the semi and final cuts, only to be dismissed for another family. Over and over again we were turned down. It was heartbreaking. And every now and then we’d hear about that little girl. Finally it was decided that the state was going to find a permanent placement for her other than where she had been and we were asked once again if we were still interested. About a month later we got the news: we were going to be parents! Our first born would come to us after a series of small meetings at the tender age of 7.

It was two years and a few more biological and adoption heartbreaks later when we took in our twins. They had just turned three and their battle was long fought. Though technically they were placed with us through foster care, they were not a typical case. With them, we started from scratch. We tracked down birth parents, attended placement meetings and won battles with the county attorney before they finally took our last name.

A year after their adoption was finalized we officially stopped trying to get pregnant. My body and my emotions were strained and beaten from the constant hope and let down. At 31 years old, they wheeled me into the surgical theater and I said goodbye to ever carrying my own child. As difficult as it was, I knew deep down that it was the right decision. That final step taken, my hubby and I thought we were done. We had moved to Washington and weren’t interested in doing foster care again, and private adoptions had never been in the cards. So we settled in to our life. Three kids was more than we had ever thought we would have. As for never having a baby? Well, some things just aren’t meant to be.

Nine months after my surgery I received a text from a friend, asking if we still wanted a baby. Puzzled, we asked what she meant and were shocked to find out that she knew of a situation in which a mother was not going to be able to keep her baby and might be interested in a private adoption. My hubby and I cautiously discussed it. Could we manage it? What if it didn’t work? Was it worth the risk? We decided it was and a few weeks later I met with my friend and the mother.

Initially we didn’t think it would really work. We weren’t sure that she would follow through, but we took the necessary steps on our end. We underwent another home study and retained a lawyer. I scheduled her doctor’s appointments and she wouldn’t show. Then one day, she did! And the most amazing thing happened: I got to hear the baby’s heartbeat, and was present for the ultrasound. Both were things I had given up on ever experiencing. The night he was born, I was there. I cut the cord and introduced my husband and our children to the newest member of our family-a beautiful baby boy.

so much to love : motherhood

The funny thing is that my hubby and I always said we wanted four children. We just never anticipated how we would get them. But if there is one thing I have learned through this process it is this: family doesn’t always come to you how you expect it, but it always arrives exactly according to plan.

this post appears as part of the Last Girl on the Hill series on fertility and faith