“Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she bore?”
~~Isaiah 49:15a, NIV
Twenty-seven years is a long time to keep a secret. My husband, James, was the only other person who knew the real story—my Christmas story of legacy and faith. So, when my youngest was 18, I knew the day had come, at last, to tell my four children what I had kept to myself for all those years. I had stood guard over my heart and its contents of long ago, partly out of guilt and partly out of fear of how they would react.
So, after dinner that December 25th, I said that I needed to talk to them. “Please, just listen until I’m completely finished,” I said. We were all around the dining room table, pumpkin pie half eaten.
I took a deep breath and allowed my mind to drift back to a time of great pain. “As you know, your sister Faith died 27 years ago today,” I started. “But, what I’m about to share with you is the part of the story you don’t know.
“You see, from the time your father and I got married, my plan was to have just one child. Growing up with three brothers and four sisters was not easy for me, and I always felt as if there was never enough love or attention to go around. I really didn’t think it was possible to love more than one child, at least in the proper way.
“When Faith died in my arms that Christmas Day, I was sure that God could not be any crueler. My only child was gone. Not only that, but He had chosen to take her on Christmas. After getting over the initial shock of losing my beloved little girl, my heart hardened. I refused to have any more children, because I didn’t think I could possibly love another the way I loved her. She was my world, and I was sure I would die from the pain.
“Of course your father missed Faith desperately, too. But, he handled it differently than I did. After a few months, he was ready to fill the void and have another baby. I was still furious with God, and I refused to even consider what your father wanted. To my dismay, I soon found myself pregnant anyway. For the next nine months, I was consumed with anger and resentment. No one knew how depressed I was about the coming baby except your father. I put on a very-believable face of being thrilled about our expanding family. I even told people about how God had healed our broken hearts and sent us a new gift. But when it was just your father and me at home, I was a different person. I continually let him know that I was not happy about being pregnant and that he was to blame. I thank God that he loved me and stayed beside me through all of my ugliness. And believe me, that was no small feat on his part.”
I smiled at James and then looked at my oldest. Of course, James had forgiven me a long time ago. But, I was only beginning down this road with my daughter. When her eyes met mine, she got up from her chair and turned her back to me. I looked away; the guilt was suffocating me. I had to hurry on—she needed to hear the good part that was coming. Please, sweetie, hold on.
“The baby was due on January 6th, and I dreaded going through a third Christmas without my precious Faith. There were no decorations in the house, and we made no plans to celebrate the holiday.
“On Christmas morning, I woke up in labor. ‘This is not funny, God,’ I thought. ‘How could You? This is my day of mourning. You couldn’t even let me have that?’
“But babies will come into this world when they want to, not when we think they should. Heather was born at 11:30 that Christmas morning.”
I heard all four kids suck their breath in. Only the oldest said something. “Heather?” She sounded like she did as a little girl. I didn’t have to look to see that there were tears in her eyes. I was sure she was twisting her hair around her left index finger by now, too.
How could I get through this? “Wait,” I said. “Please, just let me finish. It will all make sense, I promise.” I took another deep breath, hoping I wasn’t going to pass out before I got everything said.
“Heather looked just like Faith did as a newborn. Even in my state of anger and confusion, I recognized the innocent beauty that babies have. I had to consciously make sure I didn’t let love for her come into my heart. How dare I even think about loving this baby! She might’ve looked like Faith, but she wasn’t Faith. I was not going to let her take the place of my firstborn.
“Your father, of course, was completely in love from the moment he laid eyes on her. He sat in the hospital room, holding her and talking to her. I rolled over in bed and tried to sleep through the pain.
“I couldn’t understand how God could allow this baby—a girl, too—to be born on the very day that my Faith was taken from me. And, for this new one to look so much like the daughter who should’ve been my one and only child. It just didn’t seem fair. At about midnight, I walked down the hall to the nursery and stole a peek at baby Heather through the glass. She was perfect. She was swaddled tightly in a pink hospital blanket. A teddy bear with a ribbon announcing It’s a Girl! lay beside her. I retreated to my room to cry before they could ask if I wanted to hold her.
“Then, sometime in the early morning, the nurse came in for me to feed the baby. ‘No,’ I said, ‘I’m not going to nurse her.’ I don’t know if she didn’t hear me or if she ignored me. Either way, before I knew what was happening she had placed the baby in my arms and had opened my gown for me. I didn’t know what to do. Hurt and anger and guilt burned deep inside of me, like one big hairball. I felt desperate for the nurse to take her away from my breast. But before I could say anything in protest, Heather had latched on and was drawing her sustenance from the mother who had carried her for nine months.”
In spite of myself, I was drawn to glance at my daughter. She was now facing me with her mouth hanging open. Her brow was creased in deep wrinkles, and her eyes focused on my face. I continued on, “At that moment, I can’t quite explain to you how my insides felt. I grew hot all over, so much so that I had to kick the covers off. I started sobbing, and I felt all the anger and hurt rush away as if they were never there. Love, more powerful than I thought possible in those last three years, filled me for this innocent baby who was lying and suckling so peacefully.”
When I finished my story, I looked at my beautiful oldest daughter. “Happy 24th birthday, Shiloh. That overwhelming love for you has never wavered from that moment. You are my Christmas miracle in so many ways.”
Shiloh was crying now, but she didn’t move from her spot. “But, I don’t understand, Mama. Who is Heather? Did we have another sister? Wait, I thought I was born on that Christmas Day.” She sat down then, and put her head in her hands. The other three kids just stared.
I wanted so badly to take her into my arms right then. But, I was also excited to get to this part of my story. “Well, after that sweet, little baby won my heart over, I changed the birth certificate. One thing I had done throughout my miserable nine months was study the meaning of names. I was so angry with God that I searched for a name that would have no biblical connection. Heather, albeit a nice name, seemed like a safe choice for my criteria. But, now I had to change it. I had to find a name that would fit how this baby had come into my life. Your name, Shiloh, ‘means peace, abundance, a gift from God.’”
“Oh, Mama,” she said as she embraced me. We stayed like that for a while, lost in the moment I had envisioned for so many years. The fear of how she would react was gone. I held my grown daughter, and it almost felt as if I was holding her in my arms as a newborn 24 years ago.
I looked at my other three children. “So, you see—each one of you was given to your dad and me out of God’s great love and compassion. If Faith wouldn’t have been taken on that Christmas Day 27 years ago, there wouldn’t be a Shiloh or a Luke or a Samuel or a Sarah for us to love and care for. The Lord had to break through my hard head and bitter heart. He healed me because He wanted all of you here, in our family. To think that I almost gave away my chance to love all of you overwhelms me and has brought me to my knees many times over these years. I thank God every single day that He stepped in.”
So, that is my Christmas story, my miracle from God. It is a story of a baby who left her legacy of faith to us through her short life on this earth in much the same way that Jesus came for all of us. God’s kindness and grace never ceases to amaze me. He did not allow me to forget the baby at my breast or ignore the compassion for the infant I bore. I do not go through a Christmas season without being in awe of how He sent His only Son to die for me and for all of mankind because of His great love for us.
©2012 All rights reserved – Tammy Maseberg