A Mothers Offering.
by Lauren Gallagher
I grew up in a large, safe, and nurturing family. Laughter and joy spilled out of every corner of our home. Slow moments appreciating the flowers, bugs, and sunlight filled my memories. My baby doll rarely left my arms; she was soft and rubbery, with big, sweet eyes. I had named her Abby.
Watching my mom as a homemaker, pastor’s wife, and momma to myself and my siblings, I wanted nothing more than to be like her. As each new baby in our family came, I not only adored them, but the dream of having my own family slowly grew. As adults asked me what I wanted to be when I got older, I would clutch Abby tightly, smile boldly, and proudly proclaim, “A Momma!”
When I turned 16, I slowly realized it wasn’t cool to want to be a mom. Society told me that a girl needed to have other priorities, drive, and vision. Being a stay-at-home wife and mother was not a dream that most people admired. I taught myself photography and threw myself into building that business. I planned on quitting as soon as I saw those two pink lines on that positive pregnancy test. That was the real dream.
In 2021, the Lord brought the most amazing man into my life. By summer 2022, we were married, and a few months later trying for a baby. People would wink and nudge me asking when we were having kids, but I would quickly dismiss the question. I desperately wanted our announcement to be a big surprise.
We would watch pregnancy tests pulled out of gift bags at family gatherings and smile. We would hold our friends’ first baby in our arms and have them wink and say, “You’re next! Maybe you’ll start trying soon!” We would survive Easter egg hunts and Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, the bold and blatant reminders of our broken cries.
Our first year of infertility, as each period came and the confusion and pain grew, ten friends and two sister in-laws became pregnant. Twelve baby shower invites. Twelve baby showers attended. Twelve periods.
The next year, we walked through needles and blood work, so much blood work. The phlebotomist knew me by name and had a whole routine down for me (I tended to pass out easily). We continued to be poked, prodded, and tested. One specific test was particularly pain-inducing. I was in a cold, dark room, in that scratchy hospital gown, isolation wrapping its arms around me. I was there, alone. I had a catheter stuck up into me, I had saline pumped through my tubes because something was wrong. I was not prepared for the pain of the procedure, physically, but even more so emotionally. I bled for two weeks after. Those red, wet pads, constant reminders of the brokenness.
Our lack of a blessing.
“Children are a reward from God.”
“Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them; they shall not be put to shame”
As we started opening up about what we were going through, we were told maybe we were sinning, and that’s why God had removed His blessing. We were told maybe we had unforgiveness in our hearts, or maybe it was a consequence of our past sins. We were told it was because I wasn’t eating enough or because Sean was on drugs (neither of which was accurate).
We were prophesied over that we would have a child within a year (we didn’t).
We were prophesied over that I was currently pregnant (I wasn’t).
Eventually, at church, some of the prayer team’s eyes would glaze over when they saw us in line. We came forward one day, and the man to pray over us sighed, and gave a quick, half-hearted prayer about coming again to the throne of God, and then sent us on our way.
Our friends seemed tired of crying with us. Our church seemed tired of praying for us. Our God seemed tired of our request.
We prayed for those around us and saw miracle after miracle happen, but God seemed to have rejected us.
Another year down. Friends are getting pregnant again. Families around us are growing. After dozens of thousands of dollars into our fertility journey and twenty-four negative pregnancy tests, we were told by an IVF specialist that we would never be biological parents.
We looked into adoption and found an agency willing to accept us even though we weren’t married for five years yet. I was shocked when I read that email stating they had approved us! It happened so easily.
I sank to the floor and cried. The same floor I lay on and sob on every month. I sat on that same floor and cried. This time, though, it was tears of unexpected joy. After dozens of doors had been repeatedly shut, this one seemed to have fallen open.
Adoption seemed scary. But, as our clearances that were supposed to take months came back in days, our best friends and family rallied around us to get our home ready for the social worker to approve, as we endured days of an interview process. We researched attachment and prayed for our baby growing in their momma’s womb, we trusted this was the Lord’s plan. Block after block had come into our fertility path, but the Lord was moving our adoption along so rapidly.
We heard a sermon at church about Joseph. In Genesis 50:20, Joseph told his brothers, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it all for good. He brought me to this position so I could save the lives of many people.” The takeaway from the message was, “God isn’t taking you on a detour so you can have a better life, He’s taking you on a detour for someone else.”
My husband and I looked at each other and squeezed each other’s hands. This was it, we told each other. This was the reason why we had gone through all of the pain, all of the brokenness, all of the loneliness.
On March 7, 2025, our sweet little daughter was born. The second we held our precious girl, we experienced another level of existence. We never knew love that complete. We would cherish that little girl with every breath in us.
2 am crying sessions because of her gas pain, and I sat in the rocker, tears of gratitude spilling down my cheeks. I spent years dreaming and begging for nights like this. I had cried to our Lord, pleading for sleepless years and a crying child to treasure. Her little faces and sounds brought so much joy to my body, I would fall to my knees while holding her, praising our God.
Every day, we practiced black and white cards, sang worship songs, went on winter walks, read the holy Bible, and cheered for her during tummy time.
Four weeks from the day she was born, she was legally returned to her biological father, who had changed his mind about wanting to parent.
Shock and pain consumed us.
I spent weeks staring at the wall, tears streaming down my cheeks.
Anger came.
Questions came.
Confusion came.
Emptiness came.
There isn’t an easy end to this story yet, there isn’t a feel-good bow to wrap up on this yet, deep down, I still know He is good. I know, even when it doesn’t make sense, He IS working. He is doing something. And because He is good, what He is doing is good.
Maybe we will be given miracle children (biologically or through adoption), and God will show His glory in what He has given.
Or, maybe we will continue to endure loss and pain, and God will show His glory in WHO HE IS, DESPITE.
Regularly through broken hopes, I repeatedly have to cling to what scripture says and not what emotions shout. My emotions are fickle, but the word of the Lord stands forever.
No matter what, I KNOW He is a God of Hope. He is a God of Joy. He is a God who gave us the most beautiful month. It was the most precious reward I have ever experienced, and I would go through the pain of losing her all over again to hold her one more time.
On a much lesser scale, the gift of our daughter and the loss of her feels a bit like Job’s story in scripture, and I pray my response (and the response of everyone grieving a gift the Lord had given) is such as this:
“The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised.” (Job 1:21).
“He replied, ‘...Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?’” (Job 2:10)
“My days have passed, my plans are shattered. Yet the desires of my heart turn night into day; in the face of the darkness, light is near… I know that my redeemer lives, and that in the end he will stand on the earth. And after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God; I myself will see Him with my own eyes—I, and not another. How my heart yearns within me!”
Job 17:11-12, 19:25-27
He is a God who is good. He is a God whose ways are above our understanding. He is a God who is just, and yet He is still somehow a God of mercy as well.
Forever we will worship. Forever we will praise.
“Whom have I in Heaven but You? And there is nothing on earth I desire besides You.” Psalm 73:35
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