By Amy O’Mara
Sunday, May 9, 2010. It was Mother’s Day. As I sat in church holding Patrick’s hand the music started,
“Before the throne of God above
I have a strong and perfect plea.
A great high Priest whose Name is Love
Who ever lives and pleads for me.
My name is graven on His hands,
My name is written on His heart.
I know that while in Heaven He stands
No tongue can bid me thence depart.”
(Original words by Charitie Lees Bancroft (1841-1892))
The tears began to flow. It had been eight amazing years of marriage, but we were unable to have children. We had been labeled “infertile.” The word resonated in my head that morning as I watched dear friends kiss and hug their little ones tight while they lovingly looked into their eyes as only a mother can. Will I ever know what that feeling is? Will I ever hold the hand of a little child, ever kiss them on their cheek or ever hug them tightly and call them mine? When would this end? How much longer? Why, Lord, why?
Little did we know that very morning, seven thousand miles away in Seoul, South Korea, a tiny, four-pound, baby girl was waiting. She was ours, hand-picked by the Lord to be our daughter. It just wasn’t time.
On March 3, 2011, after many long months of paperwork, waiting, and praying, we traveled to Korea to meet our daughter. That day is etched into our hearts forever. Thirteen-month-old Evelyn Byeol Wright O’Mara walked into the room, and we were parents.
Not long after bringing Evelyn home we felt the Lord tugging again at our hearts. He had another little one waiting for us, and we began the process again. Twenty-six months later, we received the call to fly back to Korea to pick up Emily Ye-seul Elizabeth, a healthy, spunky, loving two-year-old bundle of energy. The Lord had answered our prayers above and beyond anything we could ask or imagine. All those long, sleepless nights and difficult days of waiting vanished. Our hearts were thankful.
It is amazing to see things unfolding in the Lord’s perfect plan. Had we had it our way, we would have had two or three biological kids running around, and we never would have experienced the blessing of infertility. Yes, you read that correctly, the BLESSING of infertility.
Three years ago I never thought I would have been saying this—but I would not trade our infertility for anything. The Lord has opened our eyes to the rollercoaster world of adoption and to the closeness to His heart through His glorious unfolding.
We were all orphans once—spiritual orphans—until we were adopted by our Heavenly Father. As Ephesians 1:5-7 says,“Having predestinated us unto the adoption of children by Jesus Christ to himself, according to the good pleasure of his will, to the praise of the glory of his grace, wherein he hath made us accepted in the beloved. In whom we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of his grace.”
God loves us so much that He adopted us into His family and shares with us His glorious inheritance, totally undeserved. He took our sins upon Himself in the person of His Son and experienced suffering beyond measure for us—His ADOPTED children.
While we are here on this earth He has given us an opportunity to experience a small portion of this love through physical adoption. We left the comfort of our home, stamped our love onto two girls, and at great costs, brought them safely home just as the Lord has done for us.
Once you’ve looked into the eyes of an orphan, her suffering is no longer her own. Once you’ve learned her name, and once you’ve heard her story you will never think about the world in the same way again.
This Mother’s Day I am thankful for my two Korean-American daughters. Ours is a story only the Lord could write, and we are excited to see what He has in store for us in the chapters to come.
“God’s plan from the start
For this world and your heart
Has been to show His glory and His grace
Forever revealing the depth and the beauty of
His unfailing Love
And the story has only begun.”
(From “Glorious Unfolding by Steven Curtis Chapman)
Our story has only just begun.