Sometimes motherhood does not end with the moments you imagined most. Sometimes you pour years into loving, teaching, correcting, and covering your children, only to watch the future you dreamed about slip quietly out of your hands. That kind of loss has a way of forcing hard questions: Was the sacrifice worth it? Did I miss God somewhere along the way? For me, the answer came when I finally stopped measuring motherhood by how long it lasted and started seeing it for what it had always been—a mission.
Called to Motherhood
In the summer of 2012, I dove into motherhood at full speed. Through kinship adoption, I became an instant mother of three, and there were plenty of goals to achieve. Two of my girls were behind academically. One was morbidly obese. One had severe behavioral issues. All showed signs of improper sexual boundaries, and their moral compass was skewed. From the time we opened our eyes until the time we shut them, there were teachable moments. I was exhausted. I never imagined parenting would be so hard. Fortunately, my aunt reminded me that I had triplets—three children at one time. Then she gave me even more clarity by saying, “Tonya, when we had our kids, we were the first to program them. Your job is twice as hard because you have to deprogram them from what was taught and experienced in their biological home and then program them for your home.” Those words of wisdom helped me see that I needed to give both myself and the girls some grace.
The first three years were more work than fun, but each year grew a little easier. The phone calls from the schools had stopped. We could go out in public without the youngest having major meltdowns that drew judging eyes. The in-house infractions and punishments became few and far between, and the learning gaps were smaller. I was finally ready to reap the rewards of my labor.
Our family, while unique in its creation, was getting along well, and we looked like we had been together from the beginning of time. I was so proud of us. We had put in tremendous work, and the memories we were creating warmed my heart. The girls, my husband, and I often talked about the future—college, careers, weddings, grandchildren, and future holidays together as their lives unfolded. Privately, my husband and I were even building a budget to prepare for college expenses and the many milestones ahead.
When the Dream Unraveled
But during the oldest girl’s late teenage years, our family dynamics changed. Then, on each child’s eighteenth birthday, they redefined their family by establishing their birth mother as the head of it. My mission of motherhood halted abruptly. I was hurt and confused. I still wanted my mommy moments. I wanted to teach them to drive, attend their weddings, and plan their baby showers. I wanted to drop them off on a college campus and decorate their dorm room. It all seemed so unfair. I had spent years developing three young lives so they could become productive citizens, and I would not get to see any of it. It felt like buying a plot of land, tilling the ground, and planting the harvest, only for someone else to eat and profit from all of your hard work and money.
Wrestling with the Why
I spent many days replaying all the choices I had made concerning adopting and raising the girls. But every time, I came to the same conclusion: I would make those choices all over again. Then I wondered if maybe I was never supposed to adopt them at all. Maybe my emotions had clouded my ability to hear God tell me no. Despite the noise in my head, God brought this scripture to me: “The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord…” (Psalm 37:23 KJV). I asked God, “Did You order this adoption knowing that it would end in disaster?” Then He brought the second half of the scripture to mind: “…and He delighteth in his way.” Those words gave me the healing and closure I needed. I had not stepped out of God’s will, and God was pleased with the journey I took.
What the Journey Taught Me
When we look at both Scripture and life, not every story ends the way we would call a happy ending. Moses led the children of Israel out of Egypt, but he never got to see them enter the Promised Land. In fact, only two of the original travelers made it there. Yet God still called Moses a great leader. One of my childhood friends lost her teenage daughter in a car accident. Another died before her children became adults. Life has taught me that sometimes our missions as mothers do not last as long as we would like. We cannot focus only on the length of the motherhood mission, but on the mission itself.
Redefining Success
On one of my long walks, the Holy Spirit said to me, “Have you forgotten what I told you your mission was?” Then He reminded me: “You are the Repairer of the Breach and the Restorer of the Paths to dwell in” (Isaiah 58:12). He took me back through my motherhood journey with the girls and reminded me that I had done exactly that—repaired the breach and restored the paths. Before my girls left home, each was academically on track and accepted into college. Each one was physically healthy and no longer taking medication for physical or mental health. Each girl had experienced love from both a mother and a father. All of them had observed a healthy relationship between husband and wife. A firm spiritual foundation and moral compass had been established so they knew the difference between right and wrong. They knew how to pray and build a personal relationship with God. And according to the therapist, when the girls completed the intake assessment, their scores showed little evidence that they had been adopted or had been in the foster care system. Then I heard the words, “Mission accomplished.” I smiled. There is nothing like God affirming that you have done a job well.
A New Assignment
I grieved daily over the loss of my girls. I prayed for restoration and healing, but I was reminded of the prophet Samuel, who mourned over Saul even after God had moved on to another plan (1 Samuel 16:1). Samuel desired restoration, but God was preparing a new assignment.
Three years ago, God showed me that He also had another plan for my motherhood journey. He ended my infertility drought and blessed me to give birth to a healthy baby girl. Once again, I found myself stepping into motherhood with fresh purpose and renewed gratitude. I now have a new mission.
If you are grieving the end of a motherhood season or assignment, seek God for direction instead of remaining trapped in the pain of what was lost. Sometimes God does not end our ability to nurture—He simply redirects it. I admire my siblings, who chose to continue pouring into children after raising their own by becoming foster parents. Their example reminds me that motherhood is not always confined to biology, timing, or even permanence. Sometimes it is simply the willingness to answer God’s call to love, nurture, and restore wherever He sends us.
And when the assignment changes, it does not mean the mission failed. Sometimes it simply means: mission accomplished.
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