{hello to all of you wonderful people who came to read my friend Georgia's incredible story of infertility to adoption.  i'm so glad you are here to read her inspiring words and have been amazed at the love and interest you all have for this series!  so thanks.  from the bottom of my heart!

with that being said, i wanted to let you all know that i'm starting to round up moms for another round of the "motherhood is" series.  if you know of someone who would be great to feature in this, shoot me an e-mail at}

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it's been a while since i've done one of these motherhood is posts.  so i'm super excited to finally be sharing another one!

today's mom is georgia buchert.

i met her through justin hackworth (the incredible photographer behind the pictures for this series) and have been blown away by her incredible story of

infertility to adoption

this woman is truly a giant among us and i am so excited for her to take it from here.

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An idea came to me over Thanksgiving weekend, during a fast that followed a two-day family feast: Motherhood is about making room, and filling space. 

Before I elaborate, I want to introduce myself. My name is Georgia. I married a wonderful man in 1990 and it took us till 2014 to be able to welcome our first child, through adoption. Are you doing the math? It works out this way; I waited roughly a quarter of a century to become a wife, then roughly another quarter to become a mother. 

As you might imagine, that extra quarter causes me to stand out a bit from the usual crowd of mamas with young children. I get looks and questions just about every time I’m in public with my adorable girl—

“Is this your grandchild?”
“Is she yours?”
“Who’s her real mom?” 

Inside I’m young, but outside nobody mistakes me for that anymore. I often get the impression that people can’t figure out what to do with me, and while I keep a good sense of humor about the awkwardness of it all, if I’m caught in a weak moment it can feel pretty lonely. 

Superficial weirdness aside though, my experiences are universal. A favorite writer of mine said there are only twelve stories in the world, and I believe him. That means you and I are much the same, however many white hairs or any-color children you do or don’t have compared to me. I have my joys, anxieties, fears, and sorrows, and I make both happy and crazy-making discoveries, just like you do. I’m growing to understand myself, same as you. My back hurts. Doesn’t yours? Could you use a deliciously long nap? I sure could. Do you have a clue what you’re doing as a mom? No? Well, neither do I. Tell me then what the big difference is between us, other than I get called “ma’am” and offered help with my grocery bags a lot, and you probably get flirted with more.

At its heart, motherhood is a process of making room for people and relationships, and then filling space by consciously and deliberately creating a healthy environment for those people and relationships, and doing this, ideally, in partnership with the Divine. 

By that definition I was experiencing motherhood before I ever had a babe in arms. Did I realize it? There were seasons I worked with teen girls and women at church, and times I shared with family members, when the love I felt and the investments I made brought me closer to an understanding of motherhood. Mostly, however, I discounted my own process. I was caught up in black-and-white thinking: “I’ll be a mother when I have a child of my own.” Now I comprehend that motherhood is no destination, but a journey of endless potential which begins with a woman making room to love and filling space with the brightest light she has access to. Motherhood is not the exclusive property of women who currently have offspring. 

That said, I’m glad to have finally moved into the beautiful and terrifying realm of raising a child. It’s absolutely worth aching for; I was right about that part. I feel thankful every day—honestly, even on the rough ones—to have been entrusted with a miraculous daughter, my little everything girl, to guide and cherish. I’m grateful I’m not doing the work alone, that I have a good spouse, faith in a loving God, and a few supportive folks scattered around. The experience has changed me forever, and the changes just keep coming. Love is a steamroller, isn’t it?

I’ve come to believe in simplifying and weeding out—stuff, obligations, baggage, ego, plans, habits, distractions, etc.—whatever gets in the way of being emotionally and physically available to love. How can I respond to people—most importantly, my husband and our little one—or receive inspiration, or have enough time, attention, and resources to devote to my deepest priorities if my life is too crammed full of ME? 

I don’t say that making room is easy. I recently decided to strip my life to its bare bones basics and cut out every unnecessary obligation. The biggest and hardest part of this choice was resigning from a busy theatre board—I loved that work—but paring down my schedule and freeing up my head is now enabling me to create more consistency for my family, particularly my baby-turned-wild-woman-toddler. I can’t advocate strongly enough for un-busying life. It takes soul-searching to figure out the right balance for your unique journey—prayer, study, paying attention to the needs of my family, and staying open and flexible helps me find and keep my own balance.

Hushing fears also makes room. I know about fear. In the early days of our marriage, I recognized my husband’s potential to be an amazing dad, but I was petrified I’d be a monster mom. Later, terrors paraded through my mind while we dealt with years of reproductive issues, infertility, surgeries, pregnancy losses, and grief. I developed anxieties about different aspects of adoption. As I let go of my fears one death-grip at a time though, I made room inside and then was able to fill space with trust and say yes to good choices, help, grace, blessings, inspired and life-altering connections, and love. 

Maintaining hope makes room. Through our parenting maze, my husband and I clung to our belief in the inspirations we received as newlyweds that we would have children. Hope kept us moving forward despite heartaches. It taught us to live with unanswered questions, look beyond the moment, get up after a fall, and think gratefully and expectantly. It gave us space to fill with dreams and patience. 

I’m elated to be a mother, and grateful to know the time I waited for my daughter’s arrival was part of my process of motherhood, not an obstacle to it. I’ll teach my girl to make room for love and fill her space with light.

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infertility and adoption can be uphill battles for so many women.  and i am so grateful for women like georgia who show us all that with faith and perseverance, hope can always be found in the process and struggles of infertility and adoption.


  1. Thank you for your kind words, Michelle! This project means a lot to me.

  2. I love this so very much. It's a beautiful and uplifting message for everyone.