Mother's Day

Mother's Day is almost upon us. This year it is a joy for me as I have been thoroughly embraced by my new husband's adult children, their spouses, and all the grandchildren. I feel surrounded by love. 

However, before this year, Mother's Day was a painful day for me, and for many others. 

 A deeply painful day. 

Over the years I have written a number of Facebook posts about why so many women hurt on this particular Sunday. I was asked to repost them every year as a reminder to be aware, and to be kind, to those whose heart's ache amidst the celebrations. 

So I have reposted them on Facebook. And here they are on this blog...

May 11th 2019

It is Mother’s Day Eve. Please indulge me while I post messages from the last couple of years. In the midst of all the joy, celebration, and outpouring of richly deserved love for Mothers, let us be sensitive to those for whom this day is to be endured rather than embraced. (Someone asked me to repost this annually. I’m being obedient. At least in this! 🤣)

Mother’s Day 2018

Tonight, Mother’s Day Eve, I went to a vigil service at church. At the end they invited mothers to stand and then prayed for them. As I left the church, men from the parish were handing out marigolds to the mothers. I consider myself a spiritual mother so without hesitation I stood, and on exiting took a flower. 

Sitting next to the tray of plants was a woman who had been in a class I taught. She had heard me saying I was a spiritual mother and said: 

“I hate Mother’s Day. Do you?”

I lent closer and said “Do you have children.”

“A daughter. She’s dead” was the reply. 

Once again it reminded me how painful this day is for many. We nodded in mutual understanding and talked about how different hurting hearts cope with this day. 

The conversation reminded me of a status that I wrote last year for Mother’s Day. 

Please indulge me while I post it again. 

Mother’s Day 2017. 

“I remember the first time anyone ever wished me Happy Mother's Day. It was twelve years ago. At the end of a service where I preached, in a church behind the razor wire, 240 convicted felons stood up and in unison proclaimed "Happy Mother's Day" and my heart melted. The same thing happened at the end of the next service later the same day. Those big burly men, who were missing their own mothers, have no idea how much that meant to this woman who never bore a child and yet spiritually mothered many. 

Three years later I became the Protestant chaplain at that same prison and those men became my sons. Around that time someone who hadn't seen me for years asked my brother how many children I had. His response was: "She has boys, 2,700 of them. She's a very prolific breeder!"

After becoming the chaplain, every Mother's Day until I left, those men made me cards that dozens signed and that I proudly displayed in my office. Each one touched my heart and were symbols of God's incredible grace and love. In the middle of that dark, cold, hard place they needed a mother and I needed sons. I have never viewed Mother's Day in the same way since. 

So to all the women who have never borne children but who have cared for another woman's either spiritually or physically. To all the mothers whose children cannot be with you because of distance, death, or incarceration. To all the women whose heart aches amid the day's festivities. May this day be filled with supernatural love and grace. And may this Mother's Day, and all the ones to come in your future, miraculously turn out to be happy. Amen.”