What Mothering Means Right Now
May this weekend find you held in love. (Even if Sunday is hard.)
Have you ever looked at the worst days of your life and realized—they are another’s best? Or vice versa?
My wedding anniversary might be the day your divorce was finalized.
Your child’s birthday is your cousin’s miscarriage date.
His college graduation was her car accident.
The morning when I received the best news is the same day you got the shocking worst.
A church can hold a baptism and a funeral on the same afternoon.
We are photo negatives, piled in the same drawer.
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Humans have only 365 days a year to mark our anniversaries of the heart. The same 24 hours to fill with living and dying. Our mysteries, joyful or sorrowful, are held with the same chronos and kairos of time created by God.
Once in a while, when I’m dreading a particular day, I imagine a child who shares that birthdate. How they must be counting down with wild anticipation to the 24 hours I’d rather skip.
Their delight doesn’t erase my pain. But it widens the space in which to locate my own experience. Pulling toward their perspective reminds me that we are all part of this same world, its daily rotations and its yearly journey round the same sun.
Tomorrow is a day of joy for many—and a day of pain for many. A day of light always has a shadow side.
Even for those of us raising children, this Sunday is a chance to look back on all the mothers we have been—and imagine all the versions we might become.
Over the years I have spent Mother’s Day weeping or laughing, rejoicing or regretting, escaping or enjoying. The day is a kaleidoscope through which I peer each May, turning and turning to watch colors change through this spring’s sun.
After spending last weekend on retreat with over 100 mothers grieving the loss of their children, I am renewed in my awe for the strength of mothering. This love changes us from the very beginning.
No matter where tomorrow finds you this year, Mother’s Day offers all of us the chance to widen our prayer.
May we expand the embrace of our care and compassion, in honor of the women who have taught us how to love.
Speaking of motherhood, I’ve been delighted by the art of Caitlin Connolly and Lauren J. Turner (featured above). Each of them crystallizes on the canvas so much beauty, sacrifice, and devotion. Let yourself linger with their images as a visual meditation on mothering: Caitlin’s work and Lauren’s work.
If you’re grieving right now—for your mother, your child, or anyone you love and miss—my friend Rahki has launched a new gathering space for grieving at Our Mourning Offering. Prayers, resources, and a place to submit your own story.
At this tender time of year, my heart yearns toward those hoping to conceive. I’m grateful for the chance to share our story in this interview in Radiant Magazine. If you know someone who’s hoping to become a parent, consider the Ministry of a Quick Text this weekend to let them know they are seen and loved and never forgotten?
All I read lately is Scripture and poetry. (Who else is struggling to finish books? Asks the sheepish author.) A reader sent me this poem from The Christian Century, perfect for now: The Wren’s Lament.
If the past year of parenting has been as brutal for you as it’s been for us, you’ll find yourself nodding at LitHub’s photo essay on the reality of mothering in the pandemic. (Or check out this NYTimes dark gem—We Have All Hit A Wall—which requires no introduction.)
And a final word of thanks to all of you who lifted us in our grief by your generosity to our fundraiser for Second Harvest Heartland in honor of our daughters Maggie and Abby. Together we raised nearly $40,000, and you can read the whole story from Second Harvest Heartland.
Peace,
Laura
p.s. If you missed the Oasis Retreat—or know a bereaved mother who might love to be included this weekend—registrations are still open even though the live sessions are over. All videos and materials are available by signing up here.
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Find my books here: Everyday Sacrament | Grieving Together | Prayers for Pregnancy & Birth | To Bless Our Callings | Living Your Discipleship