This Sunday is Mother’s Day and I know that brings mixed emotions for many, many people. A day filled with joy and celebration for some can mean sadness, disappointment, and grief for others. But regardless of where you might be this year, I want you to know this, beautiful woman: I see you.
To the woman who is currently a mother, working HAAARRRDD each day to raise your babies and teach them how to live, love, and serve others, I see you. I see how you get up early each morning to have five minutes for yourself before you lay out clothes and pack lunches, check homework, look for shoes, and chauffeur all the people. I see you constantly laboring to make sure your family has food and clean clothes, and to maintain a somewhat orderly house that doesn’t turn into an episode of Hoarders, even as you keep up with your own job and additional responsibilities outside the home. I see you sacrificing your body, time, money, and things for yourself in order to invest in your family and meet their many needs, constantly teaching, shepherding, and encouraging. I see you loving your husband, supporting him no matter what, and being there to listen at the end of a difficult day. You are raising up the next generation, praying fervently they will grow to impact the world in a great way, and cultivating an atmosphere of kindness in your home. Dear Mama, this is good work and I pray you know it does not go unnoticed.
To the woman who longs to be a mother and has cried herself to sleep so many nights you’ve lost count, wondering if God will ever fulfill the desire to birth a child of your own, I see you. I see you suffering silently as you sit in the corner at your friend’s baby shower forcing yourself to be happy for her, all the while swallowing hard to keep your own grieving tears at bay. I see you asking God day after day why He doesn’t answer this prayer with a “yes,” wondering what you might have done to deserve this cruel sentence and what the heck is actually wrong with your body? I see you smiling so brightly on the outside while you hurt so deeply on the inside, and no one knows. I see you waiting yet another day, trying desperately to trust His timing and lean into your husband even when you can cut the tension with a knife and one more doctor’s visit might just send you both over the edge. This is hard work and I pray you know you are not alone.
To the woman whose children are grown and have left the nest you so carefully crafted all those years, I see you. I see you quietly reminiscing of days gone by when the sounds of footsteps and laughter filled your home. I see the gray hairs peeking out; a testimony to hard-fought battles for your children’s hearts, and the lines on your face suggesting the work you’ve done has not always come easy. I see you reaching to pick up the phone to call, then setting it back down for fear you might interrupt something important. I see you watching from the window as they make their own choices and build their own family. You smile to yourself as you see them walking out many of the values you instilled in them growing up, and grimace inwardly as you hold your tongue while they learn from their own mistakes. Your role has changed, and that can be hard. You are less of a parent and coach, now more of a counselor and friend. This is sacred work, and I pray you know you are very much still needed.
To the woman who has lost her motherand wishes you had just one more day to hug her neck and tell her how much she is loved, I see you. I see you wishing you could hear her voice and missing her so desperately you can hardly breathe. I see you noticing the mom and daughter laughing together as they walk through the store, wondering what inside joke they’re sharing and if they even realize what a gift they have. Grief tugs at your heart. I see you flipping through old family photos, tears streaming down your face as you remember happy days and special moments and that one phrase she always used to say that would leave everyone laughing so hard they cry. I see you reaching for the phone to call and then remembering she isn’t there. I hear you begging God to bring her back just so you can ask for a little more advice. After all, she always knew what to say to make everything so much clearer. This is tender work and I pray you know you are incredibly loved.
To the woman who never knew her motheror your relationship with her was turbulent to say the least, I see you. I see you sitting at the table alone, quietly sipping your coffee while you mentally flip through a Rolodex of questions, wondering why you were the lucky one to be dealt this hand. I see you imagining a different life, one where you know deep down to your core that you are indeed, loved and wanted. I see you imagining what a healthy relationship with her would look like now and what dessert you might make to celebrate her birthday. I see you wishing you could take back some choice words, un-hear others, and rewrite the messy chapters that make up your current story. There is a piece of her you will somehow always carry with you, and I see you questioning why you weren’t enough or what you could have done differently to make her proud. Even now, in the back of your mind the question always lingers as you make a decision or achieve something new, “Am I enough, Mom? Do you see me?” I see you fighting hard to forge a different path for your family, to make sure you hug your kids tight and tell them often “I love you” so they never have to grow up wondering or proving, like you did. This is brave work and I pray you know you are making the world a better place because of it.
To the woman who has lost a childand does not have them here physically to hold, I see you. I see you as your body shakes with sobs in the middle of the night, a heavy cloud of grief that you cannot describe settling in. I see you aching to cup their face one last time and breathe in the scent of who they are. I see you wishing for one last kiss, one last embrace, and one last word. Your mind cries out for understanding of something that will never make sense and the finality of their absence leaves you numb. In our limited human understanding, they were taken much too soon. It’s not fair, and a part of you left with them. The hope of heaven is what you cling to, but the longing deep inside for a different way may still always be there. This is soul work and I pray you are given rest in knowing your child will never be forgotten.
To the woman who is not sure she wants to be a mother or maybe has no desire to ever be one but cheers on her mom friends who are killing it at what they do, I see you. I see you scooping up their babies and offering a helping hand when you sense they are about to collapse. I see you volunteering your house for a night in so her kids can run wild in your backyard without the worry of an entire restaurant giving her the death stare. I see you faithfully attending birthday parties, baptisms, and graduations, never showing up empty-handed. I see you graciously offering to babysit so she can have a night out with her husband in peace. You are loving your people well even though your bedtime routines look a little different and your Saturday mornings are a little quieter. I see you full of smiles and hugs, admiration and encouragement for your friends in this space. And you too, are running your race with confidence and grace. The work you are doing in your lane is amazing and so important. This is commendable work and I pray you know how much your mom friends appreciate women like you.
To every woman who will celebrate someone or be celebrated this Mother’s Day, know this: regardless of your story, your heritage, your relationship status, your profession, your mistakes, your achievements, the number of children you do or don’t have, you are fiercely loved and worth celebrating. You are worthy and wanted, valiant and valued. There is space at the table for you and we need to hear your voice.
Happy Mother’s Day.