So many moments in life are an entwinement of beauty and heartache, longing and abundance. How do we hold both loss and love in the same embrace? How do we speak into the fragility of joy that hovers on brokenness?
Maybe we begin by making space for authenticity, by inviting others to share who they really are, rather than who we expect them to be.
Can we make space on Mother’s Day for those who will get homemade cards and breakfast in bed, while we also make space for those who have just discovered they still aren’t pregnant?
Can we make space for the moms who work long hours at jobs they love, and wouldn’t have it any other way, as well as for the moms who work long hours because it’s the only way their families can afford to eat?
Can we make space for the moms who stay at home and feel like this is what they have been waiting for their whole lives, as well as for the moms who stay at home and wonder how they will make it through another day?
Can we make space for those who have buried their children or who lost their babies before they even met them?
For those who long to be mothers, but aren’t?
For those who have no desire to be mothers, and are tired of people asking them why?
For those who have lost their mom and so deeply miss being able to call her and tell her about their day?
Can we make space for moms whose relationships with their kids are strained and complicated?
For those who are divorced and might not see their kids this weekend?
Can we make space for foster moms?
For moms who adopted?
For moms who gave their kids for adoption?
For tired moms whose perfect day would include time without the kids?
For moms whose kids are busy with their own children now?
For moms who breastfeed, and moms who bottle feed, moms who co-sleep and moms who don’t, moms who discipline with time-outs and moms who use “time-ins,” moms whose kids have never seen a t.v. and moms whose kids know every episode of Paw Patrol by heart?
Can we let Mother’s Day--and every day--be a day when we refuse to judge others for not choosing to do things our way, for having a story that is different from ours? Can it be a day when we remember that others might carry wounds we don’t see? Can it be a day when we celebrate with those who are celebrating?
Can we celebrate and grieve and and honour and encourage all in the same day? Can we remember that God is Father AND Mother, and God welcomes and invites and journeys with us, whatever our story might be?