I thought I was ready for Mother’s Day. I spent the week meditating on what a gift mothers are and on how spiritual motherhood is real motherhood. I read a few old messages from former students thanking me for being their mom. I woke up today to a dozen people wishing me a happy Mother’s Day–the mothers of my godchildren, a friend from high school (who offered her Mass for me today and not for her mother), one from college, a former student, a new friend, my own mom. Most of them are moms themselves, but they reached out because they see me as a mother, to them, to their children, to other spiritual children the Lord has given me.
I went to a different church today because yesterday’s had been rather more focused on motherhood than on Jesus, and the music at today’s church was powerful. I praised God and thanked him and surrendered my heart to him for the thousandth time. It was beautiful.
And then they asked all the mothers to stand. And as much as I try to believe that spiritual motherhood is really motherhood, I knew they didn’t mean me. So I sat. And they handed flowers to every woman I could see. They asked me to pass flowers to the women who had earned them. And I trust God so much and I love him so much and I’m so content to be in his will, I really am, but I sat there and sobbed.
Not just for me, for the thousands of devastated women in pews around the country. Women who have lost children or aborted children or placed children for adoption, women who long for motherhood or resent their motherhood, women for whom today is already painful. And then they’re asked to watch every other woman stand and be recognized, not knowing if they should stand too, or certain that they shouldn’t. I thought of the hearts being broken by well-meaning people in churches across the country, and I wept.
This is why we ask you, Fathers, not to do this. It’s not because people get offended, it’s because people’s deepest pain is laid bare in a place that ought to be safe.
I didn’t sing the closing hymn–I couldn’t sing without starting to ugly cry. And the moment the song was over, I knelt, hoping that the people around me wouldn’t turn to tell me what a nice voice I have or ask if I was visiting. I didn’t want to deal with it.
But a young woman came over, a student at Texas A&M, and told me she recognized me from St. Mary’s. She thanked me for the work I do and told me how much it matters. And she prayed over me, a little balm for my soul.
Another lady came over afterward and asked how I was doing. The body of Christ, my friends.
And when I finally got myself together and finished talking to Jesus, I turned around to grab my things and saw that someone had given me a flower. Had given me *her* flower, most likely. Had seen me in my pain and reached out to tell me that I count, too.
So I cried some more and took the flower over to Mary, who had asked her Son to send those women to love on me. And I didn’t really feel any better, but at least I felt seen.
If you’re struggling today, I see you. I’m sorry it’s hard and I’m sorry we’ve made it harder. If you’re missing your mother or wishing your relationship with her was different, I offer you the Mother of God to take her place. If you’re feeling your empty womb or empty arms or empty home, I promise you this: spiritual motherhood is not a consolation prize. It’s not the same as physical motherhood, but it’s real and it’s essential for the salvation of souls. You matter. Your motherhood matters.
If you’ve got someone in your life who might be struggling, take a page out of the book of the many people who love me far better than I deserve and reach out. Tell her how she’s been a mother to you or your children. Thank her for the way she loves the people around her. Offer to pray for those grieving the loss of their mothers.
I wanted to spend today just celebrating the many, many amazing moms I know. But instead, God asked me to sit with the many other women who are suffering. Their pain shouldn’t take away your joy–you don’t have to feel guilty about having children or a great mom. But knowing how other people are suffering today should make you even more grateful for what you have and should call you to reach out to them in their pain as well.
It’s a hard day. It’s a beautiful day. Because motherhood–womanhood–personhood–is hard and beautiful. Happy Mother’s Day, friends. I hope the Blessed Mother holds you close today.
Mother’s Day is coming up, and for many of us, that means shopping for the perfect present, whether it’s for your mom, your wife, your godmother, your children’s godmothers, your sister, or a woman who’s been like a mother to you or your kids. (Plus graduation’s coming up, and many of us are looking for gifts for young female grads, as well.) And while flowers are nice and jewelry is lovely, there’s really nothing better than a good book.1 So here are some of my favorite books written by female authors and largely geared towards women–which isn’t, of course, to say that you have to get a book written for women, just that this is a women’s holiday and these are (largely) women’s books. Pick from one of these and you won’t be disappointed.
Ponder is a book of reflections on the rosary that uses lectio divina and some journaling techniques to help women enter deeply into the mysteries of the rosary. It’s a beautiful book to help you get started reading Scripture or to transform the way you pray the rosary. There’s a great online community where women share their reflections and experiences of praying through the readings, or you can get your own group together to meet up each week. Plus, I wrote two of the essays!2
There’s also a children’s version available so your kids can practice reading Scripture, too. Designed for 8-13-year-olds, it’s got coloring pages, puzzles, and discussion questions to get you praying with your kids.
Jen Fulwiler’s new book, One Beautiful Dream, is simply amazing. She writes about her struggle to balance life as a mom with doing what she’s passionate about, but it’s a book that will speak to the heart of any Christian, particularly women. I wrote more about it here, but suffice it to say that it’s riotously funny and also likely to make you weep.
The best women’s Bible study book I’ve ever encountered is Who Does He Say You Are? by Colleen Connell Mitchell. Colleen enters deeply into Scripture and wrestles with the stories like a Protestant instead of using them as a framework to make a point, as Catholic Bible studies often do. When I read this book, I kept getting frustrated because she would say something that would just wreck me and I didn’t have time for deep introspection at the moment. I learned to read right before my holy hour because every time I read, the Holy Spirit started working. It’s great for a group study or just for an individual looking to get to know the Gospels better.
If you know a woman who doesn’t yet have a Bible (or doesn’t have a Catholic Bible, or doesn’t have a Bible she likes), the new Catholic Journaling Bible is just lovely.3 It’s got beautiful artwork and calligraphy and wide margins that make me almost sinfully jealous. It’s the NABRE (the translation we use at Mass) complete with footnotes, and it would make a beautiful guest book at a wedding.
My Sisters the Saints, by Colleen Carroll Campbell, is a powerful memoir that will appeal to women across the spectrum, from agnostics to daily communicants. Campbell’s journey from party girl to 20-something speechwriter for President George W. Bush to infertility to high-risk pregnancy will keep you reading, and along the way she’ll introduce you to half a dozen Saints you needed to know better. This is a particularly good gift for women who aren’t that into Jesus–everyone will find something to identify with here.
If you’d rather give a book that has more than six Saints, The Big Book of Women Saints is a great choice.4 I’m very picky about my Saints books, and while this isn’t my favorite ever, the author does an excellent job of telling the stories in a pithy way that makes you want to learn more. There’s a Saint for every day of the year, many of whom you’ve never heard of before, and a Scripture to go along with her. Plus there are quotations from many of the Saints so you can read her actual words. It’s a great way to make some new Saint friends, and with an entry each day, it’s a good invitation to have some discipline in your spiritual life.
Full disclosure: I haven’t read Mary Haseltine’s new book on pregnancy and birth, but everyone I love loves it. My friend Christina said Made for This: The Catholic Mom’s Guide to Birth is the only book you need to read about pregnancy and childbirth, and that woman read a ton of books when she was pregnant. If you know a woman who’s expecting–even if it’s not her first baby–this is a must-read.
And now for something completely different: Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers is a beautiful book about God’s love for the human soul. Rivers was a romance novelist before she met Jesus, and this book reads something like a historical fiction romance novel, but with powerful themes that will honestly transform your prayer life. Redeeming Love is a retelling of the book of Hosea set in the Gold Rush, with Michael Hosea modeling the love of Jesus for his bride. I’ll warn you that there’s some reference to sexual assault and prostitution, so you’ll want to be aware before picking up this book, but the story’s so powerful that I think it’s worth pushing through for most people. (If you want to give it to a younger woman–say, a high school girl–have her mom read it first to get a sense of whether her daughter is ready for the intimacy found in the book. It’s nothing graphic, but it could be too intense for younger girls.)
So there you have it–my favorite books for Christian women. What else ought to make the list? I’m always up for a book recommendation!
Take note, gentlemen: if you’re looking to woo me, books. Also lilacs. [↩]
It’s my first time being published, so you should buy it just because you like me. [↩]
Buy it on Jet. For some reason it’s really cheap there. [↩]
Despite its unfortunate use of the word “women” as an adjective instead of the appropriate “female,” but we’ll blame the publisher for that. [↩]
A few years ago, Jen Fulwiler’s much-anticipated memoir came out, a book that described her conversion from atheism to Catholicism. Something Other than Godwas a great read–I know because I bought it as a gift for my mom and borrowed it immediately after giving it to her. I recommended it to all kinds of people as a remarkable account of Jen’s journey.
So when I heard Jen had another book coming out, I was excited. Then I read about the topic–how she balances family life and pursuing her passions. It’s a great topic, and really important, but I’m not a mom. Still, Jen’s a great writer, so I figured I’d give it a read so I could recommend it to my many mom friends.
Last week, I came home to find a package on my doorstep. Inside was One Beautiful Dream. I was scheduled to be on Jen’s radio show the next day, so I figured I’d get started on the book.
I was so excited to talk to her about it the next day.
Six hours later, I closed the book with a contented (and bleary-eyed) smile and went to bed, but not before texting my sister to say good morning.1 I had read until 6 a.m. And I wasn’t a bit sorry about it.
The next day, I picked the book up again, this time with a pencil. The first time through, I had been so caught up in the story and so busy laughing that I hadn’t marked up my book. I don’t remember the last time I liked a book too much to write in it. Not to worry–I knew I needed to reread, so the second time through, I underlined and bracketed and annotated to my heart’s delight.
This book is so good.
It’s hilarious, so funny I literally laughed out loud in my house all by myself. It’s a compelling story, filled with cringe-worthy moments and cliffhangers at the end of chapters. How does a suburban homeschooling mom have so many cliffhangers in what the world would see as a mundane life? I don’t know, but Jen is a master storyteller. It’s moving, frequently bringing me to tears, then to a realization that I needed to pray about whatever point Jen had just made. Honestly, there are things in this book that I’ll be praying about for months, maybe years.
Because this isn’t a Catholic mom book. Sure, it’s great for Catholic moms. But Jen’s discussion of discernment and passion and sacrifice and being at peace with your gifts and flaws? This stuff is relevant to every Christian. So let me tell you who I think should read this book:
Catholic moms. Jen is so real about the (sometimes soul-sucking) work that comes with having a lot of little kids, or even with big kids whose needs make it hard to find time for what she calls your “blue flame,” the things that make you come alive. She talks about guilt over her discontentment in her stay-at-home mom life and how she and her husband worked on building a family culture that would be nourishing to all of them. She points out the way different women’s gifts manifest differently in motherhood and how all our competition is ridiculous. If you need to feel better about yourself as a mom, to find strategies for parenting in a way that uses your gifts, or to seek balance in your life so that you have some creative outlet, this book will inspire you in ways you can’t imagine.
Non-Catholic Christian moms. Y’all, this book is published by Zondervan. You know it’s not some crazy Catholic hoo-doo. Now, Jen’s Catholic, and she’s not trying to hide it. But this book is about a woman who loves Jesus and is trying to honor him in her life, through her family and her work. Every time she talks about funny Catholic stuff, she explains it. And her account of what was going on in her heart as God led her to have six children (as an introvert!) will help you understand some of your Catholic friends with the big old homeschooling van. Plus, all the above about peace and balance and not comparing.
Women without kids. Yes, this book is about how Jen worked to be present to her family while pursuing her passions. But ultimately, it’s about how she fought against the devil’s lies, the ones telling her she wasn’t good enough, to follow the Lord. It’s about discernment and communication. And it’s an invitation to live selflessly, whether or not self-sacrifice is foisted upon you by a gaggle of children. Believe me when I tell you that you will benefit from reading this book whether you have children or not. If for no other reason, read it so you can start sobbing at chapter 35–so beautiful.
Men with kids. Gentlemen, if you’re married, this book will give you insight into what your wife is struggling with. And while some of what this book is wrestling with is particularly difficult for women, everyone with a family and a job has to figure out what work sacrifices to make for family and what family sacrifices to make for work. Seeing the way Joe and Jen deal with tough decisions and tricky conversations might help your communication skills. If nothing else, read it for some of Joe’s gems. Like the time Jen told him she was expecting and asked how he felt about the new baby. “I want to wait until I know how you feel. I’ll be devastated or excited or whatever you want me to be.” Well played, Mr. Fulwiler. Well played.
Men without kids. Honestly, it’s just a funny book. But there are points in here that will challenge anyone, like when Jen talks about living a love-first life, about how much of our happiness lies in shifting our expectations, and about how asking for help is a gift to the person helping you. And maybe spending a few hours reading about life with a million kids will help you in your vocational discernment….
People who can’t quite seem to avoid getting pregnant. If you deal with hyperfertility and (like Bl. Maria Quattrocchi) the thought of another baby fills you with dread, reading about Jen’s experience of openness to life will give you a lot to think about. She reframes the conversation about how to survive one more baby, wondering instead how she could live without that child when she’s a 50-year-old who will visit Jen in the hospital one day. It may not get you excited for your fourth under four, but it’ll definitely give you some hope.
Whoever you are, I think you’ll enjoy this book. Unless you don’t like laughing. Or wisdom. Or laughing and crying and taking a long, hard look at your life all in the space of 3 pages. If that’s you, skip this one. Otherwise, head over to Amazon and grab a copy (or 5) today!
FYI, I got this book for free because Jen’s awesome, but y’all know I’m too lazy to write a whole long review about a book I didn’t love. Opinions are very much my own.
She asked how the book was. I said great. She asked if she could borrow it. I didn’t answer because I really didn’t want to lend it to her because I had loved it so much that I was feeling very possessive. [↩]
Mother’s Day is hard for a lot of people. For birth mothers, for mothers who’ve lost children, for children who’ve lost mothers, for those who long to be mothers, for people who love any of the above. And you know what? The world seems to have figured this out.
Maybe I just have particularly kind and sensitive friends, but my news feed yesterday was filled with words of encouragement for those who struggle with Mother’s Day, with affirmations of spiritual motherhood, with acknowledgments of women who aren’t mothers in the traditional sense. It was beautiful. Women seeing other people’s pain through their joy and other people’s joy through their pain. And while Mother’s Day can be tough for an unmarried woman in her 30s, my heart was full with all the kindness I saw.
But today isn’t Mother’s Day. Or tomorrow. Or the next 362 days. For the next year, we go back to our own lives, where sometimes it’s hard to see any cross that isn’t similar to our own. So we complain about our overly-attentive mothers to people with absent and abusive mothers. Or we gush about the beauty of breastfeeding without noticing the tears in the eyes of a woman struggling to conceive.
I’m not saying don’t be real, don’t share your joy or your suffering. I’m saying remember that your way of being a woman is not the only way, your cross is not the only cross.
Let me come to you from a place of being single and childless. I am very blessed in that I understand kids and I’ve been a foster mother and I live in people’s homes surrounded by their children all the time, so in many circles I get a pass. I’m allowed to participate in the mom conversations that most childless women are excluded from. I manage, as a friend recently said, to “walk in every world,” so people talk to me about mastitis and let me discipline their kids and listen to my marriage advice. To the many, many married women who love me and let me share in your lives, thank you. I can’t imagine the mess I’d be if you didn’t look so thoroughly past the label and let me walk this with you.
But.
I’ve been told they’d never ask me to speak at a mom’s conference because I’m not a mom. Never mind that I’m a Christian and a woman and a spiritual mother and deeply involved in the lives of countless mothers and free of charge, I don’t count.
I’ve been told all people are selfish until they have children.
I’ve been told you can’t know love until you’ve had a child of your own.
I’ve given talks to women’s groups–more times than I can count–where there was not a single unmarried woman in the audience. Not one.
I’ve been told I can’t come to a particular women’s group–even once–because I’m not married. I’ve been told I can come to another just this once, “even though you’re not a mom.”
I’ve gotten blog comments (on a post about neither marriage nor children) saying, “I’m so sick of this author. She’s not married and doesn’t have any kids, so who is she to be telling anyone how to live?” Lady, if you don’t want to get advice from unmarried and childless people, you should probably pick a new Church because 95% of the priests and 95% of the Saints in the Catholic church have been childless and unmarried.
When people have found out I’m single, they’ve rushed to reassure me that they were single once, too, when they were 22, and they were so unhappy until God finally gave them their perfect husband, so don’t worry–he’s out there!!!!!
I’ve listened to platitude after platitude telling me it’ll be okay and God’s got a plan and you’re praying that I’ll get my happily ever after and I’m sorry did I tell you that I’m wasting away desperately longing for a man to fill my empty life? Did you think you needed to tell the missionary that God’s got a plan?
I’ve been told, by people who are evidently sure that they’re letting me in on a secret, that I shouldn’t pin my hopes on marriage because “marriage is hard, too”–which is good to know, because I definitely don’t know anyone who’s married, so I thought it was a 50-year romantic comedy.
None of it’s terrible. I know people who’ve heard much worse. I’m sure I’ve heard much worse, honestly. But the sum total of it all is that when you are an unmarried Catholic woman in your thirties, you feel very much as though you don’t count.
When you’re a single mother, you feel the same. When you’re a married woman in college, when you’re infertile, when you have so many kids you can’t volunteer at preschool, when your husband isn’t Catholic, when you’re an early empty-nester, when your kid has special needs, when you’re a working mom, when your kids are in public school, when you’re widowed young, when you’re raising grandkids. I expect that every one of us feels, at one time or another, that we don’t count because we don’t match the model of Catholic womanhood that our friend group (or the internet) presents us with.1
We often don’t say anything because it sounds like bitterness, to find pain in another’s joy. So we build walls of resentment between ourselves and the very well-meaning women who love us. We feel guilty for our selfishness and berate ourselves for not being happy for them.
I’ve spent more than a decade looking with great gladness on the beautiful lives of my beautiful friends thinking in the words of L.M. Montgomery (about an unmarried Anne Shirley visiting Diana and her sweet baby): “it is sometimes a little lonely to be surrounded everywhere by a happiness that is not your own.” I rejoice in the good things in your life. I grieve over your deep suffering. I want to share in what I understand and in what I don’t. I don’t want to compete over who’s more tired or who’s bearing more fruit. I envy you, but I try not to. I sometimes gloat internally, but I try even harder not to do that.
All I’m saying is this: it’s hard. Being a mom is hard. Being childless is hard. Being in an abusive relationship is hard. Being trapped in a small town is hard. Being completely unrooted is hard. Having a job is hard. Being unemployed is hard. It’s just hard. All of it.
One day a year, many of us have learned to consider what might be hard for other people, how different lives involve different crosses and how we can respect that. I’m just wondering if we can be more mindful of the way people are different from us.
If your girlfriend has a pack of kids ask if you can bring ice cream after bedtime or get a sitter so the two of you can grab coffee.
If you’ve got a close friend struggling with infertility, ask her if she wants to come along for ultrasounds or would rather have you talk as little as possible about pregnancy stuff around her.
If your friend is divorced, consider that your moms’ group shouldn’t read a book about marriage.
If your friend is single, either find someone great2 to set her up with or shut your mouth about how “fun” it must be to be single or about how she should really try Catholic Match.
Ask advice of a friend who “shouldn’t” have any–parenting advice of the childless, dating advice of the long-married, career advice of the stay-at-home mom. She may not have much input, but actually she may. You don’t need to have experienced something firsthand to have wisdom on the matter and often being well on the outside of a situation can give you some perspective.
Cultivate friendships with women in different phases of life. It’s unnatural that nearly all of our friends are living just as we’re living–it was never that way in the village. The more varied your relationships (widows, young moms, moms of teens, consecrated women, young professionals) the harder it is to be insensitive to struggles that are not your own.
When your friend shares her deep pain with you, DO NOT respond with, “Yeah, well, at least you don’t [have the cross I have that you would love to have/have the cross I have that’s so much worse than yours and so your pain doesn’t count].” Do not use your cross as a bludgeon against those who carry a different one.
Don’t try to fix it.
Don’t feel you have to give advice or say anything other than, “Oh, friend. I’m so sorry. That’s really hard.”
Listen and love.
I don’t want to feed into a culture that delights in getting offended.3 But when we surround ourselves with people who are just like us, it becomes very easy to alienate others and to begin to mold the Gospel in our own image. You don’t need to censor everything you ever do for the sake of some woman who might be hurt by your joy. Just consider that in your happiness, there may be someone lonely. Do what you can to build bridges, not walls.
(Before you comment, will you please just ask yourself if it’s a platitude? Nobody needs to hear, “God’s got a plan” or “You’re still young.” Thanks.)
Forget the fact that female Saints run the gamut from scholar to harlot and working mom to homeschooler to single mom. We ignore the Saints and see only the alienation the Devil wants us to see. [↩]
Happy Mother’s Day to all physical mothers (biological and adoptive), spiritual mothers, birth mothers, foster mothers, stepmothers, and godmothers out there.
Happy Mother’s Day to fathers who have to take the place of mothers, to grandmothers and aunts and neighbors who become mothers, to family and friends who support the mothers in their lives.
Happy Mother’s Day to mothers who’ve lost children, to mothers who haven’t yet begotten children, to mothers who ache over their empty arms and mothers whose arms sometimes seem too full.
Happy Mother’s Day to mothers estranged from their children and to children missing their mothers.
Happy Mother’s Day to Pinterest mothers and drive-thru mothers, to single mothers and married mothers, to working mothers and stay-at-home mothers, to mothers who have it all together and mothers who need a break.
Spiritual motherhood, as recognized by a 19-year-old football player. One of the most beautiful moments of my life, grammatical errors and all.
Happy Mother’s Day to Sisters and nuns and consecrated women the world around who have borne no children but are mothers just the same.
Happy Mother’s Day to mothers of aborted children, to teachers who become mothers, to women wise beyond their years who mother their peers and their elders.
Happy Mother’s Day to the Mother of all mothers. May God bless us all with hearts like hers, open to being broken for love of our children, ready to suffer selflessly that the world might know Love.
If you are a woman, you are a mother. Happy Mother’s Day to you.
One of the most addictive things about this blogging business is the site statistics that WordPress gives you access to. You know, how many people have viewed which post, what links led them there, that type of thing. There’s also a section that tells you what people googled to find you. My all-time favorite is “christian nudists.”
Christian nudists?!?! Is that even a thing?? WHY??? And why on EARTH did Google think I had anything to say about that? Until today, I’m pretty sure the word nudist wasn’t anywhere on my blog.
Or December’s “what are jesse stem in catholic church.” Well, I don’t know. What are jesse stem in catholic church?
I’ve seen “I’m a consecrated virgin falling in love” which broke my heart. Friend, whoever you are, I’m praying for you!
But I saw one a while back that took my breath away: “what can write to tell my mother i adore her.”
Oh, my. I don’t know why the internet thinks you’ll find the answer here, but you certainly deserve it. What a beautiful question! And in honor of my mother’s birthday, I’ll attempt an answer by trying it myself. Want to know how amazing my mom is? Read on.
She loved us enough to take us to the Eiffel Tower, although apparently not enough to buy Timmy shorts of a reasonable length.
I spent 20 years in fantastic schools but my mother is the greatest teacher I’ve had. Even working 40 hours a week, she managed to instill in every one of her children a love of learning. For some of us, it’s sometimes more a love of knowing all the things than a true love of discovery, but the fact remains that my mother’s children are far better-educated than even our impressive resumes would indicate.
I can still hear her chanting the common feet of English poetry, making the analysis of a poem’s meter a game until I couldn’t hear Dr. Seuss without automatically counting and muttering, “anapestic tetrameter.” She taught me impeccable grammar and when to ignore it for the sake of style. She taught me fabulous words, above all when I was in trouble. To this day, the words “plebeian” and “troglodyte” always make me think of my mother. She taught us to sing, to harmonize, and to recognize every Beatles song ever written.1 Don’t tell her I said this, but I kind of wish she had homeschooled us–she’s so educated and so interesting and knows so much more about so many things than I do.2
Almost as much as learning she taught me to love teaching. I remember thinking, when my little brother was just 4, that the best present I could give my mother was teaching him to read. When that failed, I recorded my voice reading Winnie the Pooh on a stack of cassettes to give him for his fifth birthday. My mother had taught me, after all, how important it is to read to a child. And if she wasn’t reading to us, she was telling us stories. Old family stories, over and over again, stories she made up about a good witch, fairy tales or fables. You may have noticed from this blog that I can’t make a point without telling a story. You have my mother to thank for that.
My mother taught me to love books and specifically to love books more than the movies made from them. To this day I loathe Disney’s Winnie the Pooh and I look with disdain at the Julie Andrews Mary Poppins. She made books the consummate treat, a prize for good grades or a bribe to keep us quiet on road trips. We were raised to read voraciously because what else would one do? What was life without books? It would be like life without etymology or analysis or love–empty.
I have more pictures of my mom with our dogs than with me….
My mother raised responsible children. We got allowances from a young age but only if we were willing to perform a list of chores. If we tired of a certain chore, we could only quit if a sibling would switch with us. And even being handed money was an educational experience. See, when I got $5 a week, I only ever saw $4. Before I even got the money, 10% went to charity and 10% went to savings. I only ever counted on 80% of my earnings and it’s the same today. When a little old lady on the street hands me $20 to support my ministry, I pull out a notecard and add $2 to the tally of what I have to give away. We were always taught to give first, to save second, and to spend only what’s necessary. To this day, I call my mother when I need financial advice. Even before I google, I call her.
My parents have always been supportive of their children, whatever we wanted to do, although not entirely without reservations. The year that I decided that I wanted to be a cheerleader instead of playing soccer, my mother made me write an essay about why I wanted to be a cheerleader. I also had to express in that essay that I understood that this choice was irreversible and that if allowed to cheer I would not be able to quit midseason or to play soccer as well. I was seven. But I wrote the essay and when I hated cheerleading and wanted to put on pads and play football with the boys, my mother didn’t even say, “I told you so” when driving me to cheer practice anyway. She let me make my own choice–and then let me live with it.
My mother didn’t just let us be ourselves, she rejoiced when we were ourselves. She wasn’t even embarrassed by us when she really, by all rights, should have been. Like the time that we went to watch her in a spelling bee.3 My sister and I acted like wild animals, literally howling and barking when she spelled words correctly. My mother just laughed as everybody around us looked entirely uncomfortable and rather confused.
So when I moved to Harlem for a summer at 18, my mother supported me. When I gave away everything I owned to join the convent, my mother supported me. When I went to Palestine by myself for a month, she supported me. But more than that–she marveled at me. She didn’t harp on concerns for my safety or my future–she trusted me to do the right thing and bragged about me to all her friends. Because my mother isn’t just proud of her children, she’s in awe of us; a love like that makes you feel as though you really can do anything.
See, my father loves his children blindly. No matter what we do, he thinks we are better at it than anybody else has ever been. My mother loves us with her eyes wide open. She sees the good in us and magnifies it. Despite being wildly intelligent and talented herself, she doesn’t feel the need to elevate herself. Instead, she calls me to ask theology questions or my brother to ask about grammar. Never mind that she’s been writing and editing longer than we’ve been alive, she defers to his judgment because she knows he’s right. Never mind that I might never have known Christ if not for her, she lets me lead. She trusts my sister’s musicality and my little brother’s knowledge of politics above her own even though those are both places where she excels. She’s told me again and again that the thing she is most pleased about in her life is the fact that each of her children is better than her at something she loves. It takes a true mother to rejoice in being surpassed.
You’d think from looking at them that they were on their way to their 8th grade dance, but this was my parents’ wedding day. My father’s wearing a brown tweed bell-bottom suit–the same one my little brother wore to his confirmation in 8th grade some 25 years later. Swag.
I spend a lot of time talking about the importance of a father’s love for his daughter. But a mother like mine will change your life. She taught me to be strong but compassionate, to be convicted but open. My unabashedly pro-life Democrat feminist of a mother taught me not to swallow an ideology hook, line, and sinker but to question and seek truth, even if it meant raised eyebrows and accusations and a lifetime of not fitting in. And while I rebelled against her faith when I was young–and then rebelled against her approach to faith when I came to Christ–it was my mother who showed me what it meant to be a woman of prayer. If she had been any different, who knows where I’d be? I needed her to be Christian so that I could run from that and to be not-so-Catholic so I could embrace orthodoxy once I stopped running. And when I look at her now, how she’s submitted again and again to reason and truth and sometimes just to authority when all her instincts were crying out against it–well, I begin to wish I was a little more like her in matters of faith. My mother is a faithful Catholic in every way not because she wanted to be but because she loved God more than she loved herself.
Sometimes I forget how much mothers matter because it’s so easy to take mine for granted. I never had to fight for my mother’s approval. I never had to wonder what she thought of me because my mother has told me since the day I was born just how fabulous she thinks I am. My strong, brilliant, compassionate mother doesn’t just love me because I’m hers, she loves me because I’m me, which must mean I’m something special. And she loves me so completely that I’ve never questioned it.
As I wander about the country doing my hobo thing, I’m often asked what my parents think of this life I lead. The first time someone asked, I was confused. “Well they’re my parents,” I said. “So they think it’s awesome.” You know you’re doing something very, very right when it doesn’t even occur to your kids that you wouldn’t be proud of them.
This might be my favorite picture of all time. I’m in the stripes.
So here’s to my mom, who loves me so hard that I can’t imagine being unloved. Here’s to my mom, who believes in me even when the world thinks I’m nuts. Here’s to my mom who taught me to love books and music and words and Christ. Here’s to my mom who can’t help but support her kids–even when it means challenging them in ways that may tick them off. Because my mom isn’t about feel-good love. She loves in a turning-over-tables, weeping-for-your-pain, going-joyfully-to-the-cross kind of way. I hope you’re as blessed in your mother as I am in mine.
P.S. NOW who’s your favorite child?
The answer to, “Kids, who sings this song?” was always “The Beatles” unless it was very obviously The Beach Boys. [↩]
Of course, I probably would have pitched an enormous fit to lose out on all-day socializing in favor of being better-educated, but still. [↩]
Which, in retrospect, is rather strange. Who has adult spelling bees? [↩]
So I cried some more and took the flower over to Mary, who had asked her Son to send those women to love on me. And I didn’t really feel any better, but at least I felt seen.
Ponder
The best women’s Bible study book I’ve ever encountered is 
If you’d rather give a book that has more than six Saints, 
Full disclosure: I haven’t read Mary Haseltine’s new book on pregnancy and birth, but everyone I love loves it. 
