An Open Invitation To The Tired Moms and Motherless Mothers



If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it (or at least thought it) a thousand times. This motherhood gig is hard.

It’s tiring and trying.
It’s long days and sometimes longer nights.
It’s worry-filled as much as it’s wonder-ful.

There are times when the weight of it comes to bear. And there are times I wonder if my mom felt the same. 

She didn’t know she wouldn’t be here to tell me, and I didn’t know I would need to ask. When she died a few weeks after I graduated college, I didn’t even know who I was then, let alone that I’d one day be a mom with all the questions and doubts and fears that a girl still needs a mother for well past her childhood.

It’s a strange thing, walking into motherhood without the one who gave you life still holding your hand. It can be lonely and raw and feel all a bit unfair somedays.

Maybe your mom died like mine. Maybe your mom left on her own accord. Maybe your mom is sick and doesn’t have the capacity or will or both to be a mom anymore. If for any reason you are also a motherless mother, I’m here to say I get it. And maybe we can just sit in this place together?

Maybe your mom is still very much a part of your life. Maybe your mom helps you through the hard and is an integral part of your children’s lives. But maybe you still feel the weight of motherhood in all it’s heavy and could still use someone else speaking truth and love into your life through the changing seasons motherhood brings?

Sometimes the best thing we can say and hear is, “Me too.”
Sometimes the best friend we can be is just a friend to “be.”

A couple of weeks ago I needed a friend to just “be,” so I called the one friend that I can cry with, laugh with and “be” with easier than most and we sat on my porch for a couple of hours and did just that. We laughed. We cried. We just were. And it was like salve for my weary soul.

I like to think if my mom was still here, she would come running when I called. I actually know she would and somedays that hurts worse than anything, because she’s not just a phone call away. But God has given me people in her place – not to take her place, but to take a seat on the porch and help fill the void. And I can look back over the years and see all the people He’s put in my life that have helped bridge the gap and answer questions and love me like a mother would.

There will never be another who is my mom, but there are people who are like a mother and I hope I can be the same to someone or some many before my time is up. There is power in loving others out of a love you’ve known and lost and there is power in loving others through the love of the One who never leaves nor forsakes.

My Mother’s Day wish this year and most every year since being without mine is that neither her memory, nor her legacy would be lost. And in learning to live into the role of a mother having been loved and raised by a really great one, I think that wish is granted.

I mess up more than most and most every day. But when my girl can lie next to me in bed at night like she did recently, snuggle up close and tell me in her sweet 6 year-old voice that she forgives me for the mistakes I made that day, I guess I’m a step ahead. Maybe the biggest thing we can all give one another – and most importantly ourselves – is grace. And every now and then a cup of coffee and some time on the porch to work out the hard together. The invitation is open.


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