The rites of spring are in full bloom.  Easter, graduations, weddings, and of course, Mother’s Day.

But for many women, this day arrives with dread and heartache.  All the reminders surface of what they are not: a mother.

People, can we please be gentle with these dear ones?

I’m not asking us to gingerly tiptoe around childless women.

I’m not saying that motherhood should be fairly distributed like trophies at a Little League banquet where everyone wins and there is no score.

I’m not writing out of bitterness.

I’m writing from the depths of compassion and empathy I have for hurting women; so many in my life, and so many I will never meet.

Maybe she is infertile.

Or maybe disease has stolen her ability to carry children.

Or maybe she hasn’t found *the one* with whom to build a family.

Or maybe her journey toward adoption is met with every obstacle, or is too expensive to even consider.

Or maybe she has lost a child, young or old, and she spends her Mother’s Day visiting the cemetery.

Or maybe she once had a brush with hope at the chance of motherhood, only to have it rupture inside of her, an ectopic pregnancy leaving her with scars and damaged body parts.

Or maybe her husband has left her.

And yet, just like the cable bill, the cycle of life comes around each month, reminding her of her body’s ingenious capabilities—and of her apparent shortcomings.

It’s an ache unknown to many, like Valentine’s Day to the unloved; so if this is not in your realm of experience, I  propose that you seek these women out and treat them with an added measure of kindness this weekend.

Pastors, Preachers, Teachers, Ministers: Watch your words.  You will likely stand before your congregations on Sunday morning, declare it the Day of Mothers, and find a way to acknowledge every woman blessed with motherhood among you.  In fact, each one was probably handed a carnation as she entered the sanctuary.  Please be mindful that in doing so, you also draw attention to the barren, the hurting, the lonely, the forgotten.

One of my friends will celebrate her tenth wedding anniversary with her husband this year.  Oh, how they have longed for a family!  The miscarriage robbed them of hope.  On Mother’s Day last year, she sat in church as her pastor announced for everyone “who is a mom or who wants to be a mom” to raise their hands.  Absolute ignorance from this man’s mouth.  Is she supposed to sit next to her husband year after year and shrug her shoulders, raise her hand, and let everyone around her know that nope, nothing yet…?  That was the end of their days at that church.  Instead of raising her hand, she and her husband stood and left, and never returned.

And what about all the hurting folks who have lost their mothers, or worse, been abandoned by them?  What gentleness can we offer these precious, pained souls?  The ones among us who, once again, have no one to take to brunch or lavish with calls and cards and corsages; the empty seat at the table that’s just as glaring as the one in the bleachers of a ball game, at a birthday, a graduation, a wedding….  How can we care for those who suffer from this sting so many days of their lives?

I suggest we follow the lead of my dear friend Katie, who knows well the road of suffering and loss, yet in her great compassion and kindness, thoughtfully sent me this tearjerker of a text last year on Mother’s Day.

“Happy Mother’s Day to my best girlfriend!!  OH glorious day when you arrive in heaven and meet your baby! I love you so very much Anna!!! xoxo!!”

All the tears when this showed up.

Isn’t she something?!  She interrupted her own Mother’s Day morning with her husband and four little kiddos to think of me and let me know that I wasn’t forgotten.  No one else has ever done that for me.

So guess what, friends!  Your kindness is noticed!  Your compassion is necessary!

Now tell me, how will you encourage a hurting soul today?

Author:  Anna Floit

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