a Mother’s Day reflection
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“All five boys were together for the first time—but never where I had imagined. They ran around in circles on the cemetery grass, dashing in and out of headstones, their footprints sinking into the damp earth. The youngest two drove Matchbox cars along the top of the marker bearing their brother’s name.”
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To be part of the church is to enter a complicated relationship. We want a place to belong and to feel safe. But too often, our greatest wounds have happened within the folds. Bruised and perhaps a little bitter, we wonder: Can we love God without loving his church?
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The everyday hard is what gets me. Not enough sleep. A fever that spikes when my to-do list is long. The ache of feeling left out. Dreary days without end. Whiny kids. Higher-than-expected bills. And of course, after all that, the just-filled refrigerator that decides to quit.
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What if what is hard is a pathway to grace? What if lurking in the suffering is something we didn’t know we needed—something that will make us whole?
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If you’ve been around church people for amount of time, you’ve likely heard the word grace tossed about like confetti. Grace is essential to faith—but have we learned to cheapen it? Have we confused it with being #blessed? What, exactly, is grace?
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I’d lobbed more than my fair share of questions and accusations at God, wondering why this natural thing that we wanted so badly was being kept from us. But that morning, all that emotion was crashing over me…
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No one has ever asked me directly. But over the last eight years since my son died, I have often contemplated whether I—if given the opportunity—would erase the pain.
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For six weeks, I carried our son Carter in my belly, knowing that his days were numbered.
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Grace doesn’t always come in pretty packages. Sometimes, it comes as a gift of brokenness.
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