Often the worst day of the year for an infertile woman isMother’s Day. On this holiday going to a house of worship can feel more likegoing to the house of mourning.

During the decade when my husband and I experienced infertilitytreatment, lost multiple pregnancies, and endured three failed adoptions, Ifound it difficult enough to see all the corsages on M-Day. But then the motherswere asked to stand, and I remained conspicuously seated. Some years theworship leader would even call for the youngest mother to be acknowledged, andthen smile awkwardly as a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old unmarried teen wouldstand. On such occasions I would sit wondering about God’s mysterious ways of supplyand demand. Following most such services, each mother would receive a carnationas she headed out the door. But to exit she first had to answer “yes” to thisquestion: “Are you a mother?”

On a number of occasions, however, I experienced Mothers’Day as a day of grace. On the one following my first miscarriage, a message inthe church bulletin said, “The altar flowers today are given with love andacknowledgement of all the babies of this church who were conceived on earthbut born in heaven and for all who have experienced this loss.” The couple whodedicated these flowers had six children, and through their validation of ourpain, we caught a glimpse of the one who is acquainted with grief. The husbandcrossed the aisle and stood by my husband during the music. And with tears streamingdown our faces, we found new strength to bring our sacrifice of praise.

On several Mother’s Days, a pastoral prayer has includedrequests that on this special day God would bless the motherless children,those bereft of mothers, mothers estranged from their children, infertilewomen, and those who wish to become mothers but must wait on God’s timing.Apparently someone figured out that about half the church was mourning alongwith the celebration. On such occasions I felt like I belonged.

One year during Mothers’ Day, I was with a mission team inCuliacán,Sinaloa, Mexico. A man stood at the door after the service handing outcarnations to all the mothers. Having heard that my husband I had justexperienced another pregnancy loss, he looked at me through misty eyes and thrusthis entire bouquet in my hands. 

My niece, who is married without children, calls the holiday“mothering day.” In this way she broadens the meaning, making it inclusiveenough to include all who nurture. And this seems a fitting practice for thechurch. We are family. The one without a mother finds mothers in Christ. Theparent without children finds children in Christ. Families of one and of twentyall find a broader family in Christ.  

My mourning on M-Day was not because I wished in any way todiminish our practice of honoring mothers for the thankless work they do. (Imyself have one of the best moms on the planet, and it is a joy to honor her.) Iwished only for the Body of Christ to find ways to acknowledge our mothers’ sacrificeswithout inflicting unnecessary pain on those who mourn.

This year on the second Sunday in May, we have the opportunityonce again to minister grace not only to the one in six couples who experienceinfertility but also to the rest of those who experience Mother’s Day as a dayof grief.  May we rise to the occasion.Because while the preacher in Ecclesiastes tells us it is better to go to thehouse of mourning than to the house of feasting (Eccl. 7:2), it is also betterif that house of mourning is full of empathic family members. As they reach outwith the arms and tear ducts of Christ, we remember what will always be trueabout us: We are not alone.