[REPOST] The Slow Way: Mother is a verb
When we imagine mothering as a verb the world opens up. And so does God.
A Note from Micha: I’ve spent the past two weeks recovering from a reaction to medication, which has slowed me down significantly, and caused a bit a brain fog. I am slowly regaining my strength, and hope to be back to writing fresh content around here. But for this weekend, I’m reposting last year’s Slow Way Letter from this weekend. And wishing all of you—those who are known as “Mother” or who “mother” as a verb—a joyful and restful Mother’s Day.
In her book Someone Other Than a Mother, my friend
asks the question: “What would it mean for us to take the word mother as less [an]... identity and more an action?” As she considers this, she quotes Gloria Steinem, “As a noun, mother may be good or bad, willing or unwilling . . . worshiped or blamed, dominating or nurturing, accidental or chosen. . . But when mother is a verb—as in to mother, to be mothered—then the best of human possibilities come into our imaginations.”The longer I live into my mom-identity, the more I discover how painful and exclusive Mother’s Day can feel, especially to folks in the church. The church is filled with people who identify as women but have never had the opportunity to give birth or raise kids. There are those present who have grieved deeply for the children they were never able to have. There are those who have lost children. And I’m certain that if on any Sunday morning in America, it were revealed how many of us in the room have experienced pregnancy loss, it might be shocking.
On Mother’s Day many among us are grieving the moms they’ve lost, or the moms who have rejected or broken relationship with them.
I’m taken with Erin’s idea and have been considering how on Mother’s Day, we might allow “the best of human possibilities to come into our imaginations.” What if we celebrate those who have mothered us? What if we consider mother as more a verb than an identity?
As someone who holds that mother identity, this doesn’t scare me. I know what sorts of mothering I’ve done this week. I have cheered one child on at a jazz band performance, sent another cute cat videos. I helped one wash his hands and brush his teeth, over and over. I jumped on the trampoline, holding hands and singing songs. I checked one’s assignment website and declared his daily homework complete.
Mothering is what I do most in my life. It’s also what I was doing in Texas last weekend, alone, without my kids. I mothered my older brothers, cheering when they danced across the stage in the community theater’s Spamalot performance. I mothered my niece when we sat on her balcony at night, listening to Taylor Swift and talking about life.
When we imagine mothering as a verb, the world opens up. And I would say, so does God.
“Jesus is what God has to say to the world.” This is a phrase I tell my teenagers in the youth group over and over. The life of Jesus is what God wants to say to us. And if that’s true. And if it’s true that mothering is a verb that any of us can practice, then Jesus reveals to us over and over the mothering work of God.
To mother is to protect the most vulnerable.
To mother is to give life.
To mother is to relentlessly choose hope.
This Sunday I’ll preach this idea in my church from one particular story of Jesus protecting the vulnerable, giving life where there was death, relentlessly choosing hope, even when there’s weeping.
But I would offer the premise that if we begin to look for Jesus’s mothering presence, we will find it all over the Gospel stories.
And maybe if we look for it in scripture, we’ll also look for it all around us. Maybe we’ll realize that we are surrounded by those who mother, and that we are invited to mother too.
We are invited to protect the vulnerable, give life, choose hope. And if we lean into these invitations, wouldn’t the “best human possibilities come into our imaginations”?
A Slow Practice
Take a few deep breaths in the presence of God, and welcome God to mother you.
Maybe mother has some negative connotations for you. Maybe you’d rather ask God to nurture you, to give life to parts of your story that feel dead, or spark hope where hope feels distant. However you approach this conversation, invite God to speak to the part of you that needs to be mothered.
Here are some possible questions you can ask yourself:
What in my life is draining? What would it mean for God to bring new life to that tired part of me?
How do I want to be mothered by God? Is there a part of my life that longs to be nurtured, sustained, nourished?
Where have I given up on hope? What does relentless hope look like, and how might God bring it into my body, heart, and mind?
After spending however much time you need with these questions, close with this prayer:
Mother of us all, may I honor all who mother me, and may I find in You the deepest and truest mothering I need. Amen.
A List of Things
If you haven’t yet checked out my IG Live conversation with
about her new book Church Camp: Bad Skits, Cry Night, and How White Evangelicalism Betrayed a Generation, I recommend out conversation. Her book is one of those that will spark some debate and meaningful conversation!Also, my friend (and The Lucky Few Podcast cohost!) Heather Avis (of
) is releasing her newest children’s book in early June! I adore the illustrations and the message of I Like You So Much—reminding every kid that “you are good, exactly as you are.” Preorder it now! It’s one of the sweetest picture books I’ve gotten my hands on.Also,
’s book Someone Other Than A Mother was published three years ago, but if you are intrigued by this post, I can’t recommend her book enough. Go check it out!