With Mothers’ Day approaching fast, my heart beats fast for THOSE moms.
You know. THOSE moms.
The ones who don’t really get a Mother’s Day celebration.
The ones who never-ever get a mommy break. They don’t even know what that means.
The ones who live across the world and hide with their children so as not to be kidnapped, raped, or sold into sex slavery.
The ones who live on the street, barely clad, hoping just to make something to feed their children.
The moms who work two jobs, go to school, and rarely sleep through the night.
The moms who feel like they have failed miserably, because their child is an addict.
The moms who never knew their moms, because while they were breathing their first baby breaths, their moms were taking their LAST breaths.
The moms who raise kids without the fathers, without child support, and without emotional support.
The moms who feel forced to give up their disabled or deformed babies because they live in a culture that does not value them.
What about THOSE moms?
What about the scared-to-death teen moms having babies when they are still babies themselves?
And the women who became moms by force, not by choice? What about them?
I think about the moms all over the world that grieve the loss of their moms, and still want to pick up the phone and call her.
The moms who feel isolated and alone because they have a secret pill or alcohol addiction, and yet they are the Sunday School teachers or PTA Presidents in suburbia. And no one really knows them, truly, and deeply.
The moms who don’t want to be moms every now and then.
The moms who have died in front of their children.
The moms who have lost their babies, in utero, over and over, or had stillborns or whose children died way way way too young.
The moms who deal with eternal exhaustion as they care for their impaired, or disabled, or cancer-fighting children.
I think about the “special needs moms” who have no advocates, no resources, no insurance, and no understanding of how to get what they need for their child due to economics, education, or language and cultural barriers.
The moms who have children with severe allergies and send out their kids into a world every day that they cannot control.
I think about the moms who never-ever get their nails done, their hair done, shop for themselves, or have any experience with “pampering” or “girl-time.”
I think about the moms whose only clothes are hand-me-downs.
The moms whose lines on their faces could tell a hundred stories of trauma, chaos, abandonment, and abuse.
And the ones who have experienced all the above, but hide it all too well with a pretty face, a pretty smile, and false optimism.
I think about the moms who DON’T look forward to Mother’s Day because they are dismissed, forgotten, or tossed aside.
What about the moms who don’t know where their precious children are? At all. And it’s been days. Weeks. Months. Even years.
I think about the moms whose children are serving in the military all over the globe, or who have served and returned home with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder that is eating them alive. And these mothers watch and feel helpless and worried.
Those are the ones on my heart these days.
Will you join me and say a little prayer for them today? And–will you also join me in thinking about what you can do to reach out to a mother in need? Because every mom counts. Because we are a collective. We are in this together, and we are for EACH OTHER.