When the Church Celebrates Family: A Mother's Day Reflection on Who Might Be Missing

Recently, while traveling abroad, I found myself attending a local church service on Mother’s Day. The moment was tender and honoring—mothers were celebrated with prayers, songs, and tokens of appreciation. I was moved. My wife is a mother, and her journey into motherhood has been long, sacred, and not without deep pain.

For the first 11 years of our marriage, we walked the quiet and lonely road of infertility. We prayed, waited, grieved, and hoped. Every Mother’s Day in those years held both beauty and sorrow. I often watched my wife receive the joy of others while quietly carrying her heartache. Then, by God's grace, we were blessed with our daughter—a gift we now cherish daily.

So as I sat in that church service, filled with gratitude, I also remembered. I remembered the ache of waiting. I remembered the women for whom this day reopens wounds. And I began to wonder:

Who might be sitting quietly in the room, unseen or unsure if they belong in the celebration?

I thought of single women who long for companionship.


I thought of women who have miscarried or lost children.


I thought of spiritual mothers—those who nurture, lead, and love with no biological children of their own.


I thought of women who have fostered or adopted.


I thought of those in strained relationships with their children, or with their own mothers.


I thought of women who have chosen not to marry or have children, yet live lives of deep care and conviction.


And I thought of those—yes, even in same-sex partnerships or nontraditional roles—who embody faithfulness, nurture others, and build homes marked by love.

That day, the church service included strong language about defending the family and protecting family values—language that many might affirm. After all, family is sacred. But sometimes, when we speak with broad strokes about "protecting family," we might unintentionally send the message that only certain kinds of families are real, or that anyone who doesn't fit a particular mold is somehow the problem.

I believe that the Church does best when it holds space for both celebration and sorrow.

The family of God, as described in Scripture, is wide. Jesus redefined family as those who do God's will. Paul spoke of the Church as a household of faith. The Psalms speak of God setting the lonely in families. Throughout the gospels, Jesus consistently made room for those who were often left out of the picture.

If we are serious about honoring family, then let’s be serious about expanding our imagination of who “family” includes.

Let’s honor the mothers, yes—and also the women who mentor, serve, grieve, and quietly carry the weight of unanswered prayers. Let’s honor the women who walk with courage outside of traditional paths and create safe and loving homes in unexpected ways. Some of them may not check all the “expected” boxes, but their lives speak of grace, strength, and care.

As followers of Jesus, we are invited to be…


…salt and light—not to overpower, but to preserve and bring clarity.


…peacemakers—those who slow down enough to listen.


…a city on a hill—not a fortress, but a community that welcomes all who draw near.

So this Mother’s Day, I celebrate not just the joy of our own miracle, but the courage of all who mother in ways that often go unnoticed. I pray our churches would be places where everyone feels honored, seen, and called beloved—whether they fit the familiar image of family or not.

The heart of God is wide.


The table of Christ is long.


Let’s make sure there’s room for every story.