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everyday parenting as spiritual practice

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where i saw Christ: back pew, pink coat

9 Comments

I glimpsed her at the back of a long line trailing down the aisle, shuffling forward in the slow side-to-side dance of people waiting their turn.

She wore a bright fuchsia trench coat, hair coiffed in a cute side sweep. Behind her bobbed the heads of two bright-eyed daughters, brunettes like their mother. In her arms she held another girl. The smallest, hair pinned back with a pink bow to match.

Did you see them come in? he whispered when he saw where I was staring. She was pushing that little one in a tiny wheelchair.

The family made their way to the front of the line. She swung the tiny girl with limp legs into the wooden chair and knelt down at her feet. Took a pitcher of water and began to pour it slowly over her daughter’s toes.

As she washed, she looked up into the girl’s face and smiled, her eyes bright. Then she dried each small foot with a fluffy white towel and gathered the child back into her arms, setting her gently on the floor. One by one her other daughters eagerly jumped into the chair. Each one received the same wide smile, the same loving attention.

While her sisters’ feet were being washed, the smallest girl began to crawl back down the aisle, dragging her legs behind her. An older woman in the front pew frowned. Without the wheelchair, she was just another antsy child.

But without a word, the mother turned and smiled, bent down to sweep the girl up into her arms and led the group back to their places in the last pew.

That’s what she does all day long, I realized, tears springing into the corners of my eyes.

She washes feet.

Reader Interactions

Comments

  1. Lauren says

    10 April 2012 at 11:34 am

    As do you.

    Reply
  2. Ally says

    2 April 2015 at 10:56 am

    Tears.

    This is beautiful.

    Reply

Trackbacks

  1. courage from the tomb | mothering spirit says:
    3 April 2013 at 12:39 pm

    […] drag my feet, wanting to stay in Holy Thursday where we break bread and wash each other’s dirt away. Yes, there’s betrayal and violence […]

    Reply
  2. take two: working (and praying) | mothering spirit says:
    30 July 2013 at 1:25 pm

    […] re-member myself back into the love that washes feet and touches the […]

    Reply
  3. the forgotten days of holy week | mothering spirit says:
    14 April 2014 at 4:25 pm

    […] love Thursday, I lean into Friday, I learn from Saturday, I leap into Sunday. But right now are the days before. […]

    Reply
  4. labor’s stages: a triduum | mothering spirit says:
    24 April 2014 at 1:51 pm

    […] and feeding. Prepare your body: eat and drink. Let your feet be washed. Bend your own knees to serve others. Try to steel yourself for what comes next, the sacrifice and the […]

    Reply
  5. we care about the crumbs | mothering spirit says:
    6 March 2015 at 6:00 am

    […] And I love that I am part of a church that cares for these crumbs. A church where children are seen and blessed. A church where children are called by name. A church where all parts of the Body of Christ are welcomed, regardless of appearance or ability. […]

    Reply
  6. We Care About The Crumbs | Practicing Families says:
    4 May 2015 at 10:31 am

    […] And I love that I am part of a church that cares for these crumbs. A church where children are seen and blessed. A church where children are called by name. A church where all parts of the Body of Christ are welcomed, regardless of appearance or ability. […]

    Reply
  7. how to Holy Week: a guide for where you are | Mothering Spirit says:
    17 April 2019 at 1:20 pm

    […] If you have a child with special needs: Where I Saw Christ, Back Row, Pink Coat. […]

    Reply

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About Laura

I’m Laura Kelly Fanucci. Mother, writer, wonderer. This space is where I explore mothering through writing. It’s where I celebrate how God shows up in the chaos of raising children. It’s where I love to build community with readers like you. Read More…

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thismessygrace

Mother, writer, wonderer.
Seeker of God in chaos & life with kids.
Author of Everyday Sacrament & Grieving Together.
Glimpses of grace & gratitude.

thismessygrace
Imagine the relief of arriving at an oasis after a Imagine the relief of arriving at an oasis after a long trip though the wilderness.

Like a deep gulp of water, God is waiting to refresh us in body and spirit.

We’ll meet, we’ll pray, we might even laugh. (The company of kindred spirits has a way of drawing laughter from even the hardest rock.)

We have known the long, lonely desert.

Now we get to come together in the sanctuary of solace—to hold each other’s stories, to honor our love for our children, and to hope in God’s promise: be not afraid and I am with you.

Oasis is made by grieving mothers, for grieving mothers.

A place where our tears can water new life. A time set apart when we can be known and heard in our love.

A virtual retreat to restore and rejuvenate us, right where we are.

I hope you will join me May 1-2 if you know this need. And if you don’t, will you tag a friend below? Odds are good you know someone whose heart and spirit could use the comfort of companionship and the hope of time in prayer.

Register now with the link in my bio.

With gratitude to the mothers who are joining me to create this sacred space:
@marylenaburg 
@leticiaoadams 
@justinakopp 
@michaela.evanow 
@jilliankubik 
@helenlindsay 
@fawnlyprints
I want to tell you what it means to weep with thos I want to tell you what it means to weep with those who weep.

It means you will be changed. You must be changed.

Weeping with those who weep does not mean passing the thin Kleenex of your pity.

Nor does it mean steamrolling their grief with your opinion.

Nor does it mean telling them to pull themselves up, be strong, or get over it.

It means you plunk yourself down next to them, quiet yourself, listen and let yourself be moved.

Which means changed. Which means converted.

This is why the exhortation is holy. Why we call it God’s Word and not just A Nice Thing To Do.

We read Romans 12 at our wedding. “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.” Had we known then what we know now, would we have spoken words of weeping on a day of rejoicing?

Absolutely.

Our calling as Christ-followers is to be transformed by the suffering of others—and to do what we can to lessen their pain. We are here to live the breadth and depth and sorrow and joy of what it means to be human.

If you see the staggering sorrow around you and wonder where to start, sit down near the mourning, quiet yourself, listen and let yourself be moved. What they want most is to be heard and honored, supported and seen.

Weep with those who weep.

Do not seek to minimize, justify, or dismiss. Do not seek to save yourself from the mess. You are already part of it.

But you can be part of the healing, too. When you weep with those who weep.

Then ask God to show you what to do next.
Where can a mother go to grieve? She craves comfo Where can a mother go to grieve?

She craves comfort for body and soul. She seeks the sanctuary of safe space. She wants the wisdom of women who have walked this way before. She needs time to honor her love, remember her child, and wrestle with her grief.

This May, I want to offer this space of solace.

Oasis is a virtual retreat for grieving mothers. On May 1-2 (Bereaved Mother’s Day), we’ll gather to create a place of prayer and support.

In the comfort of our own homes, we’ll reflect with simple, creative practices to connect with God, each other, and our children. Together we’ll share Scripture, small groups, and space for reflecting in peace and quiet.

We’ll drink from the Word. We’ll find beauty in art and song.

We’ll learn from other mothers who understand the loss of a child.

We’ll keep finding a way in the wilderness together.

Oasis is a crossroads of connection on our journey. A place where we can pause and be refreshed. A moment’s rest where we can seek God’s peace and presence.

You can make this retreat right in the middle of your life, joining us for as much as you need.

Registration is now open on my website. Sliding scale fees & scholarships are available if you need. You can also gift the retreat to a grieving mother you love.

Whether you lost a baby before birth or a child in adulthood, your story matters here.

Step into the comfort of Oasis.

#griefsupport #grievingmother #griefretreat #childloss
Coming to you Friday morning. A big piece of my he Coming to you Friday morning. A big piece of my heart, ready to welcome you in.

Today as I sit in quiet anticipation, I’m remembering echoes of The Day Before.

The day before birth, waiting and wondering whether baby was on the way.

The day before death, hoping and praying for peace and the power of a miracle.

Tomorrow holds slivers of birth and death, all woven together, tight to my heart.

It’s a new creation I’ve dreamed about for years, but never got to bring to life until now.

Most importantly, it’s my prayer to you—that you know you aren’t alone in the broken places.

Coming soon.
The year after our daughters died was filled with The year after our daughters died was filled with stunning skies.

Violet sunsets and rosy dawns. Navy stormclouds and lavender evenings. Buttercream wisps and pewter fogs.

I spent hours that year craning my eyes up, tilting my head back to take in the wide view. Had I never looked up before, never noticed the shifting seasons in the stars?

The world was ripped open, jarring and raw—but the year of violet skies was a sole beauty.

Grief can peel back parts of existence you did not know before. We call it darkness or depression, heaping layers of shadow upon realities that reach beyond words. But what it is runs deeper: the gold-flecked vein of life cutting through the gray stone of loss.

We are shining. We are barely scraping by.

As spring unfurls into shocking buds and pale green hope, I keep remembering that wild palette of horizons five years gone.

Bruised skies, slashing rains. Watercolor sunsets bleeding into night. A pale peach sunrise so breathless and perfect I thought it might be the last on earth.

And then it wasn't. And then the next day rose and set anew. Life keeps going, even when ours stops. Equal parts blessing and curse.

We get to choose so little of what happens to us. But we have the power to notice.

Seeing can be enough to save a life.
Spent Holy Saturday musing on mothering & grief. H Spent Holy Saturday musing on mothering & grief. How birth can be like death (and death like birth). How food can become Love.
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