The God Who Sees the Forgotten Mom

I was walking through our church cemetery, pushing my ornery toddler in a stroller during the Sunday services, again. I live in a rural town, with an ancient church that has gorgeous, stained glass windows and no nursery for a precocious, noisy one-year old. After sufficiently disturbing the service for one morning, we made our way outside. I strapped my babe into the stroller and began meandering through the graveyard, looking at the ancient headstones.

I sighed. I would be spending another Sunday morning missing the service. I felt as unseen as the dead lying beneath these tombstones. You see, when your spouse has a vital role in making Sunday services happen – whether preaching, leading music, playing in the worship band, or managing tech – it naturally means that you are in charge of everything else. If you are a single mom, you are always in charge of everything.

Some days, I envied my husband. Yes, his volunteer position required time and energy and commitment, but at least he was recognized for his sacrifice. I felt like no one saw my sacrifice. I want to be a world-changer, someone whose life makes a difference in this crazy, broken place we live. How on earth am I supposed to do that when I am constantly delegated to the background?

As I continued walking, pushing my little one down the pathway, I passed grave marker after grave marker, some so old that the etchings were almost lost in the weather-worn stones. People have lived and died here through two world wars, a depression, droughts and floods. How much of their lives was unseen? Who saw their daily faithfulness in planting and harvesting season after season, year after year in this old farming town? How many of these mothers also walked with their own small ones, teaching them God’s love as they relied on the faithfulness of Jehovah El Roi, the God who sees.

It was another mother, long before my time who identified our God as a God who sees. You see, Hagar also felt unseen. She was pregnant with her master’s child, had been mistreated by her mistress and, out of desperation, had run away to the desert. She must have felt misused, abused, and forgotten. Mistreated? Absolutely. Forgotten? Never. The angel of the Lord found her and promised her that she was not and never would be forgotten.
Cemeteries are strangely beautiful places – a link with the past, with those who have been through similar struggles and triumphs and are now at rest from the fight. I’m afraid I missed most of the pastor’s sermon this week, but walking through this cemetery seemed a more appropriate sermon for this weary mom.

Sweet momma who feels unseen, your heavenly Father sees you. He loves you. He does not and never will forget you. These years are hard and often thankless, but keep on persevering. I’m cheering you on and praying for you. Will you pray for me too?
And the next time you see a momma in church, give her a smile and let her know that you see her. Tell her she is doing a great job.