Tag: spiritual motherhood

Books to Buy for Mother’s Day (Or New Alumnae)

Mother’s Day is coming up, and for many of us, that means shopping for the perfect present, whether it’s for your mom, your wife, your godmother, your children’s godmothers, your sister, or a woman who’s been like a mother to you or your kids. (Plus graduation’s coming up, and many of us are looking for gifts for young female grads, as well.) And while flowers are nice and jewelry is lovely, there’s really nothing better than a good book.1 So here are some of my favorite books written by female authors and largely geared towards women–which isn’t, of course, to say that you have to get a book written for women, just that this is a women’s holiday and these are (largely) women’s books. Pick from one of these and you won’t be disappointed.

Ponder is a book of reflections on the rosary that uses lectio divina and some journaling techniques to help women enter deeply into the mysteries of the rosary. It’s a beautiful book to help you get started reading Scripture or to transform the way you pray the rosary. There’s a great online community where women share their reflections and experiences of praying through the readings, or you can get your own group together to meet up each week. Plus, I wrote two of the essays!2

There’s also a children’s version available so your kids can practice reading Scripture, too. Designed for 8-13-year-olds, it’s got coloring pages, puzzles, and discussion questions to get you praying with your kids.

Jen Fulwiler’s new book, One Beautiful Dream, is simply amazing. She writes about her struggle to balance life as a mom with doing what she’s passionate about, but it’s a book that will speak to the heart of any Christian, particularly women. I wrote more about it here, but suffice it to say that it’s riotously funny and also likely to make you weep.

The best women’s Bible study book I’ve ever encountered is Who Does He Say You Are? by Colleen Connell Mitchell. Colleen enters deeply into Scripture and wrestles with the stories like a Protestant instead of using them as a framework to make a point, as Catholic Bible studies often do. When I read this book, I kept getting frustrated because she would say something that would just wreck me and I didn’t have time for deep introspection at the moment. I learned to read right before my holy hour because every time I read, the Holy Spirit started working. It’s great for a group study or just for an individual looking to get to know the Gospels better.

If you know a woman who doesn’t yet have a Bible (or doesn’t have a Catholic Bible, or doesn’t have a Bible she likes), the new Catholic Journaling Bible is just lovely.3 It’s got beautiful artwork and calligraphy and wide margins that make me almost sinfully jealous. It’s the NABRE (the translation we use at Mass) complete with footnotes, and it would make a beautiful guest book at a wedding.

My Sisters the Saints, by Colleen Carroll Campbell, is a powerful memoir that will appeal to women across the spectrum, from agnostics to daily communicants. Campbell’s journey from party girl to 20-something speechwriter for President George W. Bush to infertility to high-risk pregnancy will keep you reading, and along the way she’ll introduce you to half a dozen Saints you needed to know better. This is a particularly good gift for women who aren’t that into Jesus–everyone will find something to identify with here.

If you’d rather give a book that has more than six Saints, The Big Book of Women Saints is a great choice.4 I’m very picky about my Saints books, and while this isn’t my favorite ever, the author does an excellent job of telling the stories in a pithy way that makes you want to learn more. There’s a Saint for every day of the year, many of whom you’ve never heard of before, and a Scripture to go along with her. Plus there are quotations from many of the Saints so you can read her actual words. It’s a great way to make some new Saint friends, and with an entry each day, it’s a good invitation to have some discipline in your spiritual life.

Full disclosure: I haven’t read Mary Haseltine’s new book on pregnancy and birth, but everyone I love loves it. My friend Christina said Made for This: The Catholic Mom’s Guide to Birth is the only book you need to read about pregnancy and childbirth, and that woman read a ton of books when she was pregnant. If you know a woman who’s expecting–even if it’s not her first baby–this is a must-read.

And now for something completely different: Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers is a beautiful book about God’s love for the human soul. Rivers was a romance novelist before she met Jesus, and this book reads something like a historical fiction romance novel, but with powerful themes that will honestly transform your prayer life. Redeeming Love is a retelling of the book of Hosea set in the Gold Rush, with Michael Hosea modeling the love of Jesus for his bride. I’ll warn you that there’s some reference to sexual assault and prostitution, so you’ll want to be aware before picking up this book, but the story’s so powerful that I think it’s worth pushing through for most people. (If you want to give it to a younger woman–say, a high school girl–have her mom read it first to get a sense of whether her daughter is ready for the intimacy found in the book. It’s nothing graphic, but it could be too intense for younger girls.)

So there you have it–my favorite books for Christian women. What else ought to make the list? I’m always up for a book recommendation!

  1. Take note, gentlemen: if you’re looking to woo me, books. Also lilacs. [↩]
  2. It’s my first time being published, so you should buy it just because you like me. [↩]
  3. Buy it on Jet. For some reason it’s really cheap there. [↩]
  4. Despite its unfortunate use of the word “women” as an adjective instead of the appropriate “female,” but we’ll blame the publisher for that. [↩]

One Beautiful Dream: Not Just a Catholic Mom Book

A few years ago, Jen Fulwiler’s much-anticipated memoir came out, a book that described her conversion from atheism to Catholicism. Something Other than God was a great read–I know because I bought it as a gift for my mom and borrowed it immediately after giving it to her. I recommended it to all kinds of people as a remarkable account of Jen’s journey.

So when I heard Jen had another book coming out, I was excited. Then I read about the topic–how she balances family life and pursuing her passions. It’s a great topic, and really important, but I’m not a mom. Still, Jen’s a great writer, so I figured I’d give it a read so I could recommend it to my many mom friends.

Last week, I came home to find a package on my doorstep. Inside was One Beautiful Dream. I was scheduled to be on Jen’s radio show the next day, so I figured I’d get started on the book.

I was so excited to talk to her about it the next day.

Six hours later, I closed the book with a contented (and bleary-eyed) smile and went to bed, but not before texting my sister to say good morning.1 I had read until 6 a.m. And I wasn’t a bit sorry about it.

The next day, I picked the book up again, this time with a pencil. The first time through, I had been so caught up in the story and so busy laughing that I hadn’t marked up my book. I don’t remember the last time I liked a book too much to write in it. Not to worry–I knew I needed to reread, so the second time through, I underlined and bracketed and annotated to my heart’s delight.

This book is so good.

It’s hilarious, so funny I literally laughed out loud in my house all by myself. It’s a compelling story, filled with cringe-worthy moments and cliffhangers at the end of chapters. How does a suburban homeschooling mom have so many cliffhangers in what the world would see as a mundane life? I don’t know, but Jen is a master storyteller. It’s moving, frequently bringing me to tears, then to a realization that I needed to pray about whatever point Jen had just made. Honestly, there are things in this book that I’ll be praying about for months, maybe years.

Because this isn’t a Catholic mom book. Sure, it’s great for Catholic moms. But Jen’s discussion of discernment and passion and sacrifice and being at peace with your gifts and flaws? This stuff is relevant to every Christian. So let me tell you who I think should read this book:

Catholic moms. Jen is so real about the (sometimes soul-sucking) work that comes with having a lot of little kids, or even with big kids whose needs make it hard to find time for what she calls your “blue flame,” the things that make you come alive. She talks about guilt over her discontentment in her stay-at-home mom life and how she and her husband worked on building a family culture that would be nourishing to all of them. She points out the way different women’s gifts manifest differently in motherhood and how all our competition is ridiculous. If you need to feel better about yourself as a mom, to find strategies for parenting in a way that uses your gifts, or to seek balance in your life so that you have some creative outlet, this book will inspire you in ways you can’t imagine.

Non-Catholic Christian moms. Y’all, this book is published by Zondervan. You know it’s not some crazy Catholic hoo-doo. Now, Jen’s Catholic, and she’s not trying to hide it. But this book is about a woman who loves Jesus and is trying to honor him in her life, through her family and her work. Every time she talks about funny Catholic stuff, she explains it. And her account of what was going on in her heart as God led her to have six children (as an introvert!) will help you understand some of your Catholic friends with the big old homeschooling van. Plus, all the above about peace and balance and not comparing.

Women without kids. Yes, this book is about how Jen worked to be present to her family while pursuing her passions. But ultimately, it’s about how she fought against the devil’s lies, the ones telling her she wasn’t good enough, to follow the Lord. It’s about discernment and communication. And it’s an invitation to live selflessly, whether or not self-sacrifice is foisted upon you by a gaggle of children. Believe me when I tell you that you will benefit from reading this book whether you have children or not. If for no other reason, read it so you can start sobbing at chapter 35–so beautiful.

Men with kids. Gentlemen, if you’re married, this book will give you insight into what your wife is struggling with. And while some of what this book is wrestling with is particularly difficult for women, everyone with a family and a job has to figure out what work sacrifices to make for family and what family sacrifices to make for work. Seeing the way Joe and Jen deal with tough decisions and tricky conversations might help your communication skills. If nothing else, read it for some of Joe’s gems. Like the time Jen told him she was expecting and asked how he felt about the new baby. “I want to wait until I know how you feel. I’ll be devastated or excited or whatever you want me to be.” Well played, Mr. Fulwiler. Well played.

Men without kids. Honestly, it’s just a funny book. But there are points in here that will challenge anyone, like when Jen talks about living a love-first life, about how much of our happiness lies in shifting our expectations, and about how asking for help is a gift to the person helping you. And maybe spending a few hours reading about life with a million kids will help you in your vocational discernment….

People who can’t quite seem to avoid getting pregnant. If you deal with hyperfertility and (like Bl. Maria Quattrocchi) the thought of another baby fills you with dread, reading about Jen’s experience of openness to life will give you a lot to think about. She reframes the conversation about how to survive one more baby, wondering instead how she could live without that child when she’s a 50-year-old who will visit Jen in the hospital one day. It may not get you excited for your fourth under four, but it’ll definitely give you some hope.

Whoever you are, I think you’ll enjoy this book. Unless you don’t like laughing. Or wisdom. Or laughing and crying and taking a long, hard look at your life all in the space of 3 pages. If that’s you, skip this one. Otherwise, head over to Amazon and grab a copy (or 5) today!

FYI, I got this book for free because Jen’s awesome, but y’all know I’m too lazy to write a whole long review about a book I didn’t love. Opinions are very much my own.

  1. She asked how the book was. I said great. She asked if she could borrow it. I didn’t answer because I really didn’t want to lend it to her because I had loved it so much that I was feeling very possessive. [↩]

Mother’s Day

Me, my mom, and my little sister.
Me, my mom, and my little sister.

Happy Mother’s Day to all physical mothers (biological and adoptive), spiritual mothers, birth mothers, foster mothers, stepmothers, and godmothers out there.

Happy Mother’s Day to fathers who have to take the place of mothers, to grandmothers and aunts and neighbors who become mothers, to family and friends who support the mothers in their lives.

Happy Mother’s Day to mothers who’ve lost children, to mothers who haven’t yet begotten children, to mothers who ache over their empty arms and mothers whose arms sometimes seem too full.

Happy Mother’s Day to mothers estranged from their children and to children missing their mothers.

Happy Mother’s Day to Pinterest mothers and drive-thru mothers, to single mothers and married mothers, to working mothers and stay-at-home mothers, to mothers who have it all together and mothers who need a break.

Spiritual motherhood, as recognized by a 19-year-old football player. One of the most beautiful moments of my life, grammatical errors and all.
Spiritual motherhood, as recognized by a 19-year-old football player. One of the most beautiful moments of my life, grammatical errors and all.

Happy Mother’s Day to Sisters and nuns and consecrated women the world around who have borne no children but are mothers just the same.

Happy Mother’s Day to mothers of aborted children, to teachers who become mothers, to women wise beyond their years who mother their peers and their elders.

Happy Mother’s Day to the Mother of all mothers. May God bless us all with hearts like hers, open to being broken for love of our children, ready to suffer selflessly that the world might know Love.

If you are a woman, you are a mother. Happy Mother’s Day to you.

Did You Know I Have Kids?

I’ve been stumbling on this blog over a habit I have of referring to “my kids.” I’m sure that’s confusing to those of you who don’t know me. “Wait, didn’t I see something about consecrated virginity? But she has kids? Hang on, now….”1 So rather than footnote it every time, I thought I’d write you a good long explanation.2

My newest godson, Hugo. He’s inspecting my crucifix. My work here is done.

I have hundreds of children. A few godchildren, but mostly spiritual children, students I’ve taught and teens I’ve spoken with at retreats or camps or talks and sometimes ladies twice my age who needed God to love on them through me. The relationship I have with these kids of mine is sometimes just a few hours long and sometimes lasts for years and changes us both. I call them my kids because I am their mother–one of many mothers they have, God willing. I call them my kids even when they’re 25, because when I say that I don’t mean that they’re children. I mean that they’re mine.

When I was first discerning a vocation to consecrated life, I went to see my spiritual director. I was feeling led to enter a convent that summer but my relationship with my students was holding me back.

“I just love these kids so much, Father. Maybe that’s God’s way of telling me not to leave them.”

“Oh, that doesn’t mean you’re supposed to stay. That just means you already have a consecrated heart–you already love them with a mother’s love.”

I burst into tears at that: “You mean, I do get to be a mom?”

I had been wrestling with my vocation, convinced that Christ was calling me to be his bride but still longing for marriage and motherhood. I had offered my barrenness as a sacrifice to God but I remember sitting in a movie theater watching a movie featuring a pregnant woman. I sobbed into my sweatshirt (have I mentioned that I’m super-emotional?) and prayed, “Lord, I will give that up. But I will never stop wanting it.”

Like many women, I ached to be a mother. I wanted so badly to give myself in love to people–and, to be quite honest, to be loved and needed in return. I think it’s a universal longing–the desire to love and be loved–and for many women, this manifests itself as a maternal instinct, even for those who aren’t physical mothers. I’d read about women feeling like mothers to their students or their friends and it just struck me as counterfeit–some sham replacement for real motherhood that was supplied us to keep us from being bitter when we were old maids (and yes, at 24 I did kind of consider myself an old maid.  Catholic college will sometimes do that to a person).

But then I began to experience this phenomenon of spiritual motherhood. When I first started teaching, I loved my kids so fiercely that I honestly felt creepy. I remember almost crying from pride while watching a pep rally, of all things, and thinking that there must be something wrong with me if I loved these random kids so much. It wasn’t until I began to discern my vocation that I realized that my love for these kids was maternal.

These three lived with me for three summers in a row. Diapers and nightmares and tantrums and all.

There is something very real about spiritual motherhood. I have never borne physical children, so comparisons I make will have to be viewed in that light; I have, however, been a foster mother to young children, so I can relate to the all-consuming task (and love) that is physical motherhood, both biological and adoptive.

No, it’s not the same, but neither is the way you are a mother and the way my sister is a mother. Because two types of motherhood are different doesn’t make one any less real. They aren’t the same—and yet, somehow, they are.

As a teacher and minister, I love His children as my own. Certainly, I don’t have the same motherly love for every one of the hundreds of children who have belonged to me—my heart couldn’t take it—but I offer myself completely to each one and some few dozen have become as dear to me as I can imagine any physical child of mine being. I pray for them desperately, I ache with love for them, I miss them terribly when they go off to college.

There’s a reason people don’t have 20 kids at a time–it takes a lot out of you.

Just as a physical mother does, I suffer for my children. No, I’m not theirs 24 hours a day, but I feel the weight of their souls as strongly as many physical mothers. My knees are bruised for praying for them, my face lined with the joy of watching them repent and the agony of knowing I can’t make them saints. Daily I pour myself out for them and daily they roll their eyes and ignore me, sometimes embracing sin just to spite me. Yes, I am a mother—and a mother almost exclusively of teenagers, God help me.

My children are so often broken before they even get to me. I love them with everything I have, but I am not the most important force in their lives. I spend my life working damage control, trying to love their broken hearts back together, knowing that I will often fail. I plant the seeds and I hope, but most of the fruit is borne years later, after they’ve moved away and fallen out of touch. I watch my children leave the fold and I never know if they’ve come back.

Unlike physical mothers, I usually have these children for only a few years after high school before they move on and mostly forget me; unlike physical mothers, I often have absolutely no impact on them after they leave my care. I can’t call them every Sunday if they don’t want to hear from me; I can’t always step back into their lives to invite them lovingly to conversion. At a certain point, I have to let them go.

The love of a mother is the love of the Cross. We pour out our lives for our children and they spit in our faces. Some few stand by and love us in return. The rest may, by God’s grace, be converted by the empty tomb, by the hole in His side, by the tongues of flame. We love and we pray and we hope—and we leave them in God’s hands. This is motherhood—spiritual and physical.

I feel for those of you without physical children who view spiritual motherhood as a consolation prize, a phrase coined to silence those women who suffer for not being physical mothers. I felt this way for years, and perhaps I accept it more joyfully now because, in a sense, it’s something I’ve chosen. But real holiness is rejoicing in the suffering we’ve chosen and in the suffering that’s been forced upon us.

I’m not exactly sure of my point in writing this post–maybe just to give you a glimpse into my heart?

Maybe encouragement for those who long to be mothers that you are mothers. All women are called to spiritual motherhood (with friends or siblings or children in the church nursery) and you are able to love the souls around you with a mother’s love and to transform them through that. It’s not the same, but it’s not less, either. Motherhood is a gift offered to all women–see 1 Tim 2:15; if it’s not open to everyone, those of us who can’t bear children are in serious trouble.

Maybe I just want to ask you all to take a moment to thank your spiritual mothers. Godmothers, teachers, friends–there are women in your life who’ve held you before the throne of God or wrapped you in arms of love or taught you to be honorable and virtuous. Many of them don’t get phone calls on Mother’s Day or presents at Christmas. They love you because they choose to, not because you were handed to them. Spiritual motherhood is often a thankless job; let’s change that today.

Then again, maybe I just want something to link to when I say something about “one of my kids.”

  1. I had a kid once, a secular atheist who had been in Catholic school for four years. One day I mentioned something about the Virgin Mary. “Mary wasn’t a virgin,” he laughed. When everyone looked confused, he continued, “Mary is Jesus’ mom, right? She can’t have been a virgin. That’s not how that works!” He wasn’t objecting to the theology–he’d honestly never noticed it before. Way to go, Catholic schools. [↩]
  2. Many of these thoughts show up in a comment I posted a while back on Simcha Fisher’s post on spiritual motherhood. [↩]