A Day of Longing

Mother’s Day is a day of joy and celebration… and it should be. It is right to give thanks for mothers, to honor them, to celebrate the gift that they are in our lives. Scripture itself calls us into that posture of honor and gratitude (Exodus 20:12).

But for many, Mother’s Day is not simple.

For some, it is a day of deep and quiet longing.

This is for those who long for their grandmothers and mothers who have gone to paradise. For the mothers who have lost their children and would give anything to hold them one more time. For women who have always desired to be mothers, but have not been given that gift. For those who carry complicated relationships: with mothers who were distant, absent, or even hurtful. For those whose children have wandered, whose hearts ache with prayers that seem to go unanswered.

Mother’s Day can become a mirror. It reflects not only what we have—but also what we have lost, and what we still long for.

And that longing runs deep.

The Bible Is Honest About Longing

One of the quiet comforts of Scripture is that it never pretends life is easier than it is. The people of God are not strangers to longing—they are shaped by it.

Think of Sarah (Genesis 11–21). Year after year, decade after decade, she lived with the ache of barrenness. The promise of God was spoken, but the waiting stretched on so long that hope itself began to feel fragile.

Think of Hannah (1 Samuel 1). She wept bitterly before the Lord, pouring out her soul in the temple. Her longing was so deep, so visible, that even the priest mistook her grief for drunkenness. She knew what it meant to ache in a way words could barely hold.

Think of Elizabeth (Luke 1). “They had no child, because Elizabeth was barren, and both were advanced in years” (Luke 1:7). A lifetime of longing carried quietly—until God, in His timing, acted.

But not every story resolves the way we might hope.

Think of Rachel, who cried out, “Give me children, or I shall die!” (Genesis 30:1), and whose story ends in childbirth and death. Or the haunting words of Jeremiah: “Rachel is weeping for her children; she refuses to be comforted” (Jeremiah 31:15).

Think of Naomi (Ruth 1), who lost her husband and her sons and returned home saying, “Do not call me Naomi; call me Mara, for the Almighty has dealt very bitterly with me” (Ruth 1:20). Her life did not look like blessing—at least not from where she stood.

Think of Hagar, cast into the wilderness, convinced she and her son would die alone—until the Lord met her there. She gave Him a name: “You are a God of seeing” (Genesis 16:13).

Think of Anna, widowed early, likely childless, who spent her years waiting in the temple, longing for the redemption of Israel (Luke 2:36–38).

And then, of course, think of Mary—the mother of our Lord—who held the promise of God in her arms… and then stood at the foot of the cross as that same Son suffered and died (John 19:25). No mother should have to endure that.

The Scriptures are not afraid to sit in these moments.

Longing. Loss. Waiting. Disappointment.

And yet…

God meets every one of them there.

The God Who Draws Near

We often want answers. We want resolution. We want God to fix what is broken, to restore what is lost, to give what is desired.

Sometimes He does.

But sometimes, He does something deeper.

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18).

That is not a promise that every longing will be fulfilled in the way we imagine. It is a promise that in the middle of the longing, God Himself draws near.

Not from a distance. Not with indifference.

But with presence.

With compassion.

With Himself.

We see this most clearly in Jesus.

He is not a distant Savior who stands above our pain. He enters into it. He weeps at the tomb of Lazarus (John 11:35). He looks upon the crowds with compassion because they are “harassed and helpless” (Matthew 9:36). He carries the weight of the world’s brokenness all the way to the cross.

And there, even in His dying breath, He cares for His mother: “Woman, behold, your son!” (John 19:26).

He does not dismiss sorrow. He redeems it.

A Personal Word

For years, Katherine and I longed for a child. That longing was not theoretical. It was real, lived, and often painful. And I can say without hesitation that it weighed especially heavy on Katherine’s heart.

Even now, with the joy of our little boy, there is still longing.

She wishes that we could share him with her mother, who now rests with the Lord. There are moments of joy that are also moments of absence. Moments that feel both full… and incomplete.

And I know we are not alone in that.

A friend once told me, “We say time heals all wounds, but the scars remain.” And I think there is truth there. The pain doesn’t simply vanish. The longing doesn’t disappear as though it never existed.

But something does change.

Over time, our gratitude for what we have been given begins to grow. Our appreciation for the memories deepens. And slowly, sometimes quietly, our capacity to trust in the goodness of God expands.

Not because life suddenly makes sense.

But because God proves Himself faithful, even here.

Life Isn’t Fair… But God Is Good

There is a hard truth we have to say out loud: life is not fair.

Sin has broken this world in ways that we feel deeply—especially in our relationships, our families, our hopes for what life “should” look like.

But this is not the end of the story.

Our God is good.

He is good in the giving. He is good in the taking. He is good in the waiting. He is good in the longing.

And He has not left us without hope.

In Christ, every loss is temporary. Every tear is seen. Every longing will one day be answered—not always in the way we imagined, but in a way that is fuller, richer, and eternal.

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore” (Revelation 21:4).

That is not wishful thinking.

That is promise.

You Are Not Alone

So this Mother’s Day, if your heart feels heavy, if the celebration around you feels complicated, if joy and sorrow seem to sit side by side, know this:

You are not alone.

Your pain is real. But so is God’s love.

And so is the Church.

Do not isolate yourself. The temptation in seasons of longing is to withdraw, to pull back, to carry the weight alone. But God has given you a people, a family in Christ, to bear that burden with you (Galatians 6:2).

Let them sit with you.

Let them pray for you.

Let them remind you of what is true when your heart struggles to hold onto it.

A Final Word

You may not receive everything your heart longs for in this life.

But you will receive Christ.

And in Him, you receive everything.

So whether this day is filled with celebration or marked by quiet tears—or some mixture of both—know that the Lord is near to you.

He sees you.

He knows your longing.

And He will not leave you in it.

May the peace of Christ guard your heart this Mother’s Day.

And may His comfort hold you fast.