Mothers Carry What God Speaks

Our grandson enjoys eating at Jingle Bells.

Not the song. The restaurant. The one with the biscuits and the sweet tea. The brand is Bojangles. He calls it Jingle Bells because that’s what his ears heard, and nobody corrected him fast enough, and now it’s permanent. We also frequent ChickALay, we cheer for the Tampa Bay “Bucket Ears,” and just last week he announced at full volume — the only volume available to a four-year-old — “Grandma, I made a lot of poop on the toilet.”

Not in the toilet. On the toilet. That launched my wife from a deep space sleep into instant morning re-entry.

Mothers and grandmothers carry things fathers and grandfathers do not. Because life first arrived in them, because they knew first, felt first, sobbed first at the news, the bond is forever.  Even beyond the grave.

Laugh at Life

Before Sarah was a matriarch — a fancy three-syllable word that means, “Mom, I want a snack!” — she was a woman in robes and sandals who slept in a tent and had been hearing the same promise for so long she’d stopped bringing it up at dinner.  Well, almost stopped.

“Another year, Abe. Nothing.”

“Feeling frisky?”

“Don’t even go there. Just saying, I’m not getting any younger, and you’re not getting any better looking.”

When God finally told Abraham his wife would have a son within the year, Sarah overheard it and laughed. Not in joy. In that slow, tired laugh we use when something so preposterous is announced that the only reasonable response is to set down your coffee, stare into the middle distance, and say, “Sure. And I suppose the tent’s going to clean itself too.”

Sarah’s laugh was that of someone who’s been disappointed enough times to know better than to get her hopes up again.

And God — and I love this about God — didn’t pull the promise back. He answered her laughter with a question: “Is anything too hard for the Lord?” (Genesis 18:14)

The next year, she was holding a baby boy. She named him Isaac, which means laughter. What had been her grief became her testimony. What had been the source of her shame became the thing she couldn’t stop smiling about.

A word from God will do that. It’ll turn what you’ve been crying over, praying for, into what you can’t stop talking about.

Hannah Wept Before She Worshipped

Hannah didn’t have years of quiet faith. She had years of pain, and one year, she walked into the temple and just fell apart.

She was praying so hard, so desperately, so honestly that her lips were moving, but no sound was coming out. The priest looked over and thought she’d had too much wine. (1 Samuel 1:13) Today we might call this praying in our heavenly language — so quietly that no one hears but God.

Hannah had run out of earthly words and was down to pleading from her spirit.

Which, of course, God heard right away.

He opened her womb. And from that place of absolute desperation — not from a place of strength, not from a place of faith that had it all figured out — came Samuel. A prophet who would shape a nation. Born not from Hannah’s sufficiency but from her surrender.

Sometimes what looks like an empty womb is really just a tomb where life is waiting — and new life walks out.

Mary Said Yes Before She Understood

Mary didn’t have decades of waiting behind her. She had youth, a good reputation, and an announcement she was going to have a very hard time explaining to anyone.

The angel told her she would conceive and bear the Son of God. She asked one question — the most reasonable question anyone has ever asked: “How can this be?” (Luke 1:34)

The answer she received was simply: “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Highest will overshadow you.” (Luke 1:35)

She became the most extraordinary mother in human history when she replied, “Let it be.” (Note: Let It Be would make a great song title, if someone were brave enough to use it.) Mary trusted God’s word before she knew how His words would work.

That’s motherhood. Every single day. “How’s this going to work?” “Keep at it,” is often the answer.

Faith Laughs at the Impossible

When Mary — now carrying the impossible inside her — went to visit her cousin Elizabeth, something remarkable happened the moment they came near each other.

“When Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary, the baby leaped in her womb.” (Luke 1:41)

John the Baptist, still unborn, responded to the presence of Jesus, still unborn. Life recognized Life — in the womb — before either mother could see her child’s face. That ought to settle more than a few arguments, but I’ll mount that soapbox another day.

What we Learn from the Faith of Mothers

Here’s moms give us seeds for sermons.

The same word that opened Sarah’s womb can open a barren season. The same power that overshadowed Mary can overshadow a vision, a calling, a ministry — and bring forth something that has no natural explanation.

Because the pattern isn’t really about biology.  It’s about what a word from God does when it lands in the heart of someone willing to carry it.

Romans 10:17 says, “Faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the word of God.” Not hearing with your natural ears — hearing with your heart. When a scripture jumps off the page and something stirs in you that you can’t quite explain — when a word lands so deep that your eyes fill before you understand why — that’s conception. Something is coming.

Something big.

Don’t despise the day of small things.

And buy diapers in bulk when they’re on sale.

The disciples on the road to Emmaus described it this way: “Did not our hearts burn within us while He talked with us?” (Luke 24:32) They felt it before they understood it. That burning — that’s a word taking root.

You May Be Carrying Something

You may be in Sarah’s season. Laughing through your tears, but the word is still standing.

You may be in Hannah’s place. Down to lip-movement prayers, no words left, but God still hears what your mouth can’t say.

You may be in Mary’s position. Carrying something you can’t explain. Trusting a word that came before the way was clear.

Psalm 119:105 says, “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” When that light comes on — when something leaps, when something burns, when you know that you know and nothing has changed yet — that is faith coming alive.

And just like every mother who has ever felt that first flutter of new life, you’ll know it when it moves.

Without mothers, none of us would be here.

Without God, Eve, the mother of all, wouldn’t have been.

Life has to start somewhere. Celebrate moms today. Celebrate God every day.