mother mary.

“When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be
And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be”

~ The Beatles

It’s Christmas Eve and I’m preparing for The Refuge service tonight. It is a gift to be part of a community where everyone shares and I do not feel the Christmas Eve pressure so many other pastors feel, which really is lovely. But tonight with our first Christmas without Jared I am feeling the Christmas story in a whole new way. 

The Christmas paradox has always felt so real for me—the messy, the beautiful, the simple, the profound, God, incarnate, born in a dirty stall, revealed to the least likely. 

But this year—as we grieve the brutal loss of our dear and beautiful son—I can’t get Mary out of my head.

No matter what you believe about the story, Mary is the symbol of a mother throughout the world. An icon. A saint. A young girl whose entire life was turned upside down in an instant. An unlikely woman tasked with giving birth to Jesus in a mucky dirty stall in Palestine. A grown mother who watched her son suffer and die before her very eyes three decades later. 

Mother Mary knew trouble.

I have no doubt she knew feelings of shame, fear, doubt, confusion, pain.

That she knew that she had to move forward even when she “didn’t know.”

That she knew she’d do anything for that child that grew inside of her.

That she would find a way to walk the path set before her, even when she had no idea where exactly it lead.

Mothers are amazing like that. 

There are so many ways to mother, and this Christmas season as I crawl my way through the deepest grief imaginable and stave off shame’s sneaky ways, I love remembering the strength and resilience of Mary, of 27 years of mothering my 5 children, of mothers everywhere.

Since Jared died, whenever I hear the word “mother” I well up with tears. “Mother” makes my heart ache in a completely new way.  Mothering him in this life was one of my greatest gifts, and while I am devastated that my time with him was cut so short, I will always mother that kid for the rest of my life in all kinds of new ways.  

I’ll mother his story as best I can. 

I’ll mother our story together with my family and community.

I’ll mother everything I do in a whole new way because of losing him. 

I also love that there’s a lot more to mother in this world than human beings. 

We mother grief, feeling all the feelings and then standing up to do the dishes.

We mother beauty that the world desperately needs. 

We mother hope and dreams that need to come to life. 

We mother healthier systems whenever we the strongholds of misogyny and patriarchy are broken and women’s wisdom and leadership is invited in. 

We mother faith as spiritual midwives, unafraid to enter into the pain and help people give birth to renewal.

We mother the future, patiently nurturing seeds that will bear fruit over time, even when we might not see it. 

We mother pain, hold, love, bind wounds.

We mother justice and mercy with resilience and hope despite deep resistance from all sides. 

Mothers mother wisdom into this troubled world.

This Christmas Eve 2019, I am also reminded that this season isn’t all about me mothering. I am the one who needs mothering in a whole new way.

I need mothering by God in all her wisdom, presence, strength, hope, and mercy.

By my kids who are so freaking good to me.

By the women and men in my life who care so deeply about me and my family.

By music and nature and art.

By Mother Mary. Standing right in front of me. Speaking words of wisdom I most definitely need to hear this Christmas Eve even though they are in a song from the 1970 and not specifically in the Luke 2 passage we’ll read tonight (even though I kind of think they are)—Let it Be.

Let it Be. 

Let it Be.

I don’t know where you are at this Christmas Eve, but if those words are for you, too, I hope you will hear their whisper.

I hope we will keep mothering.

I hope we will keep letting ourselves be mothered.

I hope that Emmanuel, God with Us, in the thick of us, is born in a new way this season. 

I hope that if we need to today, that somehow, someway, we can let it be.

With love from Colorado this Christmas Eve, Kathy

Kathy Escobar

Kathy Escobar is dedicated to creating safe and brave spaces for transformation and healing in real life, online, and outside. She co-pastors at The Refuge, a hub for healing community, social action, and creative collaboration in North Denver, co-directs #communityheals, a non-profit organization dedicated to making spaces for transformation accessible for all, and is the author of Practicing: Changing Yourself to Change the World, Faith Shift: Finding Your Way Forward When Everything You Believe is Coming Apart and several other books.


  • Thanks Kathy for sharing your feelings during what I can only imagine as being brutally tough. Keep mothering and loving, and the Lord will guide you where He needs you to go and what to do.

  • ‘We mother grief, feeling all the feelings and then standing up to do the dishes.’ Oh, Kathy, how I resonate with this whole piece. But especially this line. Because that’s what mothering is: grieving/feeling/sighing then breathing a deep breath and getting up to do the work. Still grieving/feeling/sighing. Still breathing deeply. Channeling all that into doing the work necessary to mother the ones in our path. Love you. Still grieving with you in the ashes.

  • Kathy,
    My heart goes out to you as I share your grief.
    My adopted son was born December 15, 1971. He was placed in my arms on December 22. I, too, felt especially close to Mother Mary that Christmas, and we named him Christopher. After a turbulent childhood and youth our beautiful boy took his own life on March 3, 1992.
    In those early days of shock and disbelief we knew that we had done everything possible “to save” our troubled son…….there was no guilt…only a bottomless grief. As time passed I came to understand two more things:

    1- Chris made the best choice he knew how to make. Given his personality, history, the current events and what he was facing… he believed that suicide was the best option. IF he could have chosen differently… he would have.
    That critical choice-point is true for all of us… when faced with a decision, we weigh each option, and with our current thinking and feeling select the one path that we believe- at that specific point in time- is the best option. If we could make a different choice at that point in time… we would have.

    2. Christopher’s death catapulted me into a personal Spiritual journey when the traditional church did not have the answers I needed. Now, almost 28 years later, beyond the grief I still carry, all I can say is “Thank you Chris.”
    I now believe that we have multiple lifetimes in which we incarnate in “family” groups, to help each other learn specific cosmic lessons. So I am left wondering……….Did Christopher come into his lifetime with the goal of jump starting my Spiritual journey? And if true… how can I best magnify his gift to me? And what did he gain… or hope to gain… by becoming our son for those short years?

    I am carrying you in my heart, Kathy, and hope these words are helpful.
    Thank you Christopher. I love you, too.


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