As a Hen Gathers Her Brood
You see mourning and turn it to dancing
Welcome to the Mothering Spirit newsletter! Each Saturday morning, you’ll receive a round-up of the week’s posts—perfect for your weekend reading.
This week on Mothering Spirit
Sarah Bahiraei shares a story about Holy Saturday and the waiting times in our own lives:
“Today, we spend most of our Holy Saturdays prepping the ham, setting out church outfits, and filling plastic eggs with candy. But our buzz and busyness during this holiday can mask a deeper truth. So many moments in our faith are filled with the waiting that comes during Holy Saturday, sitting in that uncomfortable tension where the stone has yet to roll away, questioning if everything is going to work out.
Dashed hopes, broken promises, unfulfilled dreams—the slow, shadowy hours of Holy Saturday mark the terrain for many of us. We know the hazy grief that comes after loss. We know the pain of standing in the pitch dark, waiting for a pinprick of light to shine through…
Our grief and uncertainty are no match for the Cross. I rest in that truth while I still wait for answers to my prayers, for my family to put down roots someplace stable, and for our Resurrection Sunday to come.”
Read the rest at Lingering on Saturday: As a Hen Gathers Her Brood.
You can find more of Sarah’s writing at
Echoing Sarah’s essay and the tender image of God as a mother hen in the Gospel of Luke, we shared a gorgeous prayer from St. Anselm (from almost 1,000 years ago!) that speaks of Jesus caring for us like a mother:
“Jesus, as a mother you gather your people to you;
you are gentle with us as a mother with her children.
Often you weep over our sins and our pride;
tenderly you draw us from hatred and judgment.
You comfort us in sorrow and bind up our wounds;
in sickness you nurse us,
and with pure milk you feed us.”
Pray with the whole Song of Anselm here: As A Mother With Her Children.
Speaking of prayer, Katie Cassady gives words to those of us who feel like Lent was a flop—or need a last-minute reminder that Easter’s grace and glory is coming no matter what.
From her prayer for the Lentiest of Lents:
With all that I cannot give, and everything that this season was not,
I ask that you remake these humble offerings,
that they would be lavish and worthy of You,
knowing that they have been gathered and held with the utmost care.Lord, I know that You see scarcity and create abundance;
You see mourning and turn it to dancing.Even death has lost its hold for You.
From the archives
Already looking ahead to Easter joy? Here’s a perspective on resurrection from labor and birth:
“Each time I birthed my babies, I felt this joy-from-relief, overwhelmed in those spinning moments after delivery, surging with intensity that words fail to capture, a swirl of pain and exhilaration, delight and delirium, disbelief and astonishment. And always joy.
I wonder if Easter morning was like this, too.
Running from an empty tomb, scrambling to tell someone else, racing to see a body gone, feeling that heart-racing thump of no, no way, really, yes is this real, can this be? Desperate dreams and wildest prayers and all of them answered—he is not here! he is alive?—but not in ways any of them could have imagined in a million years.
His friends knew the joy that comes from relief. From knowing it could have, should have, would have been so different. Yet here they are. Life is categorically changed, and they are reeling from deepest joy.”
Read the whole essay: Joy, Meet Relief.
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