3 Prayers Every Mother Needs

This afternoon I’ve been invited to be on Dorothy Pilarski’s “CatholicMomsGroup” podcast … if you found this from listening to Dorothy’s program, welcome! (If not, you can find it here.)

Every mother has a unique #prayerstory, because God meets us where we are. He sees us at our most harried and vulnerable, and understands the challenges we face. He sees you, bleary eyed and in desperate need of a shower and coffee (not necessarily in that order), and still he thinks you are beautiful. Beloved. A saint in the making. Yes, it’s true.

One of the ways he makes us saints is by humbling us through our children. Like the day I guided my three-year-old foster son up the aisle to receive a blessing at communion. It was his first time in a church, and he took a swing at our irascible parish priest. I heard an “oof” and looked up in time to see the strangest expression on the poor man’s face. Clearly the punch had connected with his midsection. “I’m sorry, Father.” I told him later. “He hasn’t learned yet that some men have kind intentions.” He nodded, his eyes full of compassion. And from that day forward, he and Chris were pals.

It didn’t really change things for me, though. I felt like I was constantly running a minefield of meltdowns, temper tantrums (often my own), and sleepless nights. I would sit in the rocking chair in my children’s room, and softly sing the songs my mother used to sing for me until I heard the snuffled sounds of their breathing. And then, just before I nodded off myself, I would get in my own basic three:

1. Thank you, God. Even on the bad days, there was so much for which I needed to thank him.
2. I’m sorry, God. Even on the good days, there were still so many ways I fell short.
3. Please help me, God. Not a day went by when I wasn’t reminded in the clearest terms possible that this was not a job I can do on my own. I need the help of angels – theirs, mine, and any stragglers in the heavenlies who can be pressed into service to carry my frantic SOS’s to the throne.

Over time, my prayers got less frantic … but they were no less needed. When they started school. When they left home. When I joined the “sandwich generation” and brought my mother to live with us after she got her dementia diagnosis. Sure, my prayers were sometimes a bit more formal (the Memorare was a favorite), but never more heartfelt.

When I created The Ave Prayer Book for Catholic Mothers, I asked more than 70 wonderful Catholic mothers I knew (many of them through work) to share their favorite prayers and prayer stories, and I discovered that, like me, their prayer time was usually done “on the fly,” over the kitchen sink or behind the steering wheel. Sure, we loved to find an hour here and there for adoration (and the book has a section of prayers for that), but many times prayer is like continuing a conversation with your best friend: casual, often distracted, and frequently interrupted. I often wonder if Jesus had US in mind when he said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not forbid them…” He knew our children would be the best possible tools to chisel away the selfish impulses and perfectionistic tendencies. Our little way of the cross that would lead to heaven not just for them … but for us as well.

So … pick up a copy of The Ave Prayer Book for Catholic Mothers (use code Story20 to get a discount!) and use it to articulate those three little prayers every mother needs.

1. Thank you, God. Read the stories and think about all the ways God has enriched your family life, and provided what you needed at just the right time.
2. I’m sorry, God. When you feel you can’t be like the moms in this book, write a little prayer of your own and tuck it in the back of the book. You do you. God loves you, just as you are.
3. Please help me, God. When you can’t find the words you most need to say, page through the book and find a prayer – traditional or original – that captures your attention. Use them as a springboard to tell God how YOU feel. You can’t shock God – he knows it already. But he wants you to talk with him, confidently and fearlessly. For he is your father.