Playlist: Second Sundays Vol.4 [Mothers’ Day Edition]
Motherhood is the unseen scaffolding on which lives are built. It is the early mornings and the late nights. The silent prayers and infinite sacrifices. It is love in its most enduring form and the wind beneath the wings of humanity itself. However one arrives at it, motherhood is the enduring act of giving of oneself so that another may rise. To be a mother is to change the world, often without recognition, but never without impact.
So…
To the mother who carried life within her
who bore the weight and wonder of creation
you are the first home we ever knew
Your heartbeat was our first rhythm
Your body our first shelter
Long before we understood the world
we understood you
You were the unseen current
that carried fragile boats into open seas.
To the mother who stayed
who rose before the sun and slept after the stars
who turned scraps into meals and fear into courage
who stood like a shield between her children and the storm
you are the wind beneath the wings of generations
who may never fully understand
how far you carried them.
To the mother who let go
who placed her child into the arms of another
with a breaking heart and trembling hope
yours was a courageous offering
You chose possibility over proximity
A love so fierce it wore the mask of loss
History may not carve your name in stone
but heaven has written it in light
Your sacrifice is not forgotten
it is another form of motherhood
one that bleeds quietly
but loves just as loudly.
To the woman who never gave birth, yet became “Mom”
in classrooms, in homes, in borrowed spaces of need
who stitched wounds no one else saw
who spoke life into children not her own
who chose to show up time and time again
you have proven that motherhood is not confined to biology.
It is a posture of the heart.
It is presence.
It is choosing to love where love is needed most.
To the grand-mother
who cradles small hands with wiser ones
who softens where once she was firm
you are proof that love grows, it learns,
and refines itself over time
You are proof that motherhood is not a season
but a lifelong unfolding of love shaped by experience
and offered with intention.
You are grace, rewritten.
To the mother estranged
whose silence is heavy, whose absence aches,
know this:
There is still a road called return.
There is still a language called healing.
Redemption does not ask for perfection
only courage.
And love, even when wounded,
still remembers the way home.
To the mother who is no longer here
whose voice we can no longer hear
whose hands we can no longer hold
You remain
in the habits we didn’t notice we learned
in words we didn’t realize we kept
in the quiet strength that rises in us when we need it most
You still carry us
Death may have taken your hand
but it can never erase your imprint
you remain in all that the heart refuses to forget
Please wait...