A Mother's Day Reflection

Entry 1: A Mother’s Day Reflection

(A reflection on remembrance, roots, and the quiet strength that holds us.)

By Karen Evans

Hey friend,

I’m especially glad you’re here today.

It’s Mother’s Day.

For some, today blooms with joy and laughter—meals around crowded tables, hugs that linger, and stories that get retold one more time.

But for others… today holds something quieter. A weight. A gap. A grief that comes in waves.

I feel that, too.

My mom passed a couple of years ago, and I miss her still—especially on days like this.

Maybe you’re missing yours today.

Maybe you never really had one.

Maybe you’re the mom holding it all together… or the one who feels like you’re not enough.

Whoever you are—whatever this day holds—I want you to know you’re welcome at this table.

Walk with me for a moment.

There’s something I want to show you.

Look—do you see these trees?

They’re huge. Weathered. Strong.

But they’ve fallen.

It doesn’t make sense, does it?

They looked like they should still be standing.

But it reminds me of something I once heard…

There was a storm in Europe—October 16, 1987.

Over 15 million trees fell in one night.

Not because they were sick.

Not because they were weak.

But because they had been planted too far apart.

Their roots never grew deep.

They never touched.

When the storm came, they had nothing to hold them up.

That has never left me.

Today, a friend of mine is planting a red dogwood tree.

It’s a memorial—for his late wife.

They were married 30 years.

This is his first Mother’s Day without her.

His children’s first without their mom.

The tree?

It’s more than a tree.

It’s remembrance.

It’s love.

It’s a living symbol of what was and still is.

It made me pause and ask:

Where am I planted?

And who am I planted near?

We weren’t made to be scattered.

We were made for closeness.

To be rooted side by side.

To grow deep, together.

To hold each other steady when the winds come.

Maybe you’ve felt the shaking.

Maybe you’ve already fallen once or twice.

Maybe you’re just hoping to stand.

So let me whisper this gently:

Get close.

Let your roots stretch out.

Don’t grow alone.

At the Garden Table: A Time to Reflect

Rooted in the Word

Take a breath.

Get still.

Let the noise fall away for a moment.

Picture yourself there—beneath the branches, beside the red dogwood,

knees in the dirt, heart open.

This is your space.

Your seat at the table.

Scripture Reflection

“They will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream.

It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green.

It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit.”

—Jeremiah 17:8

Prayer of Remembrance and Rootedness

Lord, today I remember.

I remember those I’ve loved and lost,

and I remember that You never left me.

Help me plant my roots deep—not just in routine,

but in community, in faith, and in Your promises.

Show me who I’m planted near,

and teach me how to hold others steady when storms come.

Let my life become a place of quiet strength.

In Jesus’ name, amen.