Perspectives

The mothers' room at church is a unique place of fellowship. Ensconced in sofas and overstuffed chairs, women sit around the dimly-lit room with their babies.

Our church is relatively informal--people in suits are easy to spot as visitors among the crowd in polo shirts and jeans. But the mothers' room is a world of its own. The muted beiges and pinks, the diffuse amber light from little lamps on softly curved end tables, the deep sofas, the multitude of cushions scattered around the room create a very un-church-like setting.

It's set up like a living room, with furniture facing the center of the room. The one-way window overlooking the backs of the congregation seems more like an incidental feature than the focus of the room. We can hear the service and can easily look down to see the happenings from an angel's eye view. People sit in rows below, standing to sing or sitting to listen to the message. The platform where the musicians and speakers stand faces us across the way.

We have a pretty good view of the service. But we don't sit in rows facing the window. We sit in conversation groupings, facing the room itself. Facing each other.

We hold our babies and watch the vignettes of other mothers and their children. Women look up, smile and speak quietly when one enters or leaves the room. Nobody is anonymous or unnoticed.

Some women are relaxed and comfortable, chatting quietly and enjoying the moment to get away. They are happy to sit in peace and not have to worry about their babies disturbing anyone. Others are just tired; their faces lined with fatigue and frustration as their babies fuss unceasingly. Some, especially new first-time mothers, seem shy and tense, trying to shush their babies and not meeting the eyes gazing across the dim room.

As the minutes pass, and as the mornings turn into weeks and months of sitting in the same room with the same handful of people, a melding takes place. Between listening to the messages and caring for our children, we learn each others' names and details about our lives and families. We exchange notes and tips about soothing fussy babies and balancing life with infants and older children, work, or other variables. We sympathize about sleep deprivation and sore nipples.

The uneasy mothers become more relaxed as they realize that nobody here cares if their baby makes loud smacking noises or cries, or if their little one crawls across the room. If we didn't want to be bothered by the presence of children we would be down in the sanctuary, sitting in neat rows of chairs facing the pulpit.

Here we are all women, all mothers. We smile at each other's babies, offer to hold a fussy child while another mom digs through the diaper bag for gas drops, exchange quips about the sermon. But most of all, we realize that we are not alone.

The mothers' room is a comfortable place for those of us with small children to be able to feed and care for our babies without missing the service. But it's also a place to nurture a special bond with other women who share much in common.

Today I was chatting with another mom who had a baby girl in the same hospital on the same day we had Baby E. We shared notes during our pregnancies and eagerly anticipated the births of our babies together.

I mentioned that this week was especially difficult because my husband had been away. She shared that her husband is in the military and had only a few days off to be with her during and after her C-section. He's been gone for two weeks already, and her life is largely that of a single mom with two children.

Suddenly, my life took on a new perspective.

I felt like I barely survived a single week without my husband, dealing with two young children and a newborn. But somehow other women manage to do it alone for weeks, months, even years at a time. Some do it because they have to; others choose to make the sacrifice for a cause they believe in.

My new friend let me catch a glimpse of how good I really have it. The loneliness and pain in her eyes as she talked about how difficult it is living with her husband's long absences made my struggles of the past week seem small in comparison.

I got her phone number today, and I plan to call her this week. I hope I can help her in some way. I think we can encourage and support each other.

I'm looking forward to the relationships that will develop over the next few months in the mother's room.