Such a lovely morning
Enough people in both churches to make me feel hopeful, a goodly gaggle of children down in the valley and even a rather charming and utterly unexpected family up the hill
Space to be real about the pain that Mothering Sunday brings to many, without, I hope, making those who wanted to celebrate feel their joy was unwelcome.
The highlight for me was a prayer tree at church in the valley, on which we hung leaves bearing the names of all our mothers, regardless of whether the parent/child relationship had been a source of delight or of despair.
I stopped off at valley church on my way home after my journey up the hill, and took a moment or two to read and pray through some of those names.
There they all were,the long-dead Mabels and Ednas who had mothered the grandmothers in my congregation today, the young mums whom I know well from the school gates, the Nigerian matriarch whose son brings his sons to church faithfully, week on week, my own mother, Joyce, and close beside my own name, placed there by the Dufflepud...I found the whole thing quite startlingly moving.