Both “Orthodox” and “mom” describe me, as they do countless millions of other women around the world. Born neither mother nor Orthodox, I became both by the grace of God. I’ll always be a mom; I’ll always be Orthodox. To separate the two is impossible. My son rests his head on my shoulder during Liturgy just as I rest my spirit on the prayers during playtime with him.

My heart found its home in the Church, even as my son found his home in my heart. We’re inseparable. We’re each other’s safe haven. I knew from the moment I lifted him into my arms he would hold a special place all his own forever. Even in heaven. I didn’t  know he and I would soon find refuge in the Church.

There is no wondering about my calling and purpose now. Motherhood is the great adventure. My son stretches me in every way, from lack of sleep to maintaining a prayerful life.

My purpose is to be faithful to God while feeding carrots to a 10-month-old who decided today he dislikes orange vegetables. It’s to receive the holy Eucharist through prayer, repentance, and fasting. I change diapers. We say prayers. My son tries to crawl up the staircase. I bow before the One robed in majesty. It’s a lilting, messy rhythm both comforting and challenging.

When I tickle my baby, I hear angels laugh. When I make the sign of the Cross during Vespers, I feel God’s pleasure. It’s the minute actions which weave a tapestry, each kiss a thread twining with those of fasting and prayer to form a picture. A scarred hand outstretched to us.

Our purpose as Christians is to unite ourselves to Christ. For me, uniting begins through mothering and worship. So, that’s me. This is my love. This is my life. Being an Orthodox mom.

Photos: Me by Katie Barron Holman, Baby feet, me amid a crowd celebrating Pascha at my home parish

Written for the YLCF‘s carnival on passions with a purpose.