12/05/2026
{MOTHER'S DAY REFLECTIONS}
Love That Remains: Reflections on Mary and Christlike Mothering
by Sara Byrnes
Primary President, Pt Cartwright Ward
Shared with permission. Enjoy.
Before I begin, I just want to acknowledge that a day like today, Mother’s Day, can feel very different depending on who you are and what experiences you carry.
For some, today feels joyful and full of gratitude.
For others, it feels tender.
It can bring grief for mothers who are no longer here.
Longing for relationships that never became what we hoped.
Heartache for children, for parents, for unanswered prayers.
And for many, it is often both joy and ache existing together.
I think that’s because the kind of love connected to motherhood touches something deeply human and deeply divine at the same time.
As I’ve reflected on that lately, my thoughts have continually come back to Mary, the mother of Jesus Christ.
Not only the Mary we picture in nativity scenes.
Not just the woman beside the manger beneath the star.
But Mary as a real mother.
A mother who held Jesus when He cried, who soothed Him, who taught Him, who watched Him grow from a baby into a young boy, and from a young boy into the Savior of the world.
And the more I’ve reflected on her, the more sacred she has become to me. Because I think sometimes we unintentionally skip over the ordinary parts of Christ’s life.
We speak often about His miracles, His teachings, Gethsemane, the cross, and the Resurrection.
But before that, Jesus Christ came to earth completely dependent upon a mother.
Before He walked on water, Mary taught Him to walk.
Before He fed the five thousand, Mary fed Him.
Before He spoke words that would change eternity, Mary listened to His little voice as a child.
There is something deeply sacred about that to me.
In Luke chapter 1, the angel Gabriel told Mary: “Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favour with God. And, behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name Jesus.” — Luke 1:30–31
I’ve often thought about how overwhelming that moment must have been. Mary was young. Ordinary in the eyes of the world. She was not someone powerful or highly regarded by society. And yet Heaven trusted her with the greatest responsibility ever given.
What stands out to me most is her response:
“Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word.” — Luke 1:38
There is so much humility and trust in that answer. No demand for every detail. No requirement to fully understand first.
Just faith.
And honestly, I think motherhood and discipleship in general often requires exactly that kind of faith.
You move forward without knowing everything. You pray without always seeing immediate answers. You love without being able to control outcomes.
One of the things I love most about the scriptures is that they show Mary in ordinary moments too.
In Luke chapter 2, after Jesus stayed behind teaching in the temple, the scriptures say Mary and Joseph searched for Him “sorrowing.”
I’ve always loved that.
“Thy father and I have sought thee sorrowing.” — Luke 2:48
That feels like such a real parenting moment to me.
Even Mary, chosen to raise the Son of God, experienced worry and fear as a mother.
And maybe that comforts me, because sometimes we imagine righteous parents never struggling or wondering if they’re doing enough.
But Mary did.
And despite her faith, she still had to let Jesus grow.
One scripture that has stayed with me while preparing this talk is in Doctrine and Covenants section 93:
“And I, John, saw that he received not of the fulness at the first, but received grace for grace.” — Doctrine and Covenants 93:12
I love those verses because they remind us that when Christ came to earth, He truly experienced mortality.
He grew. He learned. He developed “grace for grace.”
Luke chapter 2 says:
“And Jesus increased in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man.” — Luke 2:52
Sometimes I think we forget that Jesus did not arrive on earth as a fully grown man performing miracles.
He experienced childhood. Which means Mary experienced all those ordinary moments of motherhood with Him.
She would have heard His laughter. Watched His personality develop. Listened to Him learn to speak. Watched Him work and serve and grow.
And I wonder if there were moments where she felt both awe and heartbreak together.
Because she knew enough.
Not fully perhaps, not understanding everything that would come but enough to know that His path would involve suffering.
In Luke it also tells us:
“But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.” — Luke 2:19
Later again, after finding Jesus teaching in the temple, it says:
“His mother kept all these sayings in her heart.” — Luke 2:51
I love that consistency.
Mary listened. She reflected. She pondered.
And that word “pondered” feels ongoing to me.
Like something she carried quietly over time.
Not complete understanding perhaps but awareness.
In Luke 2:35, Simeon tells Mary, “a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also.”
I often wonder what it must have been like for Mary to live with those words.
To raise Jesus while carrying the knowledge that sorrow and sacrifice lay ahead.
To love Him fiercely, while also trusting God with the parts of His life she could not control.
I think in many ways, motherhood has always required that kind of faith.
It has always involved loving someone enough to let them grow, choose, struggle,
and become.
As I’ve reflected on this, I’ve thought a lot about my own mum.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realised more clearly how much pain can come from loving deeply while also having no control over other people’s agency.
I’ve watched my mum love her children through different seasons of life.
Through strong faith and through struggles.
Through joy and through heartbreak.
I’ve watched her continue loving even when people made choices she would never have chosen for them.
And I think there are parents sitting quietly in church each week carrying those same feelings.
Parents who taught truth. Who prayed. Who sacrificed. Who faithfully brought their children to church for years.
And now perhaps they quietly wonder where they went wrong because someone they love has stepped away from faith or from Church.
I feel strongly that I should say this clearly:
If someone you love has used their agency differently than you hoped, that does not mean you failed as a parent.
Agency is central to Heavenly Father’s plan. Even our perfect Father in Heaven allows His children to choose.
And I think sometimes faithful parents carry shame the Savior never intended them to carry.
Christlike parenting is not measured only by outcomes.
Sometimes Christlike parenting looks like continuing to love while your heart is breaking.
I think of the father in the parable of the prodigal son.
The son walked away. But the father never stopped loving him. Never stopped hoping. Never stopped watching for him.
That is Christlike love.
And I think Mary understood something about that kind of love too.
Not because Jesus sinned, He did not, but because she still had to watch Him walk a path of suffering she could not remove for Him.
Eventually we come to the cross.
The Gospel of John simply says:
“Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother.” — John 19:25
She stood.
That detail has always struck me.
I try to picture it.
The crowd. The cruelty. The weight of grief.
And there is Mary.
Watching the child she once held in her arms suffer before her eyes.
The same hands she once kissed now wounded.
The same face she once soothed now covered in pain.
I imagine every instinct within her wanting to step forward, to protect Him
somehow, to take even a piece of the suffering for herself if she could.
But she couldn’t.
And yet she stayed.
There is something deeply sacred to me about that kind of love.
The kind that remains present even when it cannot fix the pain.
The kind that stays near in heartbreak and refuses to leave.
I believe that reflects the Savior too.
Because Jesus Christ also stayed.
He stayed in Gethsemane.
He stayed through betrayal.
He stayed through suffering.
He stayed on the cross.
Not because it was easy but because of love.
In Alma chapter 7 we learn that Christ took upon Himself our pains, afflictions,
temptations, sicknesses, and sorrows so that He would know how to succour us perfectly.
That means there is no grief He does not understand.
No loneliness, heartbreak or fear.
No sorrow that comes from loving someone deeply.
He understands both the pain of suffering personally and the pain of standing beside someone you love who is suffering.
And because of Him, none of those experiences are meaningless.
One scripture that has touched me deeply lately is Isaiah 66:13:
“As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you.”
— Isaiah 66:13
I love that when God wanted to describe divine comfort, He compared it to a mother comforting a child.
That kind of love points us back to Him.
And I’ve thought so much lately about the people in my life who have reflected that kind of Christlike love.
I am deeply grateful for my mum and the example she has been to me.
For her faith, her steadiness, her sacrifice, and the way she has continued to love people through both joy and heartbreak.
And I’m also deeply grateful for my dad.
For the way he has supported her, stood beside her, strengthened her, and loved our family quietly and consistently.
I think sometimes we speak about motherhood without also recognising the good men who honour and support that sacred role so faithfully.
And I also know that for some people, it may have been a father who carried much of that nurturing role.
Some people may not have had a mother present in the way they needed, but they had a father who stayed.
A father who comforted, sacrificed, protected, and loved deeply.
I believe that kind of love reflects Christ too.
Because ultimately, the love that shapes us most is Christlike love, however we are blessed to receive it.
I also know not everyone experiences parenthood or family relationships in the same way.
Some relationships are painful or complicated.
Some grieve parents who are no longer here.
Some ache to become parents themselves.
But I believe God allows us to experience nurturing love through many people.
Sometimes through mothers, fathers, family and friends.
Sometimes through teachers, leaders, bishops, or people who simply choose to love the people around them well.
And as members of the Church, we also hold the beautiful truth that we have a Heavenly Mother.
We may not know very much about Her, but even knowing She exists teaches us something profound: that divine parenthood is eternal.
That nurturing love is part of Heaven itself.
As I’ve reflected on Mary and her experience, I think what moves me most is this:
Before the miracles...
before the ministry...
before the cross...
Jesus Christ was loved quietly by a faithful mother.
And maybe some of the holiest love we will ever give is the kind that happens quietly.
The kind found in patient moments.
In continued prayers. In choosing to stay soft, when life hardens us.
In loving people through imperfect seasons.
In sacrifices that may go unseen by the world, but are never unseen by God.
Mother’s Day ultimately points us back to the Savior.
Because the very best parts of motherhood, the sacrifice, the nurturing, the patience and the staying all reflect the love of Jesus Christ.
A love that remains and reaches for us continually.
A love that never gives up on us.
I am deeply grateful for the Savior.
For His life.
For His Atonement.
For the hope He gives us that love continues beyond pain, beyond loss, and beyond this life.
I know Jesus Christ lives.
I know He understands us perfectly.
And I know that through Him, no act of love, sacrifice, or faith is ever wasted.
In the name of Jesus Christ, amen
