Like a mother

We are the ones who will rebuild

Like the rest of the world, I woke up on Saturday to the news that the US and Israel bombed Iran. My blood ran cold. In no time, there were reports of retaliation. Of a girls’ school being obliterated. Of civilian casualties and long-term engagement. Now there are Iranians celebrating in the streets and others who are calling for vengeance against the perpetrators of this violence. “At a rally mourning Khamenei’s death in Tehran, one man said the news had filled him with hatred ‘towards Israel and America. We must avenge the blood of the leader.’” (In polarised Iran, Khamenei’s death triggers celebrations and grief, Reuters) My heart aches and I burn with anger and I wonder why? What on earth does any of this achieve? Honestly, I’m at a loss for words right now.

I wrote this piece last week, and was just putting the finishing touches on it when the world exploded again. I’ve debated whether or not to post it because it seems almost frivolous in light of war, and yet the final paragraphs are all about being light and life in a dark and dying world. Skip to the end if you don’t want to hear about the Olympics. Or put down your phone and go outside. Turn your face to the sun. In Game of Thrones, Melisandre famously said: “The night is dark and full of terrors…” But we have the ability to bring light wherever we go—no matter how small and flickering the flame.

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To say I love the Olympics is a bit of an understatement. Every two to four years my family knows that our media rules (a loose and often unspecific template for screen usage that endeavors to prod us toward books, walks, and personal edification) are thrown right out the window. The TV stays on for hours at a time because who can tell when Olympic history will be made? We must, if at all possible, be watching.

I laugh, I cry, I get a decent cardio workout from the couch because my heart beats out of my chest as these forces of nature near the finish line, land the jump, and, sometimes, careen so far off course I fear for their very lives. It’s all quite thrilling, isn’t it? I love the drama, but even more than that, I love the stories.

Were you watching when Ilia fell? When that French figure-skating couple (absolutely striking specimens of human strength and beauty) won ice dancing gold? What about when Lindsay Vonn was airlifted off the mountain or Chloe Kim lost the gold medal to the girl she mentored or that kid from Wisconsin who grew up skating on the pond in his backyard broke the Olympic record in short track? It was all so exciting. So unifying and rich and human.

Of course, we all know about the men’s hockey gold medal win (and the embarrassing fallout) as well as the incomparable women’s hockey team. Obviously, the whole world fell in love with Alysa Liu and her striped hair (myself included), and there were so many more unknown athletes who became household names during those weeks in Milano/Cortina. But I’d have to say that my favorite Olympian this year, the person who captured my heart and will remain in my mind for years to come is the 41-year-old mother of two who won the gold medal in the monobob, a sport that I didn’t even know existed until I watched her hurl herself down the track.

Elana Meyers Taylor is an athlete, activist, wife, and mother of two sons, Nico and Noah. Nico was born with Down’s Syndrome, and both boys are deaf. After three silver and two bronze medals in bobsledding at previous Olympics, Elana finally won gold this year in the monobob (a single-person bobsled competition that was added to the Winter Olympics in 2022 to encourage more female athletes to participate). I happened to be watching when she realized that she had finally caught her golden ring, and it moved me more than anything else I witnessed in the Olympics this year.

You really should watch it. It’s a beautiful moment. As the final times go live, Elana drops to her knees, hiding her face in the American flag. In seconds, Elana’s nanny is on the scene, hugging her and bringing the kids to their mother. These are the people Elana wants to celebrate with: her children, the woman who helps her raise them. One of the boys is barefoot, and as they scramble over her for hugs and kisses she signs: champion.

Perhaps I relate to Elana because she reminds me of myself: a middle-aged, often harried mom who’s doing her level best to have it all. We struggle to balance a complicated family life with goals that seem bigger than we should dare to dream. We’re usually tired, undoubtedly overworked, but also deeply in love with our people and our chaotic days. There’s mess and laughter and conflicting schedules and speed bumps that we could never have anticipated—and we roll with it all, deepening our laugh lines by the day. And in spite of it all, no matter how hard it is, we win.

Elaine Gu is gorgeous, a world champion freestyle skier with modeling contracts and mega fans all over the world, and Jutta Leerdam has seven million followers on Instagram and is dating Jake Paul (a questionable choice, but that’s another story). The men’s hockey team is comprised of famous NHL stars, people with Nike endorsements and huge contracts and name recognition. We’ve successfully turned sport into a showcase of the rich, beautiful, and powerful, and maybe that’s why Elana with her naked, un-botoxed face, scraped back hair, and barefooted son touched me so deeply. To me, she is all of us.

Elana is the Minnesota mom in her bathrobe, casually taping ICE agents in her slippers because she cares about her neighbors. She’s the Moms Demand Action advocate who works full time but manages to squeeze in a training on gun safety at a local elementary school. She’s the church volunteer who organizes meals for the immunocompromised or those who can’t get out. She’s every middle-aged woman who has had to fight for herself, her family, and her dreams, all while being told she should start considering extensions or filler or at least smile more.

Okay, maybe I’m reading too much into Elana Meyers Taylor’s Olympic win. But as a women who is on the verge of becoming just another invisible older woman, her win—and the endearingly normal way she celebrated it—felt like a win for women of a certain age everywhere.

The world is—and has always been—on fire. It feels like we are watching the destruction of everything we know and love in real time. And maybe every generation has felt that way since the moment Adam and Eve bit the apple. But come what may, war or famine or unrest or ICE agents in the street, we are God’s plan, his hands and feet on earth.

It’s always been us. We are the ones who will rebuild the ruins.

“If you do away with the yoke of oppression,
with the pointing finger and malicious talk,
¹⁰ and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
then your light will rise in the darkness,
and your night will become like the noonday.
¹¹ The Lord will guide you always;
he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land
and will strengthen your frame.
You will be like a well-watered garden,
like a spring whose waters never fail.
¹² Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins
and will raise up the age-old foundations;
you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls,
Restorer of Streets with Dwellings. [Bold mine]

We are the ones who create both beauty and babies, one hand on the plow and the other welding a paintbrush, a pot, a pen. We bend weapons into winnowing forks, dismantle guns, and plant gardens where there was nothing left but dust. We change diapers and change our minds, we change things for the better.

We change the world.

Perhaps what we need more now than ever is the reminder that we are builders, inventors, creators, doers. The divine feminine—that exists in all of us!—is comfort and presence and peace. We produce, fashion, and establish, weaving together the intricate threads of our passions, interests, gifts, and the mundane but essential tasks that we are called to do every single day. Like Elana learning sign language to communicate with her beautiful sons while training and cooking and growing and winning gold, we balance entire worlds with the breadth of our outstretched, life-weary and life-strong arms. From the tile of our kitchen floors to a podium in Milan and far beyond, we chase children and excellence with our whole fractured-but-beating hearts.

Throughout scripture God is depicted as a mother eagle (Deuteronomy 32), a mother hen (Matthew 23:37), a comforting mother (Isaiah 66:13), and a mother in labor (Isaiah 42:14). The Hebrew word Shekinah (which refers to God’s presence) is feminine. And Biblical figures like Sarah, Deborah, Hannah, Esther, Ruth, Mary the mother of Jesus, Mary Magdalene, Lydia, Priscilla, and so many more show us what it means to be strong, nurturing, and filled with wisdom.

Maybe it’s far past time to take a page out of Elana’s book and work like a mother. Train and grow like a mother. Win like a mother. Live and love and find ways to move in the world as a mother. One small, deliberate act of radical love at a a time.

Eyes open. Hearts steady. Hands ready.

Thanks for reading. xoxo - Nicole

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