Mother's Day for those who have lost a child

The ways in which I have been blessed by our children in these last 24 hours would fill half a book.  But this Mother's Day my mind has been much on the mothers who have lost children and for whom today holds a pang of sorrow or an ocean of pain.  


Samuel Rutherford in particular knew what it was to lose a child, and he writes to a woman of his acquaintance some words that touch both us who have lost children and too that should give blessed perspective to those who count living children among our richest blessings:

"Grace rooteth not out the affections of a mother, but putteth them on His wheel who maketh all things new, that they may be refined; therefore sorrow for a dead child is allowed to you, though by measure and ounceweights; the redeemed of the Lord have not a dominion or lordship over their sorrow and other affections, to lavish out Christ’s goods at their pleasure…He commandeth you to weep, and that princely One who took up to heaven with Him a man’s heart to be a compassionate High Priest. The cup ye drink was at the lip of sweet Jesus, and He drank of 

it…Ye are not to think of it a bad bargain for your beloved daughter that she died – she hath gold for copper and brass, eternity for time. All the knot must be that she died too soon, too young, in the morning of her life; but sovereignty must silence your thoughts. I was in your condition: I had but two children, and both are dead since I came hither. The supreme and absolute Former of all things giveth not an account of any of His matters. The good Husbandman may pluck his roses and gather His lilies at midsummer, and, for ought I dare say, in the beginning of the first summer month; and He may transplant young trees out of the lower ground to the higher, where they may have more of the sun and a more free air, at any season of the year. The goods are His own. The Creator of time and winds did a merciful injury (if I may borrow the word) to nature in landing the passenger so early."

This letter was written to Lady Kenmure, whose story in itself deserves to be read:

Early in 1629 Lady Kenmure had suffered the loss of her first little daughter. Samuel Rutherford wrote her very tenderly: “Ye have lost a child: nay she is not lost to you who is found in Christ. She is not sent away, but only sent before, like unto a star, which going out of our sight doth not die…but shineth in another hemisphere.” 

Grief was never far away. In 1633 another infant daughter died, and in 1634 she lost a little girl of eighteen months old – her last child. Rutherford wrote “Let the moveables go: why not? They are not yours. Fasten your grips upon the heritage; and our Lord Jesus…give you Ladyship to grow as a palm-tree on God’s Mount Zion; howbeit shaken with winds, yet the root is fast."

A short time later Lady Kenmure’s husband, Sir John died. Rutherford writes, “I thought our Lord brake the sharp point off the cross…I know the sweetest of it is bitter to you…Only, Madam, God commandeth you now to believe and cast anchor in the dark night, and climb up the mountain.”

Just a month or two after the death of her husband, Lady Kenmure gave birth to a son and it is not hard to imagine that all her devotion was heaped upon this child. Rutherford feared for her, lest she should lose him as well, and continually pointed her to the eternal heritage. “He…hath left little to woo your love from Himself, except one only child…Look to the east, the day sky is breaking.” And again, “Let you child be Christ’s; let him stay beside you as thy Lord’s pledge that you shall willingly render again, if God will.” 

In 1639 Rutherford’s fears turned to reality for Lady Kenmure’s little son John sickened and died at the age of four. Even Rutherford was staggered at this sorrow and says, “I confess it seemed strange to me, that your Lord should have done that which seemed to ding out the bottom of your worldly comforts.” In a letter revealing the depth of his pastoral concern, he acknowledges her grief which, he says…”will have its own violent incursions in your soul: and I think it be not in your power to help it…Madam, I would that I could divide sorrow with you…But I am but a beholder…the God of comfort speak to you, and allure you with His feasts of love.” 

About a year after this Lady Kenmure remarried. Her second husband, Sir Henry Montgomery, was a man whose spiritual interests were most compatible with those of his wife; Rutherford describes him as “an active and faithful friend of thee Lord’s Kirk.” But this happiness, too, was short-lived for Sir Henry died soon afterwards and Lady Kenmure must have recalled the words of Rutherford: “He (Christ) seeketh his answer of you in affliction, to see if ye will say, “Even so I take Him.” 

--story excerpted from Faith Cook's Grace in Winter

What amazing mothers of hidden sorrows unnumbered shall we meet in heaven one day!  May we extend a loving hand to one another, to pray for one another and to encourage one another, in this journey of preparing souls to honor their Creator and enjoy Him forever.

inside the ruins of Samuel Rutherford's church

view from the back of the church