Mothering from Afar: Hannah’s Story and the Mothers Who Still Live It.

Mother’s Day brings flowers, breakfasts in bed, and warm embraces for many—but not for all. For some mothers, Mother’s Day is a tender ache. It’s a prayer whispered through distance. It’s love sent out like a letter, hoping it arrives.

Some mothers are separated from their children because of shared custody arrangements, children away at college or in the military, or because their kids have grown and moved out into lives of their own. And some are separated by prison walls. Whether the separation is demanded by life’s transitions or imposed by the justice system, the ache is real. Being apart from your child—no matter the reason—is just hard.

The Bible tells us about a mother who knew this pain well—Hannah.

Hannah longed for a child. She wept and pleaded with God, promising that if He would give her a son, she would dedicate him to the Lord all his life. God heard her prayer and gave her Samuel. And true to her word, once he was weaned, Hannah brought him to the temple and left him there to serve under Eli the priest.

It’s hard to imagine the ache of that moment.

Eli wasn’t exactly a reassuring parental figure. His own sons were corrupt and abusive, and Eli turned a blind eye. And yet, Hannah entrusted her precious son to this man—not because she fully trusted Eli, but because she trusted God. She released her son into a shady world and held onto faith instead of control. Every mother does some version of this: we raise them, then we let go—and the world they enter is not always kind.

But Hannah didn’t just walk away.

Every year, she made Samuel a little coat.

Think about that. Her hands carefully measured for a child she didn’t get to see grow. Her stitches were slow, deliberate—woven with love, protection, and probably tears. That coat wasn’t just fabric. It was her presence. Her prayers. Her fierce devotion.

It was the only way she could still wrap him in her arms.

For mothers separated from their children—whether by prison walls, distance, duty, or life’s unfolding paths—that coat takes many forms. It might be a letter, a late-night prayer, a birthday card carefully chosen, or a whispered name lifted to heaven. It’s love that persists through absence. It’s fierce, aching, and unstoppable.

And what became of Samuel?

He wasn’t undone by the mess around him. He became one of Israel’s greatest prophets. He heard God’s voice. He listened. He led. That tiny boy, raised in a corrupt environment, turned out to be a giant of faith. Hannah’s sacrifice, her surrender, her stitching—it mattered. Her love wasn’t wasted. It worked.

So this Mother’s Day, let’s remember the Hannahs.

The women who mother from afar.
The ones who give their children to God and to a world they can’t always protect them from.
The ones who still send love in the form of phone calls, prayers, and coats stitched with hope.

Because that kind of love:
It doesn’t break when the world does.
It doesn’t quit when the door closes.
It doesn’t fade with distance or disappear with time.
It builds miracles out of messes.