America’s twin epidemics of isolation and low birth rates intersect in the heartbreaking experience of new mothers in America.

In my short time as a mom (we have two toddlers and another child on the way), I have spoken with women at libraries, pregnancy centers, churches, and parks. Regardless of background or status, their narrative is the same: Mothering in the “little years” is defined by a deep love for their children—but also by a sense of isolation and debilitating anxiety about “doing it right.” Many new moms are the only women they know who are having children. Some of them never held a baby before they gave birth. Women living in poverty—whose babies are most at risk of being aborted—have even fewer community connections than their middle and upper-class counterparts.

American motherhood is broken, but marriage and babies aren’t the problem. Fewer women are having babies and Americans are more isolated than ever, so new mothers are often on their own. They don’t know what happens to a woman’s body postpartum, or the kind of behavior they can expect in an 18-month-old, or what constitutes a happy mothering experience. The typical American woman today lacks a village: a community of women who will support her not only with meals and pediatrician recommendations, but also a late-night phone call when she’s crying alongside the baby, or a tearful prayer together when her husband is away for business.

Throughout history, the Church has risen to meet societal needs. Monks established the first hospitals. Sisters founded schools across the world to educate impoverished children. On a smaller scale, priests started cooperative businesses to create jobs in the wake of the Spanish Civil War. These solutions weren’t just short-term outreach programs or “serve days.” They were—and are—sustainable institutions. One way the Church can advocate for a culture of life is by offering isolated new mothers the resources and care and friendship of a “village.”

 A Church Village Ministry

When my second child was born, I was lucky enough to benefit from a church village that was all about giving and receiving help. Over the years, members brought me weeks-worth of meals, offered eczema creams and tips on what to do when my baby was covered in red spots, and comforted me through a miscarriage. And when it was my turn to give, I dropped off meals, watched kids during doctors’ appointments and, with a dear friend, coordinated a weekly “New Mom Community Night” for two and a half years. By encouraging authentic relationships, we were able to create a space where mothers cried over past abuse, whispered timid dreams about the future, and rejoiced as they were baptized alongside their children.

We were all committed to each other. During different seasons (Christmas, the summer, and the time when half the group gave birth within two weeks), we discussed taking a break. The response was always, “No! This group is the highlight of my week. I couldn’t survive without it.” When our church was no longer able to support us with meals and childcare, we willingly switched to a potluck model and rotated hosting the group in each other’s homes. I was shocked that something so life-changing could be so simple: a few moms, meeting every week, talking about highs and lows, sharing some food. That’s it.

Of course, this isn’t a new idea. MOPs (Mothers of Preschoolers) and similar groups have been blessing church communities for decades. However, I believe we need to start thinking of these groups not just as growth opportunities for committed church members but also as an outreach for mothers at risk of abortion—in other words, as a pro-life ministry.

Today, we often separate these two facets of Church life: internal ministry and external outreach. Yet mothers’ experience (e.g., postpartum depression and anxiety; isolation at home or work; dependence on Instagram for parenting advice; feelings of resentment toward their husbands) cuts across socio-economic lines. The Church has a unique opportunity to meet the desperate relational needs of any woman—whether she bought a $5 thrift-store crib or a $1700 self-rocking bassinet. Yes, a mother dealing with poverty often brings additional needs to the table: She may be underemployed; have unreliable transportation, or a dangerous boyfriend. Yet, where better to learn about new jobs, used cars, and respectful relationships than in a loving community?

This isn’t all theory. Several women in our group had overwhelming needs. No charity program has a quick fix, and often you only see changes when looking back after years. Even so, beautiful stories from our community emerged: A very young mom with no transportation eventually made friends in the group who took her grocery shopping and drove her and her baby to the hospital one night. Another friend, who had no model of what order in a family looked like, began weekly finance and planning meetings with her boyfriend after hearing that this practice had helped another woman in the group stay on the same page with her husband. And one mom, after realizing that her abortion was not something she should “just get over,” experienced profound healing at a Rachel’s Project retreat she learned about through the community. None of this “ministry” was part of our regular programming. It’s just what you do for your friends.

How to Begin?

A mother’s support group is not an outreach ministry that tells someone about Jesus while handing out food or clothing: It welcomes struggling individuals into the culture and family of the Church. To facilitate this pro-life ministry in your church, you’ll need to recruit two or three welcoming, nurturing leaders deeply committed to the value of relational ministry. I’d suggest each group leader take a training course like “Beyond Volunteering”[1] or read through Becoming Whole. Resources like these fundamentally shift the image of charity from filling another’s empty bowl to walking alongside them for the long haul.

These leaders also need husbands who are committed to this important work. They are the ones who will provide comfort when wives share particularly heartbreaking stories, encourage them to persevere with a mother who seems hardened to the world, and take the children to the backyard so moms can discuss sensitive topics.  The leaders can determine where the group should meet (i.e., a church nursery, outdoor playground, or in a group member’s home) and coordinate potluck-style meals. If the church has extra resources and volunteers, it can even provide meals and childcare (though those things aren’t necessary). We learned that authentic connection is the most important element. To help kick off conversation, you can bring in outside experts (we had everyone from financial planners to lactation consultants) or work through a class like Faith and Finances[2] or Love and Logic[3] together.

To get the word out to the broader community, we partnered with local pregnancy resource centers and nonprofits, hosted (and advertised) events like “maternity clothing swaps,” and even messaged women who posted about their loneliness on local motherhood Facebook groups.

A mothers’ group taps into an extremely underused volunteer base—mothers. Moms of young kids often can’t volunteer at pregnancy centers or other ministries because they aren’t allowed to bring their children along. This ministry actually thrives when the host’s children are running outside with everyone else’s.

My family has since moved from the state where we helped found New Mom Community Night, but the group meets every week and grows steadily. I still get to see the group chat buzzing with inside jokes and loving offers to help with moving, meals, and childcare.

Recently, in our new town, I was speaking to a neighbor who is pregnant with her first child. She shared her anxiety about how having a baby would change her relationship with her husband, what it would be like to go back to work after a short maternity leave, and would there still be time for her hobbies. I asked if she had a support system. “I have you,” she replied hopefully, “and I was thinking I should join some kind of moms’ group, but I have no idea where to find one.”

Little did she know that within walking distance there is a church that hosts a weekly get-together, where moms discuss everything from prayer life with a newborn to passing down toddler coats. Sadly, the group hasn’t advertised outside the church walls, so if I hadn’t been there to tell her, how would she have known about it?

A village of Christian mothers is an immense gift that we can share with a world desperate for connection. Let’s not hide our light under a bushel.

[1] The “Beyond Volunteering” video series is produced by The True Charity Network, a national coalition of churches and nonprofits that serve people in poverty. Members receive extensive practical resources to help operate their programs with excellence. Read a synopsis of Becoming Whole here.

^[2] A 12-session financial literacy class

^[3] A 6-session parenting class