A Mother’s Story

In 1991, when I met Robert Spence, I was working at First Chicago as a corporate banker, pastoring an Episcopal parish, mothering three young city kids, participating on numerous civic boards, and reaching the end of a Kellogg national fellowship on spirituality and leadership. I was living in competing worlds which shared little common vocabulary and held each other in great suspicion. Chicago, my home city, reflected this "divided imagination" – manifested in patterns of racial, economic, social and political segregation.

It was a winter’s day when I attended a church service in Washington DC at Christ House, an infirmary for homeless men. During the intercessions, we prayed for a man named Robert Spence who was scheduled for major surgery the next day. The priest later announced that Robert would be the sacramental minister. He looked frail as he stood up, lean, weary, missing many teeth. As he offered me the bread of communion, I was moved to tears and felt deeply connected to him in a way I couldn’t explain.

I had always assumed that people connect out of common interests or strengths. But I understood in that moment that our most profound connection is based in a common vulnerability; our common bond is not necessary to construct, only to recognize and accept. Robert and I were able to bless one another out of a common poverty and willingness to be present to one another. My life going forward was radically changed by that recognition; I began actively to seek the company of the vulnerable as a place of particular blessing. And to imagine a just future where life flourishes for everyone.

As a mother, I was especially heartbroken over the many young lives in our city being lost to despair, violence and drugs. So I organized a conference on "Faith, Imagination and Public Life", gathering in lots of well-known city pioneers and social innovators. I wanted to understand the imagination that had shaped Chicago over the last century – and stimulate a broad group of civic entrepreneurs to re-imagine Chicago as a whole. People introduced themselves by describing an image that had particular authority in their lives. By the second day, people were willing to dream, to describe images of Chicago’s future ultimately worthy of human commitment.

The image that came to me was of the recycling symbol, not just as an image of ecology, but as a representation of God’s economy, in which nothing and no one is wasted. I began to imagine a city...

Within three days, I set aside a 16-year corporate career to begin the work of discovering ways to bring the vision to life. Once I committed myself, serendipity stepped in. That very week, I got invited to go to Jerusalem and think about holy cities, what is necessary to create a city of peace and justice. Some weeks later, I went on an eight-day silent retreat, hoping for a clear word to surface about how to move forward.

One thing that emerged from the silence was a simple phrase: "think like a mother." I interpreted that inner word to mean that it was not necessary to create anything, only to stay open and present to what would emerge naturally. This new work would likely require hope, attention and faithfulness to life’s promise and mystery more than it would require ambition and strategy.

Following the retreat, the bank from which I had resigned offered me an unexpected nine-month severance package. I took that happy surprise as confirmation that I was on the right track, that this was indeed a pregnancy of sorts. Sara Ruddick suggests that motherhood is a sustained response to the promise embedded in the creation of new life. I asked my husband what he thought we would need to do as parents of a new "child" whose gift was imagination. He answered profoundly, "That would be the easiest possible child to raise. All we’d have to do is listen." He was right.