It was the most dreaded day of the year.

Maybe I should just skip church and stay home under my covers. Pretend it's an ordinary day, I thought. Instead, my husband and I headed for church. Once seated in the back, rather than in my regular pew, I looked around at the other women who seemed to glow this morning. They wore corsages. I buttoned my raincoat, grateful for the morning drizzle that gave me an excuse to hide my uncorsaged dress.

As long as nobody says anything, I thought, I'll be okay.

The music started with Bach. I studied my bulletin and almost believed I'd make it through the service until the pastor got to the microphone ? "Happy Mother's Day!" he said to the congregation of proud moms. Happy Mother's Day.

For seven years I'd wanted children, prayed for children?but my womb wouldn't hold a child. Mother's Day underscored what felt like my failure to become a mom. My husband tried to help by giving me a corsage or volunteering to stay home with me.

In church, when all the mothers were asked to stand so we could pray for them, my pain came to a head. I knew women were standing who'd never wanted to become mothers. I'd heard other women complain regularly about the burdens of motherhood. Yet there they stood, and there I sat. Mother's Day hurt.

It was a week after a particularly grueling Mother's Day. I'd been attending an inner-city church in Chicago, where I taught a small Sunday school class of junior high students. One girl, Tanya, belonged to a gang and brought me to wit's end dozens of times during the year. That Sunday, I'd spent half our class time trying to get Tanya to stop punching the other girls.

Tanya didn't stay for church. But as she slipped out the back door, she called to me over her shoulder, "See you around, Mom!" She laughed and made her exit. But before she turned away, I caught her eye. She meant what she said. In some way, I was like a mother to that strong-willed girl who liked to act so tough.

That Sunday, God gave me a glimpse of an extraordinary calling: I could be a surrogate mother to people who need the love I have to give! He could give me spiritual children.

I started actively praying for children who needed someone to act like a mother to them. As soon as I opened my heart, my mind began filling with possibilities.

There was one seventh-grade boy in my class who needed someone to talk to. He thought he should be able to date, but his parents said no. I didn't tell him anything his parents hadn't already said?but it helped him to hear it from someone else.

Another classmate, Rosa, came to Sunday school only twice. But God urged me to pray for Rosa "like a mother" long after she left.

Many mornings when I awoke, Rosa was the first thing on my mind. I prayed God would reveal himself to her, and that she would listen. I asked God to give her a Christian friend, a classmate to help her say no to temptations. I prayed for her school work, her teachers, her parents.

Telling my Sunday school kids I loved them didn't go far enough. I had to show it. So I took them to the zoo. Sunday afternoons we played softball in the park. One girl started showing up before Wednesday night prayer meetings so I could help her with her math homework.

Several times Tanya stopped coming to my class. Each time, I went looking for her. And every time Tanya was amazed that I wanted her back.

I wasn't the only spiritual mother in the small church. I got to know Karen, who studied nights at a city college. Despite a busy schedule, she still found time to look out for Juanita, a 13-year-old living with a grandmother and 11 siblings. Karen made sure Juanita stayed in school and did her homework.

About the same time, Karen's mother took a 10-year-old girl under her wing. She bought the child school supplies and talked regularly to her about the Scriptures. Another woman in the church bought eyeglasses for a boy whose mother couldn't find the time or money to take him for an eye exam.