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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.

At my own church, the youth pastor and his wife have no children of their own, but they are like parents to dozens of kids. They have a God-given capacity to love and relate to teens, some of whom barely speak to their own parents.

One teenager says, "When they ask me how I'm doing, they really want to know. Most people just want you to say 'fine.' I always feel they actually care how I'm doing."

In some cases, we see the effect we have on another's life. But in others, we never realize this side of heaven the powerful impact of our mothering.

That's the case with Margaret, a widow, who showed unconditional love for her neighbor, eight-year-old Steven, one of the least lovable kids in the neighborhood. He and his mother had lived in a commune for more than a year. Steven never knew his father.

Some days Steven responded to Margaret's love, coming over unannounced to rake her leaves or bring her the morning paper. Other days, he made fun of "the old lady" behind her back.

But every day, Margaret showed Steven she was glad to see him. She cut out newspaper articles about his class at school—field trips they had taken, subjects she knew interested him. She asked for a picture of him. Margaret invited Steven and his mother for dinner. And she prayed for both of them.

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