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In the words of Lisa Whelchel, we find both celebration and healing: “I’m hosting weekend retreats all over America. It is like a 24-hour slumber party for moms. We laugh, eat, play games, get massages, win prizes, talk about parenting and even cry a bit.” Though lighthearted in tone, these words reveal a deep truth: that those who bear the sacred labor of raising children need not only strength but also fellowship, renewal, and rest. For motherhood is both joy and burden, laughter and tears, and in gathering together, women find the courage to continue the great task entrusted to them.

The ancients often praised the power of community in sustaining the weary. In the book of Ecclesiastes it is written: “Two are better than one, for if they fall, one will lift the other.” Likewise, in the Spartan tradition, warriors were never trained alone, but side by side, knowing that the strength of the group carried the strength of the individual. So too with mothers: by sharing their stories, their struggles, their laughter, and their tears, they are fortified. Whelchel’s retreats are not mere parties; they are councils of resilience, where those who nurture the next generation are themselves nurtured.

History provides us a mirror of this wisdom. Consider the women’s gatherings in ancient Rome known as the matronalia, festivals honoring Juno, the protector of women and childbirth. On these days, wives and mothers gathered not only for ritual, but also to celebrate their unique burdens and blessings. The community uplifted them, reminding them that their role was honored and shared. In Whelchel’s modern gatherings, we hear the echo of these ancient festivals—a place where laughter and tears together become sacred rites of renewal.

The meaning of her words is deeply emotional: parenting is not a solitary path, though it often feels like one. Every mother may believe her struggles are unique, her fatigue singular, her doubts unspoken. Yet when she sits among others and hears their laughter, their stories, their confessions, she realizes that she is not alone. To “even cry a bit” is not a weakness, but a release, a shared catharsis that transforms despair into solidarity. In this way, tears become as healing as laughter.

Whelchel also reminds us of the importance of joy. Too often, parenting is framed only as labor, sacrifice, and duty. But joy is not a luxury—it is a necessity. To laugh, to eat together, to play games, to feel the touch of rest through a massage—these are not frivolous indulgences but sacred restorations of the soul. For a weary parent, joy is strength reborn, the fuel that makes the long journey endurable. Without joy, love itself grows thin.

The lesson for us is clear. First, let us create spaces of fellowship for parents, especially for mothers, who too often carry their burdens in silence. Second, let us not be ashamed of seeking rest, play, or celebration, for these renew the heart and sharpen the spirit. Third, let us remember that the tears we shed in safe company are not signs of failure, but of humanity, and that through them we become stronger.

O seekers of wisdom, remember this: those who raise the next generation must also be raised up themselves. The retreats of Lisa Whelchel are more than gatherings; they are sanctuaries where the weary are reminded of their worth, where the strong are allowed to be vulnerable, and where laughter and tears mingle like water and wine. From such places, parents return not only restored but also empowered to continue their sacred calling.

Thus, her words endure as counsel to us all. Let us not isolate those who labor in love, but surround them with fellowship and joy. Let us honor the mothers, the fathers, the caregivers, by giving them space to rest, to laugh, to cry, and to rise again renewed. For in uplifting the parent, we uplift the child, and in uplifting the child, we uplift the world.