Love & Spirituality

As someone who has spent the past 28 years parenting a daughter with cerebral palsy, I can say with certainty that love has been woven into nearly every moment of every day. That deep, fierce, unconditional love is what has sustained me through the hardest times. Without it, I could not have made it this far.

But if I’m being fully honest (and I am), spirituality hasn’t played much of a role in my experience as a disability parent. That’s not to say I’m not spiritual—I am. I’m Jewish, and my faith holds personal meaning for me, but it’s expressed quietly, privately. I don’t often talk about it, and I don’t practice in a traditional way.

Yes, I believe in God. But when I listened to the Live Well. Love Strong. podcast episode featuring Pastor Cindy Mood, and heard the question “What is God to you?”—I paused. It’s a question that invited reflection. So here is my answer—at least for today. I reserve the right to change what, and who, God is to me at any given time.

God has always been present in my life—in childhood, in Sunday School, in Confirmation class, and later when my own children went through those same traditions. God is… there. For me, God represents the best of who we are. The kindness, the compassion, the resilience. God is the stillness I reach for in chaos, and the quiet reassurance that I’m not entirely alone.

But I don’t see God as the cause of things. I don’t credit God when something wonderful happens, and I don’t blame God when tragedy strikes. My mind just doesn’t work that way—it never has. That’s not where my faith lies.

That said, there have been moments—unexpected conversations, well-timed advice, or people showing up just when I needed them—that I can’t fully explain. Sometimes, things fall into place in a way that feels just a little too aligned to be random. Maybe it’s coincidence. Maybe it’s timing. Whatever it is, I’ve learned to pay attention to those moments. They remind me that even when things feel uncertain, I’m not entirely on my own. To me, that quiet sense of connection is a form of spirituality—subtle, but also grounding.

Love is the force that keeps me moving forward.

Love, to me, is raw and gritty. It’s real. It’s not just a feeling—it’s a daily choice. Sometimes it looks like showing up to yet another appointment, or advocating for my daughter in a system that doesn’t always see her. Sometimes it looks like biting my tongue when I’m exhausted, or staying hopeful when everything feels uncertain. 

Love is giving even when I feel empty. It's listening when I’d rather retreat. It’s grieving privately but staying positive outwardly. Love is what keeps me from giving up, even when I have wanted to.

Love—especially the love we carry as mothers—is fierce. Protective. Exhausting. And like no other.

It hasn’t always been easy. There have been seasons when I’ve felt so angry or heartbroken that I wasn’t sure love was enough. But then I’d see my daughter’s determination, or hear her laugh, or witness her doing something no one thought she could do—and that’s when I remember that love is why I keep going.

I don’t pretend to have all the answers. I’m still learning what it means to love well and to love strong. But I know this: love, at its core, is what connects us. It’s what softens the hardest days. And when we’re lucky, it’s what reminds us that we’re not alone.

Parenting a child with a disability has stretched me in ways I never expected. It’s challenged how I understand love, faith, and what it means to keep going. I may not have all the answers, but I’ve come to trust the small moments of connection, the strength that rises up when I need it most, and the deep, immense love that carries me forward.

Written by Linda Ross