Laura
Pittman
"Becoming a mother has been the deepest desire of my heart for as long as I can remember."
Laura is the kind of person who keeps a casserole in the freezer for the friend who hasn't called yet — but will. She has been quietly preparing for motherhood her whole adult life: by loving other people's kids, by building a steady home, and by becoming the woman every family in our church seems to know they can count on.
Warm, dependable, the one who shows up.
Friends describe Laura as thoughtful, steady, and the kind of person who notices when someone needs encouragement before they ask for it. She remembers birthdays. She brings the meal without being asked. She is unflappable in a hard moment and a complete giggle in a silly one. The word that comes up over and over when people talk about her is safe — she makes you feel like wherever you are with her, you're going to be okay.
A home built for welcome.
Laura loves creating a warm home where friends and family feel welcomed — whether that means sharing a meal at the table, baking something just because, or decorating for the holidays the second the calendar allows. She lights candles in the afternoon. She makes the bed every morning. She believes in real napkins, slow Sunday breakfasts, and family traditions that get repeated until they're sacred. The home she wants to give a child is one with rhythm and softness — a place where you always know what's for dinner and you always know you're loved.
Books, baking, long walks with Tilly.
On a quiet evening, you'll find Laura with a novel, a cup of something hot, and Tilly curled up against her leg. She loves baking — particularly anything involving butter and a sourdough starter — and she keeps a steady rotation of friends fed because of it. She loves a thrift-store afternoon, the smell of the Idaho woods in the fall, and the very specific joy of hosting a small dinner party where nobody wants to leave. She is endlessly happy with a long walk, a good conversation, and not too much on the calendar.
Children come to her.
On Sunday mornings, Laura rarely makes it into the sanctuary without a child on her hip. She is the first call when a mother needs an emergency babysitter, and she has been known to step in for weeks at a time when a family in our community is walking through something hard. Kids feel her warmth before they feel her words — she gets down on their level, she remembers what they told her last week, and she's not afraid of the messy parts. When the nursery is loud and chaotic, Laura is the calm in the middle of it, holding two babies and reading Goodnight Moon to a third.
Faith lived out in small, daily ways.
Laura's faith doesn't make a lot of noise — it just shows up. In the meals she takes to new moms. In the prayers she writes in her journal at 5 a.m. before work. In the patient way she sits with friends in grief. She believes that family is one of God's greatest gifts, that hospitality is a kind of worship, and that every child — every single one — bears God's image and is worthy of being loved with abandon. She wants the home she builds for our child to be full of that quiet, unwavering kind of faith.
The longing of a lifetime.
More than anything, Laura looks forward to building a home filled with love, laughter, encouragement, and the strong family traditions she's been quietly storing up for years. She dreams about birthday breakfasts, school pick-ups, and the small ordinary moments — packing a lunch, brushing tangled hair, singing the same lullaby a hundred nights in a row. Becoming a mother has long been the deepest desire of her heart. She has been preparing — with patience, with prayer, and with every child God has trusted to her arms in the meantime — for the day a little one gets to call this home their own.
"Laura is going to be the kind of mother every child deserves and not enough get. She has been ready for years. Watching her with other people's kids is watching someone live in the wrong job description — and being a mom is the one she was made for."
— Marcus, on Laura
Glimpses.
More to come — Sunday mornings, the kitchen, the woods around Moscow, and (very soon, we pray) a little one to share it all with.