Kate Morthland
Meet Kate Morthland, MomCo member since 2025 and our 2025 Pitch Night winner.
Her project “Come as You Are: A Faithful Welcome for Neurodivergent Families” is making a meaningful impact by creating greater inclusion for neurodivergent children within the church and parochial school sector. Selected by our MomCo Champions, Kate’s work reflects a powerful commitment to ensuring every family feels seen, supported and welcomed in faith communities. We’re so proud to have Kate and so many others like her who are leading change within the mom community.
Let’s have a conversation with Kate to learn more about her and the great project she is leading.
1. Let’s start with your “why.” What moved you to create Come as You Are? Was there a personal moment or experience that lit the spark for this project?
This project was born from my own stumbles as a mother raising a neurodivergent child. It was born from tears shed in school parking lots and the ache of feeling helpless, unsure of how to help my son thrive in a world not designed with him in mind.
There was a season when Walter was being called out of school almost weekly. I will never forget the day I walked him to the car in tears, feeling like I had failed him. His bright, beautiful spark was constantly overshadowed by meltdowns, transitions and a system that did not know how to meet him where he was.
My husband and I wanted Walter raised with the foundation of God’s Word, wrapped in a faith community. But we learned quickly that many parochial schools do not have the resources to help children like Walter thrive. That truth cut deeply. The same place where I wanted him to hear that God loves him just as he is was the place where I feared he would be told he did not belong.
Church was not easier. I remember crying in the bathroom after a meltdown. I remember clutching Walter in the pew, praying he would not hum too loudly or stim in a way that turned every head. Fear threaded through every Sunday. I was physically in church, but I was not living in the peace of it.
Then one Sunday, during communion, Walter was stimming as we walked to the Lord’s Table. I braced myself for the stares. But instead, a calm rushed over me. I heard it in my spirit: “Let the children come.” I wept. For the first time, not from fear, but from calling.
And the Sunday before I learned I was a finalist for this project, Walter surprised me. He asked to sit somewhere different. He led me to the first pew. Front and center. I knew instantly that it was confirmation. This calling is not just about my son. It is about opening the door wider.
For the mom crying in the bathroom between hymns.
For the child who has been told to be quiet, to sit still, to shrink.
For every family who has felt isolated in the very place that is supposed to feel like home.
Come as You Are exists because children like Walter are not outliers. They are masterpieces of God’s design. And they deserve to belong.
2. For those who might not be familiar, what are some of the ways neurodivergent kids and their families can feel left out in faith spaces — and what does a truly “faithful welcome” look like to you?
Neurodivergent children experience the world differently, and sometimes that difference looks unfamiliar. Hand flapping, loud vocalizations, sudden movements, or a meltdown when their internal order feels disrupted. For someone who has not lived in that world, it can look like misbehavior. And in faith spaces where reverence, quiet and stillness are often expected, those expressions can quickly draw looks, whispers and assumptions.
Parents hear things like, “They must just not discipline him.”
And that judgment lands like a punch to the gut.
Parenting can feel like flying blind. Parenting a neurodivergent child feels like flying blind inside a storm. The typical advice, the sticker charts, the “just try this technique,” they simply do not apply. And so parents walk into church already exhausted, already anxious, already questioning if they belong, only to absorb silent stares instead of grace.
Come as You Are changes that story.
It starts with education. Because education turns pity into empathy. It turns judgment into compassion. It reminds the house of God that neurodivergent behavior is not defiance. It is communication.
A faithful welcome does not require a grand ministry launch or a full remodel. Sometimes it looks like sitting beside a mother during a hard moment, placing a hand on her shoulder, and whispering: “You are doing a good job. We are glad you are here.” That tiny sentence can feel like oxygen.
And from there, true hospitality grows.
It looks like sensory-friendly spaces.
It looks like weighted lap pads or noise reducing headphones in a basket near the pews.
It looks like ushers trained to recognize dysregulation, not disrespect.
But most of all, it looks like making room, not in the back, not in the hallway, but in the heart of the congregation.
A faithful welcome says:
You belong.
Your child belongs.
And we will not make you fight for your place in the house of God.
That is what inclusion in faith should look like and what every family deserves.
3. You’re blending faith and inclusion in such a powerful way. How has your own faith journey shaped the way you see and support neurodivergent families?
I will be honest — I was not always a woman rooted in Scripture or living in church pews. I walked through dark chapters in my life that do not even feel like they belong to me anymore. Yet even in those moments, when I was far from him, God never stopped pursuing me. He kept whispering through the ache, through the shame, through the wandering that he was not done with me yet.
When Walter was born, I was not a steady believer. I prayed before Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner, that was about it. But when I watched my son be resuscitated and then placed in my arms breathing and alive, something in my spirit broke open. I knew that this was not coincidence. This was redemption. This was God saying, “I give beauty for ashes.” It is Isaiah 61 in real time.
Raising Walter has not been easy. Neurodivergent parenting stretches and exposes every weakness you have. But that is where God does his best work. The very places that felt like they were breaking were the places God used to rebuild me. The chaos became the classroom. The overwhelm became the altar. And motherhood became my ministry.
From Walter’s birth, I experienced my own rebirth. God used this child to redeem me. To return me to him. To call me into something greater than myself. He blessed me with faith, with community, with family, with church, and ultimately with purpose.
So when I advocate for sensory-friendly spaces and inclusion, I am not just advocating for access. I am bearing witness to a God who takes what was once broken and writes a new story with it. Every lap pad we hand out, every parent we encourage, every small act of inclusion we create is a visible sign that God can use the messy parts of our story for good.
This work is not just about inclusion. It is the physical evidence of a God who redeems.
4. Every meaningful project has those “this is why I’m doing this” moments. Can you share one story or experience that’s stuck with you along the way?
Every meaningful project reaches a point where the excitement fades and the real work begins. The long nights, the balancing act of being a working mother, and the constant effort to move the mission forward can feel heavy. In those moments, you must reach deep and remember your “why.” I am grateful that I have moments that bring that purpose rushing back. One of those moments happened during our church’s new sensory-friendly worship service, All God’s Children.
All God’s Children, a ministry of Trinity Lutheran Church in Springfield, was created to provide a worship experience designed specifically for neurodivergent individuals of all ages, a space where they are welcomed, supported and embraced. Rooted in Christ’s love, the service offers thoughtful accommodations, freedom of movement, and a community built on understanding. It is a place where families who often feel out of place in traditional settings can finally exhale.
During one of our first services, I watched an autistic boy sitting near the front, joyfully stimming and flapping his hands. His parents were not tense or apologetic, shushing him or trying to keep him still. They were relaxed. They were listening to the Word of God. For the first time in a very long time, they could worship without fear or judgment. That moment, the freedom of that child and the peace on his parents’ faces brought me to tears. It was a powerful reminder that this is what inclusion looks like. This is what the love of Christ looks like in action. Creating spaces like this allows entire families to come back into the house of God, not hidden in the back, but fully part of the body of Christ. And that is why I do this work.
5. So many members in our MomCo community want to make a difference but aren’t sure where to begin. What would you tell another mom who has an idea tugging at her heart but feels nervous to take that first step?
This mission was born out of pain and isolation, but it was also born out of the realization that so many mothers were quietly in the same place. I remember praying through tears on my bathroom floor, begging God to show me what to do. And in that moment of desperation, he reminded me of his promise: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him” (Romans 8:28).
Motherhood and hardship often walk side by side. And society can make us feel like the struggle means we are doing something wrong or that we are not enough. But the truth is, motherhood is sacred work. Every dish washed, every tear wiped, every prayer whispered, every moment advocating for our children is holy labor.
What if the very pain that breaks us open is also the soil where God is planting our purpose? What if the season that feels like the darkest valley is the exact place he is refining us to serve others?
To the mom who feels a tug in her spirit but is afraid to start: Pray and be bold. God already wrote your story. If something keeps tugging at your heart, it is not just an idea, it is a calling. Scripture tells us “Do not fear” 365 times, one for every single day of the year. That is not a coincidence. It is a daily invitation to courage.
So take the first step, even if you are afraid. Because when God plants purpose in a mother’s heart, he also makes a way for her to walk forward in it.
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Kate’s story is a reminder that big change often begins with one mom who decides to do something about what breaks her heart. Through Come as You Are, she’s helping faith communities become places where every child — and every parent — feels seen, supported and celebrated. At MomCo, we’re proud to champion moms like Kate who are turning compassion into action and creating a more inclusive world for families everywhere.