The Blessing of the Crone: Beyond talk of Motherhood

As the heat was turned up here in the Pacific Northwest today, we turned our calendars to the month of May.  It is a month that I greet with mixed emotions.  I have for many years now.

Walking into the stores, turning on the television, browsing the status feeds on Facebook or unfolding the weekly paper, we are greeted with reminders that the day is quickly approaching when we will celebrate those who are able to conceive and give birth.  I am well aware that this day, this month, this holiday has different meaning for different people.  I know the history and the way the day has taken shape in recent years.

For many, Mother's Day is a time of celebration.  For some a time of grief.  For others a day that brings up difficult memories and shines light on unhealed wounds.  For some it is a reminder of how far along the journey towards healing they have already come.  For many it is a day of remembrance, reconciliation and pondering.  For me, it is blend of all of the above.

This evening I joined a group of women to discuss a book by Marion Woodman -- Dancing in the Flames: the Dark Goddess in the Transformation of Consciousness.  One thread of the conversation examined the striking differences between how our elder women were viewed in ancient societies, (and are still in some cultures today) and how they have been viewed by western society over the years.  Woodman uses the term "crone"  reaching deep into our collective consciousness to retrieve an ancient definition -- a wise woman, in the midst of reconnecting to the earth, to nature, to the Divine, to herself and to all of humanity.  I was blessed to find myself in the midst of a group of wise, elder women, several of whom have embraced the term crone with gusto as a term referring to themselves.

I am deeply grateful for this elder age group.  While many of my contemporaries, and those within a decade of me on either side, are wrapped up in the world of mothering, the crones and I are in a similar state of being.  We are both in the realm of self-examination.  We find ourselves contemplating and redefining old dreams.

In some ways, between my the miscarriages of my children over a decade ago, and my thirteen years as a nanny, I feel a bit like my years of "mothering" have drawn to a close, despite my age.  That season of life is not a present reality.  I have much more in common with the women with silver hair than I have in common with my own age group.

Although my heart sometimes still aches for the season of mothering, I am finding myself more and more content to simply be.  I am in an in-between time.  And I am thankful for the women who have come before me. I am thankful for the communion of the wonderful crones.

Beloved,

You know my heart of hearts, my internal wrestling, and the stretching that has come in my identity over the last decade.  I offer all that I am, and all that I desire, to the wisdom of Your competent hands.  I trust that You will continue shaping, stretching and molding me in every stage of life.  

Thank You for the presence of precious crones in my life.  Thank you for the comfort that they bring.  Thank You for their wisdom.  Thank You for the way they reflect Your light.  You shine through their hearts, their eyes and their silver hair.  When they speak, I hear Your voice.  For all of these gifts, the blessings of the crones, I am deeply grateful.

Navigating the Waters

Beloved,

I've had some rough days as of late, several that I have struggled to write about in my private journal, let alone to distill and record here on this prayer blog.  My spirit and my body have been tied up in knots.  You and I have been striving, it seems.  And I have been loosing my perspective on the world, getting caught up in the stormy seas of the newscasts, the dark stories from friends and relatives, the hardships faced by many whom I deeply care for, and now have received some difficult-to-digest words.  Trying to write about it all makes me tired.  I am very tired...

My nanny family is down to one income.  They are hoping to return to two soon, but as a courtesy to me, they have let me know that I may need to begin seeking other options, just in case.  With my husband already without a steady source of income, (though You have certainly provided through odd jobs and caring for family members in these last few months) this news makes us very nervous indeed.

I confess, Beloved, that You have always provided for me and for us.  I also confess, Beloved, that I still struggle to trust that Your provision will continue.  It has very little to do with you, and very much to do with the unpredictability of the people and the world around me.  I have experienced rough waters along the river of life and have learned that many people are not trustworthy, and so, this dis-trust enters into my relationship with You, not because You have shown Yourself to be untrustworthy, but because I have a defense mechanism up (that You know very well) and I want to protect my spirit from the harm of disappointment...

Beloved, thank You for understanding.  Thank You for comforting me through the snuggles and purrs of my kitties this evening.  Thank You for my beloved husband holding my hand.  Thank You for holding me through his arms.  Thank You for smoothing the rough waters.

In the Midst of the Wailing in Ramah

Today, at the church we are attending, the annual children's pageant took the place of the sermon.  I'm sure it's been planned for months to have the children lead the Sunday where we light a candle for Joy, but the timing, in light of the recent tragedies both here in Portland and in Connecticut, was uncanny.  The children were the only ones who could bring joy to the service today...

I will confess that the children's voices were not all perfectly on pitch.  Some of the angels lost their halos or had their wings turned sideways or upside down.  One of the kings nearly lost their treasure as they fumbled with the long robes on the steps.  And yet, it was all perfect.

As the young child playing Mary cradled the Jesus doll in her arms, and the older child playing Joseph helped her lay the doll in the manger, my mind was taken back to the story of old. While shepherds and astrologers and angels rubbed elbows and tried to stay balanced near the altar, an older elementary child held up a gigantic star high for the congregation to see.  And I was very moved.

Photo taken at Murrayhills Christian Church
16 December 2012

Tears stung my eyes as the children sang "Joy to the World" as only they can.  And then their time in the front was done.  They took their seats to the sound of a collective deep breath.  We had all been moved, for the Spirit of God was present.

A recent seminary graduate proclaimed the Lord's presence and invited us to the Great Table where all are welcome.  We shared a lengthy time of silence, and I wondered how many people were thinking about the time of Jesus' birth and the darker side of the wise men narrative...

A Glimmer of Light

Beloved,

Thank You for this sweet family I nanny for!  They left me a special thank you love note this morning. And it made my day.

I had woken up particularly angry and depressed this morning.  I simply wanted to crawl back into bed with my husband, but I got up anyway because I am needed.  And I came to work and discovered a random note of gratitude from the mother I nanny for.

You, O Lord, knew how much I needed this note of thanksgiving today.  Despite my lack of understanding regarding my present calling, You are finding ways to help me feel purpose.  I am so thankful for the way you are speaking to me through this family.  What a gift they are to me!

Thank You, Beloved, for this glimmer of light and hope in the darkness that has been.

Thank You for this love.

Joy in the Season

Beloved,

Thank you for the laughter of little ones to begin my day.  Thank you for the precious gifts of your flowers and fruits.  As I walked this morning with the baby I nanny, we were delighted to watch the crows and robins soaring in the air. 


Tiny fingers stretched forth from the stroller to grasp and examine the lovely periwinkle flowers poking through a chain-link fence.  The humming of the bumble bees on the last bit of blooming lavender brought squeals of joy from us both.  And all I can say is thank you. 

May tomorrow's observations of Your creation be just as blessed, in Jesus' name, amen.

A Child's Eucharistic Celebration

Hear O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord alone.  You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.  Keep these words that I am commanding you today in your heart.  Recite them to your children and talk about them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you rise.  Bind them as a sign on your hand, fix them as an emblem on your forehead, and write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates. (Deut. 6:4-9)

This morning, the preschooler that I nanny, who has just celebrated his third birthday, celebrated his first Eucharist.  We weren't in a church building.  There wasn't a lot of music or long prayers or chanting.  Instead, his father and I were eating breakfast with him and watching the birds outside the window.

Battling the Beloved: How my Heart is won back when I Turn Away

Hello Beloved,

Much is on my mind, not for worries, but mostly for contemplation. At the forefront, though, is the sermon preached by our dear friend and pastor in Beaverton, where we found ourselves beginning Spring Break this weekend. The sermon on trust, the songs about being clay in Your hands, and their combined calling to release ourselves into Your arms for Your purposes – these are the images on my mind this evening.

Towards the beginning of the service, when the song entitled “The Potter’s Hand” was being sung, I found myself unable to join in the singing. This was odd since it is a favorite song of mine, but my spirit was heavy and I was grieved over the lack of connections and deep friendships in our lives since we followed Your call to move up here to the Seattle area. I didn’t feel particularly willing to become just anything or anyone at that moment in time. You know, Beloved, how I sometimes battle with You in spirit. Thankfully, Your Spirit is kind and compassionate, and gently worked throughout the rest of the service to remind me how much I am valued and loved even by that dear community which is several hours away from us.

"Softness of the Beloved" - Photo by Trista Wynne

The prayers of the people, the sermon, the strong embrace of our dearly loved minister of music, and lengthy hugs from the children (now teenagers) whom I used to nanny for – these all worked together to soften my heart. By the time we were invited to Your table, I was able to let go of the false pretense of control over my life. I simply acknowledge that in this part of the journey, my life and the life of my husband are truly in Your hands. I want to trust You; Lord, please help my lack of trust.

Welcome Home: On the Communion of Saints Past and Present

“Welcome home!” This was the greeting I received from one of the beloved elder women at St Thomas’ Episcopal this morning as we gathered for the mid-week Eucharist. I was deeply moved in my spirit by the heart-felt greeting and warm embrace of the wonderful woman in red. “Where have you been?!” she exclaimed, “we’ve missed you!”

What a greeting that was! Having been absent for two weeks on account of a disabled vehicle, I was quickly swept into open arms after open arms and greeted with prayers and blessings for peace. Part of that is incorporated into the service in the passing of the peace, but the emotion behind these greetings was far more than I had anticipated, and I was overwhelmed by the hospitality of this simple community gathering. One might have thought that I had been out of their midst for several months.

Oh Lord, what a blessing these people are to me! What a compassionate, prayerful, loving community you have placed nearby! How open and inclusive they are!

Ah, Beloved, they reflect Your light into the world and they bring out the God-flavors in me. O Sophia-Spirit, thank You for breathing into them. Through this mid-week Eucharist gathering, I am reminded of Your love.

"Papa's Love" - Photo by Trista Wynne

Thank You, Papa, also for my dear professor at Fuller, who that same evening, paused from his work to listen to my concerns regarding direction and call, and who approached Your throne of grace together with me. Bless this wonderful, dedicated, compassionate being with even more wisdom, grace and compassion than this one already has, and help them to accomplish all of the tasks they have before them. May they be filled with assurance and peace as the term continues to rush forward.

Thank You, Lord. Thank You for the joyful smiles and laughter and snuggles of the little child I was able to be with, who joined You in the realm of eternity six years ago today. All of us who are left surely do miss him, and wish we could see him growing up, but for whatever reason, this will not happen here on the earth…

I think of the welcome that I received from the blessed woman this morning, and the grace, peace and compassion extended to me by my professor this evening, and I know that You have been working through them all. If I can feel Your presence so strongly through others here, I wonder how awesome it must have been for that dear child to come into the fullness of Your presence. “Welcome home!” that dear one must have heard, “we’ve missed you!” What warmth and grace and love must emanate from You for that little one!

If we who remain here have such strong feelings of love and longing, how much greater must Your desires be for those who do not allow You to embrace them! Oh Lord, You must be so anguished by so many people. I pray deeply for their restoration into Your presence so they might feel Your love! I know that You reveal Yourself in many ways to many different people groups in a variety of cultures, and I know that You uniquely revealed Your relationship to us as Papa-God through Your Beloved Christ, and that Your Sophia-Spirit is dancing among us even now to make this revelation clear. There are many, even in the churches that bear Your name, who do not understand what this relationship means for us, nor for the world around us. Oh, Beloved, let us hear Your heartbeat tonight. Let us climb up and snuggle You, and allow ourselves to be snuggled! Help us all to rest well in Jesus’ name, amen.

The Infant’s Grasp: An Instinctual Response to the Eucharist

Photo by my friend, Grete Norquist

I had the privilege of holding an infant during the first portion of worship this evening. As we were singing and preparing our hearts to receive Communion, she slept soundly in my arms. In the passing of the peace she stirred and opened her beautiful eyes, seeming to greet each one as they gently touched her and shared the peace with us both. And then, after the words of institution were spoken, the wine poured and the bread broken, she began to stretch out her hand toward the table. The communion stewards came around sharing the elements with us all and her little hand reached toward the bread and the wine; she was instinctually reaching out for the representation of our Lord. Moments later she made signs of hunger and I passed her back to her mother so she could nurse. She was hungry so she simply asked for what she needed, and her desires were answered. This, indeed, is why we gather at the table of the Great Thanksgiving!


This makes me think about a sermon given this morning by Rev. Tom Steffen. He described the author of the 119th Psalm as having the markings of a lover, a connoisseur of the Divine Splendor we refer to as God; not a lover, connoisseur, or devotee first and foremost of the law itself…but a lover, a devotee who loves the [One to whom] the law points. Later he said that the psalmist was also a dancer, one whose study of the law exposed him to pure grace.

In these two statements and in the grasp of the infant at the Communion table, I find my soul’s longing and understand the reason for the darkness that has been gripping my spirit of late. Despite the joy I feel when I am at the altar, burning incense, lifting my prayers on the wings of music, (be it my own or someone else’s) or when I am internalizing Scripture like cakes of sweet honey, I find that when I depart to enter the other parts of life, my spirit is constantly longing for that place of surrender, of honesty, of fulfillment and wholeness. Nothing in this life is quite as satisfying to me as sitting at the feet of my Lord.

It is difficult to focus on the rigorous activity of studying when my heart is pulled elsewhere. I find it hard to be fully present in conversation or work or lecture when my spirit wants to be listening for my Master’s voice. My entire being aches with longing for my Beloved; I simply cannot get enough. The demands and rewards of the world seem superficial in comparison to the Deep Reality that I know when I am fully in the Lord’s presence. No wonder melancholy colors the edges of my life!

I want to sing and dance and run and skip and worship with the freedom of the little child I nanny! Oh how I long to jump into the arms of my Beloved and to be lifted high into the air, spun around and then held close so I can hear that precious heartbeat once more!

Ah, Beloved, Your creation yearns for Your presence! We are all sick with love and mourning, waiting for You to return! How hard it is to continue on when You seem so far away! How long, O Lord? Don’t you see how desperate we are for Your healing touch? Have You forgotten Your precious lovers here on the earth? It has been so long since the compassion of Your Holy Spirit was shown in powerful manifestations – this generation has nearly abandoned Your Way forgetting that You are Love. Even I cannot say that I am without doubt at times. And yet my own life is filled with time after time where Your grace and compassion and love were shown by others, and so I know that You Are… Oh my Love! Your Spirit-song is in the edges of my heart; grant me the courage to sing and to reach out for You – both looking to grasp Your hand and seeking to grasp others for Your name’s sake.


Here I am, Lord, stretching my hands to grasp You! I long to know You more, first and foremost as my Beloved, and then with my mind, and then to show what I know of You through my hands and my words. Draw near to me, Beloved, let me feel Your presence. Breathe Your Spirit deeply into my inner being and let me dance with You, in Jesus’ name, amen.

Good Grief: A Response to Westberg's Classic

Having just read through Westberg’s classic booklet entitled Good Grief for class, I wanted to briefly capture the moment and record where I am this evening. It is October, the month of birth for a child I nannied who died several years ago. When I was caring for him and another beautiful boy about the same age, I was in the final stages of recovery from the loss of my own children through miscarriage, and found time with them extremely healing. So, when the one child died, I felt the grief both of being his caregiver and the mother I would have been if my own children survived pregnancy. Only a few short months later, I received my long-awaited Associate’s degree and my husband and I moved out of state so I could attend a four-year college. This was our first time away from our childhood town, church and family, and so we grieved this transition, even though it was for a good purpose.


This was a complicated and difficult road of grief, one on which I, and my husband had, very few confidants in our new place; it was a road which threatened to tear my husband and I apart, since neither of us had experienced anything like it before. Gradually, though, we learned how to discuss our feelings, our fears and our furies, and to work through our respective grief together, and began to build relationships in our new community.

It took me several years before I could accept a nanny position with an infant again. I had several other jobs, including a few nanny positions, that I took in the time between, some fulfilling, others less-so, but all filled with healing, self-awareness, growth and opportunities to care for others. Now I care for a child who is almost two-and-a-half, and I have been his nanny from his ninth month of age. I am filled with joy whenever I am with this child, and sense the Spirit of God blessing our time together.

I remember that for a time after we first moved here, it seemed that nothing could have chiseled away at the dark night of my soul. Now, though, those days are a distant memory. Tears do occasionally come to my eyes when I encounter a beautiful child about the age that my own kiddos would be now, or when I see an early-elementary aged boy with unkempt blonde hair sticking out every which way, reminding me of the baby I had nannied.  Tonight I can hear his sweet nick-name for me, see his face and hands covered in spaghetti sauce, and feel the warmth of his head resting in the crook of my arm as I would rock him to sleep with his teddy bear.  These memories are indeed very sweet, even though my eyes grow moist as I type them.

Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if my children were with me today. They would be about at the age of reading on their own and doing science experiments in the kitchen. I certainly do not know why they are not here, but I trust that God knows and trust that they know how much they are loved even though we have never met outside of the realm of deep meditation or the occasional dream.

I may not have the life I envisioned several years ago, and I still wait for the day to come when the sounds of tiny footsteps are heard in our living room late into the evening, but beyond these losses, my life has continued. I am stronger and willing to be more vulnerable than I ever was before, and I find that both qualities lend themselves beautifully to the work of counseling, teaching, and pastoral ministry. Because I have walked the valley of the shadow of death, I know the value of life and, more often than not, do not sweat the insignificant problems. Patience and quietude and peace have been more deeply embedded in my spirit as a result of my trials, and I do what I can to share these gifts with others who I encounter along life’s pathway. Deep in my heart, throughout my life, I have felt the touch of the Great Physician: Jesus, my Lord, and I look forward to continuing to share His healing grace with you here in this online space where together we can seek quiescence and serenity in the midst of a chaotic world.

I pray that in the deep wounds of your life, you also are able to feel the gentle, healing touch of our Savior, to be filled with the peace of the Holy Spirit and to receive the deep, abiding joy that flows forth from a life rooted in the faith in our loving and compassionate Creator who holds all things, even those things we don’t understand in strong and capable hands.

Starting Fresh

I have been AWOL from the blog world for some time now. Sorry. I'd like to begin anew and attempt to keep track of my joys and sorrows as I continue working on my MDiv at Fuller Seminary Northwest, (hereafter referred to as FNW) nannying part time, participating in worship as part of the Frankincense Community, painting, singing and songwriting, and nurturing my relationship with my husband. I'll do my best to stay on top of things and to post regular updates for family and friends here.

Shalom.