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.

Ah, Tax Day!

Last night I found myself standing in the procrastinator's line at the post office.  The majority of the people who were mailing in their checks for the state department of revenue wrestled with the stamp printing machine, trying to figure out what kind of printed stamp to buy in order to receive the "postmark" of the 15th of April.  Three different people tried three different options, running up small bills on their credit cards before they figured out which option was the correct one.

As the line grew longer and began to snake around the lobby, one might have expected an attitude of grief or anxiety to pervade the atmosphere.  A funny thing happened, though.  Among the folks waiting in line as the seconds turned to minutes and quarter hours and so on, jokes about the drabness of color on the walls or the need for a clown or balloons began to bubble up.  No one was impatient with anyone else.  And when the discovery was made regarding which option was necessary to get the date printed on the stamp, great rejoicing erupted.  The person who made the discovery, (with the help of at least three other people looking at the screen with them) was so delighted that they had finally figured out the system, they stayed to help nearly half a dozen other people behind them so the process could move faster from there.

We discovered that you had to buy three stamps at a time, so those who had only one or two envelopes that needed the date-stamped postage shared with those who had been standing in line behind them.  Wishing one another a "happy tax day", we worked together to lift one another's moods and each person in the line helped the person or two behind them to navigate the silly machine.  I was struck by the presence of the joy and compassion in that small, whitewashed government office.  Christ is sometimes found in the most unlikely of places.  For me, on tax day, Christ was found in the little post office in my hometown.

Ah, Beloved,
You have a way of popping up unexpectedly.  Your Spirit of compassion is present in places we might not think to look for Her.  Surely you surprise us with your grace when we least expect it to come our way.  During this Holy Week, I pray that everyone might catch a reflection of You in our fellow human beings, in the love of our animals or in the glory of your creation.  May we all be captivated by your Spirit of grace and compassion, and may we strive to make Her presence felt more palpably everywhere we go, in Jesus' name, amen.

Morning Coffee

Beloved,

Today the sun shines brightly here in the Pacific Northwest, and the wind cuts cold, slicing through  the hand-made cap upon my head, finding just the right pathway through the neckline of my jacket in order to touch that shoulder that aches a bit when the seasons change.  So, I bundle up a little tighter, pour myself a cup of coffee and wrap up in a thick blanket to sit on the patio rocking chair to listen to the birds sing the last few praises before they travel south to avoid the winter storms.  I can see my breath.  Steam from my coffee fogs up my glasses.

Breathing in deeply, I feel the cold air rush into my lungs.  It remains there, pausing for a long moment, growing warmer as oxygen moves into my bloodstream.  Taking its place, the toxins, the used energy, are returned to my core.  The chill has completely dissipated.  I exhale slowly, wondering if you can feel what I feel, and see what I can see.

My Morning View - Photo by Trista Wynne

The branches of the trees in the green space are now exposed.  Waving proudly in their nakedness, they are not ashamed.  If only I could be so bold!

My lips have lost their moisture now - stolen by the frigid wind - that rascally thief!  The warm liquid soothes them, if only for a moment.  My coffee is losing its comforting properties to the same bandit that wicked away the softness of my skin.  I do not care.  I am here with you.  For this moment, that is enough.

Vacuuming, Planting and the Intangibility of Ministry

In the last couple of months, a good portion of my time has been dedicated to helping to develop a contemplative prayer service on Wednesday nights in my worship community and aiding in the guidance and supervision of religious development of senior high youth in an inter-religious fellowship.  Online development of blogs, social media networking and the planning and implementation of worship services all take time.  The effectiveness of this spent time, however, is not always able to be quantified or evaluated.  The support of ministry is somewhat intangible.

During this time frame since my weekday job came to an end, I have used a large portion of my time in soul-searching, the tending and healing of old wounds, evaluation of my intended career pathway(s) and filling out applications and online inquiries for job postings that look like they may be fulfilling for me.  Since I have not yet found a position that fills these weekdays, much of my free time has gone towards housekeeping and self-care.  Just as the support ministries listed above, neither of these things are really able to be evaluated.  Although a clean house is nice, it doesn't stay that way for long.

While vacuuming this morning, my soul once more was directing its attention to our Creator.  I was inquiring about the direction in which to travel to bring economic security to our household (although my husband is working full-time, I need to bring in at least a partial income to supplement what he provides while I await my ordination and, hopefully, full-time ministry work).  Continuing in my housework, I simply watch and wait on the Beloved's response.  The Spirit had something to say today as the vacuum passed to and fro on the office carpet.

All is intangible, She whispered.  All that I have called you to in this time is preparing you for the intangibility of ministry.  You plant the seeds of faith in every kind of soil that I place in front of you.  You preach and teach, you hold the hands of the wounded and broken, you guide and advise the peoples who are looking for direction, you pray for everyone you see and hear, and you point people towards My work in your midst.  But that is as far as your work can go.  Everything else is up to Me.

My thoughts turned towards the bulbs I planted last fall and those that I added to the soil this fall.  Not all of them will sprout.  Some have already been stolen by the squirrels who need a little extra sustenance for their winter nests.  Others simply do not have the DNA structure within them to support a full blossom in the warm months.  A couple of them have already started to sprout and their tiny shoots will be frozen over when the winds of winter blow through.  I have no control over any of those factors.  Granted, I can cover the ground with chicken wire or stones to attempt to thwart the advances of the squirrels, and I can insulate the tender shoots with peat moss and leaves to try and protect them from winter's effects.  But, in these preventative measures, my options are limited simply on account of our dwelling in a rental property.

Planting in my Garden - Photo by Trista Wynne

I understand why some church leaders and certain personalities are drawn towards the tangibility of membership numbers and financial contributions.  These things are quantifiable.  They can be judged and thus give some people a goal towards which to proceed.  We've saved x number of souls this month and baptized y converts, some might boast.  Our staff includes more people than you have attending your congregation, another might say.  Competition sets in and self-assurance soars -- that is, until the numbers begin to decline and self-identity begins to spiral downward.

The ministry that Jesus calls me to is not one that appeals to that sort of power jockeying.  My identity can not be based on such things.  I have come to learn that my self-image needs to stand on its own, content to be dwelling in the arms of our Beloved.

Perhaps this is why I have been called into this time of transitional rest.  As my soul and mind are gently healed from the wounds of old and I am working towards ordination, I am called to lay my cares and concerns into the hands of the One who is guiding my path.  I am simply called into Relationship.  This is my preparation for ministry, so that I can firmly say with the apostles of old:

For my part, I am going to boast about nothing but the Cross of our Master, Jesus Christ. Because of that Cross, I have been crucified in relation to the world, set free from the stifling atmosphere of pleasing others and fitting into the little patterns that they dictate. Can’t you see the central issue in all this? It is not what you and I do—submit to circumcision, reject circumcision. It is whatGod is doing, and he is creating something totally new, a free life! All who walk by this standard are the true Israel of God—his chosen people. Peace and mercy on them! (Gal. 6:14-16, The Message)

A Pleasant Pumpkin Day

Pumpkin Carving with the Youth

It's been a very pleasant, pumpkin-filled and quite beautiful day today. I am offering thanksgiving for the continued gorgeous sunshine, for the gift of the harvest season, for the fun of fellowship in my spiritual communities, for reconnecting/date-time with my husband and the gift of musical endeavors book-ending the day.

My husband helps his
brother on the trampoline.

Last night, my brother-in-law stayed with us.  He is always a joy to have visit!  Since he views the world through a very different lens (developmental delays and visual impairment) we are reminded to slow down and to enjoy the simple things in life, like the feel of a giant stuffed tiger, the gift of balance on a trampoline, the vibrations of the bass through a small amp and the smell of a pumpkin spice candle.  A gentle rap-a-tap on a hand drum, the springiness of a slinky and a little music (played either at his hands or ours) will keep him happy for hours.  The joy of our Beloved is certainly evident in my precious brother-in-law.  For him, I am incredibly thankful.

Murray Hills Christian Church

Worship at my home church this morning was awesome. It was great to have the whole worship team back together again -- the first time we've *all* been together since the beginning of the summer. (One day I'll get a picture of the whole team to share here.) We were blessed by a wonderful harvest display near our baptistry. Between the surrounding beauty, the presence of a tiny new baby in our congregation and the worship team's heart-felt harmony this morning, I felt deeply connected to You, Beloved.  Thank You for Your presence in our midst!

My youth aren't afraid to
get their hands a little dirty.

My guitar was left at home for my kitty to curl up with and I was off to hang out with the wonderful Unitarian Universalist Senior High Youth I co-advise this year. We carved pumpkins and talked about Halloween traditions and family endeavors. The group joyfully welcomed a new friend into our midst and got our hands quite dirty!

Pumpkin smashing
at the Green Dragon
Killer Pumpkin Brewfest

After lunch, my husband and I headed to the east side of Portland for the Killer Pumpkin Festival.  We watched the smashing of giant pumpkins by the highest bidder, took in the sounds of the Oompa Band and sampled several different delightful pumpkin brews.  Some of our local brewing companies make great pumpkin beer!  I am thankful for the joy of this time with my husband.  Doing something completely unexpected, like swinging a sledgehammer at a pumpkin on a stump and sampling some new tastes is certainly a blessing.

Deep belly laughter filled our afternoon together, and then we returned to our church for worship team practice.  Later we had the sanctuary to ourselves, just us and our Beloved.  I played my guitar and my husband played the drum set.  We played with all of our might - a wonderful gift of freedom since we usually practice our music in our apartment and are always considerate of our neighbors.  Body, mind and spirit were united in glorious, freeing worship together.

Your Spirit, Beloved, was palpably present with us today.  I am deeply thankful.  I am truly blessed.

Wild Waves & Soothing Sands: Trysting with Beloved at the Coast

Written at the beach during my discernment retreat, the following excerpt from my journal and photos reflect  my deep experiences with Beloved...

"Crashing Wave Untamed" - Photo by Trista Wynne

Beloved,

Thank You for meeting me at the beach this afternoon!  Thank You for this secluded spot -- a little nesting area for You and me to share.  Thank You for the sound of the ocean, the rhythm of the waves, the cleansing and peace that comes from being so close to the edge of unharnessed waters.

Oh, what a tryst we had!  You are indeed my First Love!  I long for you unceasingly.  When I get a little taste, all I can think of is when I can next receive the falernum nobele, the very best of wines, from Your navel again.  

Your left arm rests under my head; Your right arm encircles me once more.

Release into Beloved's Arms: A Body Prayer

"Shibashi: Gazing at the Moon"
Photo by Matthew Wynne

Sometimes, dear ones, I get all tangled up in knots, and it is difficult to connect with God.  Wondering what the future holds, furrowing my brow at things from the past, feeling lost and tumultuous in the present -- these things all change my body's posture.  With muscles tense and heart shut tight, I dig my heels into the ground, preparing to wrestle with Spirit.  In moments like this, I cannot love the Lord with all my heart, soul, mind and strength nor can I love others as myself.  Love, like all emotion, is all bound in the knots within.

In times like these, I speak to my body.  I find it extremely helpful to connect mind, body and spirit together in preparation for the Presence of Beloved.  In one of these times I recorded this meditation poem, a body prayer, in my journal.  May it wash over us and transform our posture so that the Beloved's presence might be made known.

Signs of New Life

Beloved ~

As we journey through the middle of the winter time, I have found it hard to remember the light of your love.  My soul has often felt like it was swirling in a thick fog or meandering about in the darkness, lacking direction and confidence.  Such have the months been since graduating from seminary and asking what is next.  Here, though, in these last few days, it seems that your Spirit has been stirring and opening new doors.  I have now sold my second painting: "The Tree of Life".  A shining reminder that You are in the midst of making all things new, I feel like you have affirmed my pathway of artistic and creative endeavors.  I am filled with peace.

Painting, "The Tree of Life" by Trista Wynne

In the same day, as I opened the door to walk onto our back patio, I noticed that the bulbs I planted shortly after we arrived in this place are now beginning to sprout!  I am so very thankful for these signs of new life and promise.  These simple signs remind me of your presence, even in the swirling questions regarding my purpose and the reasons for moving back to my childhood hometown.

The questions remain, but at least I don't feel like You are very far away.  Even if I have to continue waiting, I am comforted in the reminder that You are here, in the shadows and fog.  You are watching and waiting right alongside of me.

Perhaps that is the reminder that you gave during the epiphany so many years ago -- a sign of your love and light, your very Presence wrapped in human flesh, shining in the midst of the dark night.  You are not so very far from any of us, are you?  For all of these signs of new light and life, thank you.

Photo by Trista Wynne

A Brief Thanksgiving

Beloved ~

Thank you for the sunshine today!

Thank you for the time I was able to spend with my husband and with my parents today.  Being with them all this morning and seeing my parents' eyes light up with joy over the toddler I nanny was a tremendous blessing!  I haven't seen them smile and laugh like that in a long time!

Photo by Trista Wynne

Thank you for the delight that the little child I nanny takes in life.  The child's spirit seems to rub off on all with whom they interact.  I pray this child never looses that quality!

Thank you for this time, Beloved.

Amen.

The Calling of Your Light

Beloved ~

The sun is shining brightly today, something it hasn't done in months.  Week after week, the dark clouds have hovered, threatening rain, reflecting the heaviness and teariness within me.  Today, though the clouds have parted; gentle breezes have carried them away, perhaps to some weary land desperately in need of moisture and shade.

Although the clouds have parted, my weariness remains...

Photo by Trista Wynne

A branch blocks the light, keeping our bedroom from being filled with the sunshine.  I'm tempted to run outside with a hacksaw or to break it off by hand.

My soul needs the light.  My eyes need the light.  My body, my heart, my mind need Your Light.

The light remains outside.  The sunshine's rays are filtered by the tree branches, only partially reaching my eyes.  And yet, even in this half-light, I am being comforted.  I find a smile beginning to tug at the corners of my mouth and my lungs filling a little deeper with Your Spirit.

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...

Ebb & Flow: The Rise and Fall of the Stormy Sea

Beloved, 

Watching someone you love slowly fading away is very difficult... 

The intense tumult of emotion resting just beneath the surface is something I fear few would want to endure. I don't even want to endure it myself. But if I don't say that I'm hurting, I am attempting to deceive myself and You, and failing miserably at both. 

"Incoming Storm" - Photo by Trista Wynne

A storm is brewing! Lightning! Thunder! Waves crashing overhead! The boat is sinking! Everybody out! 

With one last breath I cry: “I am strong! This will not take me! I will not sink quietly into the deep!”

Dreaming of Home

Then I considered all that...hands had done
and the toil...spent in doing it,
 all was vanity and a chasing after wind,
and there was nothing to be gained under the sun.
~ Eccl. 2:11 ~

Yesterday, in the wee hours of the morning, I dreamed that my husband and I were looking for an apartment complex, looking for a home where we belonged.

Photo by
Matthew Wynne

We began near many large, elegant looking buildings where sports cars gleamed and jewels were strewn about well-manicured lawns.  Gardeners baked in the sun.  Maids wilted on front porches.  Striving, oppression and emptiness were there.

We drove to the darker side of town.  Oil can fires burned bright.  Dogs barked and fought.  Distant sounds children wailing echoed off the barren walls.  Striving, oppression and emptiness were there.

The road curved.  Nearing a forested area with deer peacefully enjoying their bits of grass, we came to a stop by a little apartment housing made of dark, well-weathered cherry-wood.  The keys were drawn from the ignition and our feet reached for the bark chips on the ground.  Hand reached for hand.  There we stood, taking in the serenity around us.  We breathed in deeply and walked towards the buildings for a closer look.

Summertime Serenity

Beloved,

As I delight in the freedom that comes from accomplishing all that needed to be done before the end of the term, I also bask in the light of the sunshine. Thank You, dear Lord, for this vibrantly beautiful day! Thank you for the stretching kitties basking in the light. Thank You for the fluttering sparrows and burrowing bunnies that my neighbor and I saw on our walk today.