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.

Remembering Days Gone By

Beloved ~

While getting ready for work this morning, my body, mind and spirit were coated in molasses.  I moved very slowly.  Tired and grieving, I climbed into the car.  I cried a great deal.

All I want to do is to sit with my daddy.  All I desire is to snuggle up close with him.  I don't want to see or hear or touch anyone else.

Perhaps being a nanny is hard right now because what I want more than anything is to be little again.  I want to be a small child once more -- knowing what I know now -- climbing up onto my daddy's lap at the end of his work day.  I want that time with him back.

Sharing snacks of peanut butter and crackers while watching cartoons or reading a book was one of my favorite ways to end the day.  When everyone else was asleep, I would lay in my bed and wait for the sound of daddy's car to drive up.  I'd sneak out of bed and greet him at the door and we would have our special time together.  The nights when daddy would tell me a story about life on the farm when he was little were the best...

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.

A Child-like Faith: Seeing our Beloved Everywhere

To detach the walking from the destination

is in fact one of the best ways to recognize the altars you are passing by all the time.

(An Altar in the World, p. 56)

This quote from Barbara Brown Taylor makes me think about meandering home after the elementary school released us when I was a child. I knew that eventually I would get home, but was in no hurry to do so. The house key was safely in my pocket, so I could get in whenever I arrived. But for my young little mind, the journey itself held much more promise than the destination.

"Childhood Discovery" - Photo by Trista Wynne

Those leisurely walks home were filled with great discoveries: hopping frogs, curly potato bugs, slimy slugs, beautiful butterflies, singing birds and much, much more! Everywhere I stepped I found something to captivate my attention. No rock was left unturned, no branch went without feeling the weight of my tiny body, and no creature was ever harmed along my journey where every place was sacred.

How quickly we forget this child-like faith! How easily we neglect the everyday altars of our human existence on this precious, watery planet! How often we ignore the little things while in search for our ultimate goal or career or relationship!

Oh, Beloved, You are present in so many ways already here in the earth. Help us to see You in the many ways You seek to reveal Yourself! Help us when we become frustrated that our journey is taking longer than we expected. Remind us of Your beauty and faithfulness and grace and love present in the little altars of everyday material. Help us to once again become incarnational and to embrace the world around us with love, for You are present in many ways. 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.