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.

My Daddy is Dying

It seems so strange to type such a title for a blog post.  I haven't posted in a while, despite spending much time at the computer.  I told myself it was because I had other things to do.  That was partially true.

This month, however, a reality check came in the form of a note about my dad's last doctor's appointment.  And this week I have been ill, so have had a few days at home by myself to reflect and to realize how much I have been running without realizing it.  Last night while I was at home with the kitties, I found myself overwhelmed with sadness.  I finally broke down and sobbed.

I have known for a while that things were changing.  I know that my daddy's mind has been swiftly leaving him.  Moments of clarity and recognition are getting further and further apart.  The formerly egregious extrovert that used to greet total strangers in the store with great delight has turned inward -- now hardly able to engage in even a simple conversation with his closest family members.

My heart was nearly cut in two when the news of his body's loosing battle was announced a couple of years ago.  I packed up my husband and cats, wrapping up seminary with a shorter degree than I had originally set out for, and moved back to our childhood town so I was sure I would have some time to be with my daddy before the final day came.  This past year has been a gift, even if it has been filled with gut-wrenching sobs over the news of dementia settling in.  We are pretty sure that the treatment for the original illness has increased the speed of this mental decline exponentially.  It may have even caused the dementia.  Which is worse -- the original disease or the side effects of the treatment?  Both cause death of one kind or another.

Now, a brand new cruel beast threatens to steal my daddy away.

I do not know what to say in my prayers.

I have talked, a bit, about my daddy's decline.  It is very difficult to talk about.

The feelings are so raw and the reality so strong that the words get caught in my throat.

People are uncomfortable with silence.  As I am struggling to formulate my thoughts, attempting to find words, they often fill the silence with their own.  When I do find the boldness to speak, their discomfort becomes more evident.

They shift in their chair.  They look away.  They find something in the room that needs tending or they change the subject or fill the remaining silence with empty platitudes.

Sometimes they shift the conversation so that it focuses on a grief they have experienced in the past.  They may well be trying to sympathize, but somehow their grief becomes the focus of the conversation.  My feelings get lost -- fading into the background like something unwanted, unloved.

I do not fault them.  They just don't know what to do.  They think they must say something.  They don't know how to sit in the presence of pain.

The pain of watching someone you love battle an illness that is slowly eating their body away is horrendous.  Seeing the very same person's mind slipping like sand through your fingers on a windy day is worse.  This pain is present every day.  Sometimes it is a dissonant background note in the seemingly large orchestration of everyday life, and it is easily ignored.  At other times, the pain arises as a solo, demanding full attention, center stage.

Today it is the latter.

Death makes people uncomfortable.  Grieving, even more so.  Few people know how to be with someone who is watching a loved one die.

My daddy is dying.  Fast or slow, death is surely coming.  I am distressed; and I feel utterly alone.

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.

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

Growing in the Light

Hello, Beloved.

My heart is much more at peace this evening than it was just a couple of days ago.  You have granted a good sliver of sunshine both days, and I was able to get out and walk without a sweatshirt for three days in a row, at least for a while.  I look forward to having several days in a row where I won't even think about putting on a sweatshirt or sweater.  Perhaps those days are not so very far away.

Poured out for All: Mary’s Gift and Steadfast Devotion

Beloved,

As I smooth a sweet smelling lotion over my dry, cracked hands, I consider Mary of Bethany and her tender gift of adoration, compassion and grief.  On account of her outpouring, the whole room was filled with a fragrant perfume.  It must have clung to everyone who was present!  Like the cedar smoke of a campfire lingers on our skin, clothes and hair, this heady perfume must have remained with everyone in Your presence for days.

"Rising Smoke" - Photo by Trista Wynne

How long were You scented with Mary’s oil, Beloved?  Did it linger on You as You traveled?  Did the smell turn heads as You walked past?  What would they have been thinking?

Was the scent still with You in the upper room as You gathered with the disciples and their families?  Did any of the children ask about it?  Did they breathe You in as You laid Yourhands on them in blessing?

Perhaps the aroma of Mary’s anointing was waning as You entered the garden.  Or perhaps, in Your deepest anguish, as blood sweat and tears mingled, her simple gift drifted up to comfort You.

Oh Beloved, if only Mary had been with You in the garden!  She would have held You while You shook.  She would have let Your tears fall into her hands instead of onto the cold, hard ground of the olive grove. 

But maybe her gift was enough.  Maybe it gave You the courage to finish what You knew was Yours to accomplish.  Maybe she was there in her own way.

A simple gift, an extravagant gift, this wasteful, wondrous, gift of devotion and service was poured out for You.  And then, You, in turn, were poured out for us all.  Mary of Bethany will always be remembered, as will You.  The gift was a beautiful thing indeed.

Preparing for New Life: Creation in Utero at Passover

Beloved,

As I read Matthew’s account of the gathering for Your final Passover meal, my dear friend is on her way to the hospital to deliver her youngest child.  My time is near.  Make the preparations.  Your words are echoed on the lips and in the keystrokes of my dear friend, the sweet mother, during the final days of her pregnancy.

A man with a water jar will meet you…tell him My time is near.  Your words flow forth just after a woman has poured out her entire life savings onto Your feet.  An alabaster jar of sweetly perfumed oil drenched Your tired feet and soothed Your aching muscles, and this dear woman freely gave her complete devotion through her kisses and tears.  She is preparing long before Your male companions, and You invite them to join in her work so that You can accomplish all that You have been given to do.

"New Life Springing Forth" - Photo by Trista Wynne

Washing, anointing, feeding, serving – these are the things that my dear friend has been doing in preparation for the new life that is coming into the world.  And now, having just spoken of Yourself as a desolate Mother Hen who laments the scattering of her chicks, You are doing the same.  As the ultimate expression of humanity, You embody masculine and feminine together unashamedly.  You, Divine Mother Jesus, are preparing for the new life that is coming.  The birthing process will be painful, and You will suffer greatly, but as You say, when the mother’s eyes behold her child, she forgets all of the pain.  She only feels love and joy.

May Your new creation come to know how very much we are all loved, O Mothering God!   May we know how much joy we bring to You!  May we all come to You for True Food and True Drink, and may we teach others to do the same, through the Holy Spirit, amen.

On Earthly Transitions: Ponderings about the Pursuit of the New World

Good evening, Beloved!

I wonder what You are observing this evening. What things are in the hearts of people across the globe as they pursue their rights and equality? Are they encouraged or frustrated by the process? Why aren’t the governments willing to relinquish their power? Are we willing? Will their freedom mean the end of our status as “top dog”? Will that be a bad thing?

"Earthly Transitions" -  Photo by Matt Wynne

Although I do not specifically wish for it, and will grieve that day, I know that history shows us that our time has just about come to a close as an empire. I wonder what the new world, (post US empire) will look like. What languages will we speak? Who will assume authority? Will we have any humility at all or will we fight to the bitter end?

Oh Beloved, I wonder many things, but mostly I wonder how You view these upcoming transitions and if You have any particular words or a message to be shared. I wonder if the church leaders will look to You or to themselves for truth, guidance, understanding and peace. What about the governmental leaders? What about Your peoples?

May we all turn toward You! May we incline our hearts, minds and spirits towards You! May we look to Jesus for wisdom, and to see and to follow Your Way of Love! May Your Spirit of Grace and Life be stirring up within our core as a part of Your world-wide Church! Amen.

Transitional Objects: Sacred Union & Longing in the Grief of Life

"Sacred Union" - photo by Trista Wynne

In All our Losses, All our Griefs: Resources for Pastoral Care, Kenneth Mitchell and Herbert Anderson discuss the benefit of transitional objects in easing the pain of separation and loss. We are often given a blanket, teddy or other stuffed animal to help us transition when we are children being weaned from our mother’s presence. Just as these transitional objects bring us comfort as children, so also are comforting objects incredibly helpful in times of grief.


I remember that when I was a young girl I had a large stuffed panda bear that remained near my bed at all times. When I felt afraid, such as when I had a bad dream, I would curl up in the soft embrace of my large panda bear; I often also brought my quilted blanket and when I was all wrapped up, a sense of security infused my being. It was a soft, warm place where I could cry or pray or look at a book, and I always was able to get back to sleep or face the rest of the day after having quiet time with my panda.

When I was preparing to go away to college and leave my childhood home, at first I thought I wouldn’t want anything from my earlier years, but when I found that my dad had brought one of my favorite stuffed animals named Kerby along for the car ride, I was quick to place it on my shelf. Truth be known, it ended up being snuggled with for the first several months that I was away from home. Gradually Kerby spent more time on the shelf than next to me, but his presence proved valuable for helping me get to sleep in a strange new place where no one and nothing was familiar.

Several years later I received a large stuffed bear for Christmas from my mother in law. It was a joyful addition to the random collection of stuffed animals that my husband and I had acquired for and from one another during our years of courtship. This large, soft bear ended up serving the role of transitional object when I could no longer hold the child I once had nannied. When I had fretful dreams where the child was out of my grasp, or where I was being pulled away from the child, I held the bear and was usually able to get back to sleep. If I came home from work and my husband was still on the clock, the bear helped the tears to flow freely. Over several weeks and even a few months, the bear served as an object of comfort and connection to the one I could no longer hold. Gradually my dependence upon this bear to sleep lessened and the nightmares dissipated. After several months, I found myself only reaching for the bear occasionally, and later, usually in moments of joy when I was remembering the child. As I gave the bear a hug, I would pray that my Lord Jesus would wrap that child in His strong arms and let that child know how much they were loved and missed from this side of eternity.

A couple of years prior to that, when I had miscarried, my mom crocheted me a prayer shawl. She made it with several strands of yarn together so that it was very soft and very warm, and I knew that she had prayed for my healing, safety and blessing with every stitch. She and I had both crocheted several prayer shawls for others, so I knew the intensity of the love that went into this blanket. Whenever I felt lonely, depressed or discouraged, I found that wrapping up in this shawl lifted my spirits and gave me comfort.

The sensation of grief leaves one feeling very cold and the brokenness on the inside of the heart feels jagged, so a blanket helps to bring warmth and softness and renews the spirit. Soft, soothing objects like teddy bears or clothing that was once worn by our loved ones provide a tangible connection to the one for whom we long, and they ease the burden of sorrow, even if only for a few moments. The respite from our grief allows us to breathe more deeply and clears our minds of the chaos that tumbles around inside.

Our Lord Jesus knew the burden of grief and separation. He wept openly when His family friend, Lazarus had died, and was deeply moved in compassion for his close friends when He knew that He was about to be betrayed and sentenced to death through a flawed justice system. Even though both of these deaths led to resurrection, Jesus knew that there was great pain in separation from our loved ones. I believe this is why we have the Lord’s Supper.

After a sacred final meal with His close friends and their families, He took bread, broke it, gave thanks and gave it for all to eat, telling them to remember His body every time they felt, cut, tasted and internalized bread together. And He shared His cup of wine, looking forward to the coming days when, as the prophets of old said, the mountains will drip with sweet wine, and the land all around us will be abundantly fruitful with justice, mercy and steadfast love and faithfulness. Whether or not we fully comprehend the meaning of this final meal, and whether we share it often or only on rare occasions, this meal gives us communion with our Lord, with each other, and with all peoples who at any time in any place have called on the name of Jesus.

This simple meal of bread and wine is for us a transitional object, serving as a connection point where the sacred and mundane all come together, where we all receive comfort, sustenance and preparation to continue along the journey of faith, proclaiming the Lord’s life, death and resurrection until the day comes when every tear will be wiped away and there will be no more pain, no more suffering, no more separation or sting of death, and all things shall be made new. The bread is soft and comforting, and the wine spreads warmth through our bellies. Our Lord meets us in this meal and the grief of this life is lifted, even as we wait the completion of the promise for renewal, peace and abundant life in eternity.

We await Your coming kingdom, Lord Jesus, and we are thankful for Your gifts of this sacred meal and of Your Holy Comforting Spirit who encourages us until we all can physically touch Your face and hear You call us each by name. While we are in this time of transition, where the human spirit, the creatures and the entire earth cry out with grief, help those of us who know the gifts found at Your table to share Your ways of peace, justice, mercy and steadfast love through our way of life and in our thoughts and words towards one another to the delight of our Father in Heaven. May we be strengthened and renewed in order that we might minister to Your world in this time of need, amen.