Longing

Becca Stevens starts her Hither & Yon podcasts with a lovely meditation on longing for God, and it reminded me that how similar that feeling is to the yearning for my mom.

Then I think: is a relationship with god/dess always built on loss and grief? Of course, we are separated from god/dess, as s/he is "beyond the veil" like our beloved dead. But doesn't loss mean that we were once together - whether it was in the Garden of Eden or in the cosmic soup of souls?

Mother may apple

The mayapples grow in the woods around our house, spreading as far as you can see along the forest floor.  I've seen its fruit, but not smelled its lemon-like aroma.  

I just discovered Magdalene House, Thistle Farms, and Becca Stevens.  She wrote this beautiful prayer for a baptism that took place alongside a river.

Mother May Apple

Rain fell on spring-soaked soil so much it pooled and flowed unbounded.

Love, blessing and abundance poured out on all God's green earth.

Thick new growth sprouted from every pore from this water feast.

In this vast wilderness, the Mayapple comes prepared for the rainy season.

Her single leaf, an umbrella, lets water flow and protects her single blossom.

That flower, like all creation, is made in secret,

intricately women in the depths of the earth.

It is not fragile or sweet, but miraculous and healing.

Before we ever dreamed of this flower or this rain, her eyes beheld it.

When it finally opens for the world, it is a wondrous delight.

Mayapples flourish in wet Springs as they gather gather in community on hillsides.

Come, celebrate our Mother May apple and the Mother who bears all fruit. 

Sing praise to her and to her waters that bring new life to everything.

Count her blessings that number more than all the widflowers in all the woods.

Then pray her waters bring us new life worthy of her children.

Mother jesus

In yesterday's message, I quoted a passage from The Message Bible, and a bit more research makes it clear why I liked it so much.  Apparently it's a pagan plot, influenced by Matthew Fox and Julian of Norwich.

I'm familiar with Matthew Fox, because of his collaborations with Starhawk.  We even have a lovely book of his for Baby E, thanks to my dear sister.

But I had never heard of Saint Julian and her ideas about the motherhood of god. I'm really inspired by this writing of hers:

"To motherhood as properties belong natural love, wisdom and knowledge - and this is God. For though it is true that our bodily bringing forth is very little, low, and simple compared to our spiritual bringing forth, yet it is he who does the mothering in the creatures by whom it is done. ...This blessed love Christ works in us. And this was showed in everything, especially in the noble, plenteous words, where he says, 'I am what you love.' "

I'm particularly interested in the idea that god does his mothering through us, because I have been feeling something like this lately.

Recently, as I look at the photolistings of waiting children, I have noticed a change in my emotions.  I used to search the thousands of faces, looking for my child, waiting for the lightning to strike and the shiver to run down my spine in rush of recognition.  Honestly, that never happened.

What has happened is that I have started to feel as if they are all my children.  I could be a mother to any of them.  Obviously some of the children fit our "criteria" better - race, ethnicity, gender, age - and some seem like they might better "fit" our family - love of reading, interest in math.  But as I look at each of their faces, I have been feeling absolute kinship, with a love welling up and flowing through me.  I feel like a vessel for that maternal goddess love that used to shower down upon me.  It seems that Baby E has opened my heart and me a pathway for Her love, just as a biological baby opens a mother's womb and birth canal for future children.

I love the way the Julian passage encompasses both of these forms of mothering - bodily and spiritual "bringing forth."

The passage then switches meaning at the end. Jesus says "I am what you love."  This fits in with my recent musings on the divinity of children, and it is also reminiscent to me of final words of the Charge of the Goddess:  "I am That which is attained at the end of desire."

I also read another meaning in this phrase:  that by the act of loving someone or something, we confer divinity upon it.

We've been talking over what it means to love in our house lately.   Every night, as a part of our bedtime ritual, we give Baby E a kiss from dada, a kiss from mama, and kiss from Mama B, and a kiss from all the people who love him.

Many people love Baby E - one birthed him, one nursed him; some share his genes, some share his life; some see him every day, some have never met him.  With all of these disparate relationships, what does it mean to love?  How can one word encompass all of those different feelings for a baby?  We had to embrace the idea that love can grow on diverse soil.

Papa D and I also discussed that love is not just a feeling, it is an act.  You do things to enact and express your love.  For a spouse, this may be listening, concern, consideration, or it may be tiger lilies and diamonds and trips to Bora Bora.  For a child, many of our acts of loving are so mundane - changing diapers, dispensing medication, chopping waffles into little bite-sized pieces.  Others are so profound - birthing, breastfeeding, and comforting.

Sometimes, with children, you love - as a verb - with no hope of returned affections.  And sometimes you are rewarded with the most perfect smile, kiss, hug.

What blessings - from the most god-like being I have ever known - perfect in his love and trust.

Fogbound

I grew up in the city of fog, loving the glorious mists as they poured over the mountains like maple syrup, rejoicing when the sun broke through in the afternoons.    And I've been wrestling with how to see God's path for us.  So this translation of the often-quoted and generally obtuse First Corinthians was a pleasant surprise

We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won’t be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!  But for right now, until that completeness, we have three things to do to lead us toward that consummation: Trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly, love extravagantly.

- 1 Corinthians 13:12-13 (The Message)

The greatest adoption story ever told

I've read before and thought about Joseph as an adoptive father to Jesus.  I actually think Catherine Hardwicke's film Nativity Story does a lovely job of treating Joseph's experience of choosing to adopt Jesus.  But I had never thought of it from this perspective:  God chose adoption for Jesus. It makes me think that maybe God/dess does choose adoption for some souls, though I have resisted that idea in the past.  I find reassurance in the idea that there are myths that tell our story as an adoptive family.