Recently I met Claudia of Ragamuffin Diva fame. We only had a brief conversation or two, just a fistful of words really, but we’ve both made an impact on one another. One of the things Claudia said to me was, “I’ve always been a little bit witch-y…if you know what I mean.” I laughed out loud! Of course I know what she means! I usually say I’m a pagan-y Christian, but somehow I like this turn of phrase too: a little bit witchy.

I’m not exactly sure what the Diva means by that. We didn’t take the time to flesh the whole thing out. But I can tell you what it means to me.

I love ritual.
I need symbols.
I’m not opposed to the idea of a rune or a talisman or a sacred item. I think these things can connect us to the unseen, give us something to hold on to when the divine seems to slippery for our hungry fingers.
Oh, and if it’s all a little bit earthy, or watery, or bloody…so much the better.

(Sigh. I am turning into one of those women who wears an imported caftan and a dozen strings of beads and goes around talking about Om-ing and the last self-awareness healing zen seminar they went to in Yucatan. Thank goodness Holly calls me her “cool friend” everytime a see her!)

I’ve recently notice that somehow, without much intention, little altars have cropped up everywhere around me. There are three in my office, one in the backyard, one on my bedside table…the windowsill over the kitchen sink…the corner of the living room. Just this week my neighbor caught me setting a new one up by my front door. (And she didn’t even think I was crazy!)

This little altar is on my bedside table. You see, I am trying to recover the She. “Praise be to God, blessed be she.” This week Eden went to VBS at a neighborhood church and came back singing lots of songs about the Father and God and the things he does. We talked about how you could say “Father” or “Mother” or “Parent” and all three would be right, would be true about what God is like. We talked about being made in God’s image, and being girls, and what that might mean. Eden totally gets it. I’m just afraid, if she hears the opposite too many times, she’s forget. Paul only rolls his eyes a little and cautions me from throwing out the baby with the bath water.

Some of the monks were teasing me about sending the girls to a traditional thing like VBS. (Indoctrination camp, I jokingly call it.) Lindell said, “Oh, I don’t think they can mess you up until Junior High.” And Rebecca immediately replied, “If you’re a girl they can mess you up right away.” And this is what she meant by that..all this language of God being male, being he. It’s so exclusive, so incredibly damaging…and so few people see it.

That’s one of the reasons I have this little altar…I want to find God, blessed be she. There are others reasons too. A longing to not hate my body. A desire to recover some of the innoncence lost to childhood abuse. A hope for fullness, for shalom in my spirituality, my phsyciality, my living. It’s just a trio of items: picture, beads, doll. The picture is a little collage I made one night at Monkfish. The prayer beads are from Ryan, an apostle at COTA and one of the most intuitive male church leaders I know. The doll…well the doll has a story.

Paul and I adore the Getty Museum in LA. We went there this year with the children. Our mecca, we call it. We managed to close the place down, as we do each time we visit it. As we were wandering through the gift shop with all the other last minute pilgrims, I found this little doll. It’s a replica of an ancient grecian doll, this one made of cheap resin. When Paul saw me carrying it to the resgister he said, “What’s that.” I grinned sheepishly. “I don’t want to tell you.” “Is is your goddess???” he replied. I laughed.

No, she’s not my godess. I don’t want to go the route of Sue Monk Kidd and start offering milk and honey to ancient greek gods. I just want to know God in God’s fullness. I want to know the part of God’s image that looks like me, that sees like me, that sounds like me, that feels familiar. And that’s what this dolly is — not a goddess or an idol — but a hope and a desire.

May the Lord bless you and keep you. May the Lord make her face to shine upon you. May the Lord lift up her face towards you, and give you her kiss of peace.

In the name of the God who birthed and created you, the Son who is your brother and friend, and the Holy Spirit, she who is your guide.

May you find yourself worshipping the fullness of God at little altars everywhere.

Amen.