[Tao] The Gifts of the Goddess

“The Mystic Female … flows continuously, barely perceptible.”
— Tao te Ching, Chapter 6

I grew up in a faith that rejected the idea of the Divine Feminine. Our attention was fixed on the Heavenly Father and the Son. While we knew Mary had cooperated with the former to produce the latter, we just didn’t talk about her much.

For me, then, testimony for the Divine Female came through the lives of remarkable women.

I remember my mother, for example, making the white, flat discs of unleavened bread our church used for communion. I remember the way she nurtured my love for words and stories — a quality  that, to this day, defines who I am and what I do. She practiced my first sermons with me, and whatever skill I have as a teacher and public speaker is a gift I received from her.

I remember Sister Gilchrist, an elderly Sunday School teacher. She used song and story and drama to bring Biblical truths down to a fourth grade level. At the end of every lesson, she passed around a tin of homemade chocolate-oatmeal bites, and I call these “Sister Gilchrist Cookies” even now.

When I was baptized at nine years old, the men of the congregation, citing Scripture forbidding a woman from teaching a man, pulled me from Sister Gilchrist’s class. Had I understood that answering the altar call would rob me of her gentle influence, I would have put salvation off a little longer.

And there were also, of course, the honest, earnest women of the congregation. They baked and fried the food for every “Dinner on the Grounds.” They set everything out; they cleaned up after. During hymns, they sang soprano and alto. During classes, they sat silently, even though many of them were more qualified to teach than their husbands were.

The gentle influence of the Divine Feminine has always flowed around me — and not just at church.

I see the Divine Feminine reflected in my sister-in-law, who tirelessly cares for and educates her children. I see Her in the women at The Company I’m blessed to be working for: women who are smart and strong and genuinely concerned about the welfare of the people they lead.

I see Her in friends like Jeri: her compassion, her willingness to care for others, her readiness to defend the people she believes in. I see her in writers like Barbara Moore, who build passionate online communities by sharing life’s joys and discoveries. I see her in artists like Joanna Powell Colbert, who manage to weave insight and wisdom into images of stunning depth and beauty.

And the teachers I remember most fondly — the ones who influenced me most? Mrs. Cummings, Mrs. Nance, Mrs. French, Mrs. Warren, Dr. Johnson? All women.

* * * * *

I’ll close with a story that is almost too fresh, too close to share. Only one other person knows this story, and I still can’t talk about it. When I try, my eyes well up and my breath catches in my throat.

In the days leading up to my recent surgery, pain made lying on either side impossible. In addition, I could not sleep on my back; when I tried, I would smother. I could sleep sitting up, but every few minutes, my head rolled forward, startling me awake.

On the night I was released from the hospital, Clyde took me to a hotel on the banks of the Intracostal Waterway to recuperate. When he left to get prescriptions filled and find us some dinner, I propped myself up on pillows and tried to sleep. My sides ached. My stomach churned. My spine felt studded with ground glass. I was foggy from pain medication and exhaustion. I longed to lie on my side and rest, but when I tried, the pain was so intense, it left me breathless.

Eventually, I dozed off, still sitting up.

Some time later, I became aware that someone else was in the room. I should have been startled, but that impulse was somehow suppressed. My visitor crossed the room. She sat on the edge of the bed. WIth a cool hand, she felt my forehead, then touched my right side. “You can lie on your right side now.”

I shook my head. “I can’t. It hurts.”

She smiled. “Just get your hips in place first, then roll your body. Bend your knees. Sink down slowly.”

I shifted my hips. I rolled my body. I bent my knees. I sank into position slowly.

I felt no pain at all. The relief that washed over me was overwhelming, and I slept well for the first time in days.

Later, I told Clyde, “When I was alone at the hotel, a woman came and taught me how to sleep on my side without hurting.”

Clyde glanced over at the bottle of pain meds and nodded and smiled. “Um hmm.”

* * * * *

Who was that woman? An angel? A figure from a drug-induced dream? An embodiment of my mother’s concern? A projection from my own subconscious? The Holy Spirit? The Goddess? A manifestation of the Divine Feminine?

Whenever we experience something remarkable, all too often our first impulse is to explain away the miracle. That strikes me as ungrateful. In lieu of seeking answers, I’d rather just let the moment be.

But I do know this: during a very dark and painful time, it was a feminine Presence that appeared and ministered to me. And her visit did more than provide rest and comfort. Since that night, my heart is more open, more present, more tender, and more inclined toward compassion than before.

For Her — and, by extension, for all the remarkable women who shape my life — I am deeply grateful.

Today, I will honor the remarkable women who, through their wisdom and guidance, channel the influence of the Divine Feminine into my life.