Thanks to my son Josh's tireless genealogical research, I recently found out Saint Margaret of Scotland is my 20 something-ish great grandmother. So now I love genealogy again. Because, to me, the idea that I might have just a drop or two of the courage and faith of those who came before is very inspiring.
About Saint. Margaret of Scotland
Saint Margaret of Scotland (Scots: Saint Magret, c. 1045 – 16 November 1093), also known as Margaret of Wessex, was an English princess, a descendent of St. Albert the Great, and a Scottish queen. After William the Conquer invaded Saxon English in 1066, she and her family fled north, Margaret married Malcolm III of Scotland by the end of 1070.
Like her grandfather King Alfred, Saint Margaret of Scotland was a devoted Christian who did many charitable works for the poor. She was known to fast often, possibly to the point that it affected her health.
St. Margaret’s kind-nature greatly influenced King Malcolm. She read to him from the Bible, softened his temper and helped him become a virtuous King. Together the couple prayed, fed the hungry, and were a wonderful example to their countrymen.
St. Margaret was the mother of three kings of Scotland, or four, if Edmund of Scotland (who ruled with his uncle, Donald III) is counted, and of a queen consort of England. She died at Edinburgh Castle in Edinburgh, Scotland in 1093, days after receiving the news of her husband’s death in battle.
In 1250, Pope Innocent IV canonized her, and her remains were re-interred in a shrine in Dunfermline Abbey in Fife, Scotland. She is the patron saint of Scotland. While I don’t think that Saint Margaret was necessarily given a lot of free choice in life, she allowed God to work through her in a way I truly admire.
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The information for this article came from Catholic OnlineCatholic Online and Wikipedia.
I began to feel a pull to return to Christianity in May of 2017. I was wary of returning to the Catholic Church and unsure about Christianity in general so I decided to ask God for a sign.
I prayed a lot that week and on Saturday, the 22nd of May, 2017, I prayed more.
The next day I went to the flea market as I did most Sundays. I had forgotten to stop at the ATM on the way and had only eight dollars with me, which was much less than I usually brought. But I didn't really care. It was raining - a slow steady kind of rain that promised to continue all day - and I didn't expect there would be many vendors or much of anything to buy.
When we pulled into the parking lot I saw that I was right about the vendors. The large open area that was usually full of tables and tents was practically empty. The few sellers who had set up were spread out and the gravel lot was full of puddles. But we decided to put on our slickers and see what we could find.
One of the first things I spotted was a chalkware Blessed Mother. For some reason I couldn't really explain, I'd been wanting one of those big old Mary statues for some time. Over the course of the last two summers I'd kept an eye out. But all those I'd seen were chipped or expensive or both.
The one in front of me that day was almost two feet tall and had no significant damage. So I was surprised when the woman on the other side of the table said it was mine for five dollars. It wasn't really my style but I liked the blue of Mary's cloak and the graceful curve of her neck. I bought it without any negotiation at all.
A little further on, I saw a cold cast bronze St. Brigid's cross that had been made in Ireland. I asked the vendor the price and he said a quarter. And then, when I couldn't find any change, he refused my dollar and insisted I take the cross for free. I was happy that I was able to tell the a bit about St. Brigid and what she had done so long ago in Ireland. And I started to get a good feeling about the day.
The next thing I saw was a bright silver crucifix shining through the rain, When I got close I could see that it had a glass holy water font and a place on either side of the cross for candles. I thought that the seller would probably want at least ten dollars for such a nice item, but she didn't. She wanted three. So I got the crucifix too.
On the long damp ride home, I realized that I had bought three Christian items on an unlikely day and for a surprisingly good price. But what struck me most was that I had bought all three of them for the exact to the penny amount of money that I had with me.
So I considered it sign. And decided that I should give Christianity another shot.
I started with a church tour of several local churches. Afterwards I picked an evangelical church that was not a good fit and then a Pentecostal church I liked better. I didn't spend any real time thinking about the Catholic church I had visited in the early days of the church tour or the fact that each of the items I bought that day at the fleas market were Catholic in origin.
Until, almost three years later, just after my return from Israel.
It began with car problems. Getting to the new Protestant church I had joined was impossible. Finally, after several weeks, it occurred to me that there were two churches within a short walk of my house and that one was actually just a block and a half away.
So I walked down the street and went to Mass for the first time in what seemed like forever. And the next week I went back and I just kept on going.
As the weeks passed, I thought about the spiritual journey I'd made and the enormous circle that has brought me back to a place that is, and always was, just around the corner.
The items I bought that day at the flea market are gone and I know that there is some kind of lesson in that. And while I'm still not sure just what that is, I think that it might be that God doesn't want me to be the kind of Catholic I used to be. Or the kind of person I used to be.
I think that maybe he wants me to be something new.
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| My rainy day flea market Mary |
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| Another flea market Mary that I have kind of sadly given away |
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| St. John's (our town's "Irish" church) complete with spires |
One of the first unusually vivid dreams I can recall was a dream I had in high school.
In this odd, but memorable dream, a single bright section of an orange transformed into a tiny infant right before my eyes. At the mall a few days later, I saw an album in a record store window. On its cover was a dreamy sort of image of a baby. The name of the album was Tangerine Dream.
I made the connection and bought it on the spot.
Later, listening to my new album through my headphones, I had a vision. In it, a group of men in dark robes were trudging up a hill. Behind them, a grove of trees had been cut down, and on each stump a man had been beheaded.
I had an interest in King Arthur from an early which may be why I recognized the men as Druids. Given that interest, I'm sure a lot of people would just chalk a vision like that up to imagination, but because I have aphantasia visions are few and far between for me (and those I do have are not deliberately self-generated). So it was unusual for me to see any kind imagery in any state.
What really got my attention however was the emotion I felt.
The scene was grisly, but I wasn't the least bit horrified. Instead, as the hauntingly beautiful music built to its crescendo, I felt a bittersweet sense of loss. I understood those retreating figures. I knew their way of life was ending and that loss moved me.
It wasn't until many years later, that my interest in Celtic spirituality would move me to become a member of the OBOD (Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids). To me (as to many others in the order), druidry isn't a religion. It's more of a philosophy..
It is perfectly acceptable to be a Christian with an interest in druidry, which is not (as the OBOD) presents is not by definition an occult order but more focused on the study of ancient Celtic spirituality and mythology.
I have always love mythology and I like the way that this type of spirituality (like most indigenous traditions) intersects with nature.
Did my dream and the resulting vision predict this interest? Or is there something genetic that travels downstream through time that speaks to us? Or is it only coincidence?
That is the mystery.
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You can visit the OBOD website at Druidry.org
My son Josh has done a lot of work on our family tree. He's found out all kinds of interesting people. Kings, queens, saints, women hung for witchcraft, Ray Bradbury and more.
This interests me, especially as I become more and more convinced that the tree in the Spirit Dream is our family tree. Though I am still unsure just what it means.
I got my Ancestry DNA done recently, as well. A lot of stuff washes out (like Swedish and French). Other comes through—like Scottish, Native American and Irish, which was told was there but didn't know about for sure.
I'm happy about this because I have an interest in Native and Celtic culture. I understand, of course, that culture is something handed down and I know that the genetic part doesn't really matter, but I still like the idea that there is a connection.
I also find it interesting that some of the historical figures that have interested me the most over the years, have popped in my family tree (and the family trees of millions of other people, I'm sure).
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| Damh the Bard Inspiring Me to Reclaim the Pen of Fiction! |
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| Kristoffer Hughes offering wonderful insights on the legacy of Iolo Morganw. |
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| The Ritual Tent |
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| The Scrying Center |
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| Make Your Own Amulet Station |
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| Ritual Tent: Fabricated and Constructed by a Member of the Order |
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| Ritual Area |
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| The Path Into the Woods |
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| Love the Idea of Stewardship! |
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| Walking in the Woods |
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| The Raptor Show Begins! I believe this guy is the Red-Tailed Hawk. |
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| Close Up of an Owl |
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| Meeting a Golden Eagle! |
Recent Journal Entry
I'm listening to Celtic music as I journal. It's early Saturday and all the windows are open and there is rain in the air. The point of journaling for me is to find peace. Not necessarily to examine my life or arrive at some great stream-of-consciousness insight - though there are times when those things happen. I have Welsh and Irish and Scottish in my family tree and this music touches me in a place other music does not. So it may be that it's time to chase beauty and peace instead of knowledge and skill. At least some of the time, anyway. And it says something, I think, that when I listen to this music and write from that quiet place inside, I tear up. Every time. Last night, shadows moved in my room and sleep eluded me. But this morning, here I am on the page.
Said Julius Cesar of the Celts:
Overall, the traditional references in this deck are fascinating, the artwork and color outstanding, the elemental associations strong and the images close enough to the RWS to be easily readable for most. I highly recommend it!
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