I am an atheist. I’m not a person of faith, though I was raised Christian. Despite my parents’ best efforts and wonderful role modeling of spiritual life, god doesn’t make sense to me conceptually or as a foundation for my world view. I have dabbled in Buddhism and attended a Unitarian Universalist congregation, I practice yoga, and there’s some Pagan stuff that speaks to me, but the only philosophy that I have been able to commit to is revolutionary marxism. A smidgen of woo-woo and commitment to personal growth is as spiritual as I think I’m gonna get.

I remain a bit of a black sheep in much of my family for not being part of any church, though I know they love me unconditionally (and pray for me often). My mother, a mystic secular Franciscan who converted to Catholicism when I was in high school, has never given up on me returning to theism. She is quite subtle in her attempts to spark faith back in my scientific mind and heart. She is not an evangelist in any sense, but she knows and works with my soft spots, like the work of Anne Lamott — she gave me that author’s most recent book for Christmas last year (haven’t read it yet).

My mother’s most successful breakthrough in getting me to open up spiritually came when she and my step-father took a trip to Ireland, where my mother discovered this beautiful cross on people’s thresholds and in some of the local shops and churches. They had been to Ireland a few times before, but she had never noticed it before. She asked around about the meaning of the cross and came to find out that it was St. Bridget’s cross.

St. Bridget’s Cross, traditionally woven

Bridget, whose feast day is my birthday. Bridget, who is a patron saint of midwives, healers, brewers, and poets. Bridget, who by one account, may have brought the miracle of abortion to a woman in need. Bridget, who is recognized by Celtic paganism as goddess of fertility and earthly fire.

When they came back from the trip, I met my mother for lunch. I was having a hard time — I had failed to pass the certification exam for nurse midwives and was feeling a little lost, doubting myself and fearful of not being able to continue to pursue my dreams. My mother was beaming as she slid this small tissue-wrapped gift across the table to me, and as she told me about Bridget while I opened the package. It was perfect.

I have come to adopt a bit of reverence for and connection to saint/goddess Bridget. I may not believe in god, but I do find it useful and calming to call upon the “spirit” of Bridget and to work to embody her legacy when I am struggling. I keep the cross my mother gave me on my desk at work, and I wear her cross on a necklace some days. I may even get a Bridget tattoo one day. It’s not magic, but I began calling upon Bridget as I prepared again to tackle my midwifery board exams, and I continue to do so to help myself get grounded. I have adopted (and adapted ever so slightly) this traditional prayer and find myself reciting it as my mantra when I find myself stressed, worried, or needing to find strength. I’m glad Bridget’s got my back.

Brigid.
You were a woman of peace.
You brought harmony where there was conflict.
You brought light to the darkness.
You brought hope to the downcast.
May the mantle of your peace cover those who are troubled and anxious,

and may peace be firmly rooted in our hearts and in our world.
Inspire us to act justly and to reverence all God has made.
Brigid you were a voice for the wounded and the weary.
Strengthen what is weak within us.
Calm us into a quietness that heals and listens.
May we grow each day into greater wholeness in mind, body and spirit.