Nesting Dolls
While gathering my resources as I prepared to lead a women’s retreat in West Virginia last weekend, I placed a treasured set of nesting dolls in my crate alongside my books, handouts, and other supplies. These matryoshka dolls were given to me thirty years ago by a beloved mentor, Mavis Allen, after she returned home from a trip to Russia.
When my husband and I relocated to Asheville from Nashville three years ago, those nesting dolls made the trip across the mountains in a box that held items from my office at the addiction treatment center. Since I no longer had an office after the move, the memorabilia that had adorned my desk and windowsill remained concealed - first in the box in a closet and then in a drawer in the guest room.
After rediscovering the nesting dolls a year after our relocation, I placed them on a bookshelf in my bedroom. One day when my then 4-year-old grandson asked me to show him something he had never seen before, I directed his attention to the matryoshka dolls. With delight, he opened the dolls in sequence before carefully re-nesting them, while I recounted the story of the gift and the giver. The next time he visited, he announced, “I want to see those marsupial dolls again!”
I took the matryoshka dolls with me on the retreat because I intended to use them as an object lesson - two lessons, actually. The image of nesting dolls had come up repeatedly in books and blogs I had been reading in recent months, so I suspected the Spirit was trying to use them to teach me something worth sharing.
In her book Keep Moving: Notes on Loss, Creativity, and Change, Maggie Smith writes, “Think of yourself as a nesting doll: How many versions of yourself have you carried this far, to this point? How many more iterations will there be as you age? Know there is room for all of you.”
Kate Bowler, another one of my favorite writers, also likes to draw on the imagery of nesting dolls. Bowler suggests that those previous iterations of ourselves are still working inside of us, delivering messages from the past that can guide us in the present and the future.
The theme of the women’s retreat was “Navigating the Changing Seasons of Life,” so the nesting doll theory fit well into our discussions. As I pondered my previous iterations, I realized that an increasingly spacious version of myself had emerged more than once at the intersection of grief and joy - seasons of life when I was mourning the loss of a loved one while simultaneously embracing a fresh expression of my calling. The things I learned about myself and about God during those transitional periods continue to bear spiritual fruit in my life.
During our session on Saturday evening, retreat participants imagined themselves as nesting dolls, sketching out their previous iterations on index cards. Around the tables, they named the internal resources they had amassed during earlier seasons of life. We carry within us deep pockets (Marsupials!) of wisdom and experience that can strengthen us, comfort us, and enlighten us as we travel into uncharted territory.
After the first exercise, we explored an alternative theory of nesting dolls. This time the women imagined themselves as the smallest doll in the set. From this perspective, they visualized themselves being lovingly held by their family and friends, their communities, and God - beloved children encompassed in an ever-widening expanse of love.
On Saturday, September 27, 2025, Western North Carolinians will mark the first anniversary of Tropical Storm Helene’s devastating march through our beloved mountains. The storm’s catastrophic impact abruptly propelled many people into a new season of life - one heavy-laden with grief and loss, fear and uncertainty.
I was extremely fortunate. I did not lose a loved one due to the storm. The tree in my son’s yard that was toppled by tropical force winds fell beside the house, not on the bedrooms. My home and property remained unscathed. Our power - and thus our access to well water - was restored after only nine days, while the majority of our neighbors in Buncombe County waited nearly two months for clean water to flow through their pipes. My church building became a disaster relief site for the community rather than a casualty of the storm.
Nevertheless, I continue to process Helene’s impact. Every time I cross the French Broad River or drive alongside the Swannanoa River, I remember that first chaotic weekend and the heaviness of the disorienting weeks and months that followed. Sadness isn’t the only emotion that surfaces in these moments; gratitude also wells up in my heart as I recall how folks traveled great distances to support this community in our time of need, surrounding us with layers upon layers of love.
On the evening of this somber anniversary, First Baptist Church of Asheville will host a concert in our historic sanctuary. The concert will feature First Baptist’s choir, All Souls Cathedral Choir, and the Asheville Symphony. The Cathedral of All Souls was inundated by four feet of water when the Swannanoa River engulfed Biltmore Village; that congregation will not be able to resume worshipping in their sacred space until late next year.
The final song of our concert will be Elaine Hagenberg’s poignant Irish blessing “You Do Not Walk Alone.” Every time we have rehearsed the song, my eyes have filled with tears. During the concert, I will sing the final line as a heartfelt prayer for those who are still struggling to recover from Helene and for those who are currently navigating their own flood of suffering and grief: “May you always remember when the shadows fall, you do not walk alone.”
