Anita Mathias: Dreaming Beneath the Spires

Anita Mathias's Blog on Faith and Art

Christ says, “I will let nothing be wasted.”

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“Let nothing be wasted”

“Nothing, Lord?”
“Nothing.”
* * *
Not our weary years,
Not our silent tears,
None of the loneliness
Which caused that deep, echoing silence
in which we could hear you?
None of our failures
Which stilled the insistent voices
Of those who might otherwise have found a use for us.
We were nobody and nothing
And in the vast silence which surrounded us,
We heard your signature sound:
A whisper.
The bad days we planted which became bad weeks, bad years.
Days, nights, wasted to bickering, quarrelling, fights?
Even them?
 “Let nothing be wasted.”
* * *
The smart learn wisdom from your Word,
The stupid learn it from experience.
I was stupid, Lord.
* * *
The years I wasted in depression,
Ingratitude, bitterness, jealousy, hatred…
Will I still produce as much
As if I had spent them in praise,
thankfulness and love,
hidden in the holy places of the Most High?
“I will let nothing be wasted.”
* * *
And when I overworked so much that I burned out,
And still tried to read, being too exhausted too read,
Those wasted hours and years?
Nothing was wasted.
And I got terrified and perfectionistic,
And revised pieces of work a hundred times,
And have not finished the final draft of my big book
NOTHING IS WASTED.
* * *
The friendships, Lord, the friendships.
I expected too much, held on too hard,
Was too impatient, too possessive.
Nothing is wasted.
Oh and how many people I could have loved,
How many could I have got to know
But I–I read and wrote and worried
That I wasn’t reading and writing more.
Oh and I and my sweet Roy.
We could have been so happy.
Everything was, is, given us.
But how we have fought!
Nothing is wasted.
And those sweet, adorable little girls
And me adoring them, and wanting to write too
And writing often won.
I was there. With them and with you.
I was there.
Nothing was wasted.
And worry, worry, anxiety.
That my dominating in-laws would visit us for months on end,
Would stay forever,
Would run our lives, ruin them,
All the eventualities you averted!
But how long did fear rule me,
Instead of trust!!
And why did I not get it, Lord,
That love is all that matters
That I can trust you in everything
That you mean good when men mean evil
Why did I not learn to trust you instead of worrying?
Mess, Lord!
I sweep it up,
Shards, tesserae, beach glass,
Broken vases, crystal, beads, jewels.
Take and receive, oh Lord
The mess I have made of the jewels
You have lavished upon me, again and again.
* * *
Nothing is wasted, he says.
I take what you have to give me:
broken jewellery, broken crystal, broken children’s crafts,
kid’s toys, never assembled, parts missing
gifts never used, now rusting.
Broken pottery, broken dreams, broken body,
And my hands work instantly, busily,
They mould, they shape,
They join, they paste,
And from what you thought was a Psyche heap of broken baubles
They create
Such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake,
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium.
                                                  * * * 




I am grateful to Dave Roberts for the phrase, “If you have a bad day, don’t plant it. Bad days have a habit of turning into bad weeks, months and years.”
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  3. Hi Claudia,
    I truly do believe that he can take our false starts, dead ends, and apparently wasted endeavours, even years, and make something beautiful out of them. I feel more motivated to just leave everything in his hands, successes, and more frequently, mess!! 🙂

  6. Thank you Anita,

    It reminds me of how much I've wasted in the past. No more, now recycle everything, reuse as much as possible, or pass it on where it can be used.

    Creation is to precious to waste. Thanks be to God.

  7. Thanks Jennie and Sarah,
    I guess as I was reading John 6, Jesus's statement,”Let nothing be wasted” jumped out. That is the desire of his heart, and what he desires, he can bring about.
    I love how stained glass and mosaics are made out of broken things. I hope Christ will take all the loving intentions we have of things to do with or for our children, only a fraction of which are realized, and one day make something beautiful out of them–these shreds and shards of love and weakness!

  8. I think the spontaneous feeling in this poem is beautiful–I connect very deeply with this question about waste. God is so good to create out of the nothing much we so often bring Him. 🙂

    And thanks for your kind words about my poems…it means so much to have a reader call them “real”! I spend too much time stressing over whether they are that… :-/

  9. This made me think of a certain blouse I started sewing with my daughter and never finished. It's still packed somewhere, pins in the pieces, probably too small now and out-of-date, the sewing machine long since gone. Good intentions started it, broken needles and distractions ended it. I didn't realize it was an aching regret. But as I read, God touched that place and healed me. Nothing wasted.

    Thank you, Anita.

  10. Thanks, Sarah. I have just visited you, and your poems are beautiful. They are real poems. Mine is a sort of blogpoem. I had the idea today as I was reading John 6, and rapidly wrote and published it. Publishing a POEM the day you write it? Heresy. I guess I am aiming in these to write the kind of poem that speaks to people at the very first reading, and offers up its riches or poverty instantly and generously!
    Blessings,
    Anita