Archives for March 2013

There will be “the essence of dogness” in Heaven: C.S. Lewis

Jake, my collie, in a buttercup meadow.

‘And I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea, and all that is in them, saying, “To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honor and glory and might forever and ever!”’ (Rev 5:13).

Every creature! Wow! Not only will we ourselves be healed, restored, and lost in the ecstasy of contemplating God and the Lamb, but every creature in heaven and on earth, and under the earth, and in the sea will join us.

We shall be healed, and all the sad, abused, dumbly suffering animals of all history will be healed with us.

We will stand, and sing together.

I have loved animals all my life, and have always had as many of them as my family would permit. A couple of years ago, we had 9 pets (I live on an acre and a half in deep country, in Garsington, Oxfordshire)–rabbits, ducks, chickens, and a dog.

But decades of pet ownership do not leave one guilt free. There is the dog I could have walked more, the dog we had to give away when we left America, the rabbit who died of myxomatosis, the duck mauled by the fox on the one night we forget to put her in her shed, the hen eaten by the fox on the one night we forgot to lock the coop.

And as for the beloved pets who have died, the pets I have had to give away—I hope I will see them in heaven, for I imagine—but what do I know?–heaven will not be quite complete without dogs
The feisty C.S. Lewis was a slave to the dog of Mrs. Moore, his friend’s mother with whom he eccentrically lived. His brother, Warnie sardonically comments on the great things Jack might have achieved if he were not always trotting off to get meat from the butcher’s for the dog, or to walk him, or take him to the vet.

When a grieving dog-owner asked him if we would be re-united with our pets in heaven, Lewis did not let his lack of acquaintance with that undiscovered country prevent him from having opinions about it. “No,” he said, “not our dogs.” However, he said, there would be, in heaven, “the essence of dogness.”

I hope he’s right about the Platonic essence of Dogness in heaven. Surely he is.

But though there is nothing in Scripture about the resurrection of the dogs, I would love to believe that my dogs past and present will be there in heaven. Oh, please, Lord, let it be.

I particularly want to be reunited with my wonderful dog, Jake, whom I got from a rescue, as I have got every dog we have ever owned (or will own). He fell fast in love with me on the day we brought him home 4 years ago, and has been my constant shadow, sleeping at the foot of our bed, following me everywhere even to the bathroom, constantly repositioning himself to keep a vigilant eye on me. Though what an active collie and a sedentary writer could have in common is probably one of the mysteries of the universe!!

So tell me, do you viscerally believe you will be reunited with your pets in heaven?

Converting a Gray Plot into Wild Spirals of Colour

By Anita Mathias

When the stream of our lives

Seems to vanish into desert sands,

and we wonder if we’ve lost our way,

When between our talent and output,

Between our aspiration and achievement.

Falls the shadow,

When we have reaped less than we’ve planted

And we wonder if we’ve given our children

Solid skills for this whirling world.

There is still hope. A lever

Which can change everything

And revise the plot

Of what seems like our wasted lives.

* * *

Prayer which can take the story of a life

Which seems hopelessly mired

Unpromising and bleak,

Oh, and just reverse the whole thing!!

Making it burst into colour,

Twists and turns, whirls and spirals

When we call out to the Lord in our despair

He comes,

Scouring our spirits with repentance

Filling them with his Spirit,

New ideas, new vision, new love.

Fresh grace, fresh strength, fresh fire.

* * *

And again and again, when my life

Seemed stymied, and my dreams

Have crashed, and sadness surrounds me,

When I seemed unable to do the simplest things,

Lose some weight

Write some words,

Parent well,

And I cried out to you in my despair,

You came, you came,

Flooding me with your tenderness

Bestowing new ideas, new grace!

* * *

Oh Lord, we see so little of reality:

We see the caterpillar,

Not the iridescent butterfly,

The acorn, not the oak.

But the drab apple seed

Is never the end of the story.

Help me remember, Lord,

That you take five loaves and two fish

And multiply and multiply.

So I give you my hopes,

I give you my dreams,

My weakness, my strength.

Take and receive, Oh Lord,

Breathe on them, transform them,

Bring fruitfulness from these seeds.

In which I resolve not to be afraid

By Anita Mathias

So the disciples row for “three or three and a half miles.” (I love these charming details, John striving to remember accurately, and how they make it easier for us to believe in truth of these memoirs and autobiographical reflections of Jesus.)

It’s dark; the wind is raging; the waters are rough.

And a figure looms out of the darkness, walking on the waters, approaching the boat.

And they cannot see his face; and they do not know his name

And understandably, they are terrified.

* * *

Who is he who comes walking on the waters, in the dark, when the winds rage, and the sea is rough?

The dark figure terrifies, until he speaks, “It is I. Do not be afraid.”

And that too is the aspect He sometimes wears. He shows himself sometimes when it is dark, and the winds are strong, and the waters are rough. He comes towards us, a dark figure, and we cannot see his face, and we do not know his name, and we are terrified.

But it is Him, nonetheless, and face to face with the stranger in the darkness, we are to remember God’s consistent command: Do not be afraid.

And so I will not be afraid.

I shall live, tasting the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.

* * *

The Israelites response to the manna which sustained them was “What is it?” In Hebrew, Manna.

“Tell me your name,” Jacob uncertainly asks the dark figure who disabled him. “Who is it?” the disciples wondered, terrified, as a dark figure loomed of out the storm and darkness, approaching them. “Who is it?” they asked. Or “Manna.”

The answer was always, is always, the same. In sunshine, in abundance, in shadow, in darkness, amid the wind and waves,

It is the Lord.

* * *

Everything we have comes from God. He comes to us in spring and summer–and winter too. In day–and night too. In birth–and death too. In success–and failure too. In health–and sickness too.

“Yes,” I say to the dark figure walking towards me amidst the roaring winds and stormy sea. “I know it is you. I have trusted you in the past and I trust you now. I know you.”

“And so, however the dice falls, I know nothing shall separate me from your love, and all shall be well, all shall be well, all manner of things shall be well.”

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

By Anita Mathias

“Let nothing be wasted”

“Nothing, Lord?”

“Nothing.”

* * *

Not the weary years,

Not the silent tears,

None of the loneliness

Which caused that deep, echoing silence

in which we could hear you?

None of our failures

Which silenced 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.

And the bad days we planted which became bad weeks,

Bad years, wasted to bickering, quarrelling, and anger?

Even them?

“ I will let nothing be wasted.”

* * *

The wise 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 be as fruitful

as if I had spent them in praise and thankfulness,

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 my big book

NOTHING IS WASTED.

* * *

The friendships, Lord.

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.

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, anxiety…

That my in-laws would land up 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, fragmented shells, beads.

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 give me:

broken jewellery, broken crystal, broken children’s crafts,

kid’s toys, never assembled, parts missing,

birthday presents never used, now just clutter,

broken pottery, broken dreams, broken body,

And my hands work instantly, busily.

They mould, they shape, join, and 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.

Of Falcons and Forgiveness

By Anita Mathias

The falcon soars, riding the winds, reaching for the clouds, until she reaches the limits of her leash. And then, at the will of the falconer, she is inexorably reeled down. Earthbound!

The eagle soars high, and higher still, effortlessly, soaring on thermal currents, using even obstruction currents to soar free.

* * *

What’s the leash which keeps us from the heights spiritually? That keeps us earthbound?

It’s often our little backpack of grudges, resentments, and injuries. Dislikes born of slights, and slight half-forgotten injuries. A “just you wait, Henry Higgins,” attitude. Stuff we just have to release.

How does one forgive? Let go of anger and deep-rooted injury? Funny, though I have done it again and again, I don’t really know how one lets go of deep-seated anger.

I have images that help me, though. Tearing the check of what people owe me. Tearing up the injury and throwing it away. Cutting the leash that binds me to the person. Erasing the record of the wrongs they’ve done me. Switching my focus to the beautiful face of Jesus.

Ultimately, forgiveness is an emotional miracle only accomplished by positioning oneself in the waterfall of God’s love. Letting it course through you so that what the other person did is small in comparison.

Ultimately, I think we cannot forgive on our own. We need God’s help.

* * *

Though there are strategies which help. Thank God for the good in the person you are struggling to forgive them. Ask God to help you see them as he sees them—with his magic eyes, which see people’s weaknesses and failures and always forgive and never despise. Ask God first to make you want to forgive. And then to give you the ability to forgive. Maybe, and this will be revolutionary—ask God to give you a love for the person you are struggling to forgive.

* * *

For in forgiving, the captive you set free is yourself. It sounds poetic, and perhaps clichéd, but it is absolutely true.

Matthew 18 21-35 explains it best. In anger his master handed him over to the jailers to be tortured, until he should pay back all he owed. The one who will not forgive is thrown into prison and tortured.

True? Oh my goodness, absolutely. Have you had the experience of a beautiful meal out or a lovely hike ruined by an argument over past injuries? Or the bitter memories of past injuries surfaces, and you express them, and that forest cat is out of the bag, with its claws, reinjuring you all over again? And the injury is almost as painful at the tenth or twentieth recounting as when it first occurred?

Release the forest cat of other people’s sins against you. Release it from your soul. If you seek to forgive, and ask God’s help in forgiving, and forgive again and again as you remember the past injury, eventually you will succeed.

* * *

Grace and Forgiveness, a brief 70 page book by John and Carol Arnott is the best book on forgiveness I have read. The writing is deceptively simple and the content deep and transformative, and so, ironically, it takes 2 or 3 readings for it to traverse “the longest distance in the world,”–the 18 inches from head to heart.

The Arnotts say, “When we choose to stop living in grace, like the unmerciful servant, effectively, we are choosing to step outside of the blessing and protection of God and deliver ourselves to “the torturers.” At all costs, then, we want to continue living in grace.”

They go on in this illuminating passage.

There are many Christians today who wonder, “Why does everything seem to go wrong in my life? Why does there seem to be a curse over my life?” There are trying to work out why there doesn’t seem to be any protection over their life.

Often, this is be because they have made the poor choice in their relationships with others to “bury,” the hurt and bitterness of past offenses instead of forgiving and releasing these to God. By their choices they have made themselves vulnerable to attack by Satan. By withholding mercy from others and exercising unforgiveness they have stemmed the flow of God’s blessing and protection over their lives, leaving them open to assault from demonic forces. Even if someone does the most terrible thing to you, you must never go back to the justice level. It must be grace, grace, grace. Leave justice with God. Do not allow your heart to become hurt, bitter and unforgiving.

Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors. Jesus placed the giving and receiving of forgiveness at the absolute center of the Christian life. We simply cannot take forgiveness for ourselves, but withhold it from others. “

* * *

I found this a switching-on-the-lights question to ask myself and others. Is there any area of my life in which I am stuck in prison, turned over to the jailors to be tormented? Weight? Household organization? Writing? Waking early?

Is unforgiveness playing a part? Unforgiveness of those who have caused or contributed to the problem? General unforgiveness? Releasing and forgiving those who have caused or contributed to the areas in which you are stuck may well help you get unstuck.

And I am off to do it now!!

What I am into (Feb 2013 edition) and Progress on New Year’s Goals

By Anita Mathias

Retreats. I spent 4 days in Wales at Fflad-y-Brenin in Pembrokeshire, Wales. It is a very creative place, known for the dreams, visions and ideas people receive while staying there (according to the founder, Roy Godwin). Though I had set the time aside to seek God, ideas kept coming, and I wrote several blog posts, which I will be posting slowly. So it turned out to be a writing retreat, rather than a seeking God retreat. Sigh!

God is everywhere all the time of course, but sometimes, one needs to make a hard stop; turn off other distractions and seek him in a concentrated, concerted way to hear him. I oddly hear God far better and receive more direction for my life on holidays and retreats than when at home. Is it the lack of possessions and clutter, or just the break from familiar routines? I don’t know.

And Wales—well, it was cold, wet and beautiful!!

Ffald-y-Brenin, the Farmhouse, the Hermitage, the Beehive Chapel, and the main residential building (left to right)

Walking. Taking a WalkFit Course with Joanna Hall in Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens. Though, well, I should have learnt to walk as a toddler, I am conscious that I walk very slowly compared to “normal” people. Joanna’s technique is adding speed—oh, and endorphins and pleasure to my walks. Long strides, leave on the toes, arrive on the heel, stand tall, head straight, draw up your thighs and pelvis, suck in your abs. Complex, but you incorporate these things slowly. My posture is improving, and I am walking faster and more. Joanna has us walk up a hill counting steps. And then again, and again, shaving 5% off our steps each time.

And I am finally walking the recommended 10,000 steps a day. And it is a lot.

Exploring. Loved being a tourist in London after my course. We spent a magical, fascinating afternoon poking around Westminster Abbey, amid those mass of monuments, especially enjoying Poet’s Corner. I adored the mosaics at St Paul’s!

A few of the memorials in Poets Corner

Brass floor inlay, Westminster Abbey (St. George)

The Cloister, Westminster Abbey

South Towers of Westminster Abbey from the cloister

Houses of Parliament from the Cloister, Westminster Abbey .

Now some images from St. Paul’s

St. Paul’s Cathedral

Ceiling Mosiac in St. Paul’s Cathedral

Decoration, St. Paul’s Cathedral

Decoration on a column, St. Paul’s Cathedral

Chapel dedicated to American Fallen Servicemen from World War II

William Holman Hunt’s grave. One of the many in the crypt of St. Paul’s. The largest is Lord Nelson’s.

Theatre—Enjoyed Mr. Darwin’s Tree, a one-act play, a memoir of Darwin. And The Winter’s Tale at Stratford-on-Avon

Reading—Enjoyed Hamlet’s Dresser, a memoir of salvation from sadness through immersion in Shakespeare. Enjoying Saul Bellow’s rumbunctious Adventures of Augie March.

Progress on New Year’s Goals