Anita Mathias | Anita Mathias: Dreaming Beneath the Spires

Starlight (A guest post by Angela Shupe, La Bella Verita)

Starlight

Sleepless, I walked through the dark to my kitchen to peer out the windows at our backyard meadow cradled by woods. The strain of life had led me to feel things were more chaos than calm. Looking up, I saw the dark night sky speckled with tiny flickering lights. A moment of wonder turned into a half hour of stargazing. Stars carrying names from their Maker hung overhead. If that One, that Maker, could bring order to a sea of glimmering lights, surely He could bring order to my perceived chaos. I returned to bed, falling asleep in a room lit softly by starlight that soon gave way to dawn. Peaceful.

But, life is unpredictable. And I had no way of knowing as I gazed at the stars, that in a few hours, I would lose my closest friend. The one like a sister to me would wake up after dawn and breathe her last breath, only hours before I was to visit her. With her passing, a part of me died, as well.

Two months into my grieving, my husband decided it was time to take a trip. “I want you to get away…somewhere different,” he said. We drove five hours to a place we’d never been before, to be together, to mend a numbed and grieving heart. Get out into nature, hike along trails of dirt, dust and rock, deep into the woods. Years before, we’d backpacked into the wild, immersing ourselves in nature’s unspoiled beauty. His act of love and compassion moved me greatly. He was grieving, too, but watching me grieve deeply for one so loved, was difficult.

We arrived at our destination, a little inn perched on a hill with cabins scattered in the surrounding trees. On our first hike I stood breathless from the scenery, the otherworldly beauty a shock to my senses. Trees shot up from emerald green moss-covered rock. Bubbling alongside was a creek lined with delicate ferns that led the way deep into caverns carved into towering sandstone. Waterfalls spilled over the highest edges.

After a full day of hiking, we walked from our cabin to the inn for a quiet dinner by candlelight. Everything seemed hushed and intimate, the quiet necessary for a heart in pain.

We walked back to our cabin, hand in hand, after dinner. The trail was rocky and we’d not brought anything to light our way. We walked with eyes fixed on the path, to not lose our footing. Something made me stop suddenly and as we stood, I looked up.

Above us, the dark velvet sky was overflowing with starlight. A blanket of lights spread thickly over us like a canopy. Every square inch was covered in stunning brightness. Lights hung so low, so close, I stretched out my arm, sure my fingertips could just reach. In our focus to keep our footing, we’d almost missed it – until that moment. Beauty poured forth in starlight. And we stood in awe, beholding its intensity in a silent act of worship.

My mind returned to that sleepless night months before, the flickering stars and the reminder that God is a god of order, not chaos. He most certainly could order my world spinning from grief. Stars that were called out by name, marched into position and shone vibrantly, warming my grieving heart and reminding me that my friend is not so far away.

After arriving back at our cabin, we stood on the tiny deck trying to capture the night sky on film. No picture could do justice to those stars now shining brilliantly in the not so far recesses of my memory.

Although I wouldn’t choose the pain of great loss, it’s a part of life on this side of the veil. After grief, we’re never the same. Perhaps out of the deep ruts of grief come understanding and knowledge that simply will come no other way. Joy after grief is deeper and richer, scars and all. We become more pliable, more teachable and the muscles of our faith are strengthened. We can stand on the other side of our battles with adversity, with questions yet unanswered, more certain of the goodness of a loving God, who stoops to intervene in the smallest of ways and sometimes brings the starlight to woo us.

Angela Shupe

Angela M. Shupe writes about life and faith on her blog, Bella Verita: Beautiful Truth at www.bellaverita.wordpress.com. Her writing has appeared in Women’s Adventure Magazine, Beliefnet.com, Today’s Christian Woman/Kyria, Relevant Magazine, Just Between Us Magazine and Radiant Magazine. Her writing has also been recognized by Biographile and Travelers’ Tales.

Deliver us from Evil

By Anita Mathias

When I try to pray while walking, or in the car, I use the Lord’s Prayer (Matt. 6 9-13) to organize my thoughts, and am often astonished again by its richness. Forgiving aught against any as a condition for receiving the Lord’s forgiveness, for instance.

“Do not bring us to the test,” the Lord instructs us to pray. Would he instruct us to pray this if testing were inevitable? Is it possible that one might be spared soul-wringing and heart-wrenching testing if one prays to avoid it?

And then, the lovely sentence, “Deliver us from evil.” Would Jesus instruct us to pray to be delivered from evil if he did not intend to deliver those who requested deliverance? So deliverance from evil is a strong probability for those who pray for it.

* * *

I am reminded of Jabez’s outrageous prayer, ^“Jabez cried out to the God of Israel, “Oh, that you would bless me and enlarge my territory! Let your hand be with me, and keep me from harm so that I will be free from pain.” And God granted his request. (1 Chron 4:10)

Be free from pain? What a huge prayer! And it was granted simply because Jabez asked.

I feel sad I have not asked more that I might not be led into temptation, not be brought to the test and that I might be delivered from evil and “be free from pain”. But these are prayers I will assiduously pray for the rest of my life.

Isn’t it scary to think that the life we lead might just bear a faint resemblance to the life we could have had if we prayed more?

Oh, what grace we often forfeit
Oh, what needless pain we bear
All because we do not carry
Everything to God in prayer

But it is never too late to ask God to wrap our lives in his protection. And I am going to ask him to right now!

On Public Rewards for Private God-Chasing & on Prayer as the Root of a Life

By Anita Mathias

I’ve been to some good church conferences, among them John Arnott’s International Leaders School of Ministry and Paul Miller’s A Praying Life and The Person of Jesus courses. However, the St Andrew’s church weekend away led by Rupert Charkham of Holy Trinity, Cambridge, was among the most refreshing and interesting among them.

Charkham talked about prayer, and about how prayer, by the strictest divine command, must be secret (Matthew 6:6). When we pray, or live a life of prayer, we are OHMSS, Oh His Majesty’s Secret Service, and none should know it but ourselves.

He went on to say that people–even (or especially!) the committed, bustling, ubiquitous church men and women, upfront, on stage, on every committee, running everything—are tempted to neglect the life of prayer because they feel “no one can tell.”

However, Charkham went on to say, “People can tell. Prayer has a profound effect on your life. And prayerlessness has a profound effect on your life. You can’t hide either of them.”

As 90 % of the bulk of an iceberg is below the water, so 90% of what happens in our lives, and what makes us the men and women we are, and makes our lives turn out the way they have, happens in the realm of prayer. Prayer is like the roots of our lives, hidden, but vital to the health and strength of the visible plant–or life.

That’s why there is a quietness about mature Christians. Their big work is done in prayer.

Like giving, like fasting, Jesus commands us to pray in secret, seen only by God (Matthew 6 1-18). As such, it is an act of pure faith, pure love.

We are promised a reward, though. A public reward—“and your father who sees what is done in secret will reward you openly.” (Matt. 6:6).

A reward from God. Wow, it makes me rub my hands in anticipation. I am happy to take whatever reward God chooses to give me–whether in the earthly realm of health, wealth and success, or the spiritual realm of good relationships, peace, joy, shalom and happiness. Or, God willing, both!!

The things we do in secret will be revealed openly, both the good things–our prayer lives, our giving, our fasting—and our hidden intrigues, manipulations, evil words and gossip. “There is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that will not be made known. What you have said in the dark will be heard in the daylight, and what you have whispered in the ear in the inner rooms will be proclaimed from the roofs.” Luke 12:1-3

* * *

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

By Anita Mathias

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.

anita.mathias