Anita Mathias: Dreaming Beneath the Spires

Anita Mathias's Blog on Faith and Art

What I do is me; For that I came.

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What I do is me; For that I came.
The wandering liquid notes
Of cuckoo, and mourning dove
Echo through our garden
High and full of happiness.
Why do they sing?
They sing because they can,
They sing because they must.
On Milford Sound, I saw dolphins
Leap high through the fjord
Delighted to be alive
Like lambs at dusk in the Lakes
Frisking because they must
They cannot contain their joy.
As you made the cuckoo carol
Its high happy song
As you made dolphins frolic
Smiling in the seas of the world
You gave me words as a gift
And the joy of using them.
Help me to make them shine and sing
Let me use them to praise and play.
Let me rejoice like a bird in the gardens of your world,
Swish like a fish through your seas of mystery.
Let me dance in words
Through this world which sings with wonder
For that is what you have made me to do,
To create loveliness from loveliness.

The Most Challenging Passage of Scripture

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1 Corinthians 13 4-6

Love is patient,
love is kind.
It does not envy, 
it does not boast,
it is not proud. 
5It is not rude,
it is not self-seeking,
it is not easily angered, 
it keeps no record of wrongs. 
6Love does not delight in evil
but rejoices with the truth.
7It always protects,
always trusts,
always hopes,
always perseveres.
Love never fails.

Wow. How on earth does one become like this? Patient, kind, without envy or boastfulness. Not acting in pride, not rude, not self-seeking, not easily angered, maintaining no record of wrongs.

All I can think of is to ask God to make us like this. And to ask the Holy Spirit to fill us.

But if I didn’t love others, I would be of no value whatsoever.2
4 Love is patient and kind.
Love is not jealous or boastful or proud
5 or rude.
Love does not demand its own way.
Love is not irritable,
and it keeps no record of when it has been wronged.
6 It is never glad about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out.
7 Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.
8 Love will last forever, New Living Translation

1 Corinthians 13 (The Message)

The Way of Love

1 If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don’t love, I’m nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate. 2If I speak God’s Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, “Jump,” and it jumps, but I don’t love, I’m nothing. 3-7If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don’t love, I’ve gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I’m bankrupt without love.

Love never gives up.
Love cares more for others than for self.
Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have. 
Love doesn’t strut,
Doesn’t have a swelled head,
Doesn’t force itself on others,
Isn’t always “me first,”
Doesn’t fly off the handle,
Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others,
Doesn’t revel when others grovel,
Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,
Puts up with anything,
Trusts God always,
Always looks for the best,
Never looks back,
But keeps going to the end. 8-10Love never dies.

In which Roy claims that I am basically a dog

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I love dogs. I would pay as much as I had in hand, perhaps even go into debt to have a dog to share my day with me.
Roy says that that is because I am basically a dog. Both Jake and I love to sit curled up all day, absorbed in our respective thoughts, while pretending we love walks!

 

In which Jake the Collie Speaks Without Words

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We live out in the country, so Jake frequently finds an open conservatory door and takes himself for a walk.

He’s usually my shadow, so when I noticed him missing yesterday, I went into a bit of a panic, ran to the front door and shouted, “Jake, Jake.”

“Oh no, he’s run away, I hope he’s not run over,” I catastrophized

Suddenly, a patter of paws like a hurricane. Jake, who had been in the house all along, came running up in huge excitement, expecting a walk.

I didn’t want to take him, so hugged and praised him. He went away, literally smiling and wagging his tail.

If he could talk, I would swear he was saying, “Silly! She thought I had run away, and I was in the house with her all the time!”

Late have I loved thee,Oh beauty, so ancient and so new–Augustine

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St. Augustine–Confessions.
“O Lord, do I love Thee. Thou didst strike on my heart with Thy word and I loved Thee….
But what do I love when I love Thee? Not the beauty of bodies nor the loveliness of seasons, nor the radiance of the light around us, so gladsome to our eyes, nor the sweet melodies of songs of every kind, nor the fragrance of flowers and ointments and spices, nor manna and honey, nor limbs delectable for fleshly embraces.
I do not love these things when I love my God. And yet I love a light and a voice and a fragrance and a food and an embrace when I love my God, who is a light, a voice, a fragrance, a food, and an embrace to my inner man…. This it is that I love when I love my God…
Late have I loved Thee, O Beauty so ancient and so new! Too late have I loved Thee. And lo, Thou wert inside me and I outside, and I sought for Thee there, and in all my unsightliness I flung myself on those beautiful things which Thou hast made. Thou wert with me and I was not with Thee. Those beauties kept me away from Thee, though if they had not been in Thee, they would not have been at all. Thou didst call and cry to me and break down my deafness. Thou didst flash and shine on me and put my blindness to flight. Thou didst blow fragrance upon me and I drew breath, and now I pant after Thee. I tasted of Thee and now I hunger and thirst for Thee. Thou didst touch me and I am aflame for Thy peace….”

Parties–and the Writers’ Life

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I’ve got several parties lined up, among them one today at my old college, Somerville College, Oxford, and a Society of Authors party on Thursday.

Part of me is longing to settle down to long hours of serious writing, and wishing I had not committed to go to these winy, distracting events.

On the other hand, after about three long days of intense writing, I am tired, and badly need social life, metaphorical fresh air, a short break. I often invite a friend to lunch after a few days of work.

And so a party for an intense woman like me functions like a complete break. I clear my head, and come back energized (am more an extrovert than an introvert in that way.)

Though when I just getting into a piece of writing, the break is disastrous, and I lose the thread of what I was doing. On the other hand, after a few days of work, it is invigorating.

I haven’t worked much for the last few days though, what with a friend for lunch yesterday, the weekly clean-up and organization for the cleaner etc.

Oh well, the other things with parties is that they happen when they happen, and cannot be scheduled to optimally fit into your writing routines (other people’s parties, that is.)

And I do enjoy them, mostly.

A writing life is partly a matter of managing yourself for optimal productivity, like a football manager manages his team.

We are made of mud and the breath of God–and so anyone can change, anytime

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Genesis 2
“The Lord God formed the man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.”

That is what human are–mud and the breath of God.

It is because of the second component that no one is beyond redemption, that anyone can change, that people’s potential is always unknown.

Because that is what we are–mud, and the breath of God.

And God never stops breathing.