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In which Imaginative Literature Stirs the Heart to Conversion (A Guest Post by Holly Ordway)

By Anita Mathias

I am honoured to welcome Dr. Holly Ordway to my blog today.

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In which Imaginative Literature Stirs the Heart to Conversion

How could a fierce atheist enter into Christian faith? There are many ways for God’s grace to work; my own story is one that highlights the importance of imaginative literature!

When I was firmly an atheist, I dismissed Christianity as superstitious nonsense, and I simply would not have listened to the arguments that ultimately convinced me that the Christian claim is objectively true. Apologetics arguments were (eventually) vitally important, but as I reflected and wrote about my journey, I recognized the importance of imagination as both the catalyst and the foundation of my rational exploration of the faith.

How did that happen?

Let me give you a little glimpse from my memoir of conversion, Not God’s Type: An Atheist Academic Lays Down Her Arms.

From my childhood:

Long before I gave any thought about whether Christianity was true, and long before I considered questions of faith and practice, my imagination was being fed Christianly. I delighted in the stories of King Arthur’s knights and the quest for the Holy Grail, without knowing that the Grail was the cup from the Last Supper. I had no idea that the Chronicles of Narnia had anything to do with Jesus, but images from the stories stuck with me, as bright and vivid in my memory as if I had caught sight of a real landscape, had a real encounter, with more significance than I could quite grasp.

And at some point in my childhood, I found J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, and that changed everything. Not suddenly. Not even immediately. But slowly, surely. Like light from an invisible lamp, God’s grace was beginning to shine out from Tolkien’s works, illuminating my Godless imagination with a Christian vision.

I don’t remember reading The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit for the first time, only re-reading them again and again… Middle Earth was a world in which there is darkness, but also real light, a light that shines in the darkness and is not extinguished: Galadriel’s light, and the light of the star that Sam sees break through the clouds in Mordor, and the ray of sun that falls on the flower-crowned head of the king’s broken statue at the crossroads… I didn’t know, then, that my imagination had been, as it were, baptized in Middle Earth. But something took root in my reading of Tolkien that would flower many years later.

From my time at college:

The bumper-sticker expressions of Christian affirmation – “I’m not perfect, just forgiven!” “God is my co-pilot!” – and the kitsch art that I saw – a blue-eyed Jesus in drapey robes (polyester?) comforting some repentant hipster, or cuddling impossibly adorable children (none crying or distracted), presented faith as a kind of pious flag-waving. No thanks!

I didn’t know then how to say it, but I was looking for the cosmic Christ, the one by whom all things were made, the risen and glorified Jesus at the right hand of the Father.

The Catholic poet Gerard Manley Hopkins got past my allergic reaction to kitsch because it flowed naturally out of what he saw in the world.

Where his poetry was sweet, it had the sweetness of a perfectly ripe strawberry, or of the very best chocolate, creamy and rich – not the chemical sweetness of a low-fat sugar-free pudding with non-dairy whipped topping.

Where his poetry was bitter, it was bitter with the taste of real misery, the kind that fills up your awareness, squeezes out the memory of better times and draws a blank on tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow – not the faux-sadness of “Jesus died for you!” (so cheer up and get with the program already), the faux-compassion that can’t bear to look at a crucifix (so morbid).

Somehow for Hopkins the sweet and the bitter were not opposed; they were part of the same experience of being in the world, and undergirding all of it was something I didn’t understand at all, never having experienced it or known anyone who had: the reality of God, not as an abstract moral figure or as a name dropped to show off one’s piety, but a dynamic awareness of being in relationship with the Trinitarian God, an experienced reality bigger by far than the words used to point to it.

Years later, struggling with questions of meaning, wrestling with despair, I re-read Hopkins. I had no conscious desire to find God; I thought I knew that He did not exist. And yet something was at work in me, just as Hopkins wrote in “The Windhover”: “My heart in hiding / Stirred for a bird. . .” My heart stirred – for what? For something beyond my experience.

Poetry had done its work. I was ready to listen.

Ordway photo

Holly Ordway is Professor of English and Director of the MA in Cultural Apologetics at Houston Baptist University, and the author of Not God’s Type: An Atheist Academic Lays Down Her Arms (Ignatius Press, 2014). She holds a PhD in English literature from the University of Massachusetts Amherst; her academic work focuses on imagination in apologetics, with special attention to the writings of C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, and Charles Williams.

Filed Under: In which I celebrate books and film and art, In which I play in the fields of poetry, In which I proudly introduce my guest posters Tagged With: Apologetics, Conversion narratives, Gerard Manley Hopkins, grace, Holly Ordway, King Arthur, Lewis, Not God's Type, Poetry, Tolkein

Stinging Nettle to Butterfly Wings  

By Anita Mathias

 

Peacock_Butterfly_smaller

10042344-md

And how, and how

Could that prickly caterpillar

–All bristles and danger–

Feeding on the stinging nettle in my garden

Become a peacock butterfly,

Four shimmering iridescent eyes?

 

My God, my God, redeemer,

Even today, take my life,

The years lost to self-pity, anger and sadness,

False starts, wrong directions, promising trails abandoned

The sin, the exhaustion, the folly, the folly,

Take the stinging nettles of my life, my Lord,

And make of them butterfly wings.

 

Image Credit

Filed Under: In which I play in the fields of poetry Tagged With: Hope, metamorphosis, redemption, transformation

Seed the Clouds, Oh Lord. Make it Rain

By Anita Mathias

cloud_mass

Clouds are seeded with silver iodide

And dry ice to make it rain.

 

I have no silver iodide, Lord,

To move the clouds over my life.

 

I cannot change my heart

And make it more loving.

 

I cannot baptise my imagination into creativity.

I cannot force story ideas.

 

I cannot write so to speak to people.

That is a gift you give.

 

I cannot make myself love foods that bless my body

Or love the movement that does so.

 

I cannot change my heart

and make myself love you more.

 

But you can do all these things.

So please do.

 

Seed the clouds over my life

By your power which created the universe.

 

Make it rain.

Thank you.

 

 Image Credit

 

Filed Under: In which I play in the fields of poetry, In which I play in the fields of prayer Tagged With: dunamis, Prayer, seeding clouds

God of the Clanging Cymbal  

By Anita Mathias

You are

the God of the noisy gongs,

and you are the God

of the clanging cymbals,

 

of those who speak in the tongues of angels

and are impatient,

who prophesy

and are unkind,

 

who understand mysteries

and resent the success of the unworthy,

 

whose faith moves mountains,

and are rude and easily angered.

 

Such people are “nothing,” Paul says.

You are the God of those nothings.

* * *

 

You are God of the wildly generous

And yet self-seeking,

Who surrender their body to the flames

In ardent faith, but remember

every wrong done to them

and are delighted

when retribution overtakes their persecutors

And so gain nothing.  Alas!

 

You see their tragedy.  You are their God.

* * *

And when I speak and write eloquently

But am neither patient, nor kind

I still love you,

And oddly, you love me,

Noisy old clanging cymbal.

 

And when I prophesy, truly

And envy a friend’s success,

And when in a flash of insight,

I fathom mysteries,

 

And I gain knowledge,

through toil, or your spirit

And tell (okay, boast!)

Oddly, I still love you,

And you love me.

 

And when my simple faith has moved

Obstacles, and I subtly

Take all the credit for it,

Goodness, you still love me,

And, you know–I love you, Jesus.

 

When I give far more than I afford,

In a grand gesture I regret for years

But am easily angered

And remember ancient grievances,

And am delighted when my enemies reap

What they’ve sown–at last, at last,

And smile that there’s justice in the universe

 

Oh Lord, you see and you know,

You shake your head, and you love me.

And I love you.

* * *

I would like to learn to love

A dangerous prayer.  And now I

Want to flee from it far beyond the sea,

But will not.

 

Jesus, I believe in your love for me,

(Most of the time!)

No, truly, I do.

 

Let the river of that love

Flow through me to other people

 

Let me follow you

In the most excellent way!

Filed Under: In which I play in the fields of poetry, In which I shyly share my essays and poetry, Love: The Most Excellent Way, Mark Tagged With: 1 Corinthians 13, Love

When Waves of Mercy Crash Over My “If Onlys”

By Anita Mathias

Motherhood.

The land of If Onlys.

* * *

If only I’d been calmer when I was pregnant with her.

If only she’d had a higher birth weight.

If only I had breast-fed longer,

If only I had used better childcare,

Or no child-care.

If only I could have home-schooled,

Or read to the girls for longer,

Or helped them with homework,

Or spoken more positive words.

If only their parents had fought less.

If only, if only, if only, I wish….

* * *

And then, I feel them, from nowhere,

Waves of mercy, waves of grace.

They flood over me,

they pulse through me.

They pour, pour, pour.

And I see.

* * *

It’s clay. It’s all clay.

The deep blue clay of the bitter years,

The black clay of one’s failures,

Clay with streaks of silver tears,

Clay red with one’s heart’s blood.

And the best thing I can do

With my if onlys and I wishs

Is place them

In the potter’s magnificent hands

And watch

 

As he kneads,

Shapes, forms, moulds.

 

And I see, amazed,

A glorious vase emerge,

Perfect for its purpose,

In my daughter’s life,

As in my own.

 

Not what we had asked for,

Not what we had dreamed of,

Not what we had expected.

 

Something different is being fashioned

With the azure of failure,

The silver streaks of tears,

The red of one’s heart’s blood,

And the black of sadness.

 

And it is beautiful.

* * *

 

And so, I will no longer look back,

In regret

At foolish, messy yesterdays.

I will entrust yesterday to your magic

hands, O Potter, and tomorrow!

 

I will sit today,

Where waves of love

Crash over me,

 

I will sit

Where waves of mercy pour over my life.

Filed Under: In which I am amazed by the love of the Father, In which I play in the fields of poetry Tagged With: forgiveness, Mercy, Parenting, the potter's hands

When the Lack of Joy Constitutes an Emergency: Martin Luther on Prayer

By Anita Mathias

martin-luther-04

  Martin Luther’s barber, Peter, asked him how to pray.

 Luther “ without doubt, at the time, one of the busiest and most hard-pressed men in the Electorate of  Saxony, if not in the whole of Europe,” goes home immediately, and replies to this humble, unimportant parishioner.

 Such, such are men and women whom God blesses!

And I love what Luther wrote. When he loses his joy, he treats it very seriously indeed. He treats it like an emergency!!

“First, when I feel that I have become cool and joyless in prayer because of other tasks or thoughts (for the flesh and the devil always impede and obstruct prayer), I take my little psalter, hurry to my room, or, if it be the day and hour for it, to the church where a congregation is assembled and, as time permits, I say quietly to myself and word-for-word the Ten Commandments, the Creed, and, if I have time, some words of Christ or of Paul, or some psalms, just as a child might do.

It is a good thing to let prayer be the first business of the morning and the last at night. Guard yourself carefully against those false, deluding ideas which tell you, “Wait a little while. I will pray in an hour; first I must attend to this or that.” Such thoughts get you away from prayer into other affairs which so hold your attention and involve you that nothing comes of prayer for that day.

It may well be that you may have some tasks which are as good or better than prayer, especially in an emergency. There is a saying ascribed to St. Jerome that everything a believer does is prayer and a proverb, “He who works faithfully prays twice.” 

Yet we must be careful not to break the habit of true prayer and imagine other works to be necessary which, after all, are nothing of the kind. Thus at the end we become lax and lazy, cool and listless toward prayer.

The devil who besets us is not lazy or careless, and our flesh is too ready and eager to sin and is disinclined to the spirit of prayer.”

* * *

 As I grow older, I am finding it more of a necessity for my soul to be happy, joyful and peaceful in Christ. I don’t like to go through my day feeling unhappy. I would rather stop, drop, repent, forgive, whatever is necessary for my soul to be happy is Jesus.

Abiding in Christ is becoming a necessity for me to be able to write, to enjoy the company of my family and friends, to enjoy my day, to be happy!

And over the years, I have been training myself to stop when I find myself stressed, or unhappy or empty, and reorient myself to Christ; repent, if necessary; pray, and read Scripture, so that I can go through my day with a soul full of the Holy Spirit and of joy instead of being restless, stressed—or just plain empty!!

 

 

Filed Under: In Which I celebrate Church History and Great Christians, In which I play in the fields of poetry Tagged With: Prayer

He Makes the Failures of Friday Beautiful in His Time

By Anita Mathias

Ravaged by grief,

she saw you standing right there,

but did not recognize you.

 

She was living in Friday,

That traumatic Friday.

 

But it’s Sunday now,

And there you stand,

In front of Mary.

 

It’s a new day,

The only day that really counts.

Today.

* * *

Lord Jesus,

I give you the Fridays of my past.

My Fridays of trauma and grief

The Fridays I was betrayed,

The Fridays I failed.

 

It’s Sunday now,

And there you stand in front of me,

Oh Lovely One!

 

And you make all things new.

* * *

Cleopas walks downcast,

His hopes have crumbled.

He has seen betrayal, and he has learned

Religious leaders can be evil.

He walks, sad, foolish

And slow of heart,

Thinking of crumbled hopes

And his beloved

Humiliated teacher

 

Who walks beside him,

Always walks beside him.

* * *

Forgive me, Lord,

For the times I walked in darkness,

Shrouded in self-pity,

Unable to get over past betrayal,

Past evil, past disappointment;

My vision darkened as I considered

Other people’s evil

Instead of clearing the logs from my eyes.

 

Living in Friday.

 

Not noticing you

Walking beside me,

Always walking beside me,

Even in my valley of suffering

 

Offering this heart,

Still puckered with yesterday’s vinegar,

Fresh bread.

 

It is Sunday, today,

And you feed me

With the breaking of the bread,

 

And beauty and creativity,

And you say, “Be not afraid of broken things.

Even the Christ had to suffer.

Be not afraid.”

 

“When you walk through the waters, I’ll be with you

And the floods shall not overwhelm you,

When you walk through fire, you shall not be burned,

And the flame shall not consume you.”

* * *

 Thomas says:

“Oh, the failure was dreadful,

Humiliating.

How could it be the Lord?

 

I saw hasty nails pierce

Those exquisite hands.

The impatient spear

driven into his side.

 

He failed

despite his prayer,

our prayer,

all the love, the preparation,

the hopes,

He failed.

They killed him.

 

But if prayer worked,

as he said it would,

If faith could move mountains,

as he said it would,

if his Father loved him,

As he said he did,

If he was God,

As he said he was

 

Would there have been that disgrace,

The mocking crown of thorns,

The mocking scarlet robe,

The stripping, the crucifixion?

* * *

 

“Thomas,” they say.

“He’s alive now.”

 

Faith!

I have no faith left.

I am bereft of faith.

 

Unless I see the nail marks in his hands

 and put my finger where the nails were,

 and put my hand into his side,

I will not believe, I say.

 

* * *

And then, I see him,

And words fail me

And I kneel,

 

And all I can say is

My Lord and My God.

* * *

Oh stupid Thomas!

 

Forgive me, Lord for my stupidity.

For believing you come

Only in day, and not in night,

Only in summer and not in winter

Only in success and not in failure.

Only in glory, never in shame.

 

My Lord and My God

Forgive me for needing

to see your radiant, risen body

 

To realize that there was beauty too

In the three hours on the cross

When you were the voluntary scapegoat

For a selfish world.

 

I believe.

Help my unbelief.

 

Help me to accept from your hands

Whatever you give me

With praise, and thanksgiving.

 

The lacerated hands,

The mauled side,

They too are part of the beautiful body of Christ

 

Things you make beautiful in your time.

 

May I never forget this,

lovely Lord Jesus.

 

 

 

 

 

Filed Under: In which I play in the fields of poetry Tagged With: Beauty, brokenness, failure, redemption

Grieve No More For All That’s Broken

By Anita Mathias

File:Sainte Chapelle - Rosace.jpg

Wheat must be crushed to become bread

And bread broken to be eaten.

 

The chrysalis crumble for the butterfly,

The egg splinter for the chicken.

 

And sheets of coloured glass

Must be shattered

To become stained glass

Through which the love of God–

In rainbowed light–

Shines.

* * *

And I consider…

 

Did growth spring green

From my own brokenness?

 

It always does!

 

My rejected manuscript

Got me to hone my craft,

Again, more diligently.

Read more.

Write differently,

— simply.

 

The friendships which shattered

With shards of my heart–

Well, I sure won’t make those mistakes again,

But treat precious friendships as what they are–

Precious.

 

Burnt by fires I lit,

In the emotion of the moment,

I am learning to take

Emotion to Christ, and be

Governed by Christ, and by head

And spirit—not wild emotions.

 

* * *

There is much I have broken.

What stained glass,

what mosaic,

can I build from the shards?

 

I have extracted this from the fires:

And it is worth the pain

For the peace it gives,

 

I cannot do life by myself.

 

For if I do, I will drop and break

My beloved antique vases.

 

The best I can do

With my writing

Is hand it over to You

To blow through the molten glass

Of broken dreams:

Delicate faery things

 

I give you the rest of my life

More  whole-heartedly

Than if I had not mucked it up.

 

You manage my life, Lord.

It’s now your worry. *

 

* “ A man once worried so much that he decided to hire someone to do his worrying for him. He found a man who agreed to be his hired worrier for a salary of $200,000 per year. After the man accepted the job, his first question to his boss was, “Where are you going to get $200,000 per year?” To which the man responded, “That’s your worry.”

Filed Under: In which I play in the fields of poetry Tagged With: brokenness, Poetry, redemption

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My Books

Wandering Between Two Worlds: Essays on Faith and Art

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Francesco, Artist of Florence: The Man Who Gave Too Much

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The Story of Dirk Willems

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Premier Digital Awards 2015 - Finalist - Blogger of the year
Runner Up Christian Media Awards 2014 - Tweeter of the year

Recent Posts

  •  On Not Wasting a Desert Experience
  • A Mind of Life and Peace in the Middle of a Global Pandemic
  • On Yoga and Following Jesus
  • Silver and Gold Linings in the Storm Clouds of Coronavirus
  • Trust: A Message of Christmas
  • Life- Changing Journaling: A Gratitude Journal, and Habit-Tracker, with Food and Exercise Logs, Time Sheets, a Bullet Journal, Goal Sheets and a Planner
  • On Loving That Which Love You Back
  • “An Autobiography in Five Chapters” and Avoiding Habitual Holes  
  • Shining Faith in Action: Dirk Willems on the Ice
  • The Story of Dirk Willems: The Man who Died to Save His Enemy

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What I’m Reading

Dreams from My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance
Barak Obama

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H Is for Hawk
Helen MacDonald

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Tiny Habits
B. J. Fogg

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The Regeneration Trilogy
Pat Barker

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anita.mathias

Writer, Blogger, Reader, Mum. Christian. Instaing Oxford, travel, gardens and healthy meals. Oxford English alum. Writing memoir. Lives in Oxford, UK

Images from walks around Oxford. #beauty #oxford # Images from walks around Oxford. #beauty #oxford #walking #tranquility #naturephotography #nature
So we had a lovely holiday in the Southwest. And h So we had a lovely holiday in the Southwest. And here we are at one of the world’s most famous and easily recognisable sites.
#stonehenge #travel #england #prehistoric England #family #druids
And I’ve blogged https://anitamathias.com/2020/09/13/on-not-wasting-a-desert-experience/
So, after Paul the Apostle's lightning bolt encounter with the Risen Christ on the road to Damascus, he went into the desert, he tells us...
And there, he received revelation, visions, and had divine encounters. The same Judean desert, where Jesus fasted for forty days before starting his active ministry. Where Moses encountered God. Where David turned from a shepherd to a leader and a King, and more, a man after God’s own heart.  Where Elijah in the throes of a nervous breakdown hears God in a gentle whisper. 
England, where I live, like most of the world is going through a desert experience of continuing partial lockdowns. Covid-19 spreads through human contact and social life, and so we must refrain from those great pleasures. We are invited to the desert, a harsh place where pruning can occur, and spiritual fruitfulness.
A plague like this has not been known for a hundred years... John Piper, after his cancer diagnosis, exhorted people, “Don’t Waste Your Cancer”—since this was the experience God permitted you to have, and He can bring gold from it. Pandemics and plagues are permitted (though not willed or desired) by a Sovereign God, and he can bring life-change out of them. 
Let us not waste this unwanted, unchosen pandemic, this opportunity for silence, solitude and reflection. Let’s not squander on endless Zoom calls—or on the internet, which, if not used wisely, will only raise anxiety levels. Let’s instead accept the invitation to increased silence and reflection
Let's use the extra free time that many of us have long coveted and which has now been given us by Covid-19 restrictions to seek the face of God. To seek revelation. To pray. 
And to work on those projects of our hearts which have been smothered by noise, busyness, and the tumult of people and parties. To nurture the fragile dreams still alive in our hearts. The long-deferred duty or vocation
So, we are about eight weeks into lockdown, and I So, we are about eight weeks into lockdown, and I have totally sunk into the rhythm of it, and have got quiet, very quiet, the quietest spell of time I have had as an adult.
I like it. I will find going back to the sometimes frenetic merry-go-round of my old life rather hard. Well, I doubt I will go back to it. I will prune some activities, and generally live more intentionally and mindfully.
I have started blocking internet of my phone and laptop for longer periods of time, and that has brought a lot of internal quiet and peace.
Some of the things I have enjoyed during lockdown have been my daily long walks, and gardening. Well, and reading and working on a longer piece of work.
Here are some images from my walks.
And if you missed it, a blog about maintaining peace in the middle of the storm of a global pandemic
https://anitamathias.com/2020/05/04/a-mind-of-life-and-peace/  #walking #contemplating #beauty #oxford #pandemic
A few walks in Oxford in the time of quarantine. A few walks in Oxford in the time of quarantine.  We can maintain a mind of life and peace during this period of lockdown by being mindful of our minds, and regulating them through meditation; being mindful of our bodies and keeping them happy by exercise and yoga; and being mindful of our emotions in this uncertain time, and trusting God who remains in charge. A new blog on maintaining a mind of life and peace during lockdown https://anitamathias.com/2020/05/04/a-mind-of-life-and-peace/
In the days when one could still travel, i.e. Janu In the days when one could still travel, i.e. January 2020, which seems like another life, all four of us spent 10 days in Malta. I unplugged, and logged off social media, so here are some belated iphone photos of a day in Valetta.
Today, of course, there’s a lockdown, and the country’s leader is in intensive care.
When the world is too much with us, and the news stresses us, moving one’s body, as in yoga or walking, calms the mind. I am doing some Yoga with Adriene, and again seeing the similarities between the practice of Yoga and the practice of following Christ.
https://anitamathias.com/2020/04/06/on-yoga-and-following-jesus/
#valleta #valletamalta #travel #travelgram #uncagedbird
Images from some recent walks in Oxford. I am copi Images from some recent walks in Oxford.
I am coping with lockdown by really, really enjoying my daily 4 mile walk. By savouring the peace of wild things. By trusting that God will bring good out of this. With a bit of yoga, and weights. And by working a fair amount in my garden. And reading.
How are you doing?
#oxford #oxfordinlockdown #lockdown #walk #lockdownwalks #peace #beauty #happiness #joy #thepeaceofwildthings
Images of walks in Oxford in this time of social d Images of walks in Oxford in this time of social distancing. The first two are my own garden.  And I’ve https://anitamathias.com/2020/03/28/silver-and-gold-linings-in-the-storm-clouds-of-coronavirus/ #corona #socialdistancing #silverlinings #silence #solitude #peace
Trust: A Message of Christmas He came to earth in Trust: A Message of Christmas  He came to earth in a  splash of energy
And gentleness and humility.
That homeless baby in the barn
Would be the lynchpin on which history would ever after turn
Who would have thought it?
But perhaps those attuned to God’s way of surprises would not be surprised.
He was already at the centre of all things, connecting all things. * * *
Augustus Caesar issued a decree which brought him to Bethlehem,
The oppressions of colonialism and conquest brought the Messiah exactly where he was meant to be, the place prophesied eight hundred years before his birth by the Prophet Micah.
And he was already redeeming all things. The shame of unwed motherhood; the powerlessness of poverty.
He was born among animals in a barn, animals enjoying the sweetness of life, animals he created, animals precious to him.
For he created all things, and in him all things hold together
Including stars in the sky, of which a new one heralded his birth
Drawing astronomers to him.
And drawing him to the attention of an angry King
As angelic song drew shepherds to him.
An Emperor, a King, scholars, shepherds, angels, animals, stars, an unwed mother
All things in heaven and earth connected
By a homeless baby
The still point on which the world still turns. The powerful centre. The only true power.
The One who makes connections. * * *
And there is no end to the wisdom, the crystal glints of the Message that birth brings.
To me, today, it says, “Fear not, trust me, I will make a way.” The baby lay gentle in the barn
And God arranges for new stars, angelic song, wise visitors with needed finances for his sustenance in the swiftly-coming exile, shepherds to underline the anointing and reassure his parents. “Trust me in your dilemmas,” the baby still says, “I will make a way. I will show it to you.” Happy Christmas everyone.  https://anitamathias.com/2019/12/24/trust-a-message-of-christmas/ #christmas #gemalderieberlin #trust #godwillmakeaway
Look, I’ve designed a journal. It’s an omnibus Look, I’ve designed a journal. It’s an omnibus Gratitude journal, habit tracker, food and exercise journal, bullet journal, with time sheets, goal sheets and a Planner. Everything you’d like to track.  Here’s a post about it with ISBNs https://anitamathias.com/2019/12/23/life-changing-journalling/. Check it out. I hope you and your kids like it!
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