Anita Mathias: Dreaming Beneath the Spires

Anita Mathias's Blog on Faith and Art

Discovering your Unique Voice as a Writer or Blogger; Or, who’s afraid of C.S. Lewis?

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Thomas Merton
Thomas Merton
I enjoyed Michael Ward of Planet Narnia’s lecture on C. S. Lewis at Wycliffe College’s Summer School.
Rilke faced with the Archaic Torso of Apollo, with sheer beauty, feels he has wasted his life. His poem ends “You must revise your life.”
I feel like that when I consider that the richness of Lewis’s writing sprang from a lifetime of reading of poetry, myth, literature, the Bible. A life in books.
But then I remember that the world already has a Lewis. That the way for me to find my unique contribution as a writer, “be it less or more, or soon or slow,” is to be myself, to be the woman called forth by the unique circumstances of my life.
                                                   * * *
Thomas Merton writes that many writers fail to be really great for the same reason that many Christians fail to be really great Christians. They imitate other people’s poetry or spirituality instead of being the woman called for by all the unique circumstances of their lives. They compromise their integrity.
Many poets are not poets for the same reason that many religious men are not saints: they never succeed in being themselves. They never get around to being the particular poet or the particular monk they are intended to be by God. They never become the man or the artist who is called for by all the circumstances of their individual lives.

They waste their years in vain efforts to be some other poet, some other saint.

 They wear out their bodies and minds in a hopeless endeavour to have somebody else’s experiences, or write somebody else’s poems, or possess somebody else’s spirituality.
There can be an intense egoism in following everybody else.  People are in a hurry to magnify themselves by imitating what is popular—and too lazy to think of anything better.
Hurry ruins saints as well as artists.  They want quick success and they are in such haste to get it that they cannot take time to be true to themselves.
                         ( Thomas Merton, Integrity, New Seeds of Contemplation).
·      * *
It’s all very counter-intuitive. In the blogosphere, one is tempted to write in the same way and on the same themes as bloggers who are succeeding.
Sometimes, I come across several bloggers who write in the same distinctive style, and on similar subjects. And while fitting in with the cool kids in style or subject matter will give you short term success, it will affect your long term success, because you will be suppressing the real you—your unique take on the world, your beauty and ugliness, the secret little experiences, obsessions, preoccupations and convictions which are shared by no one else.
If I had heard that lecture on the literary influences of C. S. Lewis when I was younger, I would have left on fire to read more and write more. And these are good, but now I do not exhort myself to do these particularly.  Burnouts and middle-age have left me eager to work in a slow and steady sustainable way. I want to finish the work God has given me to do by the end, not necessarily the middle of my life.
So the counter-intuitive way to success as a blogger or writer is to read the great writers, let your thinking be transformed by them, pick up their themes if they resonate deeply with you, but, above all, be yourself.
If you are a kingfisher, flash fire. If you are a dragonfly, draw flame.If you are a writer or a blogger, be yourself.Be the writer or the blogger called forth by all the circumstances of your life. Write in the way that comes naturally to you, about the experiences your life gives you, and your interests and preoccupations. And, to your own surprise perhaps, you will have stumbled upon the secret of originality, even uniqueness.
                                                        * * *
Let me offer you a favourite passage from Rainer Maria Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet.
Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write.
This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple “I must,” then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your while life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse.
Then come close to Nature. Then, as if no one had ever tried before, try to say what you see and feel and love and lose.   So rescue yourself from general themes and write about what your everyday life offers you; describe your sorrows and desires, the thoughts that pass through your mind and your belief in some kind of beauty – describe all these with heartfelt, silent, humble sincerity and, when you express yourself, use the Things around you, the images from your dreams, and the objects that you remember.
If your everyday life seems poor, don’t blame it; blame yourself; admit to yourself that you are not enough of a poet to call forth its riches; because for the creator there is not poverty and no poor, indifferent place. And even if you found yourself in some prison, whose walls let in none of the world’s sounds – wouldn’t you still have your childhood, that jewel beyond all price, that treasure house of memories? Turn your attentions to it.
Try to raise up the sunken feelings of this enormous past; your personality will grow stronger, your solitude will expand and become a place where you can live in the twilight, where the noise of other people passes by, far in the distance. And if out of this turning-within, out of this immersion in your own world, poems come, then you will not think of asking anyone whether they are good or not. For you will see them as your dear natural possession, a piece of your life, a voice from it. 

They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength: Guest Post by Dana Rongione

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Today’s guest post is from Dana Rongione who blogs at A Word Fitly Spoken

Why Wait?


But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint. – Isaiah 40:31 KJV

Without a doubt, Isaiah 40:31 is probably one of the most famous verses of all time. It is quoted in books and from pulpits. It accompanies pictures on artwork and decorations. For it is a passage that offers hope, encouragement and strength. But within that promise is a condition, a contingency upon which the completion of this promise hinges. And at the center of that condition is a four-letter word that causes my knees to shake and heart to quicken—WAIT.


You see, what we often fail to realize is that this promise of strength and stamina is not given to all, but to those that wait upon the Lord. We tend to see the part of the verse that we like and ignore the part we don’t. But in this case, the part that makes us cringe cannot be ignored, for it is the subject of the verse, the center of the promise.

In a way, the verse reminds me of the old saying, “Good things come to those who wait.” Certainly, the things promised in Isaiah are good things. But who wants to wait? With express lanes, drive-thrus and automatic downloads, we are not accustomed to waiting. We want things when we want them, and that means NOW. How often we forget that God’s timing is not our timing? I’ve been reminded of this truth many times in my life, but never more so than when I felt the need to make a change in my career.
After eight years of teaching kindergarten, I was burned out. The days no longer held joy. I dreaded meetings with parents, the never-ending graduation practices and most of all, facing a colleague who had lied about me and gotten me into great trouble with the administration. Each day, it became harder to get out of bed and plaster a smile on my face. I was miserable and sensed that God was trying to tell me something.
Since the majority of my discontentment revolved around my job, I naturally assumed that God was trying to move me to teach in another location. The thought of leaving the security of my present job was terrifying, but no more so than remaining in my state of despair. I contacted schools and sent out resumes, but nothing happened. As time passed, I grew more nervous and agitated, but then I began to pick up on something. There was a common theme running through every song I heard, every sermon that was preached and every devotion that I read. The theme was “wait.”
After a particularly difficult week, my husband and I stayed after church and spoke with our pastor. I told him how I had been feeling. I relayed how I had thought that God was trying to move me, but that every move I made was countered with the reminder to wait. I asked him to help us pray that God would make His will known and that we would understand His directions when the time came. That same evening, we had a guest preacher at our church. As he began preaching on waiting, my pastor turned around to look at me. We shared a laugh.

My waiting was not over. In fact, it was another year before the Lord finally revealed His true plan. At that time, after much prayer, I left my teaching job to pursue my writing ministry. Had I made a change when I first felt the stirrings of my heart, I would have simply moved to another place of teaching. I would have never imagined that God would have called me to do anything else. And to be honest, if He had called me away then, I don’t know that I would have been spiritually mature enough to have obeyed.

I grew a lot during that time of waiting. It was difficult and uncomfortable, but God knew it was something I needed. He used that time of waiting to mold me and make me into what I needed to be in order to take the next steps He had for my life. Waiting time is not wasting time.


Now, when God tells me to wait for something, I try to remind myself of what God can do with me in the stillness. I try to put my impatience aside and instead focus on my longing to become more of what God wants me to be. It doesn’t make it easy, but it does make the waiting bearable.



Dana introduces herself:

“Having been a Christian for nearly 28 years, Dana knows what it is like to experience both joy in the journey and weariness in well-doing. Currently self-employed as a writer and speaker, she struggles (like many other women) to balance the demands of work, family, church, health, chores, etc.

Dana specializes in writing devotionals that will encourage and uplift the weak and weary Christian. Her blog, A Word Fitly Spoken, is currently read in over 15 different countries, allowing her the opportunity to spread the message of hope and joy throughout the world.
Her most recent book, Random Ramblings of a Raving Redhead, will take you on a journey of personal experience combined with heartfelt encouragement and fun-filled observations intended to lift your spirit, lighten your load, and comfort your heart.
You can find out more about Dana and her ministry by visiting her website at DanaRongione.com.“

Thank you, Dana!!

Those who wait upon the Lord will soar on wings like eagles: Guest Post from Jules of Apples of Gold

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Today’s guest post is from Jules Middleton, a mum and wife, Christian, artist, potential ordinand and blogger. Her blog Apples of Gold reflects her Christian journey in every day life.


Thank you, Jules!

Jules with her family

Those who hope in the LORD
will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint. (Isaiah 40:31)
When Anita approached me about doing this post, at first I thought ‘why me?’ Amongst the amazing people who have already written, I don’t have much to offer. But then I saw the verse she had chosen: Isaiah 40:31.

This verse has been central to my life over the last year or so, in both a literal sense, as I have been coming to terms with chronic exhaustion, and a spiritual one as I find my faith dramatically renewed after years of being a bit vague about it all!

I come from a church going background. My family were, and still are involved with their local church, we did Sunday school, they rang the bells. We did church. But I’m not sure we really did faith. The result was that I got more and more confused, and in my early 30s walked away from church completely. Disillusioned, fed up, hurt. But by contrast I felt completely happy with me.

I knew who I was, where I was going, I was running my own business, and being a mum to 3 and a wife. I felt proud of who I was, what I had achieved, I had fought through some tough stuff to be where I was and I knew it was down to me and me alone. I was confident, outgoing, did not suffer fools gladly, had very high standards and I was probably a bit rude and obnoxious too.

Then our marriage began to suffer, my husband developed anxiety issues, I was stressed and working every hour God sent. Looking back, starting a business with 3 kids, one only just 2, was foolish. The pressure of having a young family is huge in a marriage and to add that into the equation was insane. But as I said, I was headstrong and I knew what I wanted. I wanted something for me, something other than being ‘just a wife and a mother’.

Then God appeared in our lives. Well, I say ‘appeared’: what happened was a builder working on our house, a committed Christian, appeared in our lives, bringing Jesus with him.

The story is a long one but, in brief, he finally helped us to understand what Jesus did. What it is really all about. All the stuff we had missed in our years in church–well, he filled in the blanks. And bang, it all fell into place.

I welcomed Jesus into my life wholeheartedly. I felt called into ministry almost instantly. I knew I had been in the wrong place. Everything I had known, had been comfortable with, been confident in, particularly about myself, just fell away. But instead of being anxious about this, I loved it. I felt the freedom of not being in control of my life (of course there have been moments…!) of trusting in a higher being, and knowing that I was loved completely. That everything I had ever done, thought or spoken in anger and hate was forgiven. It was an amazing time.

Then just two weeks later, I came down with a virus which basically never went away. Although the main symptoms went, I was left feeling tired all the time and still trying to continue running my own business. Over the next 12 months I had various blood tests and examinations; I had to scale down my work where I could, and eventually sold the business.

Throughout that time this verse from Isaiah kept me going. It may be a cliché and an obvious choice, but when I first came across it whilst reading Isaiah, it literally leapt off the page.

Whilst I never doubted God in my illness, I read that and just knew he was absolutely there, in it with me. I am a strong person by nature, or perhaps thanks to what life has thrown at me, but there have been times over the last 18 months where I have just sat on my bed and cried. Crying out to the Lord, ‘How long will this go on? Why am I not being healed?’ (despite copious prayer).

But this verse reminds me to trust in my Heavenly Father and that my strength will be renewed. It’s interesting that various translations use either: wait on, trust in, or hope in, the Lord. All of which have different meanings, but they all require patience. If I have hope for my healing, I wait for it patiently; if I trust in him, I trust patiently that he will guide me and heal me; If I wait on Him, spend time seeking Him, I will know his will for me.

And the second part of the verse just paints such an amazing picture doesn’t it? It doesn’t just say, you will be okay, God will be with you, or things will improve. No. It says everything will be fantastic! You won’t just fly, you will SOAR. And not just that, but on wings like one of the most majestic, strong and powerful birds. What a picture!

For me, that gives me hope in my illness, in my every day life, but I also think it refers to life after this earth, life in heaven with our King, when the troubles of this world will fall away. We all get weary with life, we get weary with the daily grind, we get weary with God. But in heaven, we will soar! We will run and not be weary. All we have to do is Hope, Trust and Wait on the One who knows our trials and troubles. The one who has the answer to all things. The one who is Lord.

The Road of Excess Leads to the Palace of Wisdom

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“The Road of Excess Leads to the Palace of Wisdom,” is one of William Blake’s interesting paradoxes.
My husband (who, sadly, is not the most polite of creatures) sometimes says that I remind him of Mr. Toad in The Wind in the Willows.
Mr. Toad was overpowered by his latest enthusiasms. A boat—a caravan—a car! As he realized their charms, their indubitable advantages, he grew convinced that they were the best, the only possible way of doing things.  
Ah, embarrassingly familiar!! I loved reading “the classics” as a teen, as much for the cracking good stories, as for, well, having read the classics, the satisfaction of scoring them off my reading list. My goal was to have read all “the classics” by the time I was thirty, and I was progressing steadily towards it until I was 27, and married Roy, and then, well, life happened!
I only read poetry for a few years. In graduate school, and for the first year and a half of our marriage, pretty much all I did was read and write poetry, until, well, I wrote out all my poem ideas, and poetry began to seem too constricted for everything I wanted to explore in words.
If an author speaks to me, enchants me, I buy several of their books, sometimes all of them. If I am interested in a subject—an artist, medieval mystics, or natural healing, or herbs, or using natural supplements to balance brain chemistry, I tend to buy 3-4 books on the subject, and devour them. I then rapidly learn a lot about the subject, though it can be expensive, if it turns out to be less enticing than anticipated, or the waves of the next enthusiasm hit before I’ve sort of mastered this one.
I instinctively believe that if some is good, then more is better. When we planted spring bulbs in Williamsburg, we’d plant 700 or 800 each autumn so that the next spring was magical, seeing all our old favourites come up as well as the last year’s plantings.
It was sad to leave our Virginia garden which we had had for nine years, and so, we have never really thrown ourselves into planting up our Oxford garden, though it’s now our seventh year in it. However, we are slowly planting bulbs and perennials, and have a massive vegetable garden.
* * *
My favourite way of travelling is in a camper van. We first rented one in Switzerland ten years ago, and were amazed at how much we could see of the country in a motor home, which meant we could drop into several lovely sights in a day, start the morning in one little town, and continue until late in a summer evening, resting in the motor home on the way to sights, or over a brief cuppa or a picnic lunch.
For a while, I was convinced that it was the only way to travel, until we enjoyed the pleasures of renting quirky homes in Granada, Istanbul and Rome. My family say they prefer that, though I prefer seeing a huge amount of the country in a motor home, sleeping each night in a different place, especially the free wild camping in parts of Norway, Ireland or Sweden.
We stayed in retreat houses last year, at Lee Abbey and Ffald-y-Brenin and I did love the restfulness of staying in one place, doing nothing, just resting and soaking in God’s presence. On our return, Roy noticed me surfing the internet, absorbed. “I bet you are researching retreat houses,” he said. And indeed, I was.
If Aristotle was right in defining wisdom as the mean between extremes, exploring an extreme means that you learn what’s good about it, as well as its limitations. Then, once you’ve learned its limitations, you might, on the rebound, swerve to the other extreme. For instance, in a scenario familiar to dieters, if you’ve cut out all fat, or meat, or carbs from your diet, for a while you can’t have enough of them. And then, perhaps you return to a balanced diet.
To the path of wisdom, which is the mean between two extremes.
 In fact, my days of riding the wild horse of each enthusiasm to exhaustion are over. Yeah, I am middle-aged now, and am choosing the middle path. Striving for a life with a healthy balance of spiritual, intellectual, physical and social activities and interests. I try to make time to pray, read scripture, exercise, read, write, garden, and spend time with family or friends every day.
And oh, I believe, I hope, that all this sensible balance may mean that, paradoxically, in the long run, there may well be more energy to pursue any one interest.
   

What Kind of Blog would Jesus have Written?

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A few words Jesus wrote

Well, if Jesus were a blogger, rather than an itinerant preacher, what kind of blog would he have?

1) It would be unique. It’s recorded that people were amazed at his words. No man ever spoke the way this man does (John 7:46).

Oh great. That’s a tall order. And how do I be unique?

By being myself. 

Since no two people see the world in the same way, by being honest, we stumble upon the secret of being original, of being unusual.

Each person is unique, as unique as each snowflake, rose, fingerprint, zebra’s stripes, the iris of an eye, or the dots on a penguin’s chest.

As we grow to utter honesty, we discover in the process–unique blogs.

2) It would be full of grace and truth. 

Full of graciousness, of course, but it would be honest too. Hypocrisy was the trait Jesus most abhorred in the Pharisees, “who did everything to be seen by men” (Matt. 23:5) and honesty was the trait he adored, for instance, in his foot-in-the mouth, speak-first-and-then-think disciples.

3) It would be a blessing.

There would be life in it, living waters, and nourishment–the bread of life.

4) Would Jesus spend time in gaining readers for his blog, or would he proceed on the “If you build it, they will come?” principle?

Both. He sees Philip and Matthew and invites them to follow him. He invites himself to Zaccheus’s house for a meal.

And the real-life friendships which grow out of blogging is one of its great pleasures.

But I get the impression that Jesus went about his Father’s business and drew people to him because there was life in his words. That he would have delivered the Sermon on the Mount if there were five people there, instead of five thousand.

If one invests time in blogging, it is perhaps only sensible and responsible to invest some time in finding readers for one’s blog. And I do far too little of that…

5) Jesus would not embark on or continue a blog without being sure that blogging was his Father’s will for him, what he was called to do.

He said, “I do nothing on my own.” I think he would be continually checking in with his Father on what to write, and how much to write, and how.

6 A blog written by Jesus would be somehow prophetic.

He would listen to his Father until he heard him speak. He would record what he heard.

6 A blog written by Jesus would be varied, like his teaching ministry.

Jesus used parables and sermons, exhortation and admonition. He taught his disciples spiritual lessons from their everyday experiences. He used metaphor and allegory, humour and satire.

He loved pithy aphorisms—oh how he would have loved Twitter—and stories which, twenty centuries later, reveal fresh depths of meaning each time we ponder them.

He loved questions. His favourite answer, in common with many Jewish rabbis was a question, which silenced his questioners.

* * *

I would love my blog to bear some resemblance to the blog a central figure in my spiritual, emotional, and thought-life might have written.

And how do I do that?

Oddly enough, it begins with relaxing. Slowing down.

Spending more time with him–to catch his spirit. To have my soul filled with his bread of life, and with the living waters He said would flow from those who believe in him.

 

The Barbarian Way: Unleash the Untamed Faith Within by Erwin McManus: A Guest Review by Shaun Turner

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From Anglican to Barbarian in 141 pages
or “How I learned to stop waiting and start doing…”
Erwin Raphael McManus
Purpose. A word that has driven many a Christian to distraction (aside from Rick Warren, he’s done OK writing about Purpose), anger and even tears. What is my purpose? What is my mission? What am I called to do to preach the Gospel? What can I offer God? How can I serve Him using my talents and gifts?
We can all, I am sure, relate to some of those in one way or another, at some point in our journey and I can put my hat on two of those at least. For 10 years now I have been striving to walk humbly yet speak boldly, to love and care with the Gospel as my salve, but it was not ever thus…
* * *
Nine years ago I was invited to a leadership seminar with a few people from my church in West Bridgford, Nottingham. Some small church called “Willow Creek” was running the show and scanning the list of speakers I came across the name “Erwin McManus” (EM) which did not mean a lot to me at the time but was someone who would have a big impact on my life over the next few years.
After the seminar I went back to my church but something was happening inside, my spirit was restless for something. A while later (2006) I bought a copy of McManus’ new book “The Barbarian Way: Unleash the Untamed Faith within.”  This radically changed my perception of what it means to serve God and take risks for Him.
By his own admission, McManus had an interesting upbringing, a “pot-luck” of faiths and religions ranging from Buddhism to Catholicism up to Evangelicalism and, whilst you may not agree with every one of his exegetical positions, the Trinitarian backdrop to his overall theology renders a lot of his arguments compelling, to say the least.
In a nutshell, his argument in “The Barbarian Way” as I understood was this:
Don’t wait too long for God to tell you what to do, if you are a passionate believer in Christ’s sacrifice for our sins and your zeal for His glory burns within you, do SOMETHING. God will offer clarification when you need it.
Like all authors of his type (he describes himself as the “Lead Pastor and Cultural Architect of Mosaic Los Angeles”… a “reference point for the future church” and he “collaborates with a team of dreamers and innovators”[1]) he makes great use of the sound-bite statement. In fact on every page you could highlight at least two that essentially convey the message of the chapter or element. My copy which has been read and re-read is replete with highlights and notes – every time I read it I connect a few more dots and that is part of what makes it so compelling. That said, it’s not for everyone – my Catholic friend said “Meh!” in response when I asked her what she’d thought of it!
McManus essentially strives to do two things with this book; to strike at the heart of a complacent western religion that values unity above service and to re-ignite the fire ignited within each believer as they came to Christ. Ultimately he’s not saying anything new, but he does say it in a new way! The cultural relevance of his message means that its time will come again, indeed, perhaps it is not yet over. His passion is for movement and momentum, for an opportunistic, spirit-led, even chaotic response to the missional imperative, all in the name of the God we serve.
In some ways this was (and is) a manual for its time, a book that seeks to shake us up and remind us that the Great Commission involved the word “Go” not “stay”.[2]The simplicity of the message within, broken down as it is into four chapters, belies the passion that he clearly feels for the lost but also for the Christian that has yet to connect with a person-specific mission.
McManus goes to great pains to break down the construct of a happy Christian, content with a life of normality. He surrounds himself with creative, fidgety and passionate, artistic people so it’s natural that this should be evident through his writing and perhaps this is why it connected with me. It gave a voice to the disconnect I felt as a creative person within my Anglican setting.  It allowed me to see beyond the façade of smoothness and look at the church below the waterline and crucially, to connect with people and to develop the Volte ministry as an expression of creativity.
If I had to find one quote from his book that sums it up it would be this:
If you are a follower of Christ and you have allowed yourself to be domesticated, you have lost the power of who you are and who God intends for you to be. You were not created to be normal. God’s desire for you is not compliance and conformity. You have been baptised by Spirit and fire.
There is so much within this book that will ignite, annoy, infuriate and change you that to not read it would frankly be a mistake in my opinion, but I must warn you, to read it is to be changed, again.
Many a ministry or project has I am sure been born from the encouragement found within the pages of this small but ultimately big book – many a Christian (me included!) has found the missing piece of the puzzle that enabled us to create something in our community space that reaches out, preaches the Gospel and shares Jesus with others.
McManus has written many books since, have a look on Amazon to see his output.  However, I feel “The Barbarian Way” is by far his most potent, mixing as it does a missional imperative, a desire to serve and a call to arms whatever those “arms” may be.
                                                                             *******
Shaun Turner
Shaun Turner is a co-founder of “Volte” – a ministry dedicated to helping the Church discover new streams of creativity and to nurture the creative within, by developing new expressions of the faith journey, encouraging the visionary, and finding imaginative perspectives that stimulate discovery, renewal or a deepening of a relationship with God. They also work with schools to deliver innovative, fun and challenging faith experiences to help stimulate and develop the young enquiring mind. www.volte-tbf.com
[1]    The Barbarian Way – hard back edition – pp 145m – paraphrase
[2]    The Barbarian Way – hard back – page 5

An Autobiography in Blog Posts: IV. Oxford Redux.

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A picture of our house from the back garden



And here’s the last installment

So we left to England, ostensibly for 9 months, but I had plans and schemes and dreams… and hoped never to live in America again. We were all excited, including the girls who loved and laughed and wept and thrilled and chilled over Harry Potter.
We went to Manchester in 2004, where Roy was a distinguished visiting fellow at the University of Manchester for a year. It was a lovely interlude. We arrived with 8 suitcases, and so housekeeping was easy. Then Roy visited America, and returned with 2 suitcases–housekeeping a little harder–and then, the shipment he’d sent arrived. Never again got on top of things. Lesson: Declutter, declutter, declutter—and housework is easy. I still have weekly decluttering sessions—as I have been doing for the last four years!!
We lived in Didsbury, Manchester, and found a good welcoming church, Ivy Manchester, and a good school, Didsbury C of E: an oasis of a year, friendly, open people, and lots of reading and writing.
And then Roy got another dream fellowship—an inter-disciplinary fellowship from the US National Science Foundation, to study a new discipline, anywhere he liked.
And well (of course) we picked Oxford—the Mathematical Institute at Oxford University, where he studied Mathematical Biology.
And then he was offered a chair, a Professorship of Applied Mathematics at the University of Birmingham in 2006.
And I flatly refused to move to Birmingham.
I had found a dream house where we still live, in Oxford, which I love. “Have no interest in Birmingham, won’t live there,” I said, dreading another 12 years in a place in which I’d rather not live. So, Roy sadly shrugged and agreed to commute.
                                                                 * * *
And so I buy the dream house, though, after using the proceeds from our house in America as a down payment, the mortgage was six times Roy’s then salary. And we put both girls in an expensive all girls’ private school, Oxford High school.
And so I guess for the first time in my life, I needed to work to finance this expensive life-style we had committed ourselves too.
So, were these two financial decisions, the too expensive house and the too expensive school errors?
Lol! I don’t know if I would recommend them to anyone else. But as Roy will tell you with great sorrow, I can be a bit of a holy fool where money is concerned. You see, I truly believe that God owns the cattle on a thousand hills, that he is a loving father, that he will release money for the home which is just right for a family; the school which is just right for children. (Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t turn to me to me for financial advice. Or, perhaps you should!)
* * *
I am convinced that God has a sense of humour. He always has the last laugh.
In Williamsburg, where I was bored and lacking stimulation and full of self-pity, I was able to read and write (albeit not very much since I was depressed). In Oxford, one of the most literary cities in the world, for the first 3.5 years in business, I was not able to read or write, because I was consumed by business. Yeah, have done more reading and literary writing in Williamsburg, Virginia, than in literary Oxford, England, irony of ironies.
(Come on, Lord, this is not humour. This is irony! What are you trying to teach me? To rely on you alone for the fulfilment of my dreams?  And well, if heartbreak be the pencil to teach me that, then heartbreak is worth it. )
 I did however join Writers in Oxford, a social organization founded by Philip Pullman, yeah, 140 writers, and went to fortnightly drinks parties and social events, including one he hosted. Met several interesting, stimulating writers. Going there reminded me that I wanted to be a writer—ontologically wasa writer–and sometimes made me cry that I was not writing.
Ironically this September, I decided to focus on my blogging and writing, and so each evening became precious, and I dropped out. “Mum, why have you dropped out of Writers in Oxford now that you’ve become a real writer?” Zoe asks. Yeah, one can never get conceited in this family!!
    * * *
I didn’t think I could raise the kind of money I needed in a salaried job, and since I needed serious money, I decided to start a business. We are natural entrepreneurs, and have always been toying with ideas for businesses. I thought having a bookshop would be so cool, so I founded an online one, selling antiquarian books.
Well, the romance of books never died for me, even over that exhausting 14 months, though my hands quite literally gave out with all that typing, pricing and repricing.
Eventually we transitioned from working hard to working smart. I read Rich Dad, Poor Dad (which stresses the importance of creating assets which keep giving, rather than working for a salary, which gets spent up and needs to be re-earned). And The Lazy Man’s Guide to Riches which stresses that the way to work smart in business is to leverage your time, your money, your talents, or your products (create books or iPads which sell millions of times over through third parties, rather than sell thousands of Apple’s iPads…)
So I decided to found a publishing company and publish the best of the antiquarian books I was selling. Okay, founding business #2, while running business #1=exhaustion. I would talkabout my life, and cry, like a silly weepy woman, which I then was.
My predominant thought in the maelstrom of the complexities of publishing was, “I just want life to be easier” though I knew it should be “I just want Jesus.” That was the greatest period of stress I’ve ever known–financial stress, work stress, and health stress, since my immune system unhelpfully buckled, and I developed a stress-related illness, now cured. It’s given me a great understanding and sympathy for other people in financial stress.
* * *
Yes, yes, it’s getting high time for this dire tale to have a fairy tale ending, and thankfully it does. 15 months into publishing, we got our break with an author which did well, and we paid off our business loan, and were well into profit.
We thought we would stop publishing and go back to Math and writing, but in early 2009, a hugely popular BBC serial, The Victorian Farm kept mentioning a poetic, long out of print Victorian Farming manual called The Book of the Farm. I read that every second-hand copy available was snapped up even as the credits rolled on the first evening.
Roy said, “Let’s publish it.” I said, “But we have retired from publishing. We are going to be a writer and a mathematician again. Remember?” Roy who, like me, is an entrepreneur at heart, said, “Let’s publish it!” And so we did.
Magical days! I had been praying for a conservatory since October. We were quoted £21,000 for a classy one. Didn’t have a penny extra, but still prayed faithfully. We published this three volume book in mid-Jan, sold hundreds, then thousands of copies, and signed a contract for that 30 square metre, sunny, four season longed-for conservatory in February. It is my favourite room, my proof that miracles do happen.

Irene’s (in red) 12th birthday party in our conservatory


It’s flower-filled here after my birthday party!

The business grew rapidly!! “It’s like being on a fast-moving train,” a friend who worked with us said. We got a group of 12 friends from church and Oxford to work with us, some full, some part time. And in July 2010, Roy at last retired from mathematics–obsessive, consuming work so incompatible with family life (so much like, err… err… serious writing!) and decided to run the company, and the home, and the children, and well, me, if he could! And I gradually stopped working in the business.
                                                      * * *
Taking up writing again was not easy. I had got out of the habit, had forgotten what was in my book.
I had “churts,” church-related hurts at church, which talking to other friends who’ve left (okay, not a reliable control group) was indeed toxic for them too. I had led three Bible studies there, and while leading one fell out my co-leader and the Rector’s wife, and was unfairly and sadistically untreated. The sadness and anger caused a kind of creative paralysis, and so, unable to start writing again, I mechanically went on working in the business and making money, past the point at which we needed it to pay bills.
The sadness of not using that one talent which is death to hide was affecting my health. My wonderful GP referred me to an NHS therapist who thought she could break the writers’ block in 5 sessions. In fact, it took 4.
I realized that the unforgiveness over the way I was unjustly and cruelly treated was creating a block in my creativity and my spiritual life and my happiness, I went through the hard work of forgiving and asking blessing on those who harmed me.  And the streams of creativity began flowing again
* * *
On a walk on a beach in Royan, France, I felt God calling me to blog, and I have always felt God’s blessing on it, though I don’t know what he is going to do with it.
And, not fully aware of how many people in that church were following my blog through our facebook friendships, I wrote a series of satires on church leaders who are ambitious, cynical, manipulative, ego-driven, neurotic, insecure, concerned with growth over shepherding. It was called “The Screwtape Lectures,” and Screwtape advises his acolytes to do the very things I had observed.
“You are saying we run the church as the Devil would advise?” the priest asked me in shock. Well, actually, Screwtape was (and satire needs exaggeration to work). I am told not to blog about the church if I want to stay, even in the form of allegory!!
And so three years after I should have made that decision, I decide to leave.  A vicar I know through blogging wrote to me, “à la Elijah, ‘You’re likely to starve there. Time to move on to somewhere safe.’
I moved to a normal healthy church, St. Andrew’s, Oxford .
I found a lovely supportive group of kind, intelligent, educated,  successful women, a group I am now co-leading. I felt happy in both this group and our couples’ group. And desperately wished I had left that unhappy toxic church three years earlier. Though I do believe in the value of desert experiences, and being in the wrong place at the right time.
Who is this who comes out of the desert leaning on her beloved? (Song of Songs 8:5).  My desert experience in that chaotic, badly run Charismatic church deepened my relationship with Christ. I spent more time with him in the anonymous quietness of the desert, and got to know him and hear his voice far more clearly.
Challenges ahead: Creatively, to learn to combine blogging and literary writing. Physically: by exercise and healthy eating to recover the physical health which has been compromised over several sedentary, stressful years. Emotionally and spiritually, I am happy after several turbulent years, and for that I am grateful!!

An Autobiography in Blog Posts: III. Williamsburg, Virginia, and a Desert Experience

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And so to Williamsburg, we returned, mourning, mourning, mourning.
* * *

It was a wilderness experience.  I once walked in Oxford University Parks on a bleak December, and saw a scarlet macaw hop along. No, not kidding. Well, that’s how I felt in Williamsburg. I could not find soulmates. I was very lonely.

I cried; I was furious with Roy. We were living there because he worked in a very esoteric area of mathematics, and the premier cluster of mathematicians in his area were at William and Mary.
I said, “Please quit, so we can live where we wish. Breed dogs. Let’s buy a farm. A Christmas tree farm. An asparagus and blueberry farm. Train bonsai!” (Yeah, creative, aren’t I?) Anything that will get us out of being chained to this materialistic, house-proud backwater, where everyone looks immaculately groomed, their houses and cars are immaculate, and few have read a book all year. Or written one.
And the latter category, sadly, included me.
* * *
And then, and then, the manuscript which I had sent the New York editor and agent did not interest either of them in the final draft. I lay face down on my carpet, and wanted to die.
Oh, I was so mad at Roy for not providing more help with child care and housework so I could write a good manuscript. The sadness caused weight gain, constant colds and coughs, debilitating allergies, insomnia, depression. The house was a mess.
A desert experience!!
Spiritually, the desert is the most richly blessed of places. I am certain of it. It may not be rich—will not be rich socially, or in terms of approbation, attention, success, friendship, perhaps not even economically.  Ah, but spiritually, you can grow fat when the rest of your life is thin gruel.
I was sick, I decided–spiritually, emotionally, even psychologically, since I was then on high dose of anti-depressants!! I needed the great Physician. I committed to spending 90 minutes a day in prayer in Bible study in 1996. I did not transform immediately, by any means. If anything, this commitment which I fulfilled before writing and which soaked up nervous energy, made me tireder, crosser, more anxious, highly-strung and frustrated in the short, even medium, run.
* * *
I could diagnose my spiritual plight, but was powerless to do anything about it.
  Jeremiah 17 “Cursed is the one who trusts in man,
who draws strength from mere flesh
and whose heart turns away from the LORD.
6 That person will be like a bush in the wastelands;
they will not see prosperity when it comes.
They will dwell in the parched places of the desert,
in a salt land where no one lives.
 7 “But blessed is the one who trusts in the LORD,
whose confidence is in him.
8 They will be like a tree planted by the water
that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes;
its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought
and never fails to bear fruit.”
(I am delighted to declare that verses 7-8 describe me now).
Some trust in chariots and some in horses, Psalm 20:7.I was putting all my hope and faith in chariots and horses. In editors, in agents, in having a writers’ group as I did in Minneapolis, in networking. In living in a place with good theatres, visiting writers, literary festivals. In the stimulation of friends who read and wrote, and the creative exchange of ideas.
I taught Creative Writing at William and Mary with a friend, a writer who lived on a farm in the boondocks, and just steadfastly wrote books whereas I, putting faith in networking and the big break was successfully applying for fellowships to, and dashing around to idyllic writers colonies, the Vermont Studio Centre and The Virginia Centre for the Creative Arts in Sweet Briar. And to writers’ conferences: Bread Loaf, Wesleyan, Chenango Valley, Mount Holyoke. I should have just been writing!!
Just write, just write. Lots of wisdom to that. But I guess I was stuck.
It took a long period of dreams being crushed and broken for me to trust in God and no one else, not even, especially not, myself for the fulfilment of my dreams.
* * *
Eventually, eventually…little miracles began to happen, and my life began to change.
Well, I laid the manuscript aside, and through 1997, writing for an hour a day, wrote a tight, contorted story of early childhood, here and here, which won a National Endowment for the Arts award of $20,000. In this writing I did to take my mind off my stymied manuscript, my writing style came together, became instinctive.
I began to win writing prizes again, fellowships to colonies and conferences, and to publish all over: The Washington Post, London Magazine, Commonweal, The Christian Century, my pieces were picked up by The Best Spiritual Writing annual anthologies. I taught Creative Writing at William and Mary, though did not find it compatible with writing. Well, have never yet found anything that is!!
And life went on. I had two lovely happy girls. We bought a beautiful house in a lovely neighbourhood, Kingsmill, and lived there for 9 years. We travelled extensively—I craved the old world, art, culture, history. We visited Japan, Israel, New Zealand, Switzerland, Costa Rica, Italy, Spain, Ireland, Holland, leaving Williamsburg as much as we could. Roy was earning well enough, and we were doing well enough through shrewd investing!
* * *
And surprisingly, what God used to help me out of the pit when I struggling with marriage, and with keeping up with the basics of running an orderly house (in which I was desperately failing!) was a teaching and speaking ministry.
I was asked to speak at events like women’s breakfasts, and evening banquets! I was asked to teach Bible studies, and taught four long, exhausting Beth Moore studies, which, with their saturation in Scripture, were an important part in turning my life around.
And why should someone struggling herself with the basics of marriage, being an attentive mum, and running an orderly house grow through teaching others? God’s mercy and sense of humour!! A depressed woman sharing her Prozac of the Word of God!
And I was sharing what was most precious to me–my time and intellectual, spiritual, and emotional energy. In return, I was blessed with stability in my life, emotions and faith; good friends; and deepened roots in God’s word.  That is ever God’s way. Share your limited oil and flour, your limited loaves and fishes, and they will be multiplied.
Another way I was blessed by sharing out of my poverty was that Paul Millersuggested an editing for discipling trade. And this discipling over five years was absolutely life-changing. I was also mentored by a retired pastor’s wife, Lolly Dunlap. As a couple they had done 4 or 5 people’s work, running a church, a radio ministry, schools, centres of learning disability, a ranch for youth, but now she lived in Scripture and got great nourishment from it. That was inspiring.
And I started gardening. Planted several fruit trees, thousands of spring bulbs, hellebores, hostas, a rare specimen garden. I so enjoyed watching them come up stronger each year in that garden I had for 9 years that I almost made peace with staying in Williamsburg.
* * *
I went on a retreat in November 2003 to a retreat centre called Richmond Hill, and picked up a book called I Lift up my Eyes to the Hills,coincidentally the same title as the unfinished book I was drafting. I realized that I had found my answer and abruptly left the next day.
It was about praying with faith for every area of one’s life. Praying, not hoping!! Though it was my writing I worried about, old dreams came uncovered. As beached whales long for immense salty seas, so in America, too fast, too new, too scary for me, I longed for ancient, low-key, gentle, literary Oxford, and began to pray about moving there.
I prayed for soul mates; the book suggested that you offer friendship to those God has placed in your life as you wait for the “glorious friends” you might want, and I did just that, made some good friends, and was, I was guess, happy.
I started praying very specifically for creativity like a rushing river, a prayer answered a little later than the other two.
* * *
In God’s time, miracles happen.
Roy wrote a brilliant paper that he worked on off on for 10 years. It won two prestigious prizes, one of them for the best paper in his area in the last 3 years. And finally fellowships and job offers poured in. (Well, just as well he didn’t become a dog breeder!)
One in Manchester.
And one—yay—in Oxford!!
Without desert experiences. one would never learn to lean, rather than run in one’s own strength and exhaust oneself.
Who is this who comes out of the desert, leaning on her beloved? (Song of Songs, 8:5). Yeah, it was me!