54) Axolotl on my fridge
Funny how we string things together that don’t actually belong. Create a narrative in our heads that is made up of true parts, but when placed together in a row gives an altogether different story. I remember quite unexpectedly being in a hospital bed last December just hours before the carol service. Then there was Day Surgery for a follow-up procedure. Then back into hospital for electrocuting myself when the hoover blew up. Then there was the influenza that laid me low, and the resulting coughing that sprained my sacroiliac ligament and put my back out. And then, just as August drew its last breath, there I was again in hospital, having totaled the car and damaged my sternum… All of these incidents quite unrelated, and yet, I can’t help feeling that there’s some hand behind it all. “The universe will slow you down if you don’t do it yourself!” came the advice from one friend. “Do you think God is trying to tell you something?” wondered another. If He is, I’m not entirely sure what He’s trying to say! Take this past week for instance: I’m not a fan of pain, or of expiation notices for driving without due care and attention, or of hospitals, or of a week without a car, or the expense of replacing the car, and the near-doubling of my insurance. For sure, “Master speak, Thy servant heareth!” But can You reach out without all the drama and cost? Like You did with Elijah, in the still small voice, after the earthquake and the fire.
“Drop Thy still dews of quietness,
till all our strivings cease;
take from our souls the strain and stress…
O still small voice of calm!”
I know, I know it could have been much, much worse. And of course, I am relieved that the other driver walked free and is ok. I can see mercy in that. But even so…
*
I received a care package from England just last week in the post, when I was still blissfully unaware of the impending car crash. It was from my sister and my niece and my great-nephew, and for no other reason except love and kindness and remembering. The parcel contained greetings and gifts and drawings to put on the fridge. My favourite picture in the bunch is up on the fridge right now; it’s of a very happy axolotl. I’m no biologist, but I seem to recall that axolotls can regrow their limbs and organs, and so, in effect, they live their whole lives without really ageing. Imagine that! There’s an axolotl on my fridge, and I am reminded that I am loved and cared for, even though my own body is getting older and bashed about, and is struggling more than ever this time to heal quickly.
My favourite French singer sings,
Où que tu sois
Dans l'espace et le temps
Seul ou parmi les gens
Je te vois, je te vois, je te vois
Et surtout je t'entends
Wherever you are, in space and time, alone or among people, I see you, I see you, I see you, and above all, I hear you.
Life’s dramas come and go – and I suspect that this season of hospitals and pain will itself pass – yet I am seen and seen and seen, I am heard and known and loved through it all. There’s a photo of me and my niece taken almost a decade ago before my beard turned white. We’re in Bristol, with the Suspension Bridge behind us. It is one of my favourite memories.
I see you, I see you, I see you, and above all, I hear you…
Earlier today, I chatted on line with my best mate back home. We talked about getting older and the old days when we worked together almost 35 years ago. I often wish I could turn back the clock to those days. We seemed indestructible then. Who knows what a sacroiliac ligament or a sternum are when you’re young, when they’re not sprained or cracked…
I see you, I see you, I see you, and above all, I hear you…
I’m reminded this evening of a quote from George Matheson. He writes,
“My God, I have never thanked Thee for my thorn. I have thanked Thee a thousand times for my roses, but not once for my thorn. I have been looking forward to a world where I shall get compensation for my cross; but I have never thought of my cross as itself a present glory. Teach me the glory of my cross; teach me the value of my thorn. Show me that I have climbed to Thee by the path of pain. Show me that my tears have made my rainbow.”
Show me that my tears have made my rainbow. I am always amazed at Matheson’s writing. And I don’t want to be the kind of Christian who only sings praises when the going is smooth. I want to be the man who can say with Job, “Though my flesh it be destroyed, yet with my eyes I will see God.” I can’t really imagine ever saying something like that; there’s nothing brave or triumphant about me. In fact, this latest hospital visit has pushed me closer to despair than I’d like to be. Though I find some quiet comfort in Hafez’s words:
“Something missing in my heart tonight
Has made my eyes so soft
My voice
So tender
My need of God
Absolutely
Clear.”
Hafez, what is it that is missing? Have I strung together unrelated events and expected God to speak a single word of explanation that will soothe my soul? Am I struggling to find the hand of God in all of this? Am I looking at recent events and just longing to reconnect with the past, and the friends and family I miss so much? Is it time to go home for a while? Do I even see the roses when I’m pricked by the thorns?
I don’t know.
But I do know this much: there’s an axolotl on my fridge; and I know where home is. I know what love is. I know what friendship is. I know what family is. I have been remembered. And though my chest hurts more than ever tonight – still so bruised and tender from last Sunday’s crash – I know I’m alive. I am seen and seen and seen. And one day I’ll find myself in that place where we’ll never grow old… and maybe then the narrative of the past 9 months – or the past 56 years – will at last make some sense.
Whatever it is that keeps making me crash, keeps bringing me to a stop, whatever it is that I’m longing for, whatever it is that I am missing, in all the ups and downs of recent months, I can say with Hafez this evening that my own need of God has never been clearer.
Says Matheson, “There is not in all His Providence a night without a star.” An axolotl on the fridge at just the right time is a star. A reminder that healing and regrowth is possible. A reminder that Creation itself contains more wonder and possibility than I can scarcely imagine. That’s the story I want to be telling.
Olly Ponsonby, September 2025
***
Scripture refs. include – 1 Sam 3:10, 1 Kgs 19:12 (KJV), Job 19:26, 1 Cor 13:12.
“Master speak, Thy servant heareth” by Frances Ridley Havergal, 1867, public domain. https://hymnary.org/text/master_speak_thy_servant_heareth_waiting
“Drop Thy still dews…” is from “Dear Lord and Father of Mankind” by John G. Whittier, 1872. https://hymnary.org/text/dear_lord_and_father_of_mankind
“Où que tu sois” by Assane Attyé, https://www.paroles.net/ycare/paroles-ou-que-tu-sois. Translation mine.
“My God I have never thanked Thee…” attributed to George Matheson. https://www.azquotes.com/quote/779551
“Though my flesh…” from “My Redeemer Lives” by John Willison, 1993, © O/B/O Apra Amcos.
“Something missing…” is by Shamsedin-Mohammad Hafez Shirazi, https://www.holyhill.ie/hafiz-of-shiraz/
“Where we’ll never grow old” is a Gospel hymn written by James Cleveland Moore, 1914.
“There is not in all His Providence…” from “God’s Help in Tribulation” by George Matheson, in “Leaves for Quiet Hours”