I Just Want to Replace a Globe

Yesterday I went to the grocery store to buy globes (aka lightbulbs). I bought a package of five, or rather, I *tried* to buy a package of five. When I got to the till the item wouldn't ring so a lady was sent to do a price check. I waited twenty minutes - yes, twenty - before she came back. When she finally returned she said, "We don't have a price for the five-pack, so you can't buy it."

(Take a deep breath, shrug your shoulders and say "Oh well" over and over and over...)

I realise that being unable to buy globes is low on the list of "important things in life," especially given recent world events. But the frustration of just trying to live life and do daily tasks still gets to me sometimes. I guess I still have far to go in terms of cultural assimilation.

A Little Milton to Start Off the Week...

This is my favourite sonnet by John Milton, and probably his most well-known. It just resonates with my soul.

Sonnet XIX
On His Blindness

When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He returning chide,
'Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?'
I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, 'God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best
Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best. His state
Is Kingly: thousands at His bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.'

- John Milton, 1608-1674

A Bureaucratically Beautiful Day

1. After a two-week wait, I finally got the password to access my online bank statements (when we switched to eStatements the bank failed to give us the password, which they set).
2. After two and one half months of collecting documents and proving that we're medically and mentally sound, our application was finally submitted to the Dept. of Home Affairs to renew our temporary residence visas. There's still a long wait ahead to see if they approve it or not, but for once the ball is in their court!
3. The icing on the cake: After a three-year wait, we finally got a phone line installed in our house so we can have decent internet access. Yippee!
   

I'm so happy I think I'm in shock.

A Jarring Juxtaposition

Every Tuesday morning I meet with a group of moms to pray for our kids' school for one hour. We pray for the teachers, students, and a host of other school-related issues. What's amazing about these ladies is that every one of us speaks a different language at home: Zulu, Venda, Nyanja (from Zambia), Afrikaans, Portuguese and English. We come from different backgrounds and yet for that one hour, we are sisters.

There is so much in South Africa that would tear us apart. Every day the newspapers blare headlines that point out our differences and cause us to become angry, outraged, and disgusted with one another. But every week we moms pray for unity. We hold hands and pour our hearts out to the Lord. We cry together. We hug each other. We carry each others' burdens.

Today as I arrived at school a man was walking his daughter to the high school down the street. He was wearing the AWB khaki uniform (the AWB is an extreme and racially-polarising political group) and carrying a sjambok (a long whip). My children's school is 70% black, so he had more than a few people feeling nervous.

Inside our group of ladies felt that we needed to stand our ground in prayer and sing a song over the school. We walked out to the school field, held hands in a symbol of unity and began to sing, "We are standing on holy ground, and I know that there are angels all around. Let us praise Jesus now, for we are standing in His presence on holy ground."

Those ladies are willing to lay aside their cultural differences to pray for unity. They are willing to speak a second language so that we can all understand one another. They are willing to work together to make the school - and this nation - great. And they are heroes.

Thoughts on Culture and Christianity

It's funny how much of your culture flows into your Christianity. To truly follow Christ in a manner consistent with the Bible - absent of cultural trappings or influences - is a challenge. Case in point:

The word "reverence" is not often used in American English. In some ways it's a foreign concept. Because the U.S. is not a hierarchical society, people aren't revered because of age, status or position. Respect is earned. If you're in a position of authority and you aren't respected, chances are you'll get "voted off the island."

So when it comes to having reverence - a healthy respect - for Christ, that's a hard concept for me. It's not that I don't want to, or even that I don't try to, it's just that I don't have a lot of practical examples of what reverence actually looks like.

I've had this song stuck in my head for awhile now, and one of the lines is "Lord, I stand on Your merciful ground, yet with every step tread with reverence." I've been pondering this all week, and it led me to the book of Malachi:

"You have spoken arrogantly against Me," says the Lord. "You have said, 'It is futile to serve God. What do we gain by carrying out His requirements... Certainly evildoers prosper, and even when they put God to the test they get away with it.

"Then those who feared [reverenced] the Lord talked with each other, and the Lord listened and heard. A scroll of remembrance was written in His presence concerning those who feared [reverenced] the Lord and honoured His name.

"Surely the day is coming... All the arrogant and every evildoer will be stubble, and the day that is coming will set them on fire," says the Lord Almighty. "But for you who revere My name, the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its rays." - Malachi 3:13-4:2

A Wounded Soldier's Lesson in Grammar

yet, adv. 1. still; even. 2. nevertheless; in spite of. conjunction 1. but at the same time; but nevertheless

We've been battling trying to renew our temporary residence visas. I knew it would be a long process, but I had no idea it would push me to the breaking point. Yesterday I wanted to give up, literally. And I'm not a quitter.

When you work so hard for something, when you've left everything to follow God and then He seems to be silent, what then? When your faith is stretched so that holes of doubt peek through, when you feel exhausted to the point of tears, when you find yourself whispering "I can't do this anymore," what next?

Yet.

The truth is, I know myself. I know that I won't give up because I'm stubborn. I know that I will go down fighting rather than quit because I know what God has called me to do. My path forward is understood, so it doesn't matter if all of my circumstances and senses say, "Doubt!" - I still have to trust Him. And that's really where the heart of the battle is, isn't it? The battle is not with the Dept. of Home Affairs; it's with me.

"Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Saviour. The Sovereign Lord is my strength; He makes my feet like the feet of a deer, He enables me to tread on the heights." - Habakkuk 3:17-19

Wednesdays With Auntie Hope

Auntie Hope was standing in the doorway when I walked up the path to her flat.

"Did you phone?" she asked me.
"No, I didn't. Was it the front gate perhaps?"
"Are you Olivia?"
"No, I'm Annie."
"No matter. Come inside. I have two teacups sitting out for us, and I've started the water boiling."

Thus began my weekly visit with Auntie Hope, a visit filled with dirty teacups, misplaced tea, forgotten questions repeatedly asked, laughter, confusion, the same two stories of her childhood and profound loneliness.

Why do I drink out of dirty teacups? Why don't I rummage through the cupboards until I find the tea that I know she has? Why don't I correct her on how many children she has or how long she's stayed at the retirement centre or any number of things? Because I want to give her whatever dignity she has left. I want her to feel that for the duration of our visit, she's on top of her game. I want her to feel like there's something she can still do.

"I'm afraid I'm not much of a conversationalist," Auntie Hope said, half apologetically.
"That's okay," I replied. "Tell me a story. Tell me what it was like to grow up in Pretoria and go away to boarding school. Tell me about your mother who owned a laundry business."