Paying Respects

On Thursday, we decided to pay our last respects to Nelson Mandela, whose body was lying in state at the Union Buildings here in Pretoria. It wasn't that I particularly wanted to go; it was more a feeling that I would regret not having gone. Also, I wanted our oldest daughter to witness history up close and personal.

We got to one of three authorised "park and rides" which would bus people to the Union Buildings. The queue was quite long. I regretted not having brought sunscreen or an umbrella to protect against the sun, but as the queue was moving fairly quickly, I calculated that we wouldn't be there more than an hour or two.

SEVEN hours later, just as we got to the front of the queue, we were informed that no more busses would be coming that day and we needed to go home. I was a bit disappointed, but more than that - I was hungry, thirsty, and sunburnt to a crisp! My first thought was, "What a waste of a day!" A few hours later (after a good meal and several glasses of water), I had a change of heart.

When you stand in a queue with people for seven hours, you begin to chat with them to pass time. Our conversation began with small talk - what's your name, what do you do for a living, etc. Two hours later we moved onto favourites: what's your favourite colour, food, movie, etc. Four hours later we were holding each other's place in line to go search for food. Five hours later we were all huddled under one umbrella, trying to avoid the hot African sun and laughing about the difference between rural South African customs and the culture in big cities. Six hours later we were sharing our hopes, dreams, fears, regrets and longings. Seven hours later, when they dispersed the crowd, we were fellow travellers on this journey called life, compatriots of South Africa with a new respect and admiration for one another.

Did I get to see Nelson Mandela? No, but I can honestly say it was one of the most enriching days of my life. And maybe - just maybe - that was the best way we could have paid respects to the legacy of Mandela.

 

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A Sensitive Subject

(Today's post is a bit sensitive, dealing with issues of race, division, and my own shortcomings. I mean no disrespect in what I write, and I hope that you will treat this post with respect as well.)

When we first moved to South Africa six years ago, one of the first things I was told was, "As soon as Mandela dies, all of the black South Africans are going to kill the whites. They're just waiting out of respect for Mandela." It was a shocking and terrible rumour. I certainly didn't believe it. Yet I heard it over and over and over again.

I have always prided myself on not giving in to fear, and let's be honest - South Africa is rampant with fear. Fear of crime, the government, personal safety, the future, etc. The newspaper headlines each morning only add fuel to the fire. "Grandma raped and stabbed to death"... "Baby killed by vicious dogs"... "Teenager attacked and disemboweled"... Still, despite the crime statistics and the personal experience of falling victim to crime, I have refused to live my life in fear. Until the other day.

It just so happens that on the morning everyone woke up to the news of Nelson Mandela's passing, we had plans to visit some friends in Soshanguve, a township outside of Pretoria. For the first time in six years, I was afraid. I battled with myself the whole morning and waffled between feelings of justification and guilt. I need to protect my children (justification)... How can I make decisions based upon a stupid rumour (guilt)... Use your common sense. Wait until a day or two has passed (justification)... What would my friends think (guilt)...

We made the decision to drive out to Soshanguve as planned. I'm not going to lie or look like a hero; I was scared. I hate to admit that, but it's true. The thing that pushed me over the edge was not courage or some altruistic sainthood; on the contrary, it was the legacy of Nelson Mandela himself. If I chose to act out of fear, out of suspicion of the "Other", then I would only perpetuate the division and fear that plagues this beautiful nation. But to give people the benefit of the doubt, to reach out when there is risk (real or perceived), to see each person as a fellow traveller on the journey of life, is to strive for the reconciliation and unity for which Nelson Mandela fought. More importantly than that, however; it is to see the inherent value of every individual as being made in the Image of God and worthy of respect, dignity and honour.

As it turns out, we were fine. The rumours still fly around, but I am learning not to let fear dictate my actions, especially when it would have me act against my values and beliefs.

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Relentless

This is a pin-tailed whydah. On a list of "most desirable birds to have in your garden", he would be dead last, right next to pigeons. The pin-tailed whydah is a bully, chasing all the other birds away, laying eggs in another bird's nest (thereby avoiding parental responsibility), and generally being a nuisance.

This particular bird - the one in the photo - has been flying into my window all day, every day, for more than a month. I think he sees his reflection as another bird and is defending his territory. From about 04h30 in the morning on, one can hear the Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! of him flying into the glass. It is driving me crazy! He disrupts my sleep, disturbs my quiet, and is nearly impossible to ignore.

This morning in church, one of the pastors mentioned the relentless love of God. I wrote the phrase down with the intent to think upon it later. What does it mean to love relentlessly, to love with a determination that does not diminish in intensity or duration? Is that even possible? And if so, why bother?

This afternoon, I was trying to read when the familiar Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! appeared at my window. I was so cross; can that bird not leave me alone for ONE afternoon? And that's when it hit me: that bird is relentless... just like God's love. Determined, persistent, not wavering in intensity or duration, and nearly impossible to ignore. Only God doesn't fly into windows to demonstrate His love for us. God is more creative than that. God got our attention in the form of a newborn baby born into abject poverty, Who grew up to defy all of the accepted social discourses of the day in order to show us how to be fully alive, fully free and fully human.

I can't say that I fully understand that kind of love, but I would like to lean into it and trust it a little bit more...

 

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African Sunrise

Earth yawns in morning mist -

Just five more minutes of sleep! -

Sun tiptoes in, nudges veld -

Wake up! It's time to play! -

Birds twitter the day's schedule -

There's work to be done!

Sing! Fly! Build! -

I observe the unfolding mystery,

catch a thermal unawares, and

soar above the gravity that

holds me down.

 

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Don't Just Dance... Let Yourself Be Danced

Embrace me with a gentle autumn breeze.

Speak of Your love for me in the rustle of the leaves.

Caress me in the velvet softness of the frangipani blossom.

Laugh with me in shifting, sun-dappled patterns on grass and body.

Tell jokes with me in babbling water and hadeda's squawk.

Hold me in the shimmer of morning light on spider's web.

Promise me in the diamonds of morning dew.

Kiss me with the warmth of afternoon sun.

Dance with me in the graceful sway of palm fronds to and fro...

But don't merely dance with me... Let me be danced.

 

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The Morning Commute

"There's only One who never fails to beckon the morning light." - Caedmon's Call

I spent the first three weeks complaining about the morning commute. I spent the next three weeks feeling ambivalent about it, having accepted it as part of my morning routine. This week, I realised that I could actually be thankful for having to drive so slowly that I can watch the sunrise unfold.

 

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Lessons From the Kitchen, Part 2

Lately I've been conscious of not wanting to waste food. I've been playing games in the kitchen to find creative ways to use leftovers or incorporate those tiny bits of ingredients into other recipes rather than throw them out. I didn't stop there, however. I've been researching about the parts of food we DO throw away, such as peels, rinds and seeds.

When most people eat oranges, they eat the flesh and throw away the seeds and skin. This is due to the obvious fact that orange peel is bitter, especially the white part, and too many of us had parents who told us that if we ate the seeds, an orange tree would begin to grow in our stomach! The fun part of being a mad scientist in the kitchen, however, lies in dispelling myths, experimenting, and creating huge messes! As it turns out, if you caramelise or grill the oranges until the peel becomes soft, it loses its bitterness. If you then finely chop the orange (including the peel) and add it to whatever dish you're preparing, you will have the most delightfully, refreshing orange flavour ever!

If an orange can become even sweeter after its "trial by fire", why can't we? I know of a few people who have gone through some tremendous challenges which have softened them and developed a rare gentleness and compassion. Others come through difficulties quite hard and embittered. I do not wish to make light of the suffering and grief through which some people must journey, but this orange has me thinking...

The people who seem to come through their fiery trials sweeter are the people who seem to surrender to the presence of those trials. Like them? No! Try to change them? Sure. But in the meantime, they seem to acknowledge that the trial is there, and then choose to work with the trial rather than fight against it (have you ever seen an orange jump off of the grill?). These people, like the orange peel, are filled with double the life-giving nutrients.

There are a several things in my life I'd like to discard because they are "bitter" or sour, or because I've held on to silly myths and judgements of my childhood. Maybe it's time to take those things and grill them instead, embrace the fiery heat, and hope for a softness and sweetness to emerge.

 

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