Abiela

Healing

2011-05-06T10:50:00.003+02:00

I have been battling with healing for 20 years now. I remember my almost unstoppable enthusiasm when I just 'discovered' the charismata and the possibility of healing. I laid my hands on anybody with the slightest ailment and to this day believe that God healed my dog, because I asked.

At the same age, I decided never to take medicine and I used to pray for healing for myself when I had headaches and even when I had mumps at the age of seventeen. Sometimes I believe God healed me and other times not (I had mumps for almost a month!).

Ironically, the first time I came across skepticism when I studied Theology. The more I was told that we live in a broken world and sickness and disease is part of it, the more fervently I believed that God is a healing God who hears my prayers. In my second year at university, I decided to put away my glasses and ask God to heal my eyes. He didn't. Three years later I eventually had to put my glasses back on in order to drive.

I tried to figure out why I was not healed - did I not believe enough? Was there sin in my life? Did the people praying for me not believe? Was this simply not a priority to God?

I saw people getting hurt in the church as church leaders told them they did not believe enough or they didn't get healed because of hidden sin. I had to ask myself if we weren't doing more harm than good by laying our hands on people and raising their hopes? Was it fair?

After I have left the 'fulltime ministry', i.e. drawing a salary from the church, I started thinking differently about a lot of things. I read all of Philip Yancey's books and could relate to the 'hidden God' he describes. I wanted to know where God was while I was hurting and never quite got the answers.

When I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, I came to believe that I should take the medical help available and then make lifestyle changes. I saw the medicine and these lifestyle changes (healthy eating, exercise, enough sleep, a bit of sun and the fact that I had to stop drinking caffeine and alcohol) as God's way to 'keep me OK'. I never questioned it.

I know two people who are battling with cancer and saw their therapy as God's way to help. When my friend, Tom, had a heart attack and triple bypass I thought the same. It did not occur to me that I should lay my hands on him and pray, but rather for our community to support him and his family in order to facilitate his recovery.

And then... my mom got sick again.

Three years ago she was diagnosed with stomach cancer and her stomach was removed. A new stomach was molded from a part of the duodenum. A year later, the stomach grew closed at the top and had to be removed and yet another one was molded. She spent a substantial amount of time in ICU's during recovery and she was really very sick. There were times when I thought it is the end.

For the past (almost six) months, she has been displaying the same symptoms she had before the second operation. My first response was that I thought the stomach had grown closed again. My mom insisted that God would not allow it and kept going to the GP, trying different medicines.

Just more than two weeks ago, I finally got her to go to a specialist physician. He did a bariummeal and it showed that the stomach is closed at the bottom. He referred my mom to a surgeon. The surgeon showed us on the x-rays that the part of the duodenum shrivelled up and it looks like there is no blood supply to the area. She then decided that God will heal her and refused an operation to correct the problem. Bear in mind that she has hardly been able to keep a meal down in the past six months and that is losing more and more weight.

As a compromise, the surgeon agreed to do a gastroscopy yesterday. Afterwards my mom told me that it is 'just inflammation'. I want to believe her, but I know what I have seen on the x-rays and it feels like she is postponing the inevitable.

I have to ask myself if my belief in western medicine is a stumbling block to her faith? My instinct is to have the operation as soon as possible so she can eat again and her body can absorb what it needs. On the other hand, it is not my body and I know I should respect her wishes. The surgeon took samples for biposies yesterday and we should have the results on Tuesday. It just feel like this process is dragging on and on and in the meantime, she is starving.

I am at a loss here and after twenty years, I still don't understand healing.

Electro Convulsive Therapy

2011-01-10T10:48:00.003+02:00

Over the past six months I got caught up in a steady downward spiral. Eventually the only way out that made any sense was suicide. This is not a call for attention - quite the contrary.

This morning we started ECT (electro convulsive therapy) where I get electrical shocks under anaesthetic. There are supposed to be 6 treatments in a course (Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Monday, Wednesday & Friday). However, this time we might have more as this morning wasn't really what my doctor had hoped for.

To make these treatments possible, I am also detoxing from just about all my meds. I am allowed 1/3 of my lithium and 300mg Seroquel per day. I am dizzy and nauseous. I am also not allowed to drive.

Tomorrow will be a better day.

Celtic prayer for 2011

2010-12-31T14:38:00.001+02:00

CELTIC BLESSING
(author unknown - translated by Charles Mitchell)

"I wish you not a path devoid of clouds,
Nor a life on a bed of roses,
not that you might never need regret,
nor that you should never feel pain.
No, that is not my wish for you.
My wish for you is:
That you might be brave in times of trial,
when others lay crosses upon your shoulders.
When mountains must be climbed,
and chasms are to be crossed.
When hope can scarce shine through.
That your gift God gave you
Might grow along with you
and let you give the gift of joy
to all who care for you.
That you may always have a friend
who is worth that name.
Whom you can trust, and who helps
you in times of sadness.
Who will defy the storms
of daily life at your side.
One more wish I have for you
that in every hour of joy and pain
you may feel God close to you.
This is my wish for you,
and all who care for you.
This is my hope for you,
Now and forever."
**********

I believe

2010-11-10T09:52:00.000+02:00

I believe in the sun -
even when it is not shining.
I believe in love -
even when not feeling it.
I believe in God -
even when He is silent.

Robben Island

2010-09-26T11:03:00.003+02:00

Last week my brother got married. He lives in the UK, but they wanted a South African ceremony.

Being in Cape Town for the wedding, I made use of the opportunity to see Robben Island. Nelson Mandela, Madiba, spent 18 years in a small cell on the island. The tour was both insightful and touching. All the important sites are pointed out from a bus until you reach the prison and meet someone who was imprisoned there as a 'political prisoner'. I cannot meet a person like that nor visit a place like Robben Island without feeling sincere regret for the sins of Apartheid.

After the visit to the prison, you walk back to the ferry. On Tuesday morning the rain was pouring down and with the wind became almost horizontal. As I walked into the rain and got soaking wet, I felt more alive than I did in weeks.

Maybe seeing a physical prison helped. Maybe the rain, washing away my cobwebs did the trick. My new cocktail (meds) might have kicked in. I choose to believe that God did a miracle. It does not matter what He used to do so.

Darkness

2010-09-08T14:35:00.005+02:00

I am in a dark place. What started as a mixed episode (up and down), now went black.

It is difficult to relate to God, my community, my friends - even colleagues. I am finding more and more reasons to avoid just about every important person in my life. If I am tired of my dark mood, how must they feel?

I am about to give up on myself. I am tired of fighting a fight I cannot win. I battle to see any sense or purpose. Just tired. And dark.

Parachute

2010-07-19T11:37:00.002+02:00

For the past month I had fun. I was living and working fast. I had lots of ideas and the energy to implement them. It was great. In a picture, it was a bit like freefalling out of a plane. It was bound to end.

What I did not know, was that I was flushing the lithium out of my system and this freefalling had no brake.

(Un)fortuntely my doctor realised what was going on and made changes to my diet and how much liquid I am allowed to drink. It is torture - I am constantly thirsty and suddenly have headaches.

In addition to this, the parachute opened. I had a wild jerk back to reality and my speed is broken.

In the long run, I understand that I need a parachute. In the short term, I really had fun and I miss the pace. My mind slowed down, I need to read the same paragraph three times over just to grasp it. I think slower. My studies scare me, because truthfully, I'm not sure I can pull it off.

As a side effect of another drug, I am having nightmares and wake up too anxious to go back to sleep.

And then... I still have the same questions - where is God in the chaos of my life? What does He think of all the chemicals I take and the person I become? Is all of this really worth it?

South Africa

2010-06-09T09:53:00.004+02:00

Last night my brother commented on South Africa on Facebook. He hates the fact that South Africa is always portrayed as a third world country and there is always a lady in a shack talking about her 17 chilfren and how hungry they are on the news. My brother has been living in London for 9 years.

My perception of South Africa is totally different. I love South Africa and I love being South African.

This nation has come a long way. I can remember the Apartheid laws and the fear when they were scrapped one by one. I can remember Nelson Mandela's release and the 'white agitation'. I remember the years prior to the first democratic election, the fights between black and black as well as black and white. I remember that first election and the belief that a war will erupt.

Subsequently, I saw a nation being built. I saw black and white hands extended. There were books written on both sides of the divide. Nelson Mandela, Madiba, wrote his "Long walk to Freedom", Bishop Desmond Tutu wrote "God has a dream" (and one the most amazing experiences was hearing this black man say: "God loves you...". Then there was Antjie Krog and so many others on the 'white end'.

I see people befriending people despite colour. I see efforts being made to understand culture and language. I see common ground and I see a melting pot.

Yes, we have poor people. Yes, we do have people with 17 children. Are we helping them? I believe we are. One at a time. However, we are more than this, we are a nation. We love, we laugh, we learn.

Sport was and is always a huge factor in binding us together. As I am writing this, I hear the sound of vuvuzelas being blown. This was originally an 'instrument' associated with soccer, but I saw and heard it at the Super 14 rugby as well. Sport is big in this country, but I can never discount God's hand in the mending of a nation. I don't even want to think of what could have happened if it wasn't for Him.

Nkosi sikeleli Afrika.

My friend, Jan

2010-06-08T18:22:00.003+02:00

I love my friend, Jan. I have known Jan and his wife, Yvonne for the past 15 years. When I met them, I was a student and they the new pastor and his wife.

Since then a lot of things happened. Jan has bipolar disorder and was only correctly diagnosed almost 5 years after his first breakdown. Jan cannot minister any longer. There is a lot of things he can no longer do, but he remains one of the sharpest brains I know. He wrote the bulk of my previous 3 posts. Yet, when Jan has a lot of people around him, he gets nervous and then his hands start shaking (side effect of lithium). He therefore spends his time mostly on his own or with the occasional friend.

Yvonne works fulltime and supports him. It used to be the other way around, but they both seem to have taken this in their stride.

When I first got sick, they were two of the amazing people who insisted I see a doctor. They also told me they think I have bipolar disorder two years before I was diagnosed. We can compare drugs and talk about side effects. We can discuss alternative therapies like ECT's without any frowns.

When I am too weak, I know that they will somehow be there. The opposite is also true. Their journey gives me hope for mine.

So why am I telling you this? Firstly, I want to acknowledge these amazing people. Secondly, Jan has to have a shoulder operation tomorrow. We don't know if there will be side effects, but the op needs to be done.

So, when you say your prayers tonight, please remember my dear friends, Jan and Yvonne?

A borrowed tale (Sisyphus / Camus 3/3)

2010-05-31T19:26:00.004+02:00

Listening to the myth of Sisyphus, Camus and Hume conclude that the rational man will in all likelihood commit suicide. What kind of existence is it where one will never win, never beat the odds, never achieve?

Their next assumption surprises me more. They say that the strong man will keep rolling that rock up the hill, knowing that the rock will come down again.

Living with bipolar disorder is like rolling that rock up a hill and every time you (I) think (you) I have conquered, the rock comes down and you need to jump to get out of its way.

Living with bipolar is a fight to get to the top. To conquer circumstances and every now and again the disease.

So what should I then take away from this tale?

Maybe that the rock will come down? Maybe that I should start over and try again when that happens? Maybe I should learn from Camus and make peace with this senseless existence where I need to do the same things over and over?

In all of this, I pray that God will be close to you and to me, that He will help us to make sense of this life.

A borrowed tale (Sisyphus / Camus 2/3)

2010-05-31T19:20:00.002+02:00

Should we, in possession of a sound mind and with complete freedom of will, kill ourselves? To an inhabitant of Britain in the early 21st century, curled up on a sofa with a glass of wine and the TV remote control within easy reach, the question sounds laughable. To a condemned man facing the gallows or firing squad, the question is perhaps even more ridiculous. However, look more closely and it becomes apparent that the entire history of Western philosophy is contained within this question. As individuals, as members of a society and as a species we seek meaning [1]. From the earliest Socratic dialogues to post-Modernist contextual analyses Western philosophy is driven by a search for meaning within the human experience: in our inner lives, and in our interactions with each other and the world. Enormously powerful religious, political and philosophical structures have been built on the foundations of this search.

For at least four thousand years the idea of a higher level of intelligence - a single benevolent God or a pantheon of deities with different characters and interests – has provided a tremendously powerful source of meaning in the everyday life of the human race. But what would be the consequences for human life if the foundations of this meaning were to crumble? If meaning derives from a particular faith, or inheres in a particular relationship, what happens if this faith is destroyed, or if this relationship is broken? The suicide implied in this question is not a response to mental illness, or to intolerable grief. It is a rational choice, made with the realisation that life has no higher meaning. If life is genuinely meaningless, why should we tolerate the pain, disappointments and sheer hard slog of our day-to-day existence? Is it not better to put a final end to our weltschmerz?

So far, this discussion has been in fairly abstract terms. It is now time to place the question in a historical and subjective context. For a variety of reasons, 19th-century Europe experienced a decline in Christian faith. As the 19th century turned into the 20th century, many Christian observers wrote of their hopes for a revival of faith, and described the new moral order that they believed would bring together all nations. From the perspective of the 21st century it is apparent that these hopes were horribly misplaced. Through mechanised and impersonal wars on a global scale, through economic depression, through brutal totalitarian regimes, the ability of traditional systems of morality and meaning to provide answers was questioned. How could science claim to represent objective progress, if what it gave the world was the machine-gun, Zyklon-B, long-range bombers and the atom bomb? How could a loving God allow the deaths of millions of soldiers in pointless battles over a few hundred yards of mud? If every event was part of some higher scheme, what sort of benevolent deity (no matter how ineffable) could condemn six million human beings to a terrifying and ultimately pointless death? As Primo Levi has pointed out: if God is omnipresent, He was in the gas chambers of Auschwitz.

This dissatisfaction with conventional morality was present on the personal, as well as philosophical, level. In the vast Western industrial and post-industrial societies, the concept of personal freedom and individuality became compromised. In the face of mass conformity – the ‘herd morality’, as Martin Heidegger described it – could each individual assert his or her own unique identity? At the start of the century an increasingly pessimistic Friedrich Nietzsche had prophesied ‘the death of God’, and the events following his prediction had for many destroyed any possibility of faith in a benevolent creator. The question of meaning was once again raised. Where could the human race look for truth, for knowledge, for some comprehension of what had happened? Religious belief provided little more than a dead end. Science and rationality seemed empty after so much incomprehensible suffering. Political and social structures provided no answers; were they not to blame, at least in part, for encouraging hatred and division? This problem – the source of meaning in a Godless universe – was at the core of existentialist theory, and was addressed directly by Albert Camus in The Myth of Sisyphus.

Existentialism is perhaps one of the most misrepresented schools of philosophy. The word alone conjures up images of sour-faced Frenchmen in black polonecks, sitting in boulevard cafes and holding forth on the pointlessness of existence whilst puffing on a Gauloise. On a more serious level, existentialism is often depicted as a bleak and nihilistic world-view, dismissing human life as meaningless and ethics as an illusion. However, even a cursory reading of the key existentialist texts does not support these criticisms. The father of existentialism, Soren Kierkegaard (1813-1855), was a fundamentalist Christian whose stated aim was ‘to go back into the monastery out of which Luther broke’ – in other words, to return to the stark, uncompromising beliefs of pre-Reformation Christianity. Although the movement later became avowedly atheistic in outlook, Kierkegaard’s ideas provided the framework in which later writers such as Camus and Sartre operated. To understand their outlook, it is therefore necessary to take at least a brief look at this structure.

Kierkegaard’s work began as a reaction to the rationalist school of Immanuel Kant and George Hegel. Opposing Kant’s notion of religious faith as an essentially rational concept, Kierkegaard claimed that faith was necessarily irrational. It could not be subject to logical analysis and proof, as this would destroy its meaning. Faith, he asserted, should be a matter of fervent devotion, a ‘leap in the dark’. True existence is not just ‘being there’. Each individual must choose his or her way of life freely, and be passionately committed to it. In asserting the primacy of the individual and their free choice, Kierkegaard also created a notion of ‘subjective truth’ [2]. The ethical choices that confront humans on a day-to-day basis are not accessible to reason and cannot be shown to have ‘true’ or ‘false’ answers. Such choices cannot therefore be made on rational grounds, but rather should be resolutions in the face of the objectively unknown.

Even this very brief description of Kierkegaard’s existentialism demonstrates the great importance he attributed to meaning and morality. Existentialism does not assert that all choices are meaningless: rather, it insists that individuals take complete responsibility for their choices, and do not attempt to disguise their motives with false claims of rationality. Unlike so many western philosophers, Kierkegaard insists on the primacy of feelings, of angst and irrationality, of living life passionately despite the unavoidability of uncertainty. Paradoxically, despite Kierkegaard’s intense Christianity there is nothing within his philosophy that demands religious belief. An existentialist world-view is as capable of accommodating the most ardent believer as it is the most dutiful sceptic.

This theme of existentialism was developed not only in philosophy, but also in some of the most important literature of the period. In The Brothers Karamazov (1880) Fyodor Dostoyevsky explored the tensions between the conservative Russian ruling classes and a younger generation coming to terms with the irrationality of everyday life. Much of Leo Tolstoy’s writings (in particular the monumental War and Peace (1869)) are suffused with a sense of absurdity: he portrays the human race as a mass of isolated individuals cast adrift in a world that neither loves nor hates them, but rather is completely indifferent to their sufferings. In the early decades of the 20th century existentialism as a philosophy developed in this direction. Kierkegaard’s profound belief in the existence of a benevolent creator was differentiated from the ‘leap of faith’ necessary to imbue life with meaning.

Any history of existentialism in the 20th century must have as a central theme the influence of world events on the development of this philosophy. I raised this point at the start of the essay, but it is worth restating it here. Existentialism is frequently described as a philosophy of ‘response’: the response of a species that desires meaning and comprehension to the revelation that the Universe is ultimately devoid of higher meaning and order. However, it must also be seen as a response on a practical, as well as abstract, level to the political and military crises of the time in which it developed. The two most important 20th-century existentialist writers, Jean-Paul Sartre and Albert Camus, lived under Nazi occupation for much of the Second World War (in Paris and Algeria respectively). Rather than dismiss what they saw around them as anomalies in an otherwise rational and ordered universe, they saw the Nazi atrocities as expressions of human choice – the choice to act immorally [3].

It was in the bleakest years of the Second World War – 1942 and 1943 – that the most influential Existentialist texts were published. Sartre’s Being and Time (1943) is a remarkable statement of optimism and human freedom in the midst of meaninglessness and despair. Like Kierkegaard, Sartre emphasized the importance of individual uniqueness rather than mere mediocrity and conformity. An individual, he argued, is always free to choose (the only freedom he lacks is to not choose), and can always ‘negate’ (or reject) his own characteristics and those of the world he lives in. The ‘meaning of life’ is not something bestowed upon the human race by a higher power, but is created in our actions, our choices and, most importantly, in our commitment to the choices we make. However, this freedom is tempered by a great responsibility: the responsibility to stand by the choices we make and to remain ‘authentic’ or true to ourselves. It is in making choices, in asserting our ultimate freedom in the face of an uncaring world, that human life can be lived in its fullest and richest sense.

Sartre also introduced the notion of angst into his philosophy. Critics of existentialism have frequently taken angst to represent the ultimate pointlessness of life, and used it as an example of the pessimistic nature of existentialism. A reading of Being and Time shows the reverse to be true. Angst (or weltschmerz – world pain) is an idea employed by many different philosophies under several guises. In Christianity it represents the vestiges of original sin within the human soul. Life is ‘nasty, brutish and short’ (in the words of Thomas Hobbes) because human nature is essentially sinful, and needs to be saved in order to be happy and enjoy eternal life. Sartre hated the concept of original sin. He argued that angst is the natural response of the individual to the realisation that his search for higher meaning and order in the universe is ultimately pointless. However, this is not a reason to despair. Angst is a symptom of freedom, a powerful demonstration that life is being lived in complete self-awareness, and should be accepted and celebrated.

Camus’ first major work, L’Etranger (1942), proposed a rather more defiant model of existentialism. Whilst adopting Sartre’s essentially optimistic view of existence, Camus went a stage further. He argued that, although human life could be made meaningful in the way that Sartre described, death made all actions ultimately futile. The only response was to accept that we are all ‘condemned to death’. Once this occurred every individual should rebel against this ‘ultimate negation’, throw themselves into life and with every choice affirm their existence in the face of death. Camus described this human battle with ultimate meaninglessness and indifference as the Absurd.

The Myth of Sisyphus, also published in 1942, is perhaps the clearest statement of Camus’ philosophy of the Absurd. In it, Camus directly addressed the question that began this essay: should we commit suicide? His answer to the question is a powerful argument for optimism, and a complex rhetorical and polemical rejection of the need for faith in a higher power. Unlike many works of philosophy, Camus is overwhelmingly concerned with the impact of his ideas on everyday life. His existentialism is essentially a way to live, a mode of thinking for coping with the harsh and confusing realities of everyday life. But it is also an elegant and minimalist piece of theory, rejecting abstruse philosophical concepts in favour of the basic truths of human existence.

Camus begins with the image of Sisyphus. A mythical King of Corinth, Sisyphus scorned the Gods and escaped from the Underworld. He was condemned to spend all of eternity pushing a rock up a mountain, only for it to roll back down to the bottom. There was no end in sight for Sisyphus, no respite and no sense that what he was doing had any meaning. This is the metaphor that Camus chooses for humanity. If we discard the notion of God, Heaven and Hell, we are left with a titanic and lifelong struggle that, ultimately, we are condemned to lose. Death comes not as a release from our struggle, but as a negation of all that we accomplish by our efforts. Against all this, Camus asks, in the face of death and in the full knowledge that we are defeated before we begin, can we be happy?

We can. Life is not absurd; the Absurd is life. This painful and futile struggle that we are all condemned to participate in (for, as Sartre pointed out, the only choice that is denied to us is to opt out) is all that we know. It is the only reality we have; all else is faith. In this world, Camus’ individual is forced to confront the limitations of his knowledge:

I don’t know whether this world has a meaning that transcends it. But I know that I cannot know that meaning and that it is impossible for me just now to know it. What can a meaning outside my condition mean to me? I can understand only in human terms… I do not want to found anything on the incomprehensible. I want to know whether I can live with what I know and with that alone.’ [4]

No invocation of an Absolute Reality; no Categorical Imperatives or Creators. Camus is determined to use only what he can know to answer his question. There can be no appeal to religious faith, based as it is on centuries of tradition and dogma. It is at this point that he finally parts company with the religious existentialism of Kierkegaard. Where Kierkegaard finds comfort in the notion of a benevolent Creator, Camus sees nothing but nostalgia, a fond memory of the illusion of order.

Awareness of the Absurd is a one-way street. There can be no ‘leap of faith’, no return to belief: to do so would be self-delusory. Indeed, Camus describes religious belief in the face of the Absurd as ‘philosophical suicide’. Consistency, authenticity, self-awareness – these form the basis of the Absurd life. Another quote from Primo Levi (himself a lifelong atheist) provides an eloquent example of what Camus is driving at. In October 1944 Levi was arrested and sent to Auschwitz. As the camp doctor examined him, deciding whether he would be gassed or sent to work, Levi found himself tempted to pray for assistance:

A prayer under these conditions would not only have been absurd (what rights could I claim? And from whom?) but blasphemous, obscene, laden with the greatest impiety of which a non-believer is capable. I resisted the temptation: I knew that otherwise were I to survive, I would have to be ashamed of it. [5]

Man is therefore presented with two choices. He can reject life and kill himself; but in doing so he allows both Absurd life and meaningless death to triumph over him. Or he can become a rebel in all senses of the word, constantly rejecting death in the complete knowledge that he will one day die. At this point Camus moves from the metaphorical language of rebellion to a more practical discussion of self-awareness in everyday life. The mechanical, repetitive nature of life in industrial society contains for Camus both tragedy and comedy. Seen from within such an existence is tragic, with no room for individual expression and no higher meaning than day-to-day survival. From the outside - from the perspective of one living the Absurd life - a repetitive existence is comic: a meaaningless mechanical dumb-show. By recognising life as comic, by incorporating it into the Absurd, one can escape the endless tragic repetitiveness.

A few brief paragraphs can give only a flavour of Camus’ arguments in The Myth of Sisyphus. In addition to the tragicomic nature of everyday existence he examines the Absurd elements of various lives: the actor, the conqueror, the writer, the seducer and so on. Creativity is for Camus a very particular and intense form of rebellion; the fruits of the creative life provide the only possibility of even limited immortality. However, he acknowledges that most individuals simply cannot devote their lives to art or literature. To struggle is sufficient. An Absurd hero is not a warrior or a poet, but an ordinary individual who accepts the inevitability of death and yet fights it with all his power:

I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain! One always finds one’s burden again. But Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He, too, concludes that all is well. This universe henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of that night-filled mountain, in itself forms a world. The struggle towards the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy. [6]

What Camus produced in The Myth of Sisyphus was perhaps the most uncompromising and individual atheist polemic of the 20th century. As such, it has found many critics. Some have argued that it proposes little more than an inverted system of faith, riven with contradictions and quasi-religious dogma. Others take exception to Camus’ rejection of rationality as a means of understanding everyday life. Perhaps most significantly, the uncertain and apparently irrational world in which Camus wrote has been replaced by one that is, at least in the short term, more stable. In the affluent and self-satisfied West of the early 21st century it is difficult to conceive of life as a consuming and passionate struggle against a meaningless death.

Despite these criticisms, The Myth of Sisyphus still repays generously the effort involved in reading it. As a historical document it displays the astonishing degree to which philosophy could flourish under a repressive occupation. On a more personal level, it is a fascinating journey into the mind of an articulate young man confronted with the realisation that his knowledge of the world is extremely limited. More than that, it is a powerful assertion of human freedom, and a command to the individual to take responsibility for the course of his life. Perhaps most exceptionally, The Myth of Sisyphus is a piece of literature with its roots in practical experience, rather than a series of abstract, quasi-mathematical syllogisms. The way in which individuals make their lives meaningful is ultimately a personal, subjective choice, and Camus’ work is an elegant and fiercely intelligent contribution to this subject.

A borrowed tale (Sisyphus / Camus 1/3)

2010-05-31T19:11:00.005+02:00

The gods had condemned Sisyphus to ceaselessly rolling a rock to the top of a mountain, whence the stone would fall back of its own weight. They had thought with some reason that there is no more dreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labor.

If one believes Homer, Sisyphus was the wisest and most prudent of mortals. According to another tradition, however, he was disposed to practice the profession of highwayman. I see no contradiction in this. Opinions differ as to the reasons why he became the futile laborer of the underworld. To begin with, he is accused of a certain levity in regard to the gods. He stole their secrets. Egina, the daughter of Esopus, was carried off by Jupiter. The father was shocked by that disappearance and complained to Sisyphus. He, who knew of the abduction, offered to tell about it on condition that Esopus would give water to the citadel of Corinth. To the celestial thunderbolts he preferred the benediction of water. He was punished for this in the underworld. Homer tells us also that Sisyphus had put Death in chains. Pluto could not endure the sight of his deserted, silent empire. He dispatched the god of war, who liberated Death from the hands of her conqueror.

It is said that Sisyphus, being near to death, rashly wanted to test his wife's love. He ordered her to cast his unburied body into the middle of the public square. Sisyphus woke up in the underworld. And there, annoyed by an obedience so contrary to human love, he obtained from Pluto permission to return to earth in order to chastise his wife. But when he had seen again the face of this world, enjoyed water and sun, warm stones and the sea, he no longer wanted to go back to the infernal darkness. Recalls, signs of anger, warnings were of no avail. Many years more he lived facing the curve of the gulf, the sparkling sea, and the smiles of earth. A decree of the gods was necessary. Mercury came and seized the impudent man by the collar and, snatching him from his joys, lead him forcibly back to the underworld, where his rock was ready for him.

You have already grasped that Sisyphus is the absurd hero. He is, as much through his passions as through his torture. His scorn of the gods, his hatred of death, and his passion for life won him that unspeakable penalty in which the whole being is exerted toward accomplishing nothing. This is the price that must be paid for the passions of this earth. Nothing is told us about Sisyphus in the underworld. Myths are made for the imagination to breathe life into them. As for this myth, one sees merely the whole effort of a body straining to raise the huge stone, to roll it, and push it up a slope a hundred times over; one sees the face screwed up, the cheek tight against the stone, the shoulder bracing the clay-covered mass, the foot wedging it, the fresh start with arms outstretched, the wholly human security of two earth-clotted hands. At the very end of his long effort measured by skyless space and time without depth, the purpose is achieved. Then Sisyphus watches the stone rush down in a few moments toward that lower world whence he will have to push it up again toward the summit. He goes back down to the plain.

It is during that return, that pause, that Sisyphus interests me. A face that toils so close to stones is already stone itself! I see that man going back down with a heavy yet measured step toward the torment of which he will never know the end. That hour like a breathing-space which returns as surely as his suffering, that is the hour of consciousness. At each of those moments when he leaves the heights and gradually sinks toward the lairs of the gods, he is superior to his fate. He is stronger than his rock.

If this myth is tragic, that is because its hero is conscious. Where would his torture be, indeed, if at every step the hope of succeeding upheld him? The workman of today works everyday in his life at the same tasks, and his fate is no less absurd. But it is tragic only at the rare moments when it becomes conscious. Sisyphus, proletarian of the gods, powerless and rebellious, knows the whole extent of his wretched condition: it is what he thinks of during his descent. The lucidity that was to constitute his torture at the same time crowns his victory. There is no fate that can not be surmounted by scorn.
If the descent is thus sometimes performed in sorrow, it can also take place in joy. This word is not too much. Again I fancy Sisyphus returning toward his rock, and the sorrow was in the beginning. When the images of earth cling too tightly to memory, when the call of happiness becomes too insistent, it happens that melancholy arises in man's heart: this is the rock's victory, this is the rock itself. The boundless grief is too heavy to bear. These are our nights of Gethsemane. But crushing truths perish from being acknowledged. Thus, Edipus at the outset obeys fate without knowing it. But from the moment he knows, his tragedy begins. Yet at the same moment, blind and desperate, he realizes that the only bond linking him to the world is the cool hand of a girl. Then a tremendous remark rings out: "Despite so many ordeals, my advanced age and the nobility of my soul make me conclude that all is well." Sophocles' Edipus, like Dostoevsky's Kirilov, thus gives the recipe for the absurd victory. Ancient wisdom confirms modern heroism.

One does not discover the absurd without being tempted to write a manual of happiness. "What!---by such narrow ways--?" There is but one world, however. Happiness and the absurd are two sons of the same earth. They are inseparable. It would be a mistake to say that happiness necessarily springs from the absurd. discovery. It happens as well that the felling of the absurd springs from happiness. "I conclude that all is well," says Edipus, and that remark is sacred. It echoes in the wild and limited universe of man. It teaches that all is not, has not been, exhausted. It drives out of this world a god who had come into it with dissatisfaction and a preference for futile suffering. It makes of fate a human matter, which must be settled among men.

All Sisyphus' silent joy is contained therein. His fate belongs to him. His rock is a thing Likewise, the absurd man, when he contemplates his torment, silences all the idols. In the universe suddenly restored to its silence, the myriad wondering little voices of the earth rise up. Unconscious, secret calls, invitations from all the faces, they are the necessary reverse and price of victory. There is no sun without shadow, and it is essential to know the night. The absurd man says yes and his efforts will henceforth be unceasing. If there is a personal fate, there is no higher destiny, or at least there is, but one which he concludes is inevitable and despicable. For the rest, he knows himself to be the master of his days. At that subtle moment when man glances backward over his life, Sisyphus returning toward his rock, in that slight pivoting he contemplates that series of unrelated actions which become his fate, created by him, combined under his memory's eye and soon sealed by his death. Thus, convinced of the wholly human origin of all that is human, a blind man eager to see who knows that the night has no end, he is still on the go. The rock is still rolling.

I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain! One always finds one's burden again. But Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. This universe henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of that night filled mountain, in itself forms a world. The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.
---Albert Camus

The central concern of The Myth of Sisyphus is what Camus calls "the absurd." Camus claims that there is a fundamental conflict between what we want from the universe (whether it be meaning, order, or reasons) and what we find in the universe (formless chaos). We will never find in life itself the meaning that we want to find. Either we will discover that meaning through a leap of faith, by placing our hopes in a God beyond this world, or we will conclude that life is meaningless. Camus opens the essay by asking if this latter conclusion that life is meaningless necessarily leads one to commit suicide. If life has no meaning, does that mean life is not worth living? If that were the case, we would have no option but to make a leap of faith or to commit suicide, says Camus. Camus is interested in pursuing a third possibility: that we can accept and live in a world devoid of meaning or purpose.

The absurd is a contradiction that cannot be reconciled, and any attempt to reconcile this contradiction is simply an attempt to escape from it: facing the absurd is struggling against it. Camus claims that existentialist philosophers such as Kierkegaard, Chestov, and Jaspers, and phenomenologists such as Husserl, all confront the contradiction of the absurd but then try to escape from it. Existentialists find no meaning or order in existence and then attempt to find some sort of transcendence or meaning in this very meaninglessness.

Living with the absurd, Camus suggests, is a matter of facing this fundamental contradiction and maintaining constant awareness of it. Facing the absurd does not entail suicide, but, on the contrary, allows us to live life to its fullest.
Camus identifies three characteristics of the absurd life: revolt (we must not accept any answer or reconciliation in our struggle), freedom (we are absolutely free to think and behave as we choose), and passion (we must pursue a life of rich and diverse experiences).

Camus gives four examples of the absurd life: the seducer, who pursues the passions of the moment; the actor, who compresses the passions of hundreds of lives into a stage career; the conqueror, or rebel, whose political struggle focuses his energies; and the artist, who creates entire worlds. Absurd art does not try to explain experience, but simply describes it. It presents a certain worldview that deals with particular matters rather than aiming for universal themes.

The book ends with a discussion of the myth of Sisyphus, who, according to the Greek myth, was punished for all eternity to roll a rock up a mountain only to have it roll back down to the bottom when he reaches the top. Camus claims that Sisyphus is the ideal absurd hero and that his punishment is representative of the human condition: Sisyphus must struggle perpetually and without hope of success. So long as he accepts that there is nothing more to life than this absurd struggle, then he can find happiness in it, says Camus.

Camus appends his essay with a discussion of the works of Franz Kafka. He ultimately concludes that Kafka is an existentialist, who, like Kierkegaard, chooses to make a leap of faith rather than accept his absurd condition. However, Camus admires Kafka for expressing humanity's absurd predicament so perfectly.

Camus

2010-05-24T19:35:00.000+02:00

"The most important decision you make every day is not to commit suicide." -Albert Camus.

MDP study block 2

2010-05-22T16:12:00.002+02:00

I have spent the past 6 days on MDP Study block 2. We literally worked from 7:30 - 20:00 every day, only breaking for meals.

This time there was no CSI game with the 'bipolar looney' as (innocent) transgressor, but unfortunately bipolar jokes became a trend.

I am probably hyper-sensitive about the issue, but I honestly do not find those jokes funny. Bipolar disorder turned my life around - it determines when and how much I sleep, when and what I eat how often I exercise, the chemicals I swallow every day... in essence every moment I am awake.

One of the lecturers on softer issues started his presentation by saying we should pray we never have bipolar bosses and bipolar people should not be promoted. It hurt. I have been in management for the past 10 years and honestly try to be fair in my decisions. I would love to believe that something of Jesus comes through in the way I do my job. I would like to believe that I am more than a disease.

I would've liked to tell you the week was insightful and I learned a lot (which is true), but what stood out was my hurt about bipolar disorder.

There is a part of me who would like to speak up and tell them it is not funny. However, I do not want to draw attention to myself on this topic.

Sometimes, I wonder if this kind of life is worth living. It is so hard to bounce back. Even when I do everything I am supposed to, I am unreliable and moody and not fun to be with. I do not like the person I became.

I wonder what God's role in this madness is? Did He give me bipolar disorder? How does He decide who should have it? If it wasn't Him, why did He allow it?

I know I have asked these questions before, but I have still not found any of the answers.

21 May 2010

2010-05-21T13:30:00.003+02:00

Lord,

I miss you like the winterveld misses rain,
I long for you and your loving nourishment,

Amen

19 May 2010

2010-05-19T19:53:00.002+02:00

Lord

Tonight I feel alone and abandoned by You.
My thoughts are probably irrational or even stupid,
but I don't know where you are.

I cannot imagine You,
I do not feel You,
I might be really ungrateful, but I do not see your care tonight.

I am in a cold, dark place.
Death looks like an easy way out of this mess.

I do not understand why I need to live with this curse and
I understand even less why You won't take it away...

Lord, have mercy on me?
Let me see your loving kindness?
Let me experience your provision?
Let me taste and see that You are good?

I know I probably sound confused and maybe neurotic... please have mercy on me?

Amen

Ordinary TIme

2010-05-09T18:48:00.004+02:00

Despite the fact that it is Easter on the Church calendar (with Ascension Day on Thursday, 13 May 2010), it is "Ordinary Time" in my life and I am grateful.

I am almost too scared to put it in writing, just incase I jinx it, but my micro-management of my life is paying off now. My mood is neither too high, nor too low. My lithium levels are constant. I am able to sleep and to work. I am able to think and even study. I am at peace with myself and the world. This is what I think every bipolar patient dreams of. Just to be. Just to be normal. Just to be able to connect with God. Just to be able to connect with His people. Just to be able to do a day's work. Just to be able to understand jokes and the occasional pun and symbolism... Just to be.

I do know that all of it can change in the blink of an eye, but for now, I am grateful and content.

Another rollercoaster ride

2010-04-24T19:15:00.002+02:00

I am supposed to keep a mood diary. I record my mood, events / triggers that moves it up and down, how much I sleep (or not sleep), my blood pressure, hy heart rate... actually pretty much my whole life.

The past two weeks was yet another rollercoaster ride.

In all the madness of the ups and downs, my mood dropped below the line. The line is normal. I was a step or two above the line for a while. I had lots of energy. I was busy with a few things at any given time. Now... things are a little slower and concentration a little more difficult. I do one thing at a time.

In times like this, I question God yet again. This disease and managing it is consuming my life. I am tired of this lifestyle. I would love to have some pizza and a glass of wine with friends, but I know how many rules that would break and what it would do to my mind and body. In times like this I am reminded of what I miss. In times like this, I am aware of lost potential and I do not understand it.

In the meantime, the rollercoaster waits for nobody. Buckle up and hang on for dear life, I suppose.

Walking disaster

2010-04-14T10:34:00.002+02:00

I feel like a walking disaster. Over the past few weeks, it started feeling like everything is going wrong.

To mention a few things: I have spent numerous hours on assignments for my GIBS course. These need to be handed in by Friday, 16 April 2010. On Sunday the hard drive where all my work was saved, just gave in. I sent it in in the hope that the data could be salvaged. No such luck. As far as my assignments are concerned, I am back to square 1.

When something like that happen, I sometimes find it in myself to breathe deeply, pull back my shoulders and take another stab. On the other hand, if too many things like that happen, I tend to want to hide under my desk.

Yesterday a South African phone company managed to break the fibre optic cable on which our entire office network (phones included) work. By this morning nobody knew when the service might be restored, so I sent the Treasury team to the Disaster Recovery sites, so we can at least try to manage the most inmportant transactions, when I had a call from the body corporate.

According to them, one of my water pipes had burst, I am flooding my downstairs' neighbour's unit and I am liable for all costs. They suggested that I go home and assist. I left my work disaster, drove an hour and a half through traffic, only to find a young, unshaven, gum chewing kid reclining against my wall with his dirty sneakers.

He has decided that I either left my bath water running, or the pipes at the bath are leaking. On investigation, he found everything dry. He then decided he was going to take out my bathroom floor to which I objected.

I have asked for a second opinion and in the meantime, we cut off the water supply to my unit.I am tired and weepy. I cannot remember when last I was this desperate for God's intervention. I feel bad talking to my fiends about all of this, as it feels like I always complain.

On the other hand, if God does not step in, I do not know anymore. I am too tired to breathe deep, pull back my shoulders and lift my chin. I am too tired to pretend and frankly, I see no reason to.

Tomorrow I turn 35. My birthday wish? Only one - to see God manifest Himself in this chaos. For Him to help me to put a stake in the ground and to move forward, little by little.

God's art cafe

2010-03-30T17:01:00.002+02:00

Laurika Rauch (a well-known Afrikaans artist) recently released a new CD and I just love the track "God se kunskafee". It can be loosely translated as follows:

"It is five o'clock in the morning and God sits and paints
He treasures every drop of yellow-golden art
and hangs it on the heavens
for us to look at
I hear the creaking of a door and then Piet
shouts from the stable "We had rain!"

And as I wander through God's art cafe
I feel more and more blessed with every step,
because with a cup of coffee and a paintbrush
He sits there all day, thinking
how to show me His joy...

But uncle Ben's winefarm, with the old Cape-Dutch house,
He paints the most beautiful, after a long day's journey.

I walk past the image of a farmer on his John Deere
who hopefully ploughs the red earth
and I see dust, but smell the rain coming.
I hear the whistle of the workers bringing the cattle home
as the sun sets over the farm road.

And as I wander through God's art cafe
I feel more and more blessed with every step,
because with a cup of coffee and a paintbrush
He sits there all day, thinking
how to show me His joy...

But Dad's farm close to Leslie
where clay oxen bake in the sun
He paints the most beautiful, after a long day's hiking.

The painting of the full moon was ready long ago
And tonight He hung it behind the dark grey mountain.
I hear the crickets close by
and warm against my skin, the Bushveld passing by.

And as I wander through God's art cafe
I feel more and more blessed with every step,
because with a cup of coffee and a paintbrush
He sits there all day, thinking
how to show me His joy...

But the Meyers' game farm , at Vaalwater,
with the campfire and company
He paints the most beautiful, after a long day's driving."

It is not all bad...

2010-03-30T12:23:00.003+02:00

Last week, I got a 'gel skin' for my laptop. It is an image of Van Gogh's "Starry night". When I see things like that, I remember that bipolar disorder is not all bad. Vincent van Gogh had bipolar disorder.

Jim Carey, Robin Williams, Virginia Woolf, Mark Twain, Sting, Peter Gabriel, Sinead O'Connor, Ludwig von Beethoven, Ben Stiller, Jean-Claude Van Damme, Carrie Fisher and loads of other well-known artists finds / found themselves in this crazy corner.

Last week I listened to a podcast of someone arguing that creativity is a side effect of bipolar disorder. I would not go that far, but I do know that I am fairly creative on a good day.

Somehow, being creative, makes me feel closer to God. It helps me to connect with Him. I think it makes me a better human being.

All clear :-)

2010-03-23T19:29:00.003+02:00

I saw my doctor this afternoon and she is happy with my progress :-) According to her I am as functional as possible and provided that I stick to all the rules, I should be fine.

This includes silly things like being in bed by 21:00, avoiding alcohol and caffeine and the whole list that I rambled off a gizillion times already.

We all know that 'should be' is only good until the next storm strikes. There are things I cannot control and the people around me cannot control.

But tonight, I celebrate God, I celebrate my dear friends who are there when things go well and when the wheels come off, I celebrate a good doctor and I celebrate progress.

Day 6 of MDP

2010-03-19T10:34:00.003+02:00

The first MDP study block is almost over and cannot explain how grateful I am.

On Saturday I was in good spirits and enjoying life, the very next day my bubble was burst in the CSI game as I described in my previous post.

The lectures were brilliant and I learned a lot. We got to spend a day and a bit on one of the company's sites, which was really interesting.

The frustration started when were split into syndicates (in which we are doing an assignment that will last all year. The guys wanted to work late the night before last. Now, one of the things I need to do to remain healthy, is be in bed by 21:00. I know it. It caused a mini-explosion when I left at 22:00 to sleep.

Last night, one of the guys had put / asked for Vodka in my Tab (yes, it is my 'party drink') while I was dishing up food. When I commented that my cold drink tasted strange, they suggestedit might be the ice. I have just found out that they also told the waiter at breakfast that I do not really need decaf coffee.

Last night there was serious conflict between me and one of the guys in the team because I wanted to go to bed and they wanted to pull an all-nighter. I eventually went to bed just before midnight, resulting in me sleeping all of 4 hours. That is OK when I am (hypo)manic, but I am not.

The nett result is that I am tired, irritable, depressed and crying about everything. When I spoke to a friend this morning, I cried, just because she was nice. When I look at the bully, I cry. Fortunately I do not think they noticed yet. I feel hopeless and the worst part is that I know it is because I broke all the rules.

I do not know where Jesus is in all of this. I am trying to find Him and reach for Him, but I am somehow unable to connect. hopeless and know I should not be. At the same time, I do NOT understand God's selection processes. I do not know why I have bipolar disorder and I do think it is unfair.

I am considering withdrawing from the program, because of what this week did to me. However, I have learned that I should not take decisions when I am too high or too low.

Just a few hours and I will finally be home.

Who am I?

2010-03-16T20:35:00.003+02:00

Today I was confronted with a proverbial mirror.

Before we came on MDP, we had a 360 review done. In case you are not entirely familiar with the concept, it includes reviews done by your subordinates, peers, manager and self. There weren't too many surprises when I got those results.

We also did a second assessment and that resulted in individualised "Insights training" reports, indicating your personality 'in colour'. You could be blue, red, yellow, green, or any combination of said colours.

What intrigued me, was the fact that they measured the 'active you' (i.e. what you project at work) and 'the less active you' (i.e. who you are at home / will probably be on a desert island) and then they measured the percentage difference between the two. The higher the percentage change, the more stress you will experience because of the discrepancy between who you are and who you have to project. Anything more than 45% indicates that you might have to look at alternatives. My discrepancy is 55.3%, but I am not quite ready to start looking.

The exercise prompted an avalanche of questions in my heart and mind: Who am I really? Do I remember my hopes and starry-eyed dreams? Are any of these worth reviving? What does Jesus think of my little juggling-act and all the hats I am trying to wear? Would He be OK with this? Who am I when the music fades and all is stripped away? Do I even know me?

I don't have any of the answers, but I am thinking about it... Tonight my heart and mind are racing and unsettled. Instead of asking Jesus to just calm me, I am praying that everything that was scratched and ripped open, prodded and stirred today, might lead to a better relationship between me and Jesus and me and my brothers and sisters.

So, even though I do not have much more than a bunch of questions tonight, I choose to trust God with this crazy rollercoaster discovery ride... here we go!

Management development programme - Day 1

2010-03-14T21:31:00.003+02:00

In the beginning of the year I was selected to do my company's management development programme this year. Today the first of 3 study blocks started.

As is the case with (I believe) all these courses, we started with an icebreaker. Initially I just loved it... we were playing CSI with real experiments, clues, crime scene tape, etc. The game lasted more than 5 hours and we were all genuinely engaged in this intriguing activity (as opposed to the speakers before ;-)).

It was all fun until we 'discovered more evidence'. I thought I recognised it even though I am sure it is just a 'look alike'. I played lab tech myself, ran the test on it and 'discovered it was lithium'.

The 'research assistent' found the (computer) file on lithium and all the facts seemed to be true. When she read that it is used for the treatment of bipolar disorder, one of the guys said, 'This is it. The looney is our guy. He's not stable and thinks he is two people'. I was about to point out the glaring misnoma re bipolar and schizophrynia and then decided to bite my tongue.

I was in a room with 25 of my company's bright young middle managers and I watched how they jumped on the bandwagon. It had to be the looney who heard voices and saw people who don't necessarily exist. It was definitely the crazy person.

So? So, it initially kind of hurt. I almost immediately realised I can never let my guard down in this crowd. So, I really wish people were more educated with regards to mental diseases. Information is really easy to come buy when you look.

In case you were wondering, no - the person with bipolar disorder did not do it.

My favorite quote from Alice in Wonderland

2010-03-08T13:13:00.001+02:00

"My dear, I'm terribly sad to say you've indeed gone mad, insane, bonkers, but let me tell you a secret... all the best people are."

Being in transit

2010-03-06T17:49:00.004+02:00

I love travelling. I love seeing new places (even more so if they are in Ireland), but there is a problem: I simply hate being in transit.

There is something about being in limbo that really unsettles me. After 'leaving' South Africa (past passport and border control), I would have loved to immediately go into another country. I wish there was a way to cut out the process in the middle.

Recently I developed a little motion sickness and on every second or third flight, I get sick as a dog. I would also like it if I knew upfront who would sit next to me, which movies would be available, etc. I have never liked the unknown.

Add to this the uncertainty of what the 'other side' looks like, my anxiety about being there on time so as to not leave my hosts / friends waiting and you almost have a reason to stay at home.

The excitement of duty free malls faded quickly. I usually walk listlessly up and down until I can finally board and only settle down once I am officially elsewhere.

Once you went through passport control, there is no going back and only travellers may pass this point.

Yet, even though I practically hate being in transit, I have always loved the destination.

Our community is in transit at the moment. I think we are excited about where we are going, but we might be experiencing a little turbulence at the moment.

See, for years we were a bunch of rich mainly Gen X'ers meeting in a community hall in a rich white area on Sundays. Yet, we were saying for years that we need to become multi-cultural and even changed our language to facilitate the process. We said that we are trying to discover Who Jesus is in a South African context. We said that church is not a place where we meet on Sundays, it is a verb and we need to live it.

For years, saying these things did not move us an inch... so we embarked on a journey. We lifted our tentpens, we went through passport control... and now we are in limbo. It is uncomfortable here, but hey, it is only the journey, not the destination. We went through passport control and there is no going back.

What does the destination look like? No idea, to be honest... BUT 3 things will be there:

- We will LIVE church
- We will be multi-cultural
- We will strive to Follow Jesus in a South African context

In the meantime, please pray with us about this adventure and our (next) destination?

Loss and lost

2010-02-27T20:17:00.003+02:00

Tonight I am experiencing a deep sense of loss. See, this week we spoke about our journey as a community and agreed to express the emotion we experience. My experience of loss has nothing to do with this journey, however, thinking of that made other things and experiences come to the surface.

By now, it is not much of a secret that I have bipolar disorder. I think I also spoke about ECT's, but I do not think I spoke about lithium.

Lithium is supposedly the gold standard in mood stabilizers and I was started on it about 6 weeks ago. It has a list of side effects:

- tremors in my hands
- constant thirst (I now drink about 4 litres of water in the day and another 2 at night)
- constant stomach cramps
- regular muscle pain (like after a run / long cycle)
- if you do not remain hydrated, the lithium becomes toxic
- weight gain
- the list continues, but these side effects have the most severe impact on me...

With the lithium came more rules and loss:

- I will never be able to drink another glass of wine, because the lithium will turn toxic.
- The same applies to caffeien... no more coffee, Coke Light, Coke Zero, whatever...
- One of the most upsetting things is that I am no longer allowed to donate blood, because my blood is toxic. I am weeping as I am typing this. Donating blood was my way to give back to society.
- I am not comfortable eating with just anyone, because sometimes, I battle to keep the food on my fork. So when I do, it has to be something I can eat with my hands.

I am saying goodbye to many things and everytime I realise I sm losing something else, it hurts all over.

This week I discovered that my medical aid is depleted due to no fault of mine. It simply is.

Tonight I dropped two plates, because my hands were just trembling too much. I had to put the sharp knives away, because I forget and accidentally cut myself twice this week.

This morning the child I'm teaching to drive, drove over a piece of iron and I lost a front tyre.

So what do I feel about my community's journey? I love them, but I am simply not there yet.

So, why did I write this gloomy post? I guess I just had to verbalise some of what what is milling through my head. And yes, I am feeling lost in this chaos. Is my feeling rational? I don't know. Tonight it is not about what I know, but what is going on inside.

Tomorrow I'll re-engage with what I feel about my community's journey. Promise. And then, I'll lift my chin and try again.

Obedience vs burnt offerings

2010-02-20T20:33:00.003+02:00

I adore my cat. Thomas (O'Malley) is 5 years and 3 months old and is definitely the most charming housemate I have ever had.

I think he thinks I must be a god, because I open the tins and open the taps for him. He often brings 'offerings' home. I live in a complex on a hill and behind the complex, it is just too steep to build. The result is that there is veld and my mini-lion loves his savanna.

We have had all kinds of offerings... a guinea fowl and variety of other birds, various rats, mice, lizards, a frog, 5 snakes and the list continues. He never eats the prey or even break their skin. He kills and puts the offering in front of my bed.

Yesterday he went on a spree. He killed 3 lizards, followed by 2 birds. Every time he just wanted my approval and recognition. In fact, he 'talks' in short miaaus until I acknowledge him and his prey.

When he disappeared up the for the umpteenth time yesterday, I thought about 2 things:

1) God says obedience is far better than offerings. I had to wonder what my 'gifts' / 'sacrifices' look like to Him? Even when I worked long and hard at something, why do I think it is a worthy offering?

2) I do not have to earn God's love. He just loves me. Personally, this is far easier said than done.

This morning, I still adore my Thomas, but not more than I did at this time yesterday. I'd rather have him sleeping at home and hear the occasional purr when he surfaces to see if he's missing any fun.

I pray that God would change our hearts during Lent and help us to be obedient as we are fasting. I pray that God will change me and help me to experience Him as Father and accept that He loves me.

Ash Wednesday

2010-02-17T19:54:00.002+02:00

Today was Ash Wednesday and I think Jesus came to my office.

In anticipation of what I am about to tell you, I think it is important that one of Claypot's (my community) values has always been to take hands over denominational borders.

On Monday, a few of my colleagues and I were discussing Ash Wednesday. None of us were able to join our communities this morning and still be on time for work. Hence, we decided to have our own Ash Wednesday liturgy.

Spending time with my colleagues, just being quiet and reading a prayer of repentance was awesome. We work together and see each other's best and worst. All day there was this sense of 'we are sharing something and Someone'.

Just after our liturgy, we saw lots of frowning and questioning faces and assumed it has something to do with the black crosses on our foreheads... and we explained. By mid-morning my line manager commented that he felt there was something going on and he was standing outside the circle. He then proceeded to ask if he could come next year. He was just the first of a whole string of people with the same request.

So, today I met Jesus at my office. It was great to have Him there. And, like always, I have to wonder where I'll meet Him tomorrow...

Tetelesthai

2010-02-12T10:29:00.002+02:00

Just before Jesus blew out his last breath, He said: 'tetelesthai', translated as 'it is fulfilled'.

This morning, I am tempted to say: 'tetelesthai'. I know that you cannot compare medical treatment with giving your life for sinners, having loved them and having them not love you. I am by no means trying to be blasphemous. Yet, the temptation remains.

This morning I had my sixth, and for now final ECT. It was a rollercoaster journey. Initially I was really scared, then I decided to trust my doctor to take care of me while I sleep and relaxed. Yes, I have a few battle scars, but they will heal. My muscles are sore, but most of that can be fixed with a good workout or two. I have had a fairly intense headache since Monday, but that will go away. My eyes are super-sensitive to light.

What I gained overshadows the side effects. Two weeks ago, I was seriously suicidal and could see no reason at all to live. Today I am strong and I want to fight / manage bipolar disorder. I refuse to shrivel up and sit in the corner and be a victim of a mental disease.

I know that there will be good times and bad times, it comes with the territory. I might even have to have more ECT's in future. In the meantime, I am the manager of this disease and need to take my meds, sleep enough, drink enough water, exercise, stay away from alcohol, caffeine, weed, and other drugs.

Where is God in all this? I really do not want to have the whole healing discussion today. Our community agreed a few years ago that our reflex reaction to disease should be to pray for the sick. I am all for it. Yet, I see God more as a partner in this. He knows my brain, better than anyone else, because He made it. He knows about the synapses we broke over the past two weeks. He knows my heart, my life, my circumstances. In all of this, I believe that we will not be tempted beyond what we can control or resist. God is with me. God is in my bipolar disorder and the management thereof.

Tetelesthai. This chapter is over.

20 years later

2010-02-11T19:38:00.002+02:00

Today is the twentieth anniversary of Nelson Mandela's release from prison. I remember the day he was released. It was a stuffy Sunday afternoon and my heart was in the pit of my stomach.

I made many wrong assumptions in the period when the Apartheid laws fell and political prisoners were released. I did not know the facts and their stories. There was a huge divide and it was definitely more difficult to obtain information on, for example, the Rivonia trial. By the time it reached me, it was already contaminated by a grown up's opinion.

Four years later, we had our first democratic election. It lasted 3 days and it scared me. South Africa prepared for war and my parents, like countless other South Africans, stocked up on bullets, canned food & candles. They were ready. However, war did not come.

There were rumours of Mr Mandela going to charities, playing with children, actually... not doing any of the things I so feared. When I finally got to read his biography, I was ashamed and humbled. We have done nothing but cheat him out of a life, and yet he gave whatever life he had over for South Africa - black and white alike.

Side note - it is equally magical to hear another black man, bishop Desmond Tutu, say: "God loves you, He cares for you... God loves you", to white South Africans, just like a father would to his children.

It is tempting to stay in a corner, cry, repent and apologise. Yes, there are times we need to be in a corner, cry, repent and apologise. However, just like in our spiritual lives, where we sometimes frown on the practice of people 'giving there lives to Jesus' over and over every Sunday, never building a relationship with Him. Just like we cannot keep meeting Jesus for the first time every week, we cannot stay in a corner, cry, repent and apologise for Apartheid.

I think our hearts should remain repentant, but it has to move into relationships. I have a few black acquintances and one really good black friend. I would be so much poorer had I not had young Buhle in my life. We can exchange stories and I learn a lot by just listening to this boy and listening to his comment on mine. He is trying to teach me Zulu and I am trying to teach him to drive.

Let us then set an example to our children? Let's reach out? When I say 'reach out', I do not suggest that we just find random blach people and feed or clothe them. Part of reaching out is to realise that we are equal, and as whites, we do not necessarily have anything to offer, but our firndship.

I think the basis of this 'reaching out' will always be two-fold - inspired by God and making restitution for what we and our ancestors did wrong.

So, let's move forward then (with the condition that we remember where we come from and why we are on this journey)? I pray that we will be able to show a fraction of the love and grace Madiba showed.

Electroboy / ECT 4 of 6

2010-02-09T18:37:00.006+02:00

Yesterday I had my fourth ECT session.

Thus far, the side effects have been minimal compared to the benefits. Yes, I did have muscle pain, but it is less intense now than a week ago. I do have headaches. I also do have minor short term memory loss.

My hands and are bruised and my lower lip has a deep bite. However, this is due to anaesthetic and not the therapy.

On the upside, I am no longer suicidal. I can see the flaws in my argument that I simply could not see ten days ago. I, once again, have the most basic human instinct - survival.

Today, I am grateful to God for medicine and medical intervention. My psychiatrist is an angel. Whilst the anaesthetist was digging for a vein, she was holding my hand and stroking my hair. I am grateful to God for this wise woman and her gentle spirit. I am grateful for my friends who cooked for me in this time or bought me frozen meals or offered to do so. I am grateful for friends who get up at 4 AM to get me to the hospital in time. I did not and do not deserve any of this and am truly humbled.

Should you want to know more about ECT's, please click here and follow the link. Electroboy became the posterboy for treating bipolar disorder with Electro Convulsion Therapy.

Tomorrow I'll have the fifth session and on Friday the sixth, and for now final.

I expected the entire process to be intrusive and much worse. Tonight, all I feel is gratitude...

My dark passenger

2010-02-06T18:14:00.002+02:00

I love Dexter. If you do not know Dexter, here is a short synopsis: Dexter lives in Miami and works at the Miami Police as a blood spatter analyst. However, Dexter has what he calls 'a dark passenger'.

See, Dexter is a serial killer. BUT he kills according to Harry's (his stepfather's) code. The 'victim' must have killed before and there must be proof that he intends to do so again. The 'victims' are often the guys who fell through the cracks in the justice system.

I have my own dark passenger. No, I am not a serial killer, but sometimes there is this cold darkness in me and in my mind. To confure you and me, it is not necessarily depression and tears. Sometimes, it is a lot of energy. Sometimes I forget I am an introvert and I start talking to strangers. I get adventurous, laugh alot... and then I crash.

I thought about my passenger today and I need to say this more to myself than to you - I am not my dark passenger. I am still me. Every day is a fight to keep this passenger in his place. I will do all it takes to manage him, but I am not the dark passenger.

I am still me. I am still here. I still have hopes and dreams. I still believe in God and community. I still have friends, whom I thank God for, because they have seen it all. I am standing - for now. May God have mercy on me and on my friends.

I am not bipolar...

2010-02-03T18:46:00.003+02:00

... I just happen to HAVE bipolar disorder. I have read "Bipolar for Dummies" over the past 10 days and for the first time a lot of what is going on in and around me makes more sense.

According to the author, bipolar disorder can be latent and won't necessarily rear its head at all. It is similar to having a fair skin - you need to wear sunscreen and preferably stay out of the sun in order to protect yourself.

Thinking back, I know when I first met the monster. It was during a carnival in my second year at varsity. I served on the SRC and we were asked to arrange a carnival on a piece of land the University of Johannesburg (then Rand Afrikaans university) gave the Seminary. I worked so hard on my part, but the rest of the team simply did not come through.

The fun run was a disaster, the volley ball contest did not happen and instead of 100 stalls, we had 8. One of them sold lingerie. This was a big no-no in the pentecostal tradition and even more so when you are 19 years old and in the early days of a relationship. You know, when you still blush when you are just holding hands?

That afternoon, I decided to go and hide underneath a table in the tea garden and I did not ever want to come out again. That was the start of my first depressive episode.

Again, being pentecostal, studying to be a pastor and depply influenced by John G Lake & Smith Wigglesworth, I could not explain what was happening and was just relieved when it was over and I could tackle the next project, working almost day and night. The more I think back, the more I am flooded with memories and I can clearly see ups and downs. Ups and downs like everybody experience, but just so much more intense.

I believe that I have finally been diagnosed correctly. I believe that I have to manage this monster, or it might manage me. This includes regular exercise, enough sleep, healthy meals and the dreaded medicine. It implies that I have to work with my psychiatrist, whom I like to think of as a consultant. I will use every tool available to me, e.g. a mood diary and research available. I will keep asking questions and for the rest of my life, I will have to keep the monster at bay.

Yet, I am not bipolar. One of our lecturers used to say that you are more than the sum total of what happened to you. I am more than the sum of what happened to me. There is more to me than bipolar disorder, even though my regular meds and forced adjusted lifestyle shoves it in my face at least 3 times per day.

I do not know how God decides who should have it. I do not know if He gives it. I do not know if he allows satan to dish it out. What I do know is that I still want to want to love Him. I want to experience His presence and His comfort when my heart wants to break for seemingly no reason. I wanr to be with Him when my mind races and I can visualise all the little wheels in my head spinning. I want Him to be there when I have a 'runaway train' idea.

I am not bipolar. I am just a confused child of God, battling to make sense.

Therapy session 2

2010-02-03T10:10:00.002+02:00

This morning I had therapy session 2/6. It was really horrible.

When I woke up, fresh from the theatre, I felt smothered by a mask that was just too close to my nose and mouth. I started kicking in an attempt to get the recovery staff's attention. They only noticed there was a problem when I started crying.

Safely at home and going to sleep now. Tomorrow I'll deal with my sore muscles and prepare for Friday's session... 3/6.

The morning after the day before

2010-02-02T09:24:00.000+02:00

Yesterday I had a little intrusive therapy. Afterwards, I thought it was a total non-event. I had a headache and a little muscle pain (or stiffness, almost like when you did not cool down properly after a workout), but nothing to write home about.

This morning, however, is a different story. I do not think my neck and shoulders were this sore, not even when I had meningitis. Yesterday my doctor gave me permission to go to gym today and sort out some of the muscles and muscle pain. I pray that something help for my neck and shoulders. It feels like I am pinned to my bed and can hardly get up.

We had a well-known South African writer, called Dalene Matthee. She wrote novels and was best known for the 'forest-trilogy'. The forest people never referred to elephants as elephants, because then the elephants would think they are being called and trample the people. Instead, they referred to them as 'big feet'.

This morning, it feels like the big feet ran all over me and tomorrow is treatment 2/6.

When God is not in my quiet time

2010-01-28T18:56:00.003+02:00

Last night I attended our weekly meeting. Being a little hypomanic, I talked a lot more than usually and shared things I would usually rather not.

At one stage we were talking about how we hear God. It drew my attention away from just meeting God in my quiet time and reminded me that He talks through other people, music, and even my own body.

Today I met God in a psychiatrist's room. If you have been following this blog, you know by now that I developed a bisarre facination with going to sleep forever. OK, suicide.

In my previous post I rambled down the list of do's and don'ts. Despite all this, I am in a mixed episode and can fluctuate from being ecstatic to the deepest depths in seconds. I managed to get a 'cancellation appointment' with my psychiatrist after an email conversation yesterday.

Today I met God in her rooms. She was so kind and listened and answered patiently. She listened to my (seriously skewed) theory and then explained a counter-theory and reminded me that the most basic instinct is to survive. She changed my prescription again and we agreed on further therapy that is a little more radical.

To you it might sound like the run of the mill consultation, to me, it was seeing Jesus. I heard Him in her concerned voice when she asked if I'll be OK. I saw Him listening to my crazy plans. I heard Him counselling me. I saw His love.

I wonder where He'll be tomorrow.

The runaway train

2010-01-28T08:07:00.003+02:00

At Gold Reef City (a theme park in Johannesburg), there is a ride called "The runaway train". It is basically a few carts, running real fast on a rail. I think the fear factor is increased by the name.

We want to be in control. We want to be in charge. I know I do. I do not want runaway trains, trucks or cars anywhere near me for fear of what they could do. Yet, there is a runaway train in my head and this morning I am going to see my psychiatrist to help me stop it.

I am not depressed or crying all the time, quite the contrary. I am joking, have LOTS of energy, go to gym, am creative, do my job and do it well, but I latched on to this idea that it would be better if I cease to exist.

Today I am grateful for friends who are close enough to see my runaway train(s) and who can talk me off the ledge.

Bipolar disorder is a crazy disease, but it is a disease. It is terminal. It is going nowhere and it requires close management.

I feel like the pharisee who prayed out loud in the temple, saying what he does right and embarrassing the beggar every time I rumble down the list of things I need to and cannot do: I sleep enough, I eat healthy, I go to gym 5-6 times per week, I do not use caffeien or alcohol, I do not consider using any other drugs and I take me prescribed medicine as prescribed. Yet, sometimes I have a runaway train and all I can say this morning is "God have mercy on me, a sinner".

If you want to learn more about biplar disorder, I can recommend a 40 minute DVD called "Living with Bipolar Disorder" or a book called "Bipolar Disorder for Dummies" (I have read a lot about bipolar and this is the single best resource in my mind).

Soulwork

2010-01-26T15:12:00.002+02:00

When our community changed over to the new rhythm (i.e. meeting on Wednesday / Thursday), we committed to weekly soulwork.

For tomorrow I need to memorise 1 John 4:19: "We love because he first loved us." I was also supposed to think and ask, everytime I do something 'for God' if I am doing it out of love or to earn His love.

I know the verse and it puzzles me. I do not feel right now. My EQ is gone and I do not find myself in the shell of my body. I also find it really hard to find God in anything.

As much as I would like to say "I did it all because I love Him so much" and "I know He first loved me, He even gave His life for me before I knew I was a sinner", I cannot.

I am (still) in St Theresa of Avila's camp: "I want to want to love Him". I really want to rekindle the flame of that first love, but today I am clueless as to how.

Why?

2010-01-25T11:13:00.003+02:00

Today I am trying to think of a reason to carry on.

I do not have 'official' dependents, i.e. a spouse or children. In all fairness, I am not sure that a reasonable person, knowing they have bipolar disorder, would tie another life to theirs. At one stage I was passionate about adoption and I would really love to be a parent, but what does a single parent do with a child if you have a manic / depressive episode?

For the past ten days I have been on Lithium. This implies that I can no longer donate blood. I am one of those people who do need the occasional recognition and could visualise my name on the scroll of people who donated 200 units or more and I was well on my way with 58 donations. Instead, I now have quivering hands.

According to my psychiatrist, a manic/ hipomanic or a depressive episode causes actual brain damage. The synapses die and your brain need to form new paths.

I am actually starting to feel slow and stupid. Before all of this, I could read a few books per day with full comprehension and passed both of my degrees cum laude (even with extra subjects like Greek & Hebrew up to honours level). Now, it take me weeks to read a simple book and I have to keep referring back to make sure that my understanding is correct.

When I think about my relationships in general, they have not evolved or grown deeper over the past year. I think quite the contrary. Actually. I think I became a liability rather than an asset.

So, I do not think I will find the cure for cancer. I won't find a way to stop and reverse global warming. I might never write a book (another dream that is fading fast).

At best, I will have an ordinary life with minimal manic/hipomanic and depressive episodes. And then I am back at my question, why prolong this? Why should I carry on?

Gandhi, luxuries & necessities...

2010-01-24T11:24:00.008+02:00

A few years ago, my friend Tom blogged about Gandhi. He commented on the fact that at the time of his death, Gandhi’s earthly possessions could be counted on two hands: His two dinner bowls, wooden fork and spoon, the famous porcelain monkeys, his diary, prayer book, watch, spittoon, letter opener and two pairs of sandals.

I have a lot of respect for Gandhi and have read everything I could lay m hands on about him. Yet, when I looked at the list of his possessions, I wondered why he had two pairs of sandals? I caught myself thinking that it might be luxury when I remembered a discussion last week with a friend who owns 319 pairs of shoes.

I started thinking about Gandhi, luxury & necessity yet again this week. I went to Gold Reef City (a theme park in Johannesburg) and saw that you can now buy silver bars with Gandhi's image. A single silver bar costs R1825. The Gandhi image is also not printed on the 'cheaper' coins. R 1825 or the even more expensive gold and platinum versions. A single piece of silver (about 10cm x 5 cm) is valued at a much higher price than all of Gandhi's possessions combined.

As we were walking around the mint museum in the park, I thought about what enough would be. This is also something we regularly talk about at Claypot. Instead of rewriting the entire story,I would like to refer you to Tom's post. You can read it here.

The advertisement at the mint

As usual, I do not have many answers, but would love to hear your thoughts? I am still wondering what in my life are necessities? I know that my chronic medication costs R 3349.17 per month. This is enough money to provide almost 7 families in a South African squatter camp with basics. Is bipolar medicine a luxury? Is feeding my cat Hills a luxury? I can ramble on and on for a really long time, but would rather hear your perspective, please?

3 Quotes

2010-01-22T18:04:00.002+02:00

Concealing an illness is like keeping a beach ball under water. - Karen Duffy

The bottom line here is that we have to recognize that just as things go wrong with the heart and the lungs and the liver and the kidney, things go wrong with the brain ... It’s really time for us to respond in a much more sophisticated manner than we have in the past. - David Satcher

I'm fine, but I'm bipolar. I'm on seven medications, and I take medication three times a day. This constantly puts me in touch with the illness I have. I'm never quite allowed to be free of that for a day. It's like being a diabetic. - Carrie Fisher

Ups and downs and finding Jesus

2010-01-18T16:46:00.003+02:00

When I first met my psychiatrist, she explained normality as a horizontal line and explained that all of mankind cross the line upwards (i.e. good mood - mania) and downwards (having an off day to severe depression) in various degrees and at various intervals.

In bipolar patients the graph looks a little more dramatic. You can function with minimal sleep, don't need to eat, have SOOO much energy and your head does not stop spinning. You are just so 'bright' and have so many creative ideas and insights. Unfortunately what goes up, must come down...

On the bottom end of the scale, you just want to sleep and 12 hours per night seems to be too little. You either eat too much or nothing at all. You feel stupid. You feel unloved. You contemplate suicide. You have no inspiration and performing even the most menial of tasks is a major issue. Getting up and brushing your teeth vould, for example take 20 minutes.

A 'high' experience combined with a 'low' experience, is called an episode. More than 4 episodes per year, is considered dangerous.

Last week, I was admitted to hospital with a mixed episode. I went an entire weekend with 7 hours of sleep, broke every rule in the book and still thought I was just fine. The scale tipped from hour to hour and day to day. I could fantasise about suicide, i.e. just falling asleep and not waking up again to working accurately with millions of rands and managing risk. UP and down.

According to my psychiatrist, mixed episodes are the hardest to treat. It is a fickle scale. Do you tip it up or down? What would happen if you stand back and just observe?

In one of my clear moments, I asked my psychiatrist to arrange hospitilisation. So, am I healed now? I wish. The great thing is that I was removed from work- and family stress for 2 and a halve days. The next great thing is that I could be closely observed whilst my doctor tried to stabilise my mood. I am by no means cured, but took time out.

So now? I am back in the 'real world'. I still have to take my meds (higher dosages), go to gym, eat right, sleep enough, avoid alcohol and caffeiene... and in addition to this, I am now on lithium and can no longer donate blood. As weird as this might sound, I will miss it. For years, I donated my pint every 8 weeks. I donated a total of 58 units and would really have loved to continue doing so.

So where is God in all of this? Again, I see glimpses of Him when I am inspired and high and mre glimpses when I am in the darkest possible place. I see Jesus in my friends and their hands become His. Their touch, becomes His.

At the moment, finding Jesus in my crazy, upside down world, is a bit like 'finding Wally'. Wally is never in the same spot twice. Neither is Jesus. But He is always there, all I need to do, is keep looking. Sometimes, I need a little help and direction, but in my heart of hearts I know, He is with me.

When your pastor(s) become your friends and family

2010-01-17T15:42:00.004+02:00

I am part of a very small community in Johannesburg, called Claypot. We are weird. Not in the loud happy clappy or Latin speaking way, but in what we believe God wants us to do.

Four years ago at an elders' retreat we came up with 7 invitations to have a closer relationship with God. You can read more about it here.

In September 2009, we decided (and believe God told us) to do 3 things:

1) Living church as a verb (i.e. become Jesus' hands and feet) as opposed to just having a nice meeting.

2) Engaging with Jesus in a South African context.

3) Becoming a multicultural community.

To achieve this, we changed our rhythms. Another bold move. Instead of meeting on Sundays, we decided to have Sunday as a day of rest / Sabbath, with some Soulwork (homework) to do and we started meeting at Tom & Lollie's house on Wednesdays / Thursdays.

Tom and Lollie have pastored this community since inception. In fact they planted it with a few other people asking questions about what church is and what it should be.

I have known Tom since 1995, but only became friends with him & his wife, Lollie over the past 5 years. During this time, I have come to know them as compassionate and understanding. When I was diagnosed with major depression and wanted to leave church, they suggested I just take a sabbatical. Then, the community took me back, despite my really bad behaviour when I was at the very bottom end of the scale.

Now, the topic of bipolar disorder in church seems to be taboo. Yet, when the diagnosis changed to bipolar disorder, I got even more support and understanding from Tom & Lollie.

When my parents got divorced and both times my mom had major surgery in the past 3 years, they were pillars of strength. They not only prayed for me, but lived church and with our other friends cared for me in every possible way, including financially, which is still really humbling.

The past 5 years have been challenging to me in many ways, but (to a large extent) due to Tom & Lollie's input, I could keep my eyes on Jesus. They have the beautiful ability to stretch me, a little at a time, just in time. For instance they have made me more aware of the journey of racial reconciliation and were there to challange and guide step by step.

I could never be content to just live with the status quo. The single biggest thing Tom & Lollie enforced in my life, is that Christianity is a journey. It is not just a safe destination you reach after saying a prayer. You and I need to keep moving, looking for Jesus and His footsteps all of the time.

So... this afternoon, hats off to you, Tom & Lollie. I think you are doing an immaculate job. May you continue to be true to God's word and inspiration and help us to find God in unexpected places. You are friends closer than a brother. Love yoy & appreciate you.

What went up...

2010-01-07T14:16:00.002+02:00

... came down. Crashed. Feel done for.

And to be brutally honest: when I see my friends' status updates on Facebook, I feel nauseous... anything from: "this is God's word for 2010..." to "this is your year" and "the joy of the Lord is you strength". A part of me wants to respond and say that this guy's exegesis sucks, but the other 95% of me is (maybe fortunately) just too tired to do so.

Lost and found

2010-01-06T08:14:00.002+02:00

Last week my mom told me that her parents got divorced in 1957. Up to then, I thought my granny passed away then. As far as the family was concerned, she might as well have been.

She moved from Kimberley to Johannesburg and remarried. Her new husband was Charl Marais and they had a baby with the same name. However, a week before the little boy's first birthday (1963), my grandmother did pass away. A few years later Charl snr died in a car crash.

Over the weekend I decided to find Charl and yesterday I did (with some help). Last night my mom called her brother and told him the story I just told you. All he could say was, "I am that baby".

For the next few minutes, she tried to explained 47 years of history, but I am not sure how you really condense a lifetime into minutes.

This morning, I do know my mom woke up, having found her lost brother and Charl woke up, having found an entire 'new' family.

Sometimes I feel like that. When I look around me and I see my community, I have come home. They are my brothers and my sisters. Like any amily, we can have fun, but we also have hard times.

My mom & Charl reminded me of the discovery of this new and alternative family. I want to take Jesus' words literally when he said we will have many mother and fathers and brothers and sisters.

May God give us the grace to live as His family this year. May He help me to remember that I too was found.

2010

2010-01-04T08:47:00.003+02:00

Success is not final, failure is not fatal:
It is the courage to continue that counts...

Not much to say....

2009-12-30T09:04:00.002+02:00

I really do not have much to say, but I am still here.

Over the past few days, I have often thought that I know why people commit suicide this time of the year. I have probably thought too much.

On Christmas Eve, a colleague was put on temporary disability, because she does not manage her bipolar disorder well. If anything, it scares me and causes me to be less likely to discuss the disorder openly.

On the upside, I had a few 'very productive' days where I cleaned and did some DIY projects. Pulled away bookshelves, cleaned the books, sorted them by category and author, then tackled the DVD shelves, then washed curtains... I have slept about 11 hours in 4 days and have almost unlimited energy.

On the downside, what goes up, must come down. I know the crash is inevitable and hope and pray that the tiredness will only kick in after 12:00 tomorrow... so I can at least semi-function at work. I could ask for a 'soft landing', but from experience know it is unlikely.

I have no new opinions about 2010, I am cautious when contemplating resolutions... I am aware of the 'cap' on man's life. Like a flower... here today, gone tomorrow... says James.

If God is not with me and for me and carrying me, I do not want another year. May you, and I be aware of His presence in this 'change over' period. May God direct our (my) steps, decisions, direction, relationships and career in the year to come. If He does not, I do not want to...

The surprise of Christmas

2009-12-25T11:11:00.003+02:00

A few years ago Annelise Wiid (a South African singer / poet) wrote something along the lines of this...

She flew halfway around the world as a surprise for a friend's birthday. It was a whole conspiracy... his family would take him to a specific reestaurant and she would join them as 'the waitress'. Imagine the surprise when he looked up and saw his friend! He jumped up and she kept assuring him that it was REALLY her.

Now imagine... Jesus coming to earth, taking on a body just like ours. The King of kings really came. It REALLY is Him. All the way from heaven... to be with us. To save us. The ultimate surprise.

May the miracle and surprise of Christmas be new to you and to your loved ones today.

Wyse manne se moses (geneem uit Beeld - 23/12/2009)

2009-12-24T10:38:00.003+02:00

Onderstaande is ’n fiktiewe Kerverhaal.

Verslag van ’n ondersoek na ’n reis deur drie lede van ons broederskap ná die verskyning van die helder ster in die weste.

Soos u weet, het die verskyning van die ster heelwat bespiegeling en uiteindelik ook hewige argumentvoering veroorsaak, maar ons het konsensus gekry om ’n afvaardiging te stuur.
Kaspar, Melchior en Balthasar is gevra.

Alle tekens was daar dat iemand belangrik gebore is in die stad Johannesburg in Suid-Afrika, ver aan die onderpunt van die kontinent Afrika.

Van die drie het net Kaspar teruggekeer. Dié verslag is voorlopig en ’n volledige een sal volg as Kaspar herstel. Tot dan is die volgende die feite van die reis.

Die drie het, soos die gebruik is, geskenke gedra.

Kaspar wierook, Melchior goud en Balthasar mirre. Hulle is in die koue hier weg. Ná ’n tyd het hulle die land bereik. Dit is beskryf as een met oop vlaktes, ’n wye lugkoepel en berge waar donderstorms soms opsteek.

Die buitewyke van Johannesburg is veilig en sonder ernstige voorvalle bereik. Vanweë hul kleredrag het hulle soms aandag getrek, hoewel Johannesburg deur Kaspar in ’n ligter oomblik beskryf is as ’n plek wat baie dinge gewoond is en waar hy met sy volle wyseman-uitrusting “in die hoofstraat sal kan aftrippel sonder om aandag te trek”.

Die drie is inderdaad vir enigiets van musikante en afgevaardigdes van kerkgroepe tot die oorblyfsels van partytjies aangesien.

Dit blyk dat Melchior ongelukkig die aandag van die plaaslike polisie getrek het. Hy is deurgesoek en die goud is aan hom gekry. Hy is om sy lisensie daarvoor gevra. Melchior was nie bewus van so ’n reëling nie en is in hegtenis geneem. Hy is steeds in aanhouding.

Kaspar kon nie vasstel wat van die goud geword het nie.

Hy en Balthasar is sonder Melchior vort na die huis waarheen die ster gewys het.

Die soeke na die huis was problematies. Johannesburg se strate is in vreemde patrone afgesper en is vreemd genoeg sonder name.

Die soektog het dringind geword en hulle het in die aand begin loop.

Hul geld was amper op omdat plaaslike blyplekke deesdae heelwat duurder is as wat aanvanklike navorsing aangedui het.

Vordering is een aand tot stilstand geruk toe Balthasar in ’n gat in die sypaadjie gestruikel het.

Hy het sy been beseer en die twee is gedwing om by plaaslike mense hulp te soek.

Die plaaslikes het wel gehelp, maar Balthasar se sakke ook deursoek. Dit lyk of hulle die mirre vir dwelms aangesien, hom aangeval en die mirre afgevat het.

Kaspar het probeer help, maar met min sukses. Van die plaaslike mense wou die polisie bel, maar kon glo nie kontak met die inbel-sentrum maak nie.

Omdat die tyd begin opraak het, het Kaspar besluit om op sy eie voort te gaan. Balthasar is op sy eie op pad terug.

En Kaspar het die huis gevind.

Ná verskeie gesprekke met hom is ek oortuig dat hy die regte besluit geneem het. Ek sal sê dit was beslis die huis waar die geboorte plaasgevind het.

Kaspar kon egter nie by die huis inkom nie. Die plek het ’n hoë heining van yster, skerp bo met lemmetjiesdraad.

By die hek was daar geen klokkie nie. Die inwoners van Johannesburg is traag om sulke klokkies te beantwoord en neig om hulle te verwyder.

Die effek van drie wyse manne in Oosterse klere kon ook nie verkry word nie. Daar was net een oor en die meeste van sy klere was in daardie stadium vuil of gesteel.

So het Kaspar toe teruggekeer met sy wierook.

Maar ons wéét daar was ’n geboorte. En ten spyte van sy wedervaringe is Kaspar vreemd vol hoop vir Johannesburg.

Die kosmos gloei oor Sy koms (geneem uit Beeld - 23/12/2009)

2009-12-24T10:32:00.001+02:00

’n Klompie jare gelede, op soek na paslike Kersgeskenke, kom ons dié juweel teë - ’n skildery deur Frans Claerhout, getitel: Die hoenderhaan kondig die koms van Christus aan.

Op die voorgrond, eenkant na regs, die dawerende haantjie en effe agtertoe, in sagte Claerhout-kleure, ’n ouerpaar wat in allereenvoud versorgend na ’n kindjie in ’n krip omsien.

Die skildery was nie te koop nie, maar die “geskenk” is steeds by my - hoe Kersfees jou verruklik verplaas na die soort verbeeldingswêreld waarin kinders tuis is en sommige grootmense ietwat ongemaklik.

Soos in Jules Supervielle se sprokie oor hoe die lewende kosmos Christus se geboorte meegemaak het.

Hier vrylik oorvertel:

Die os en die donkie was saam met Josef en die swanger Maria op pad na Betlehem.
By die stal aangekom, het die os en die donkie begin stry oor wat hulle by die geboorte moet doen.

Toe die os sy asem oor die baba blaas om hom warm te hou, het die donkie gekla: “Moenie so naby aan hom kom nie. Jou horings gaan hom seermaak.”

En toe die donkie sy lang ore aanbied om die baba gerus te stel (soos ’n soft toy nou maar doen), berispe die os: “Moenie in sy gesig balk nie. Dit sal die baba se dood beteken.”

Ná baie stryery begin hulle verstaan hier is ’n groot ding aan’t gebeur.

Die os het gesien hoe die klippe, wat gewoonlik baie tyd nodig het om iets te verstaan, die wonder begryp.

Ook die veldblomme, die gras, die water en die lug het “geweet”.

Só vol vreugde was die os dat hy ophou eet het.

Hy het nie meer water gedrink nie en hy was bang om asem te haal - ingeval hy dalk ’n besoekende engel deur sy neusgate opsnuif.

Met die hulp van die os en die donkie het al die mak diere, die diere van die veld en al die goggas gekom om die kind in die krip te leer ken.

Die visse wat ’n bietjie sukkel met asemhaal op droë grond, het ’n seemeeu in hul plek gestuur.

Selfs die diere wat nog nie ontdek was nie en in die skoot van die aarde en in die see se maag op ’n naam gewag het, was gretig om te kom dagsê.

Maria het almal die klein stal laat binnekom: “My kind is hier net so veilig as in die hoogste hemel,” het sy gesê.

Die diere het elk iets van hulself by die kind agtergelaat - die voëls hul sang; die duiwe hul liefdespel; die bobbejane hul manewales; die katte hul manier van staar; die tortelduiwe die
sagte kleure van hul keelveertjies.

En die volstruis het stilletjies ’n eier gelê waarvan Josef, tot die donkie se verbasing, ’n omelet vir almal gemaak het.

Later het wyse manne uit die Ooste gekom om, saam met die heelal se atome, om die krip te versamel.

Die sterrebeeld van die bul het sy horings uit die hemelboog losgehaak en afgekom aarde toe.
Sodat sy lig oor die krip skyn terwyl ’n wolk in sy plek in die hemelruim wag gestaan het.

Ander vreemde dinge het ook gebeur.

Die skilpad het sy stadige gang versnel en haastig geraak.

Die blitsige likkewaan het stadig geword.

Die lomp seekoei het ligte kniebewegings gemaak en die papegaaie was doodstil.

Eensklaps het die sterrebeeld van die bul hoog in die lug gespring en hom, met een stoot van sy
horings, weer op sy ou plek vasgehaak.

Die ganse kosmos het gegloei van opwinding en asem opgehou oor die kind wat gekom het...

This time of the year...

2009-12-22T21:41:00.002+02:00

... is notorious for the number of suicides committed. On a night like tonight, I can understand it and it scares me.

It is advent and we are counting down the days until we celebrate Jesus' birth to this world. I know He came to bring light to the darkness, He came to set the captives free, make the blind see & the lame walk... to declare the acceptable year of the Lord.

And yet, all I see tonight is darkness. I am not talking about the 'christmas spirit'. I feel like I am caught up in an invisible, very dark, spiderweb. The more I try to get out, the more entangled I become.

I am tired. Just too tired to reach out. Tonight, I do not see the light / Light. Yet, there is a spark of hope that this depression will pass (eventually).

God has been faithful and takes care of the big things like keeping the planets in orbit. Why can't I scrape the faith together to believe that He is with me and He cares?

May God have mercy on you and on me tonight.

’n Kruis en ’n bloedrivier (Geneem uit Beeld: 20/12/2009)

2009-12-22T08:21:00.002+02:00

12/20/2009 9:23:00 PMReggie Nel

Versoening is ook konfronterend. Dit konfronteer ons met ons geskiedenis.

Wat maak ons byvoorbeeld met Bloedrivier of met Umkhonto weSizwe? ’n Kritiese uitdaging op die pad van versoening is om telkens weer die geskiedenis in die oë te kyk. Sommige sou wou hê dat ons bloot die geskiedenisboek moet toemaak. Ander leef in die verlede asof dit ’n tronk is waaruit mense nie kan ontsnap nie.

Hoe moet ons nuut met mekaar se geskiedenis omgaan? Een ding moet ons van die begin af erken: ons is geneig om net sekere kosbare gebeure te onthou en oor te vertel, terwyl ons ander vergeet of uitdoof – miskien vanweë pyn of verleentheid of bloot omdat ons kan.

Dit waaroor ons stilbly, is dikwels herinnerings wat nog seermaak. Ek sou wou hoop dat ons saam die geskiedenis in die oë kan kyk, vir genesing of versoening, anders sal dit in die toekoms by ons kom spook.

Dit is immers wat gelowiges doen as ons Kersfees vier. Ons vertel bekende stories oor en oor, ons sing liedjies daaroor, en elke jaar is ander kinders die herders of die wyse manne. Jaarliks ontwikkel ons nuwe insigte en sien nuwe kante van die storie raak. Dié vertellings en nuwe insigte vorm en vestig ons identiteit. Ons kry nuwe hoop.

Hoe kan Bloedrivier en Umkhonto weSizwe ons help? Geskiedkundiges sou ons kon help om te verstaan dat hierdie emosionele simbole geskiedenisse is. En dat die twee groepe se stories nie bloot skadeloos langs mekaar hardloop nie.

Stories word vertel om mekaar soms uit te rangeer of selfs dood te smoor. Maar die verskillende kante van die verhaal sou mekaar ook kon korrigeer, mekaar verryk en nuwe, ruimer insigte blootlê.

Neem die Groot Trek en die Slag van Bloedrivier, wat vele kere vertel word asof dit bloot van een wit groepie se roemryke oorwinnings oor ’n ander is. Maar hierdie migrasie het ook bruin en swart mense ingesluit. En hierdie intrek in die land, vanuit die oogpunt van die inheemse bevolkings, het groot vrees en onsekerheid, maar ook ekonomiese ontworteling teweeggebring. Hul lewenswyse met die grond, met hul families, hul geloof, is gewelddadig ontwrig.

Hierdie patroon is nie uniek nie. Dit het al voorheen in ons geskiedenis gebeur en gebeur vandag nog. Die geskiedenis hiervan is egter gewoonweg vertel, geskryf en gevier, slegs vanuit die hoek van die oënskynlike wenners.

Daar is egter nog ’n element wat bykom: Die aanspraak dat God aan die kant van die oorwinnaars was, dié met die beter wapens, tegnologie of die beste politieke of militêre strategie. God, so word vertel, het hulle uitgekies en belowe dat hy vir hulle die oorwinning sal gee in hul poging om die ander te onderwerp of te “straf”. God seën hulle dus met die oorwinning en daarom ook die reg om hier te wees.

Dit is die grondslag vir die standpunt dat net sekere groepe spesiale Goddelike guns, roeping en bestaansreg het. Hulle sal in beheer bly totdat Jesus kom.

Dit is juis die God wat ook onreg seën en dit moontlik maak dat diep religieuse mense uiteindelik bedrieg, steel en moor. Kyk wat in Duitsland gebeur het, onder die wakende oog van die Duitse kerk met haar veelgeroemde teoloë; in Rwanda, eens die suksesverhaal van sending en herlewing; in Palestina, die “Heilige Land”. Selfs hier onder ons met die vreemdes “uit Afrika”.

Daar is egter ook die perspektief waar al ons stories, met al hul skete, mites en wonderwerke, deel word van ’n groter storie. Dis die storie van God se genadige omgang met sy mense.

Dit is ’n bloedgeskrewe geskiedenis, maar deur Gods unieke ingrype is daar in ’n krippie ’n kindjie wat gebore word, wat alles kom nuut maak deur sy eie bloedrivier wat vloei vanaf ’n verlate kruis.

Dis hier waar ook ons versoening ontvang, ’n nuwe identiteit en roeping – ons eie Versoeningsdag.

Pieces

2009-12-03T19:13:00.003+02:00

Tonight I am aware of my own brokenness. My mind is broken, my body is broken. My spirit is broken.

May God have mercy on me, a sinner. May He become more and I less.

I shudder when I think of the alternative.

Religious (in)tolerance

2009-12-02T16:33:00.002+02:00

I have been spending a lot of time at the hospital recently. In the ICU waiting room (where I spent up to 10 hours on some days), there were Muslims and Hindu's, and we all got along, chatted occasionally and learned about each other's history... customs... and then rushed in to see the patients on cue.

However, my mom has now been transferred to the post-surgical ward. Today I caught myself being really intolerant.

See, the lady opposite my mom got a visitor yesterday. The visitor recognised me from when I was a pastor. She then proceeded to tell the patient and everybody else, whether they wanted to know or not, that I am a pastor. All I really wanted, was to take care of my mom. All her neighbour wanted, was for me to pray for more and more people.

Since yesterday, I was bombarded with stories of 'people falling in the spirit', 'miraculous healing', 'God's providence' and hallelujah's. This morning, I heard a patient complaining about pain for more than 2 hours, and then as soon as 'the Christians' arrived, the same person said 'and I do not even have pain, praise His Name'.

I am a Christian (if I need to put myself in a box), but even in my pentecostal days, I was a little uncomfortable with the way that Christians ploy stories to make God look bigger. Using His Name in every sentence today, simply did not cut it for me. After every story, 'hallelujah' or 'praise His Name', there was an expectant look in my direction as if I was to top their stories, pray louder or fit more 'Amen's' into a single sentence. There were many loud prayers, with long pieces of Scripture and big quotes, there was 'spiritual warfare' and demands to God that He heals perfectly. There were non-Christians in the ward and I felt ashamed. I am not ashamed of Jesus or the gospel, but I was ashamed by the way my brothers and sisters conducted themselves. This is when I got annoyed.

I want to want to love God. I want to honour His Name. I want to bring Him glory... but today I found myself dictatating the way in which I want this to happen. Now I have a dilemma... was I wrong or am I projecting my personality and my disappointments (yes, with God) on my prayers and expectations?

My mom just went through her second gastrictomy and almost died. I have bipolar disorder. I have a friend who lost his job as a pastor when he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. In my experience, God does not always heal (even though our reflex should be to pray). It is also my experience that God does not listen to the best oration. I think (hope?) He looks at our hearts.

Today was not fun and I am not sure that I am right.

What I would like to pray for tomorrow, when I go back and face the same people, is: 'God, have mercy on me. I am a sinner. Please help me to treat your people the way you would... which I suspect is with love and empathy. In Jesus' Name. Amen'

Footprint

2009-12-01T20:42:00.000+02:00

Our footprint is a big issue these days. We talk about our carbon footrpint, which simply means that you will do as much good to earth as you do bad, balancing the scales.

Simba (Lion King) said that you should never take more than you give in this circle of life. It is just not fair.

For the past few days I have been pre-occupied with blood donation and I would like to explain why:

- my mom has used 22 units of blood in the past 2 years;
- I have only donate 57 units so far... and she is catching up faster than I can donate;
- every time she gets a unit of blood, I see all her vitals going in the right direction;
- this happens with each patient receiving blood;
- it is Christmas... we are in 'gift mode'. Giving your blood is the ultimate. It has no monetary cost to you, yet ONLY you can give this gift. Giving yourself... to save a life.

Broken

2009-11-27T19:49:00.000+02:00

Tonight I am just broken. I don't know how to fix me, my heart, my issues... my relationships....

God have mercy on me, a sinner.

Breath, just breathe...

2009-11-22T20:55:00.002+02:00

In our new rhythm, we meet on Wedesdays / Thursdays and have an informal meeting, mainly talking about Jesus, following Him in Johannesburg and being Christians in South Africa. The conversations are always challenging.

This week, we watched Rob Bell/ Nooma's "Breathe". Rob's premis is that we are calling God's name from the the time we are born until we die. See, in Hebrew (transliterated) God's name would be Jod He Waw He... do you hear the breathing? In Greek and Hebrew, the same words are used for breath, spirit and wind. By breathing, you are basically calling on God.

The conversation then centred around what you breathe in, i.e your expectations, your resources... and out... blessings to share? Needs?

Driving home, I realised that I am not breathing. I am holding my breath about so many things at the moment. It feels like I am choking and my chest is burning, all because I do not breathe.

So, in this week, I pray that God will reveal Himself in my life and in all of these seemingly impossible situations. I pray that God will help me to let go and breathe... just breathe.... Jod He Waw He.... in and out.

The miracle of sleep

2009-11-07T10:13:00.002+02:00

Last night I had the first "proper night's sleep" in weeks. It was AWESOME!

Today I am amazed at how God constructed the human body and how we really do need simple things like sleep to recharge and 'feel human'.

I am starting to believe that God really is in the simple things... Elijah's breeze, a simple night's sleep, the smile of a child, the purr of a cat... I think we overly complicate our lives with things we insist we need to do and need to own.

Gandhi summarised his mission in only three words: 'Renounce and enjoy'. Maybe it is time to simplify my life even more and have more time to marvel about the things I usually just take for granted.

What is our daily bread really? What do you really need to live a full life?

Rollercoaster

2009-10-24T15:06:00.002+02:00

The past few weeks have been an emotional rollercoaster.

Our community is adopting new rhythms - we are meeting on Wednesdays / Thursdays now, we are memorising Scripture and have weekly tasks. This new setup is a little unsettling to the introvert in me. The smaller groups and the fact that we all face each other (in a circle) make the whole experience more intimate and personal.

The homework becomes a rhythm during the week... and we have our own social network site. Funky ;-)

Through all of this, I was confronted by my own emotions and thoughts about God as a Father, an Author and a Mother (Psalm 131). It is difficult.

My mom is also back in hospital. Her 'new' stomach closed up and for the past 2 months did not let any food through. In essence, she was starving. She has lost 26 kg in this process. Yesterday the doctors flushed the food that got stuck between her throat and stomach. She still has a draining pipe through her nose to clear the remainder and another pipe in her throat to feed her. On Wednesday, the doctors plan to operate and cut out 'everything that is wrong'. It is obviously an emotional time for her and those who love her.

My dad broke up with his girlfriend, and found a new one...

It is also our financial year end and we are working really hard (being in Treasury).

Sometimes I think I should try to make sense of it all, but mostly, I just know that I am broken. I know I do not understand. I can't explain God or His plans, but I am still looking for Him in all of this.

Wrestling with Our Father

2009-10-11T08:29:00.004+02:00

We are following a new rhythm. Instead of having our community meet on a Sunday, we meet on either a Wednesday or Thursday evening. The big idea behind it? To become Church. To live it. To not only attend and live Christianity through a paid professional. To engage with God and each other on this journey...

As part of the new rhythm, we have also decided to do 'homework', or engage in agreed activities every week. A part of this week's commitment is to do Lectio Divina on the "Our Father" prayer.

When we sang the "Our Father" on Wednesday, I started crying. Even now, I battle to get further than ''Our Father". Somehow, thinking of God as a Father, wanting to watch over me and care for me is just so foreign and inconceivable.

I do not "feel" this love. I battle so see it. Thinking this out loud makes me feel ungrateful.

Thinking of God as a black woman, cooking and talking and laughing, is just so much easier.

Today I wonder if God would mind if I switch these images... if only to get to the next line of the prayer.

What did Jesus do?

2009-10-10T20:52:00.001+02:00

Today I had to smile. A friend commented that Jesus gets accused of doing SOOOO many things thaif she was Him, she would have resigned :-)

God's will?

2009-10-09T08:20:00.003+02:00

My mom's stomach was removed two years ago (gastrictomy) and a new stomach was molded from her duodenum. At the time, she spent more than a month in ICU. It really was nerve wrecking and since I got hardly any sleep, the whole experience was just so much more intense.

About 6 weeks ago, she atarted complaining of terrible pain and that she could not hold her food down. A battery of tests were run and last week, they eventually discovered that her new stomach closed up. The doctor did a few biopsies and we were meant to have the results today.

However, when she called his rooms yesterday, she was told that he went overseas and is only due back on the 19th of October. He will only release the results then. In the meantime, there is nobody in his rooms to interpret and release the results.

My first reaction was that this is sloppy service and simply outrageous. It is a service we are paying for and now do not receive. My gut feel was that we need to get the results, even if I had to get someone else to interpret it (I have two very intelligent friends who are medical sisters and qualified to do so).

My mom's response flabbergasted me. She insisted that it is God's will to wait and then she forbade me to interfere.

I initially was furious, because I honestly could not see how God would want this. When I thought about it longer, I cried. Now, I am back at being irritated with the whole situation.

I do not want you to pick a side. What I would like to do, is ask you to pray with me? Please pray for my heart to change and for me to be able to respect my parents. Please pray with me for my mom and her health? It grabs my heart every time she gets sick.

Today, I need God, if only to make it through this day.

If God is the Author...

2009-10-07T21:49:00.003+02:00

Last night I visited with some dear friends. We were doing Lectio Divina on Hebrews 12:1-15... a worthwhile exercise (if you are not sure what Lectio Divina is, please click here for an explanation).

Whilst there were many ideas popping up, I was confronted by my own... probably less holy... thoughts. See, God as Author of our lives shocked me. In my mind, if God writes my story... why would He include all these twists and turns? I simply do not understand how a loving God, can write stories with pain and heartache and so many tears.

As an author, you get to pick characters and storylines. If the people are real, it becomes more tricky, because how would one then decide which characters are to remain single and which ones get married and have children? How would one decide who gets sick? How would an author determine which characters live in squatter camps and which ones in mansions?

In my mind, none of this is any longer about what God does and what He allows. It is the story He writes. He determines all of this. This makes me feel hopeless today, because I am simply not up to fighting God or His script.

Deep down, I really hope that there is a fundamental error in my argument.

Managing bipolar disorder

2009-10-01T07:50:00.003+02:00

The first time I saw my psychiatrist was two and a half years ago. One of her opening statements was that she is glad I am a manager and was a consultant before, because it implies that I do know the difference in roles. She sees herself as my consultant, but I need to manage my disorder.

That stuck with me.

I am determined to manage bipolar disorder. For the past 5 weeks, I have kept a mood diary. I am measuring my blood pressure twice a day. I am weighing myself... and I am plotting all of this data in a spreadsheet.

The 'dips' and 'peaks' over the past month happened when I did not sleep enough and when I was intensely involved with other people. I can control half of that... I now know how much sleep I need. I know that I need to go to gym 4-6 times a week. I know that I need to avoid caffeiene and alcohol.

In all of this, I am still looking for Jesus. Every now and then, I see Him. In a movie... in the laughter of a child... in a taxi driver allowing me to pass him. He is in unexpected places. I love this journey. I love the people who are on this journey with me.

Preparation

2009-09-25T08:21:00.002+02:00

It is spring in South Africa. With spring, comes the first rains of the season and farmers start preparing the fields. This preparation includes plowing, i.e. breaking the hard layer of soil, turning the soil over, fertilizing.... and then waiting on God to send the rain.

The events of the past few weeks really turned my heart over and over. It is my prayer that God will take my broken heart and the broken hearts of my friends and turn it into something beautiful. With this, I acknowledge God as the Farmer. I acknowledge that without Him, I am just broken earth. Only in Him and through Him, can anything good come of our broken heart(s).

We are not alone in this prayer. On Monday it is Yom Kippur. My prayer, with that of so many others, is that God will forgive me and mine and find our heart(s) useful in the year to come.

Up!

2009-09-24T19:25:00.002+02:00

The past few weeks have really been draining. This morning all I wanted to do was to stay in bed, and I almost did (it is a public holiday in South Africa), but am really glad I didn't.

Instead I went to see the (fairly) new animated movie, "Up". What a delightful movie!

Strange as this might sound... the movie shows new loyalties, as opposed to the traditional model where "married is better than single", "with children are better than without" and biological connections rule.

It reminded me of community and what brings us together. We are very different. In our country, we have eleven official languages. Some are married, some have children, others are single or married, without kids. Some are black, others white, coloured or Indian.... yet Jesus unites us in a new family.

I do not want to spoil the fun. I really think this movie is worthwhile and hope you will enjoy it as much as I did.

Following Jesus in Johannesburg this week

2009-09-19T15:03:00.002+02:00

Following Jesus once was a very different concept. Twenty years ago, it meant something like:

- reading your Bible twice a day & pray

- go to 'church' twice on a Sunday

- go to youth on a Friday

- not swearing

- not smoking

- not drinking

- not to have extra-marital sex

- fasting occasionally

... and maybe one or two other things. It was basic, clear cut and simple.

As I journeyed on, discipleship has become so much more complex. Following Jesus turned me around. People who share no DNA markers with me, are now my relatives. Saying 'sorry for Apartheid' can never be enough. Following Jesus sometimes mean being unpopular. Often it equates to making the difficult decisions... and then keep standing.

It was one of those weeks. I want to want to love Jesus. I want to want to please Him and not people. I want to want to live more like Him and I want to want to keep following Him.

Following implies moving. It implies change. It implies keeping my eyes on Him. Sometimes, just for a moment, I wish I could go back to those early days, but then... I do not want to give up this journey. It is tiring and sometimes really difficult, but at the same time exhilarating.

May God reveal Himself to me and you. May He give us the strength and the courage to keep following Him... just one step at a time.

Life and death

2009-09-09T19:21:00.003+02:00

Tonight I really have mixed emotions. Let's start with the great things... tomorrow my friend Tayla turns four. Over the past year I watched her transformation from toddler to little princess. She is a girly girl who loves pink and bling. I just love her honesty. She really is amazing.

She shares her birthday with one of the bravest women I know, my friend Yvonne.

Yvonne's husband was in the ministry when he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.

Tonight a programme will be broadcasted on RSG (a local radio station) where she will talk about what bipolar disorder did to their marriage. I love Yvonne and Jan. Their journey gives me hope for mine. I love the fact that they allow me just to 'be'.

I love Yvonne's courage and gutzpah. I think many people would run away from a marriage like theirs, but instead she cares and nurtures. She is 'out there' all of the time and rides an emotional rollercoaster as Jan improves and relapses. She honestly battles with God about this (often crazy) journey and is not scared to ask the tough questions.

Then, my friend Anton died today. I have many fond memories of him. Maybe I will blog about him another day. Today he just had a diabetic attack and died.

I thank God for letting my paths cross with all 3 of these precious people. They bring variety and spice to my life.

Bipolar disorder and Jesus

2009-09-05T18:38:00.002+02:00

Two weeks ago, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. My first reaction was that it changes nothing. After considering it for some time, I still do not think anything changed.

The rules are the same - my psychiatrist is a consultant, I am the manager of this disease. I still need proper sleep, healthy food, exercise, minimal caffeiene and alcohol... and my medicine.

The medicine is the real contentious issue, because it has side effects. I still can't picture Jesus as giving or allowing disease. Any disease. I honestly believes that it breaks His heart as it breaks mine.

I know a few other people living with this disease. I hear them ask the questions that I am sometimes too scared to ask, like: "Is this real or is it just in my head? Do I need the meds? Can't I just snap out of it?" However, when I look at their behaviour (and mine) I suspect that the disease is real and must be managed.

Tonight, I thank God for a community who understand this. I am still trying to find Jesus in this chaos that is my life. I sometimes catch a glimpse of Him when I am so creative and when I am weeping, I remember that He also cried.

One day at a time. That is all. Jesus was clear on us being unable to change anything by worrying about it. Just today... His grace is enough for me.

Two hearts live in just one mind

2009-08-26T10:01:00.002+02:00

I have started writing this post about 20 times now and then either found that I could not express myself properly or I just got side tracked, doing a bunch of things at the same time.

I have been seeing a psychiatrist for the past two and a half years now. I have been on various anti-depressants, etc. for the same period of time. I thank God for my psychiatrist. Seriously. Without help, I would probably have committed suicide somewhere along the line.

See, sometimes I loose hope. I battle to sleep. I can't concentrate. I am forgetful. I have moodswings. When I am in that dark place, I find it so hard to believe that there is a God and He has good intentions, let alone love. I never was a social butterfly and am an introvert, but when I am in this dark place, it is simply too strenuous to even try to talk to people. Getting up in the morning, taking a bath, brushing my teeth... everything becomes a mission.

And then there is the other side where I can do anything! I become invincible. I can do a load of things at the same time. I am super creative. I laugh and joke. My brain buzzes with new ideas all the time. Sleep is not important. Exercise is easy. Again... thank God for my psychiatrist.

Sometimes it is like having two hearts crammed into my mind. This is a crazy way to live and I often wish that I could just snap out of it or God would take it away. That has not happened yet.

The plan? Sleep enough. Eat healthy. Exercise. Leave caffeine and alcohol alone. Take the meds. Pray. Pray that God will find me in this disorganised mind, beacuse somewhere, inside all of this, I'm still here and I need God more than ever.

At the moment I am in what 'they' call a mixed episode. When I get up in the morning, I am invincible, but the slightest thing swings my mood right around. A little crazy, I know...

St Patrick's confession - the man behind the myth

2009-08-14T15:30:00.002+02:00

I, Patrick, a sinner, a most simple countryman, the least of all the faithful and most contemptible to many, had for father the deacon Calpurnius, son of the late Potitus, a presbyter, of the settlement of Bannaven Taburniae; he had a small villa nearby where I was taken captive. I was at that time about sixteen years of age. I did not, indeed, know the true God; and I was taken into captivity in Ireland with many thousands of people, according to our deserts, for quite drawn away from God, we did not keep his precepts, nor were we obedient to our presbyters who used to remind us of our salvation. And the Lord brought down on us the fury of his being and scattered us among many nations, even to the ends of the earth, where I, in my smallness, am now to be found among foreigners.

And there the Lord opened my mind to an awareness of my unbelief, in order that, even so late, I might remember my transgressions and turn with all my heart to the Lord my God, who had regard for my insignificance and pitied my youth and ignorance. And he watched over me before I knew him, and before I learned sense or even distinguished between good and evil, and he protected me, and consoled me as a father would his son.

Therefore, indeed, I cannot keep silent, nor would it be proper, so many favours and graces has the Lord deigned to bestow on me in the land of my captivity. For after chastisement from God, and recognizing him, our way to repay him is to exalt him and confess his wonders before every nation under heaven:

For there is no other God, nor ever was before, nor shall be hereafter, but God the Father, unbegotten and without beginning, in whom all things began, whose are all things, as we have been taught; and his son Jesus Christ, who manifestly always existed with the Father, before the beginning of time in the spirit with the Father, indescribably begotten before all things, and all things visible and invisible were made by him. He was made man, conquered death and was received into Heaven, to the Father who gave him all power over every name in Heaven and on Earth and in Hell, so that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord and God, in whom we believe. And we look to his imminent coming again, the judge of the living and the dead, who will render to each according to his deeds. And he poured out his Holy Spirit on us in abundance, the gift and pledge of immortality, which makes the believers and the obedient into sons of God and co-heirs of Christ who is revealed, and we worship one God in the Trinity of holy name.

He himself said through the prophet: "Call upon me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you, and you shall glorify me [Psalm 50:15]." And again: "It is right to reveal and publish abroad the works of God."

I am imperfect in many things, nevertheless I want my brethren and kinsfolk to know my nature so that they may be able to perceive my soul's desire.

I am not ignorant of what is said of my Lord in the Psalm: "You destroy those who speak a lie [Psalm 5:6]." And again: "A lying mouth deals death to the soul." And likewise the Lord says in the Gospel: "On the day of judgment men shall render account for every idle word they utter [Matthew 12:36]."

So it is that I should mightily fear, with terror and trembling, this judgment on the day when no one shall be able to steal away or hide, but each and all shall render account for even our smallest sins before the judgment seat of Christ the Lord.

And therefore for some time I have thought of writing, but I have hesitated until now, for truly, I feared to expose myself to the criticism of men, because I have not studied like others, who have assimilated both Law and the Holy Scriptures equally and have never changed their idiom since their infancy, but instead were always learning it increasingly, to perfection, while my idiom and language have been translated into a foreign tongue. So it is easy to prove from a sample of my writing, my ability in rhetoric and the extent of my preparation and knowledge, for as it is said, "wisdom shall be recognized in speech, and in understanding, and in knowledge and in the learning of truth."

But why make excuses close to the truth, especially when now I am presuming to try to grasp in my old age what I did not gain in my youth because my sins prevented me from making what I had read my own? But who will believe me, even though I should say it again? A young man, almost a beardless boy, I was taken captive before I knew what I should desire and what I should shun. So, consequently, today I feel ashamed and I am mightily afraid to expose my ignorance, because, [I am not] eloquent, with a small vocabulary, I am unable to explain as the spirit is eager to do and as the soul and the mind indicate.

But had it been given to me as to others, in gratitude I should not have kept silent, and if it should appear that I put myself before others, with my ignorance and my slower speech, in truth, it is written: "The tongue of the stammerers shall speak rapidly and distinctly [Isaiah 32:4]." How much harder must we try to attain it, we of whom it is said: "You are an epistle of Christ in greeting to the ends of the earth... written on your hearts, not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God [2 Corinthians 3:3]." And again, the Spirit witnessed that the rustic life was created by the Most High.

I am, then, first of all, countrified, an exile, evidently unlearned, one who is not able to see into the future, but I know for certain, that before I was humbled I was like a stone lying in deep mire, and he that is mighty came and in his mercy raised me up and, indeed, lifted me high up and placed me on top of the wall. And from there I ought to shout out in gratitude to the Lord for his great favours in this world and for ever, that the mind of man cannot measure.

Therefore be amazed, you great and small who fear God, and you men of God, eloquent speakers, listen and contemplate. Who was it summoned me, a fool, from the midst of those who appear wise and learned in the law and powerful in rhetoric and in all things? Me, truly wretched in this world, he inspired before others that I could be-- if I would-- such a one who, with fear and reverence, and faithfully, without complaint, would come to the people to whom the love of Christ brought me and gave me in my lifetime, if I should be worthy, to serve them truly and with humility.

According, therefore, to the measure of one's faith in the Trinity, one should proceed without holding back from danger to make known the gift of God and everlasting consolation, to spread God's name everywhere with confidence and without fear, in order to leave behind, after my death, foundations for my brethren and sons whom I baptized in the Lord in so many thousands.

And I was not worthy, nor was I such that the Lord should grant his humble servant this, that after hardships and such great trials, after captivity, after many years, he should give me so much favour with these people, a thing which in the time of my youth I neither hoped for nor imagined.

But after I reached Hibernia I used to pasture the flock each day and I used to pray many times a day. More and more did the love of God, and my fear of him and faith increase, and my spirit was moved so that in a day [I said] from one up to a hundred prayers, and in the night a like number; besides I used to stay out in the forests and on the mountain and I would wake up before daylight to pray in the snow, in icy coldness, in rain, and I used to feel neither ill nor any slothfulness, because, as I now see, the Spirit was burning in me at that time.

And it was there of course that one night in my sleep I heard a voice saying to me: "You do well to fast: soon you will depart for your home country." And again, a very short time later, there was a voice prophesying: "Behold, your ship is ready." And it was not close by, but, as it happened, two hundred miles away, where I had never been nor knew any person. And shortly thereafter I turned about and fled from the man with whom I had been for six years, and I came, by the power of God who directed my route to advantage (and I was afraid of nothing), until I reached that ship.

And on the same day that I arrived, the ship was setting out from the place, and I said that I had not the wherewithal to sail with them; and the steersman was displeased and replied in anger, sharply: "By no means attempt to go with us." Hearing this I left them to go to the hut where I was staying, and on the way I began to pray, and before the prayer was finished I heard one of them shouting loudly after me: "Come quickly because the men are calling you." And immediately I went back to them and they started to say to me: "Come, because we are admitting you out of good faith; make friendship with us in any way you wish." (And so, on that day, I refused to suck the breasts of these men from fear of God, but nevertheless I had hopes that they would come to faith in Jesus Christ, because they were barbarians.) And for this I continued with them, and forthwith we put to sea.

And after three days we reached land, and for twenty-eight days journeyed through uninhabited country, and the food ran out and hunger overtook them; and one day the steersman began saying: "Why is it, Christian? You say your God is great and all-powerful; then why can you not pray for us? For we may perish of hunger; it is unlikely indeed that we shall ever see another human being." In fact, I said to them, confidently: "Be converted by faith with all your heart to my Lord God, because nothing is impossible for him, so that today he will send food for you on your road, until you be sated, because everywhere he abounds." And with God's help this came to pass; and behold, a herd of swine appeared on the road before our eyes, and they slew many of them, and remained there for two nights, and they were full of their meat and well restored, for many of them had fainted and would otherwise have been left half dead by the wayside. And after this they gave the utmost thanks to God, and I was esteemed in their eyes, and from that day they had food abundantly. They discovered wild honey, besides, and they offered a share to me, and one of them said: "It is a sacrifice." Thanks be to God, I tasted none of it.

The very same night while I was sleeping Satan attacked me violently, as I will remember as long as I shall be in this body; and there fell on top of me as it were, a huge rock, and not one of my members had any force. But from whence did it come to me, ignorant in the spirit, to call upon Elijah? And meanwhile I saw the sun rising in the sky, and while I was crying out "Elijah, Elijah" with all my might, lo, the brilliance of that sun fell upon me and immediately shook me free of all the weight; and I believe that I was aided by Christ my Lord, and that his Spirit then was crying out for me, and I hope that it will be so in the day of my affliction, just as it says in the Gospel: "In that hour", the Lord declares, "it is not you who speaks but the Spirit of your Father speaking in you [Matthew 10:20]."

And a second time, after many years, I was taken captive. On the first night I accordingly remained with my captors, but I heard a divine prophecy, saying to me: "You shall be with them for two months." So it happened. On the sixtieth night the Lord delivered me from their hands.

On the journey he provided us with food and fire and dry weather every day, until on the tenth day we came upon people. As I mentioned above, we had journeyed through an unpopulated country for twenty-eight days, and in fact the night that we came upon people we had no food.

And after a few years I was again in Britain with my parents, and they welcomed me as a son, and asked me, in faith, that after the great tribulations I had endured I should not go any where else away from them. And, of course, there, in a vision of the night, I saw a man whose name was Victoricus coming as if from Hibernia with innumerable letters, and he gave me one of them, and I read the beginning of the letter: "The Voice of the Hibernians", and as I was reading the beginning of the letter I seemed at that moment to hear the voice of those who were beside the forest of Foclut which is near the western sea, and they were crying as if with one voice: "We beg you, holy youth, that you shall come and shall walk again among us." And I was stung intensely in my heart so that I could read no more, and thus I awoke. Thanks be to God, because after so many years the Lord bestowed on them according to their cry.

And another night-- God knows, I do not, whether within me or beside me-- most words which I heard and could not understand, except at the end of the speech it was represented thus: "He who gave his life for you, he it is who speaks within you." And thus I awoke, joyful.

And on a second occasion I saw Him praying within me, and I was as it were, inside my own body , and I heard Him above me-- that is, above my inner self. He was praying powerfully with sighs. And in the course of this I was astonished and wondering, and I pondered who it could be who was praying within me. But at the end of the prayer it was revealed to me that it was the Spirit. And so I awoke and remembered the Apostle's words: "Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we know not how to pray as we ought. But the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with sighs too deep for utterance [Romans 8:26]." And again: "The Lord our advocate intercedes for us [Romans 8:27]."

And then I was attacked by a goodly number of my elders, who [mentioned] my sins against my arduous episcopate. That day in particular I was mightily upset, and might have fallen here and for ever; but the Lord generously spared me, a convert, and an alien, for his name's sake, and he came powerfully to my assistance in that state of being trampled down. I pray God that it shall not be held against them as a sin that I fell truly into disgrace and scandal.

They brought up against me after thirty years an occurrence I had confessed before becoming a deacon. On account of the anxiety in my sorrowful mind, I laid before my close friend what I had perpetrated on a day-- nay, rather in one hour-- in my boyhood because I was not yet proof against sin. God knows-- I do not-- whether I was fifteen years old at the time, and I did not then believe in the living God, nor had I believed, since my infancy; but I remained in death and unbelief until I was severely rebuked, and in truth I was humbled every day by hunger and nakedness.

On the other hand, I did not proceed to Hibernia of my own accord until I was almost giving up, but through this I was corrected by the Lord, and he prepared me so that today I should be what was once far from me, in order that I should have the care of-- or rather, I should be concerned for-- the salvation of others, when at that time, still, I was only concerned for myself.

Therefore, on that day when I was rebuked, as I have just mentioned, I saw in a vision of the night a document before my face, without honour, and meanwhile I heard a divine prophecy, saying to me: "We have seen with displeasure the face of the chosen one divested of name." And he did not say "You have seen with displeasure", but "We have seen with displeasure" (as if He included Himself) . He said then: "He who touches you, touches the apple of my eye."

For that reason, I give thanks to him who strengthened me in all things, so that I should not be hindered in my setting out and also in my work which I was taught by Christ my Lord; but more, from that state of affairs I felt, within me, no little courage, and vindicated my faith before God and man.

Hence, therefore, I say boldly that my conscience is clear now and hereafter. God is my witness that I have not lied in these words to you.

But rather, I am grieved for my very close friend, that because of him we deserved to hear such a prophecy. The one to whom I entrusted my soul! And I found out from a goodly number of brethren, before the case was made in my defense (in which I did not take part, nor was I in Britain, nor was it pleaded by me), that in my absence he would fight in my behalf. Besides, he told me himself: "See, the rank of bishop goes to you"-- of which I was not worthy. But how did it come to him, shortly afterwards, to disgrace me publicly, in the presence of all, good and bad, because previously, gladly and of his own free will, he pardoned me, as did the Lord, who is greater than all?

I have said enough. But all the same, I ought not to conceal God's gift which he lavished on us in the land of my captivity, for then I sought him resolutely, and I found him there, and he preserved me from all evils (as I believe) through the in-dwelling of his Spirit, which works in me to this day. Again, boldly, but God knows, if this had been made known to me by man, I might, perhaps, have kept silent for the love of Christ.

Thus I give untiring thanks to God who kept me faithful in the day of my temptation, so that today I may confidently offer my soul as a living sacrifice for Christ my Lord; who am I, Lord? or, rather, what is my calling? that you appeared to me in so great a divine quality, so that today among the barbarians I might constantly exalt and magnify your name in whatever place I should be, and not only in good fortune, but even in affliction? So that whatever befalls me, be it good or bad, I should accept it equally, and give thanks always to God who revealed to me that I might trust in him, implicitly and forever, and who will encourage me so that, ignorant, and in the last days, I may dare to undertake so devout and so wonderful a work; so that I might imitate one of those whom, once, long ago, the Lord already pre-ordained to be heralds of his Gospel to witness to all peoples to the ends of the earth. So are we seeing, and so it is fulfilled; behold, we are witnesses because the Gospel has been preached as far as the places beyond which no man lives.

But it is tedious to describe in detail all my labours one by one. I will tell briefly how our most holy God frequently delivered me, from slavery, and from the twelve trials with which my soul was threatened, from man traps as well, and from things I am not able to put into words. I would not cause offense to readers, but I have God as witness who knew all things even before they happened, that, though I was a poor ignorant waif, still he gave me abundant warnings through divine prophecy.

Whence came to me this wisdom which was not my own, I who neither knew the number of days nor had knowledge of God? Whence came the so great and so healthful gift of knowing or rather loving God, though I should lose homeland and family.

And many gifts were offered to me with weeping and tears, and I offended them, and also went against the wishes of a good number of my elders; but guided by God, I neither agreed with them nor deferred to them, not by my own grace but by God who is victorious in me and withstands them all, so that I might come to the Irish people to preach the Gospel and endure insults from unbelievers; that I might hear scandal of my travels, and endure many persecutions to the extent of prison; and so that I might give up my free birthright for the advantage of others, and if I should be worthy, I am ready [to relinquish] even my life without hesitation; and most willingly for His name. And I choose to devote it to him even unto death, if God grant it to me.

I am greatly God's debtor, because he granted me so much grace, that through me many people would be reborn in God, and soon after confirmed, and that clergy would be ordained everywhere for them, the masses lately come to belief, whom the Lord drew from the ends of the earth, just as he once promised through his prophets: "To you shall the nations come from the ends of the earth, and shall say, Our fathers have inherited naught but lies, worthless things in which there is no profit [Jeremiah 16:19]." And again: "I have set you to be a light for the Gentiles that you may bring salvation to the uttermost ends of the earth [Acts 13:47]."And I wish to wait then for his promise which is never unfulfilled, just as it is promised in the Gospel: "Many shall come from east and west and shall sit at table with Abraham and Isaac and Jacob [Matthew 8:11]." Just as we believe that believers will come from all the world.

So for that reason one should, in fact, fish well and diligently, just as the Lord foretells and teaches, saying, "Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men [Matthew 4:19]," and again through the prophets: "Behold, I am sending forth many fishers and hunters, says the Lord [Jeremiah 16:16]," et cetera. So it behooved us to spread our nets, that a vast multitude and throng might be caught for God, and so there might be clergy everywhere who baptized and exhorted a needy and desirous people. Just as the Lord says in the Gospel, admonishing and instructing: "Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always to the end of time [Matthew 28:19]." And again he says: "Go forth into the world and preach the Gospel to all creation. He who believes and is baptized shall be saved; but he who does not believe shall be condemned [Mark 16:15]." And again: "This Gospel of the Kingdom shall be preached throughout the whole world as a witness to all nations; and then the end of the world shall come [Matthew 24:14]." And likewise the Lord foretells through the prophet: "And it shall come to pass in the last days (sayeth the Lord) that I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions and your old men shall dream dreams; yea, and on my menservants and my maidservants in those days I will pour out my Spirit and they shall prophesy [Joel 2:28]." And in Hosea he says: "Those who are not my people I will call my people, and those not beloved I will call my beloved, and in the very place where it was said to them, You are not my people, they will be called Sons of the living God [Hosea 1:10]."

So, how is it that in Hibernia, where they never had any knowledge of God but, always, until now, cherished idols and unclean things, they are lately become a people of the Lord, and are called children of God; the sons of the Irish and the daughters of the chieftains are to be seen as monks and virgins of Christ.And there was, besides, a most beautiful, blessed, native-born noble Irish woman of adult age whom I baptized; and a few days later she had reason to come to us to intimate that she had received a prophecy from a divine messenger [who] advised her that she should become a virgin of Christ and she would draw nearer to God. Thanks be to God, six days from then, opportunely and most eagerly, she took the course that all virgins of God take, not with their fathers' consent but enduring the persecutions and deceitful hindrances of their parents. Notwithstanding that, their number increases, (we do not know the number of them that are so reborn) besides the widows, and those who practice self-denial. Those who are kept in slavery suffer the most. They endure terrors and constant threats, but the Lord has given grace to many of his handmaidens, for even though they are forbidden to do so, still they resolutely follow his example.

So it is that even if I should wish to separate from them in order to go to Britain, and most willingly was I prepared to go to my homeland and kinsfolk-- and not only there, but as far as Gaul to visit the brethren there, so that I might see the faces of the holy ones of my Lord, God knows how strongly I desired this-- I am bound by the Spirit, who witnessed to me that if I did so he would mark me out as guilty, and I fear to waste the labour that I began, and not I, but Christ the Lord, who commanded me to come to be with them for the rest of my life, if the Lord shall will it and shield me from every evil, so that I may not sin before him.

So I hope that I did as I ought, but I do not trust myself as long as I am in this mortal body, for he is strong who strives daily to turn me away from the faith and true holiness to which I aspire until the end of my life for Christ my Lord, but the hostile flesh is always dragging one down to death, that is, to unlawful attractions. And I know in part why I did not lead a perfect life like other believers, but I confess to my Lord and do not blush in his sight, because I am not lying; from the time when I came to know him in my youth, the love of God and fear of him increased in me, and right up until now, by God's favour, I have kept the faith.What is more, let anyone laugh and taunt if he so wishes. I am not keeping silent, nor am I hiding the signs and wonders that were shown to me by the Lord many years before they happened, who knew everything, even before the beginning of time.

Thus, I should give thanks unceasingly to God, who frequently forgave my folly and my negligence, in more than one instance so as not to be violently angry with me, who am placed as his helper, and I did not easily assent to what had been revealed to me, as the Spirit was urging; and the Lord took pity on me thousands upon thousands of times, because he saw within me that I was prepared, but that I was ignorant of what to do in view of my situation; because many were trying to prevent this mission. They were talking among themselves behind my back, and saying: "Why is this fellow throwing himself into danger among enemies who know not God?" Not from malice, but having no liking for it; likewise, as I myself can testify, they perceived my rusticity. And I was not quick to recognize the grace that was then in me; I now know that I should have done so earlier.Now I have put it frankly to my brethren and co-workers, who have believed me because of what I have foretold and still foretell to strengthen and reinforce your faith. I wish only that you, too, would make greater and better efforts. This will be my pride, for "a wise son makes a proud father [Proverbs 10:1; 15:20]."

You know, as God does, how I went about among you from my youth in the faith of truth and in sincerity of heart. As well as to the heathen among whom I live, I have shown them trust and always show them trust. God knows I did not cheat any one of them, nor consider it, for the sake of God and his Church, lest I arouse them and [cause] persecution for them and for all of us, and lest the Lord's name be blasphemed because of me, for it is written: "Woe to the men through whom the name of the Lord is blasphemed."For even though I am ignorant in all things, nevertheless I attempted to safeguard some and myself also. And I gave back again to my Christian brethren and the virgins of Christ and the holy women the small unasked for gifts that they used to give me or some of their ornaments which they used to throw on the altar. And they would be offended with me because I did this. But in the hope of eternity, I safeguarded myself carefully in all things, so that they might not cheat me of my office of service on any pretext of dishonesty, and so that I should not in the smallest way provide any occasion for defamation or disparagement on the part of unbelievers.What is more, when I baptized so many thousands of people, did I hope for even half a jot from any of them? Tell me, and I will give it back to you. And when the Lord ordained clergy everywhere by my humble means, and I freely conferred office on them, if I asked any of them anywhere even for the price of one shoe, say so to my face and I will give it back.More, I spent for you so that they would receive me. And I went about among you, and everywhere for your sake, in danger, and as far as the outermost regions beyond which no one lived, and where no one had ever penetrated before, to baptize or to ordain clergy or to confirm people. Conscientiously and gladly I did all this work by God's gift for your salvation.

From time to time I gave rewards to the kings, as well as making payments to their sons who travel with me; notwithstanding which, they seized me with my companions, and that day most avidly desired to kill me. But my time had not yet come. They plundered everything they found on us anyway, and fettered me in irons; and on the fourteenth day the Lord freed me from their power, and whatever they had of ours was given back to us for the sake of God on account of the indispensable friends whom we had made before.Also you know from experience how much I was paying to those who were administering justice in all the regions, which I visited often. I estimate truly that I distributed to them not less than the price of fifteen men, in order that you should enjoy my company and I enjoy yours, always, in God. I do not regret this nor do I regard it as enough. I am paying out still and I shall pay out more. The Lord has the power to grant me that I may soon spend my own self, for your souls.Behold, I call on God as my witness upon my soul that I am not lying; nor would I write to you for it to be an occasion for flattery or selfishness, nor hoping for honour from any one of you. Sufficient is the honour which is not yet seen, but in which the heart has confidence. He who made the promise is faithful; he never lies.But I see that even here and now, I have been exalted beyond measure by the Lord, and I was not worthy that he should grant me this, while I know most certainly that poverty and failure suit me better than wealth and delight (but Christ the Lord was poor for our sakes; I certainly am wretched and unfortunate; even if I wanted wealth I have no resources, nor is it my own estimation of myself, for daily I expect to be murdered or betrayed or reduced to slavery if the occasion arises. But I fear nothing, because of the promises of Heaven; for I have cast myself into the hands of Almighty God, who reigns everywhere. As the prophet says: "Cast your burden on the Lord and he will sustain you [Psalm 55:22]."Behold now I commend my soul to God who is most faithful and for whom I perform my mission in obscurity, but he is no respecter of persons and he chose me for this service that I might be one of the least of his ministers.

For which reason I should make return for all that he returns me. But what should I say, or what should I promise to my Lord, for I, alone, can do nothing unless he himself vouchsafe it to me. But let him search my heart and nature, for I crave enough for it, even too much, and I am ready for him to grant me that I drink of his chalice, as he has granted to others who love him.

Therefore may it never befall me to be separated by my God from his people whom he has won in this most remote land. I pray God that he gives me perseverance, and that he will deign that I should be a faithful witness for his sake right up to the time of my passing.

And if at any time I managed anything of good for the sake of my God whom I love, I beg of him that he grant it to me to shed my blood for his name with proselytes and captives, even should I be left unburied, or even were my wretched body to be torn limb from limb by dogs or savage beasts, or were it to be devoured by the birds of the air, I think, most surely, were this to have happened to me, I had saved both my soul and my body. For beyond any doubt on that day we shall rise again in the brightness of the sun, that is, in the glory of Christ Jesus our Redeemer, as children of the living God and co-heirs of Christ, made in his image; for we shall reign through him and for him and in him.

For the sun we see rises each day for us at [his] command, but it will never reign, neither will its splendor last, but all who worship it will come wretchedly to punishment. We, on the other hand, shall not die, who believe in and worship the true sun, Christ, who will never die, no more shall he die who has done Christ's will, but will abide for ever just as Christ abides for ever, who reigns with God the Father Almighty and with the Holy Spirit before the beginning of time and now and for ever and ever. Amen.

Behold over and over again I would briefly set out the words of my confession. I testify in truthfulness and gladness of heart before God and his holy angels that I never had any reason, except the Gospel and his promises, ever to have returned to that nation from which I had previously escaped with difficulty.

But I entreat those who believe in and fear God, whoever deigns to examine or receive this document composed by the obviously unlearned sinner Patrick in Hibernia, that nobody shall ever ascribe to my ignorance any trivial thing that I achieved or may have expounded that was pleasing to God, but accept and truly believe that it would have been the gift of God.

And this is my confession before I die.

St Patrick's letter to Coroticus

2009-08-14T15:28:00.000+02:00

Letter To Coroticus

I, Patrick, a sinner, unlearned, resident in Ireland, declare myself to be a bishop. Most assuredly I believe that what I am I have received from God. And so I live among barbarians, a stranger and exile for the love of God. He is witness that this is so. Not that I wished my mouth to utter anything so hard and harsh; but I am forced by the zeal for God; and the truth of Christ has wrung it from me, out of love for my neighbors and sons for whom I gave up my country and parents and my life to the point of death. If I be worthy, I live for my God to teach the heathen, even though some may despise me.

With my own hand I have written and composed these words, to be given, delivered, and sent to the soldiers of Coroticus; I do not say, to my fellow citizens, or to fellow citizens of the holy Romans, but to fellow citizens of the demons, because of their evil works. Like our enemies, they live in death, allies of the Scots and the apostate Picts. Dripping with blood, they welter in the blood of innocent Christians, whom I have begotten into the number for God and confirmed in Christ!

The day after the newly baptized, anointed with chrism, in white garments (had been slain) — the fragrance was still on their foreheads when they were butchered and slaughtered with the sword by the above-mentioned people — I sent a letter with a holy presbyter whom I had taught from his childhood, clerics accompanying him, asking them to let us have some of the booty, and of the baptized they had made captives. They only jeered at them . Hence I do not know what to lament more: those who have been slain, or those whom they have taken captive, or those whom the devil has mightily ensnared. Together with him they will be slaves in Hell in an eternal punishment; for who commits sin is a slave and will be called a son of the devil.

Wherefore let every God-fearing man know that they are enemies of me and of Christ my God, for whom I am an ambassador. Parricide! fratricide! ravening wolves that "eat the people of the Lord as they eat bread!" As is said, "the wicked, O Lord, have destroyed Thy law," which but recently He had excellently and kindly planted in Ireland, and which had established itself by the grace of God.

I make no false claim. I share in the work of those whom He called and predestinated to preach the Gospel amidst grave persecutions unto the end of the earth, even if the enemy shows his jealousy through the tyranny of Coroticus, a man who has no respect for God nor for His priests whom He chose, giving them the highest, divine, and sublime power, that whom "they should bind upon earth should be bound also in Heaven."

Wherefore, then, I plead with you earnestly, ye holy and humble of heart, it is not permissible to court the favor of such people, nor to take food or drink with them, nor even to accept their alms, until they make reparation to God in hardships, through penance, with shedding of tears, and set free the baptized servants of God and handmaids of Christ, for whom He died and was crucified.

"The Most High disapproves the gifts of the wicked ...He that offers sacrifice of the goods of the poor, is as one that sacrifices the son in the presence of his lather. The riches, it is written, which he has gathered unjustly, shall be vomited up from his belly; the angel of death drags him away, by the fury of dragons he shall be tormented, the viper's tongue shall kill him, unquenchable fire devours him." And so — "woe to those who fill themselves with what is not their own;" or, "What does it profit a man that he gains the whole world, and suffers the loss of his own soul?

It would be too tedious to discuss and set forth everything in detail, to gather from the whole Law testimonies against such greed. Avarice is a deadly sin. "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's s goods." "Thou shalt not kill." A murderer cannot be with Christ. "Whosoever hates his brother is accounted a murderer." Or, "he that loves not his brother abides in death." How much more guilty is he that has stained his hands with blood of the sons of God whom He has of late purchased in the utmost part of the earth through the call of our littleness!

Did I come to Ireland without God, or according to the flesh? Who compelled me? I am bound by the Spirit not to see any of my kinsfolk. Is it of my own doing that I have holy mercy on the people who once took me captive and made away with the servants and maids of my father's house? I was freeborn according to the flesh. I am the son of a decurion. But I sold my noble rank I am neither ashamed nor sorry for the good of others. Thus I am a servant in Christ to a foreign nation for the unspeakable glory of life everlasting which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

And if my own people do not know me, a prophet has no honor in his own country .Perhaps we are not of the same fold and have not one and the same God as father, as is written: "He that is not with me, is against me, and he that gathers not with me, scatters." It is not right that one destroys, another builds up. I seek not the things that are mine.

It is not my grace, but God who has given this solicitude into my heart, to be one of His hunters or fishers whom God once foretold would come in the last days.

I am hated. What shall I do, Lord? I am most despised. Look, Thy sheep around me are tom to pieces and driven away, and that by those robbers, by the orders of the hostile-minded Coroticus. Far from the love of God is a man who hands over Christians to the Picts and Scots. Ravening wolves have devoured the flock of the Lord, which in Ireland was indeed growing splendidly with the greatest care; and the sons and daughters of kings were monks and virgins of Christ — I cannot count their number. Wherefore, be not pleased with the wrong done to the just; even to hell it shall not please. Who of the saints would not shudder to be merry with such persons or to enjoy a meal with them? They have filled their houses with the spoils of dead Christians, they live on plunder. They do not know, the wretches, that what they offer their friends and sons as food is deadly poison, just as Eve did not understand that it was death she gave to her husband. So are all that do evil: they work death as their eternal punishment.

This is the custom of the Roman Christians of Gaul: they send holy and able men to the Franks and other heathen with so many thousand solidi to ransom baptized captives. You prefer to kill and sell them to a foreign nation that has no knowledge of God. You betray the members of Christ as it were into a brothel. What hope have you in God, or anyone who thinks as you do, or converses with you in words of flattery? God will judge. For Scripture says: "Not only them that do evil are worthy to be condemned, but they also that consent to them."

I do not know why I should say or speak further about the departed ones of the sons of God, whom the sword has touched all too harshly. For Scripture says: "Weep with them that weep;" and again: "If one member be grieved, let all members grieve with it." Hence the Church mourns and laments her sons and daughters whom the sword has not yet slain, but who were removed and carried off to faraway lands, where sin abounds openly, grossly, impudently. There people who were freeborn have, been sold, Christians made slaves, and that, too, in the service of the abominable, wicked, and apostate Picts!

Therefore I shall raise my voice in sadness and grief — O you fair and beloved brethren and sons whom I have begotten in Christ, countless of number, what can I do you for? I am not worthy to come to the help of God or men. The wickedness of the wicked hath prevailed over us. We have been made, as it were, strangers. Perhaps they do not believe that we have received one and the same baptism, or have one and the same God as Father. For them it is a disgrace that we are Irish. Have ye not, as is written, one God? Have ye, every one of you, forsaken his neighbor?

Therefore I grieve for you, I grieve, my dearly beloved. But again, I rejoice within myself. I have not labored for nothing, and my journeying abroad has not been in vain. And if this horrible, unspeakable crime did happen — thanks be to God, you have left the world and have gone to Paradise as baptized faithful. I see you: you have begun to journey where night shall be no more, nor mourning, nor death; but you shall leap like calves loosened from their bonds, and you shall tread down the wicked, and they shall be ashes under your feet.

You then, will reign with the apostles, and prophets, and martyrs. You will take possession of an eternal kingdom, as He Himself testifies, saying: "They shall come from the east and from the west, and shall sit down with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven." "Without are dogs, and sorcerers,... and murderers; and liars and perjurers have their portion in the pool of everlasting fire." Not without reason does the Apostle say: "Where the just man shall scarcely be saved, where shall the sinner and ungodly transgressor of the law find himself?"

Where, then, will Coroticus with his criminals, rebels against Christ, where will they see themselves, they who distribute baptized women as prizes — for a miserable temporal kingdom, which will pass away in a moment? As a cloud or smoke that is dispersed by the wind, so shall the deceitful wicked perish at the presence of the Lord; but the just shall feast with great constancy with Christ, they shall judge nations, and rule over wicked kings for ever and ever. Amen.

I testify before God and His angels that it will be so as He indicated to my ignorance. It is not my words that I have set forth in Latin, but those of God and the apostles and prophets, who have never lied. "He that believes shall be saved; but he that believes not shall be condemned," God hath spoken.

I ask earnestly that whoever is a willing servant of God be a carrier of this letter, so that on no account it be suppressed or hidden by anyone, but rather be read before all the people, and in the presence of Coroticus himself. May God inspire them sometime to recover their senses for God, repenting, however late, their heinous deeds — murderers of the brethren of the Lord! — and to set free the baptized women whom they took captive, in order that they may deserve to live to God, and be made whole, here and in eternity!

Be peace to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit.

Amen.

To fall asleep...

2009-08-14T08:56:00.002+02:00

Falling asleep is sweet and peaceful. The noises around you become muffled and eventually disappear. Al that remains is blissful rest.

One of my darkest thoughts (dreams?) is to just fall asleep and never have to wake up again.

Lord, I am tired.
My heart is broken.
My body is broken.
My mind is broken.

I long for you and your rest. Will you comfort me?
I am broken and do not even know where all the pieces are, will you mend me?
Will you give me the guts to live through this day?

In Jesus' Name,
Amen

Broken

2009-08-13T09:32:00.003+02:00

Lord, I am broken.
My body is broken.
My Spirit is broken.

Lord, if you do not intervene,
I do not know if I will see the end of the day.

Let your Light shine on me?
Let your Love break through this darkness and comfort me?
In Jesus' Name.

My people blanket

2009-08-12T15:50:00.002+02:00

It is winter in South Africa and it might therefore be easier for me to imagine... the people around me form a patchwork-blanket. In this blanket each person retains his or her individuality and bring more colour and texture to the party.

This blanket is my comfort. It protects me from the cold of the world and my missing marbles.

When someone departs, it leaves a gaping hole and I feel exposed. When, on top of that two of the other pieces are battling with serious disease, my world feels a little shaky.

A dear friend who suffers from bipolar disorder, started ECT this morning. I went from being supportive when I spoke to his wife, to really shaken in just a few minutes. I am sad for them. Closer to home is the fact that I am able to hope that I can manage depression by looking at their journey.

The side effects that moved him to this radical decision are the same ones I experience. It freaks me out. On a more personal note, I battle to understand how a loving God allows a disease like bipolar disorder or depression, knowing what it does to us...people who are really trying to follow Him.

To some extent, it would have been easier to just cast out a devil or rebuke satan than trying to make sense of this relationship with God. Sometimes it does feel like He is failing me. And then... in the bigger scheme of things, one life might not be all that relevant and important.

For now, wipe the tears. Chin up. The show must go on.

God's people

2009-08-12T07:52:00.002+02:00

Whilst studying, I was privileged to attend the same fellowship as the rector of the seminarium. Prof Jan became a mentor and friend. He used to say: "God se mense is mooi mense", which can be loosely translated as "God's people are beautiful". Just that. No further qualifications. I used to think about this a lot in those days, the whole idea of ministry was beautiful and rosy and I was super-idealistic. And then I forgot that.

The second thing Prof Jan told us regularly was that you have to be sure that your hands are clean before touching the spirits of God's people. I have lost sight of this too.

Today, more than ever, I am convinced that God's people are beautiful and I am conscious of the fact that my hands need to be clean before I dare guide, mold or build them.

I also know that I can't believe that God's people are beautiful, if He does not love through me. My hands can only be clean when I am in right standing with Him. Any attempts to clean it myself, will just lead to an even bigger mess. Having said all of this, I am still a broken and scarred claypot and I am still unable to begin to comprehend how God can use this broken vessel.

God believes in you

2009-06-30T18:41:00.002+02:00

In 'God has a dream', Desmond Tutu relays the story of a Russian priest and an atheist. The atheist rambled off a list of reasons for his beliefs and concluded, 'Therefore, I do not believe in God.' The priest's response was simple, but very powerful, 'That is OK, because God believes in you. He relies on you...' Tutu then proceeds to tell how we are God's partners.

I have been thinking about this all day. If I chose my team, I would firstly be sure to pick the cream of the crop -nobody with any defects. I would then make sure that I have at least one flawless back-up plan. Thirdly, I would be involved in strategy, every step of the way.

Yet, God chose us as His partners. He relies on us. God chose me. He relies on me. I am His partner.

Tonight, I am humbled that He chose me, a shard in a broken Claypot... to carry His message... to be His partner... to give something to eat to the hungry... a glass of water to the thirsty... a jacket to someone trying to survive our winter...

God loves us. God loves you. God loves me. And we ARE His plan in this world. Nelson Mandela said we need to be the change we wish to see in this world. Ironically, I think it was God's plan. We need to be the agents of God's change in our world.

How do we do it? I think one relationship at a time. I do not have many answers. The more I read and think, the more questions I have. The one thing I do know is that we are it. There is no back-up plan.

God has a dream

2009-06-29T15:39:00.002+02:00

I am white in a post-Apartheid South Africa. I am often overwhelmed with guilt because of that. Even though Nelson Mandela became our president in the first election I voted in and I never voted for an apartheid-government, I benefited from being white.

We had the best beaches. We had running water and electricity. My parents had better jobs as that were considered 'schooled' because they are white. I went to a university with good lecturers. I went to good (government) schools where we had stationary and books. My birth was registered. My parents' marriage was registered. My whole family have identity documents and passports. I could go anywhere - no restrictions applied.

More than what I had, is the fact that others did not have and still battle to get what we take for granted.

This morning, I started listening to "God has a dream" by Desmond Tutu (written and read by him)... and instead of condemnation I heard this old black man say: "God loves you. God cares for you. God has a dream..." Suddenly, he did not sound as dangerous as we were told when we were young. Suddenly, he sounded like an old and vulnerable messenger from God. "God loves you. God cares for you. God has a dream..."

I will probably write more posts about the book and this strange journey we are on. I believe that God has a dream. I believe that God wants His sun to shine over black and white. I want to want to (sic) love God and live His dream in our beautiful country. I look forward to the journey.

"God loves you. God cares for you. God has a dream..."

2009-05-29T09:26:00.002+02:00

Our reading of the Gospel story can be and should be an act of personal communion with the living Lord - William Temple

E.T. et al

2009-05-14T10:42:00.002+02:00

Remember E.T. and all the other 'space movies' from the 80's? I was always fascinated by the way the space ships touched down... the landing was always followed by a hissing sound when the doors opened. Then light streamed out and walking planks were let down. After a short pause, the aliens would emerge and the magic would begin.

Last week, my friends and I did the Gallup strengthfinder course. Really useful. One of my natural strengths (according to the test) is relating. If I understood the facilitator correctly, it is all about connecting.

One of my biggest frustrations with depression is that I simply stop connecting. In fact, if we can go back to E.T. for a moment, the walking planks pull back and the doors close and I am locked inside. No matter how hard I try, I seem to be unable to open those doors again. I battle to express myself. Every day is difficult, because I have to interact with people and I battle to understand what they are saying, nuanses become impossible to detect and jokes are over my head all the time. When I get home, I am exhausted and really just want to sleep.

I guess what I am saying is that I am still here. I am kind of locked in a spaceship, but I am trying to get out. I did not stop caring. I did not stop thinking. I am just kind of stuck. Yet, I still have hope, because Jesus' story did not stop on Friday.... Sunday must be coming in my life too.

You know better than I

2009-05-08T15:38:00.002+02:00

This prayer comes from "Joseph: King of dreams", but it also says exactly where I am today:

I thought I did what's right
I thought I had the answers
I thought I chose the surest road,
But that road brought me here.
So I put up a fight
And told you how to help me
Now just when I have given up,
The truth is coming clear.

You know better than I ,
You know the way,
I've let go the need to know why,
For You know better than I...

If this has been a test,
I cannot see the reason,
But maybe knowing,
I don't know is part of getting through.
I tried to do what's best,
But faith has made it easy,
To see the best thing I can do,
Is to put my trust in You.

For, You know better than I,
You know the way,
I've let go the need to know why,
For You know better than I....

I saw one cloud and thought it was a sky
I saw a bird and thought that I could follow
But it was You who taught that bird to fly
If I let You reach me
Will You teach me?

For, You know better than I
You know the way
I've let go the need to know why
For You know better than I

For, You know better than I
You know the way
I've let go the need to know why
I'll take what answers you supply
You know better than I ...

Wednesday

2009-05-06T10:42:00.002+02:00

I am at wits' end.

I feel like something is choking me and even swallowing is hard. I do not understand God's thinking when it comes to healing and wellbeing. I do not understand how darkness can come and fill up my entire being.

Today my heart wants to break, because I am constantly two steps behind. I am tired and no amount of sleep seems to make a difference. I am taking my medicine, despite side effects. I am exercising. I am eating healthy stuff. I eliminated caffeine and alcohol two years ago... and yet, I am weepy for no rational reason.

I do not understand why God cannot take the darkness away. I want to love Him. I want to love people. I want to love my cat and my job. I want to be able to enjoy a good book again, yet I battle to follow simple instructions on an email. All I am feeling is coldness, darkness and loneliness. And then the really dark thought comes... what if I could just go to sleep and stay in that blissful state?

2009-04-20T10:58:00.002+02:00

I love Ping. Try it... Ping.fm. It allows you to update your status to various pages by logging into a single site.

Darkness

2009-04-02T07:44:00.004+02:00

Lord,

There is a cold and dark monster creeping through my veins.

No number of verses 'quoted back to the devil',
no number of tears,
no trying to 'sleep it off',
no amount of calories shed in gym
seem to get rid of it.

I am cold and dark.
It is alone in here.
Please protect me?
Be my Keeper.

In Jesus' Name.

Would be anniversary

2009-03-02T19:22:00.000+02:00

Today would have been my parents' 35th wedding anniversary. No comment.

When I was a child

2009-02-24T11:48:00.004+02:00

Last night I had to stop for milk on my way home. In the line (at the check out), there was a young dad trying to control his child. The child wanted a sweet and the dad did not want to buy it last night. The toddler was shouting and crying and then accused the dad of lying. Once I moved beyond my own fatigue after a long day and irritation with everything around me, I thought that conversation was a little interesting. Apparently the dad promised to buy a sweet last week and did so. Trying to reason with a toddler who was probably tired and hungry, seemed to be an impossible task.

Driving home, I thought about how often I do just the same in my relationship with God. I have quoted Him out of context, even in talking to Him. I have cried and begged. I have not listened or tried to understand reason.

One issue I am particularly hung up on, is healing. I cannot understand why some people get healed and others not. On Sunday, we talked about this in our community. I wish there was a formula we could follow to get a 'yes' from God.

On the other hand, I wish I could get to the place Paul was when he wrote to the Corinthians, saying 'when I was a child, I reasoned like a child'. Nobody I know wants to be branded as a 'naughty child'. Yet, I do not understand.

Today, I am right back at that all too familiar place, where I do not know the answers.

Work it out

2009-02-21T20:00:00.004+02:00

Last Sunday a ‘distant colleague’ died in her sleep. Carolyn worked in a different department, but we shared the occasional lunch. In fact, we had lunch on Friday. She was 33, like me and her death came as a tremendous shock to me.

At the same time, it brought so many other issues to the surface. I come from a background where people would now be asking: “Where did she wake up?” They would probably turn this into an opportunity to evangelize the entire building. I am all for sharing the Good News. I am all for making a stand for Jesus. I love the idea that my job can be a tool in doing just this.

See, I think my job is a way to acknowledge that God is Number One and to make Him known as Number One. If God did not pave my way, I would not be in the position I am at the moment. Therefore the income generated by doing my job, also belongs to Him.

As Christians, a lot of eyes are watching our every move very closely and maybe even waiting for us to put a foot wrong. I am not suggesting that we are somehow immune or above making mistakes, but there are obvious guidelines.

A few of them could be:

How do I go around with company property? Do I abuse phones? Internet? Stationary?
Do I really give the company all the time I sell to them or do I waste time when I am supposed to work?
Is my work of the highest quality at all times?
How much time do I spend at work or working? Am I neglecting my family in favor of my job? If God is Number One, can I really work more than 60 hours a week? Is that fair to my family?
Just what is the message I give to my colleagues and employer in doing that? Am I for sale? Will I be the donkey doing ‘whatever it takes’? Or… dare I take a stand in favour of God and relationships?
How do I treat my superiors? Paul suggested we work as if for God Himself. Might not be a bad idea...
How do I treat my peers? Do I love them like I love myself? Or am I involved in unnecessary office politics?
How do I treat junior staff? The security guard? The cleaner? The graduate trainee? Do I consider them higher than myself and do I serve them or do I sit back and merely make
demands?

Working is an essential part of our community and social structure. However, it is only a means to another end. Our lives do not revolve around working; our lives revolve around God, our Number One. It is all about Him.

Our jobs bring us in contact with people who might not have contact with the Body in any other way. We are missionaries in Johannesburg. A lot of cliché’s come to mind… we might be the only Bible they read? Let’s say that is true… what do they read in my life? And yours?

The challenge is to keep God Number One, all the time. How do we do that? Maybe talking to God about our jobs is a good start? Maybe talking to God about each others’ jobs could follow on that?

I have a lot of questions and not many answers. If Carolyn could come back one more week, I would probably not change much in our relationship. Maybe I would spend more time praying for my colleagues? Maybe I will do just that.

We had a few frauds recently. Instead of joining in the gossip and crucifying the offenders, I could pray for my colleagues.

May God help us to make Him Number One in our day to day living. May God be with us when we work. May He inspire us and give us fresh ideas. May He use us to touch the people around us. May He work in us, so we will bear fruit.

I would love to know what your thoughts are on this matter?

When the lights are dimming

2009-02-16T07:20:00.002+02:00

Lord, my heart is weak, alone & afraid. It feels like the darkness is settling in again and it is difficult to see any solutions. My feet are heavy and my eyes full of tears. I am scared of what the day might hold.

Please help me, just today, to cope with life and its demands?

In Jesus' Name,
Amen

Preaching

2009-01-19T20:01:00.002+02:00

Yesterday I preached for the first time in years (apart from weddings and funerals) and I really enjoyed it. I forgot how much I enjoy working with the text and trying to figure out the concepts behind it.

I suppose it is a little like riding a bike and it will all come back to me eventually.

I thank God for my community and my friends. It is a privilege to be a part of a broken pot.

You can view my notes on Scribd.

Die Woord

2009-01-16T11:44:00.002+02:00

I am prepping a sermon on John an am (obviously) reading a bunch of commentaries. I have just read something beautiful in a commentary by an Afrikaans theologian called Jan du Rand.

He describes the Word becoming flesh as "Die Woord het sy bene onder ons tafel ingeskuif ". It is probably best translated as "The Word joined us at the dinner table".

The Benefits of Brokenness - Why I sometimes wish I was an alcoholic (Philip Yancey)

2009-01-02T11:50:00.002+02:00

Listening to the rhetoric this election season, one might assume that a new batch of politicians in Washington will solve the problems facing this country, not to mention the planet. Elect candidate X, and he or she will tackle global warming, solve the health-care crisis, eliminate poverty, right the economy, and unite a divided country.

For two problems, however, no politician dares offer a solution: death and evil. Endemic to the human condition, these two will haunt us all our days. Yet these are the very problems the gospel promises to solve—not through politics or science, but through a reclamation project begun at Golgotha.

Biblical scholars point to Romans 3 as the most compact expression of that Good News. Before revealing the cure to those two problems, Paul must detail the helplessness of humanity to find a solution apart from outside help. Like a physician, he has to impress on the patient the dire nature of the illness before presenting a cure.

I am struck by Paul's three categories of sinners in Romans 1 and 2. He begins by listing flagrant violators: depraved perverts, murderers, God-haters (though, curiously, he also mentions such "everyday" sins as greed, envy, gossip, and disobeying parents).

Just as his good-citizen readers nod knowingly, smug in their moral superiority to such miscreants, Paul turns the tables in chapter 2: "You, therefore, have no excuse, you who pass judgment on someone else, for at whatever point you judge the other, you are condemning yourself, because you who pass judgment do the same things."

I may never have robbed a bank, but have I ever fudged on my income taxes? Or had rehab work done on my house without applying for a building permit? Or ignored a pressing need because of compassion fatigue? Paul follows Jesus' logic in the Sermon on the Mount: murder and adultery differ from hatred and lust only by a matter of degree. Indeed, the flagrantly evil person has a peculiar advantage of sorts: an inner gyroscope of conscience that registers a sense of being off course.

I once accepted a speaking engagement among Christians involved in Twelve Step programs such as Alcoholics Anonymous. As I talked with the attendees and pondered what to say, I finally decided on the ironic title, "Why I Wish I Was an Alcoholic." It occurred to me that what recovering alcoholics confess every day—personal failure, and the daily need for grace and help from friends and a Higher Power—represent high hurdles for those of us who take pride in our independence and self-sufficiency.

Paul reserves his most scathing comments for a third category, self-righteous people, who in his day comprised the Jews who scrupulously observed the law. A Pharisee of the Pharisees, Paul knew the pattern well, as his pronouns attest. He refers to the wicked as "they" and the good-citizen types as "you." But when he discusses the self-righteous, Paul shifts to first person plural. "What shall we conclude then? Are we any better? Not at all!"

In his most self-righteous days, after all, Paul had persecuted Christians and assisted in the stoning of Stephen. He knew the danger that accompanies a feeling of moral superiority. Just as denial may keep a person from seeing a doctor about a lump or skin lesion, thus endangering life, denial of sin may lead to far worse consequences. Unless we accept the grim diagnosis, we will not seek a cure.

Paul's confessional description of self-righteousness reminded me of a quirky attempt by M. Scott Peck to identify a new psychiatric disorder called evil. In his book People of the Lie, Peck surveyed the types of evil and concluded, with Paul, that the most dangerous type is the most subtle. We all condemn bullies and child abusers—but what of controlling, manipulative parents who may have an equally devastating effect on their children? Peck came up with these surprising characteristics of evil: scapegoating behavior, intolerance to criticism, pronounced concern with a public image and self-image of respectability, and intellectual deviousness.

Paul concludes, "There is no one righteous, not even one." In perhaps the darkest passage in the entire Bible, he stitches together an anatomical description of deceitful tongues, morbid throats, poisonous lips, bitter mouths, violent feet, and arrogant eyes (3:10–18). All of which sets up the magnificent presentation of the gospel beginning with Romans 3:21, the explanation of justification by faith alone that ignited the Reformation.

God's grace, the only solution to death and evil, comes free of charge, apart from law, apart from any human efforts toward self-improvement. For a free gift, we need only hold out open, needy hands—the most difficult gesture of all for a self-righteously evil person.

Taking stock

2008-12-27T18:31:00.003+02:00

This time of the year (and again around my birthday), I tend to take stock of my life.

I am greatful that I managed my depression fairly well this year. I managed to reduce some of the medicine and have less questions about the chemicals I take than a year ago. I don't really miss alcohol or caffeine and generally do not mind going to bed early or getting exercise.

Yet, I have to wonder what God thinks when He looks at my life. Am I bearing the fruit He wants to see?

Depression is a big barrier between me and God. If He did not give me depression, He at the very least allowed it. He knows what the chemicals do to my body and He knows what happens if I do not take it. It is a HUGE no man's land. I can't talk to God about it.

When our community talked about healing, we agreed that our reflex should be to pray and trust God for healing. We acknowledged that not all people get healed and we do not know why. We also agreed that we should respect the sick person. If they do not want to pray, we will not do so publicly.

It is easy to think of theories. It is realtively easy to formulate policy. Dealing with broken bodies is a different topic altogether. My friend, Tom's, mom had her fourth round of chemo. My friend, Schalk's, dad has constant backpain. There are lots of broken bodies around. I wish there were easy answers that worked all the time. I wish there was a formula or a fix.

It is the end of another year. I still have very little answers. I still don't really understand much. I was a terrible friend this year. Yet, I hope that something I did somewhere along the line brought a smile to God's face. I hope that next year, He will pull me even closer to Him and that He will smile on my friends and me.

Christmas

2008-12-27T18:28:00.000+02:00

"Let us remember that the Christmas heart is a giving heart, a wide open heart that thinks of others first. The birth of the baby Jesus stands as the most significant event in all history, because it has meant the pouring into a sick world of the healing medicine of love which has transformed all manner of hearts for almost two thousand years. Underneath all the bulging bundles is this beating Christmas heart." ~ George Adams

Christmas Eve

2008-12-24T07:54:00.004+02:00

Christmas Eve is nostalgic. As a child, this was the day when we went to the farm and saw all our cousins again. It was HOT! on the farm, December temperatures are 40 degrees Celsius plus. There was no pool, no airconditioning, but none of it mattered. We made 'christmas beds', which meant we all slept on the floor in the lounge. If you consider stretchers to be beds, there were beds for all the grown-ups. We played and laughed.

On Christmas morning, we would all dress up in 'church clothes' and listen to the radio broadcasted Christmas service on the veranda. Nodding off and smiling were not permitted. Best behaviour only.

Today, I am grown up. I look around me and see people spending money they don't have on things they don't need and other don't really want. Cynical, I know.

My grandparents passed away, granny only this year and the last Christmas on the farm was 20 years ago. My parents are divorced. My mom is spending Christmas with my brother and sisters in London. My dad's girlfriend went on holiday with her family and he has been staying with me.

It could be a sad and dreary picture, if we don't turn our eyes tot the Reason for Christmas. Jesus, Emmanuel, leaving His Father's house to come and pitch a tent on earth, camping out with us. This remains the greatest miracle of all time.

So, this Christmas Eve, instead of sulking about bygones and getting lost in nostalgia, I am awestruck by a God who gave up everything to give the greatest gift of all. The King of Christmas came to sleep in a Christmas bed.

Jesus' spirituality

2008-12-04T19:29:00.002+02:00

I would have hated to have Jesus on a church board. This week, I have been thinking about the woman caught in the act of adultery (Matthew 8). I saw "The Women" last week and the story deals with how women dealt with a husband's betrayal.

When the woman in Matthew was brought to Jesus, He carried on writing in the sand. When she was accused, Jesus suggested that the person with no sin cast the first stone. Being a sinner, I love this. I can feel this woman's relief at the grace shown. I have always read it and thought of 'how Jesus showed the bad guys (accusers)'.

However, this week I thought of the repercussions. What about her husband and the other man's wife? What about the kids? Would they be the laughingstock of their community? Would the children be a weapon in tug of war? What happened after Jesus left?

I often wish that the 'happily ever after' was recorded too. If Jesus was on a church board, I am afraid I would chicken out. What about fairness? What about the other parties involved? What happens where the tyre hits the road?

On a night like tonight I realise how little I really know and understand. May God have mercy on all of us.

Still here

2008-11-30T18:59:00.002+02:00

I am still here. I do not have clever ideas or bright insights or revelations, but I am still here.

Things that made an impression on me over the past weeks? Lots! There is a very brave lady in our community fighting cancer and dealing with depression at the same time. I take my hat off to her. You have to love her.

My cat's 'commonlaw wife' was poisoned and it made me sad. On the same day I broke my foot and I suppose I could reflect on the use of a left foot ;-)

My friends, Walter & Rialene, had a boy! Amazing little guy. My friends, Tom & Lollie's, little boy started walking. He has this look of sheer determination on his little face after every fall and then he gets up and tries again. Amazing. Young Tayla & Nina were such little ladies today and the boys were boys. I adore the kids. I could reflect on them and what I learn from them for weeks on end.

Advent started today. I do not have a 'Christmas feeling', but I do have hope. Jesus came to earth and dwelled in a body just like mine. Squatting on earth, just like us. He understands my joys and frustrations. He has walked this road with human feet - just like mine. I hope in Him. He encompasses my being. He is the Reason I am here. I am still here, because He is too.

I long for you

2008-11-12T07:55:00.002+02:00

Lord, I long for you.

Will you saturate my soul,

the way the rain is saturating the earth?

Will you renew my mind the way you are renewing the plants outside?

Lord, make me new?

Cause my life to grow and bear fruit like you do with the plants?

Cause me to blossom like the jacarandas in the streets?

Cause my brain to function perfectly like the rest of your creation?

You said that you take care of the birds and the wildflowers,

will you take care of me too?

Without you I am lost.

Without you I am nothing.

Outside you, there is no real reason.

Outside you, there is nothing that really counts.

Without you, I will dry like a wildflower in the wind.

I need you, today more than ever.

Lord I long for you,

I long for your sustenance.

In Jesus' Name,

Amen

I long for you

2008-10-15T21:01:00.002+02:00

Lord,

I long for you

in the same way

the earth longs

for the first rain of the season.

It has been a long, dry, winter.

Replenish my soul,

renew my hope,

make the life you breathed into me new.

In Jesus' Name,

Amen