Hello darkness, my old friend...

Several people have asked me how I’m doing, following yesterday’s post. I found myself in tears again this evening, once I was alone and the kids were in bed. I caught my inner dialogue saying “you’ve had your **** together today, but it’s okay to not have it together now”. I found myself thinking that this weather perfectly mimics how I’m doing.

I’m like the river not too far from my house. The worst of the storm has passed, but the river is riding high - the water is just below the bridge level. It won’t take much to make the water rise up over the bridge, and wash it away. I can’t concentrate on anything remotely requiring a thoughtful, considered decision or response. I tried to prep my sourdough starter to bake some bread, thinking that the physicality of kneading bread would help - instead, I ended up killing my starter. I baked it accidentally. (After feeding it, because the house was so cold, I thought I’d put it in the warming drawer cos that’s a nice warm spot, right?) Why? Because I can’t think straight about anything that requires a thoughtful or considered decision. I went shopping, to just get “a few things” - I even had a list! - and ended up spending far more than was necessary, because I couldn’t make appropriate choices. Actually, I’m surprised I didn’t spend more on comfort items and food. People have been messaging me all day, and all I can respond with is “thanks”, because I don’t have the energy to think of anything more appropriate to say. I misread an email about my son’s aftercare, so left him stranded at school (and got yelled at by the principal for doing so). I forgot my daughter’s orthodontist appoinment yesterday, and then nearly forgot her rescheduled one today (fortunately for me, they had a staff member who tested positive, so called me to cancel the appt an hour beforehand - saved by the bell, what?) I could go. There’s a long list of decisions not made, or bad decisions made, or just the general inability to think straight about anything for the past 2 days.

And then it hit me - I’m grieving. These emotions are not just guilt about moving my mother into an institution. This is full blown grief: grief for the woman who birthed me and raised me, and now is no longer herself; grief for the broken promises; grief for the lost relationship; grief for the fact that, because of level 3 lockdown, I can’t even go to visit and give her a hug; grief for the fear and anxiety she is feeling in her new environment, that she can’t adequately express because she no longer has that capacity; grief for the role reversal and having to be the adult who carries the can...

Having lost my daughter 13 years ago, grief is a familiar companion, an odd sort of friend. I would love there to be a quick fix, a quick way to lower the level of the water flowing under the bridge, an outlet for my grief that would allow this pain to dissipate quickly. Experience tells me that time won’t heal this wound, but it will make it easier to live with. There are now 2 gaping holes in the floor of my internal living room - one I’m very used to walking around rather than falling into. In time I’ll learn to walk around this new one too. And, again, as I’ve learnt, I will have good days where I won’t fall in at all, and other days where I will fall in a lot. Such is the nature of grief. 

And I recall that I don’t need to have the energy to see people or talk to them. I don’t need to have the words to say. I don’t need to be able to make decisions. I don’t need to get my **** together. It’s okay to not be okay. This too shall pass.

Lord alone knows what I’m going to teach my matrics tomorrow - because I haven’t prepped a lesson for them, because I don’t have the energy to do that.. Thank God for years of experience - I know that I’ve got this. I am good at flying by the seat of my pants, and so I’m not worried about tomorrow’s lesson. I’m more worried about the hours I’m not teaching, but have to be at school. Being alone in my office is not going to be good for me, but neither is being with others that I really have no energy for. Maybe I’ll give myself permission to read at work, to take a book and escape into that for a few hours. (Maybe I’’ll even try prepping a proper lesson!)

Is there someone more adultier than me in the room?

I am ready to run away, to hide from the world, for as long as it takes for a more adultier adult to show up. Today, I moved my mother, who has Alzheimer’s, into care. 

When I was a young adult, she and I moved my gran from PE to CPT. My gran had Alzheimer’s and by the time we realized what was going on, she had deteriorated significantly. Moving her to CPT was by far one of the most difficult things I’ve had to do. My mom took a week to pack up my gran’s house, and then I went up to help drive her back. My gran was so aggressive and point blank refused to move. The only way we could move her out was to sedate her, and then get the fire department to help us hoist her into the back of a bakkie. It was traumatic and horrible, and the months that followed, while she lived with us, were incredibly difficult.

My mom’s disease has progressed to the point where there are moments each day when she no longer recognizes me. Sometimes when we give her medicine, she thinks we’re trying to poison her. Some days her conversation makes no sense at all.

When a space opened up at a local care centre, and lockdown eased enough for us to move her in, we jumped at it. Today it was my task to talk to her about moving, and then to move her in. Given my experience with my gran, I was really dreading this. However, when I arrived this morning, she was sufficiently lucid that I could talk to her without drama. In her lucid state, she agreed that moving was the right thing to do. As the day progressed though, she regressed and became confused, then scared, then angry. The drive from her home to the centre was ... heartbreaking. My mom said things that I can’t bear to repeat. I just kept telling myself that this wasn’t really her, that it was her fear speaking through the disease. But they hurt, all the same.

As wonderful as the staff are, her room isn’t as comfortable as her home. She doesn’t have all the comforts she’s used to. She doesn't have her cat, or her garden, although she has the centre cat and the beautiful garden at the centre. I feel terrible that she doesn’t have her TV, or her own bathroom. We can’t afford anything more at the moment (especially if she’s going to live for several more years).

I’m not allowed to visit her, because we’re still under level 3. That slays me! I want nothing more than to spend some time with her every day, to help her feel more settled and ease the stress of moving. But that’s not going to happen for a while. 

So as I drove away this afternoon all I wanted, after being the adult in the room all day, was to have someone more adultier than me take over. But there isn’t really anyone else who can make these decisions for me, or who can help. While others can stand with me, and support me, only I can actually walk through this. And this is hard. So hard.

Another step towards the grave

Where do I begin, to tell the story of how great a love can be...

Today I learnt that my mother has slid down another rung (or few) on the Alzheimer’s ladder.

This photo was taken of us just more than 20 years ago. This is the woman I remember. She was fiercely independent, because she had to be. She was so very competent at everything she attempted. When faced with a seemingly insurmountable obstacle, she found a way around it, or through it, or to move it. She loved her gardening, and her pets. She had her vices (wine and cigarettes), but her virtues far outshone those. She was always in my corner, but she took no prisoners when I was in the wrong. She made sacrifice after sacrifice to provide for me. 

I remember one year, when I was going on a school camp in winter, she didn’t have money to buy me a jacket or a suitable jersey, so she knitted me one, even though she HATED knitting. That jersey was one of my favorites until it was  eventually too small for me. When my parents separated, she twisted her boss’ arm to let her work from home so I never had to come home to an empty house. She made my school lunches till I matriculated, always ham sandwiches, because her love language was deeds/ actions.

My step-sister sent this photo to me this past week. She was going through an old album and saw it. I posted it on Facebook, saying that this is how I want to remember my mother, not as who she has become as a result of her disease. My step-father showed it to her over the weekend... and although she remembered that I was her daughter, but couldn’t remember my name.

My head tells me that this was just the next step in her deterioration; not to take it personally. My heart hasn’t processed this yet - that my own mother can’t remember my name. It’ll happen, in time, I know. I hate this disease, that is taking her from me, one horrible step at a time.

Sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare

I don't know about you, but when I dream, I dream in glorious technicolour and surround sound. This morning I was woken up from my dream, and the fear & anxiety I had has stayed with me all day.

In my dream I was a man (first weird thing), working in a bar/ restaurant - think: American style eatery in a small town... you know, the kind where everyone gathers to ride out a storm.

And there was a seriously big storm coming (hurricane?)- everyone from town was pouring into the restaurant - the safety of being together, plus we had a generator in case the power went out. My ex-girlfriend, who I still had feelings for, emailed me a photo to pass on to the guy she was starting to date. I was about to respond that we both missed her (meaning I missed her) when my emails appeared on the big screen in the restaurant, so everyone could see.

Then I was distracted by the in-coming storm. We were frantically trying to board up windows, settle everyone and make sure that everyone had their emergency essentials. Someone crucial (can't remember who) was missing though, so another girl and I went out into the storm to look for this person. We were suddenly standing in the middle of a vast parking lot (as you do, in dreams) (and suddenly I was a woman again (weird, I know) in the pouring rain, yelling at each other over the wind.

I just remember the dark, the rain and the howling wind. I remember my fear of the storm, of not finding this person, of dying in the storm, and my anxiety about not having told my ex that I still loved her. And then the front door of my house closed and woke me up.

All day I've felt on edge, waiting for some imminent, life-threatening danger to strike. My fuse has been exceptionally short and my anxiety levels are high - I can feel it sitting in my chest, like an asthma attack or heart arrhythmia about to happen.

I thought putting it down on paper, acknowledging these feelings out loud, would help, but it's actually just made them worse. My prayers feel like gasps, and knowing Jesus is with me isn't helping. There's no rational reason to feel this way, yet I do. If it were evening, I'd have a big glass of wine and hide away under my duvet with chocolate and Netflix, but it's still mid-afternoon. Plus, hiding never solved anything. Is this what it feels like to have a panic attack?

Friendship in modern times

I've been friends with someone for about 8 years now. Our kids went to the same nursery/ pre-primary school, which is how we met. Then she and her husband moved to the same church as us. However, when it came time for primary school, they opted to home school. As they no longer had a car, and their local primary school wasn't great, it was a decision I understood, and supported. What I didn't realise at the time was that it was also the beginning of the end of our friendship.

It's relatively common, I would have thought, that when people stop moving in the same circles their friendship drifts apart. That's what happened to us. With our kids moving in completely different social and extra-mural circles, and with them no longer having a car, we had to make more of an effort to see them - which we did, initially. They made the decision to leave our church following a series of horrible incidents (not through the church, I hasten to add, but in their home and personal lives) that resulted in my friend developing a serious anxiety disorder which left her unable to leave her house for more than a few minutes at a time.

I know I wasn't the greatest of friends to her at the time - I really didn't know how to respond to her, because initially every attempt I made was rebuffed. It was only later that she explained to me that she'd developed anxiety and how it affected her, but by that time I'd interpreted the situation to be that she no longer wanted to be friends. I also know that while her life slowed down, mine became busier as my kids extra-murals, work and church life became busier. I made a real effort to take her out for coffee - just the two of us, to try to reconnect. I apologised for not being there when she needed me. But I think it was all too little, too late.

As I said, it's not uncommon for friends to drift apart, but does that mean the friendship is over? I'm not sure. I have colleagues I've worked with who became good friends, but with whom I have limited contact now. Yet, when we do reconnect, there's no doubt that we still love and care for each other, and are still friends. My friends back in the UK are people I rarely see other than on Facebook now, yet I have no doubt that were they to come here, or were I to visit there, our friendship would continue. We don't stop being friends just because we no longer chat or see each other. Right?

I've made peace with the fact that, as a teacher, the rhythms of my life revolve around term time. Unless I see my friends when we're both attending a kids' event - sport or birthday parties, or school plays, or whatever - or at church, during term time I barely see them. There's very little time left between my kids, home, family (both G and I have large families), work and church. Because most of my friends have kids of school-going age, they get it. There's no animosity about it, or feeling abandoned - we just accept that that's how it is, and we plan to see each other during holidays when we have more time.

Yesterday, after 8 years, this friend phoned me to to let me know she no longer wants to be friends, and to ask me to please stop contacting her and her family. It was the most surreal conversation I've ever had.

We are very different individuals, which is what I really loved about our friendship. She helped me to see things in a completely different light. And maybe that's the problem. Maybe what I valued most about her friendship was what she brought into my life, rather than valuing her. I didn't always agree with her decisions, or her theology, but I didn't judge her for them - I hadn't lived through the trials she had. And maybe I wasn't open enough with her about that, and she interpreted my silence as judgement, and maybe she felt she needed to live up to some standard she thought I was holding her to.

Still, I was perplexed that she felt she needed to cut all ties with me. Her comment was that when we met up or chatted, she felt she was being fake with me, and she didn't want to do that anymore. She said she'd been having nightmares about it. I'll be honest - that hurt. It hurt because we had promised each other, back when I went to apologise and make amends, that we would be honest with each other about where we were at and what we each needed. It means that she either lied to me then, or had been lying to me since then.

I know our friendship has drifted. That's life; sad, but true. I know we are very different individuals and that what she needed in a friend I wasn't able to provide. But was it necessary to be as explicit as calling an end to the friendship and asking to cut all ties? That seems really dramatic to me.

And yet, if that's what she needs, or wants, then I'm not going to refuse her. Why would I want to cause her more pain than I already have? Maybe being explicit, while painful now, is the best solution in the long term. Maybe firmly closing this chapter is the right thing to do. I guess I'll only know the answer to that in time.

On the flip side, lockdown has brought me new friends. Just this morning we and our neighbours spent two hours on our driveways, having morning tea together and chatting about life, the universe, and everything. It was amazing! Lockdown has given us the opportunity to get to know the people living right on our doorstep. We had started to build friendships with those on our doorstep a while back, but lockdown has given us the opportunity to really build on that foundation, and speed up the development of our friendship. We've had meals together on our driveway, watched movies together (separately... pushed play at the same time on Netflix or DSTV, and then chatted on whatsapp while the movie played), played online games together, chatted over the fence between our gardens. It's been a very special time. Maybe these friendships, forged in hardship, will still be strong and vibrant when life goes back to normal. Maybe, when real life pressures intrude once again, they'll fade too. But for now, I treasure this time we have together, and I'm grateful for the amazing friends living right on our doorstep.

Lockdown day #... I’m not sure.

This Easter was one of the strangest I have ever experienced - no Good Friday reflections at church; no Easter Sunday celebrations at church, no family lunches, no chocolate egg-giving to friends. Yet, our online service on Sunday morning was memorable for the worship.

This lockdown weekend has been difficult in other ways though. While we’re in a sort of school routine, the days are manageable. Having a routine helps. But the 4-day Easter weekend was madness. It was slothful, and miserable, and the kids annoyed each other (and us) interminably. The worst part was being unable to send them down the road to play with friends, or out to cycle on their bikes. I realized afresh there’s nowhere to go for a bit of silence.

So I was really looking forward to today - back to school, back to a semblance of routine, back to a measure of normality without the annoyance of being in each other’s space all the time.

Because I’d set my students tests, I knew I didn’t have to be online this morning, so I got a few chores done (laundry, cleaning bathrooms, vacuuming... the usual). I also started painting the gate that I’ve been meaning to paint for months.

And then everything went to hell in a hand basket. I don’t really want to talk about it right now - still too fresh, too painful - suffice to say that no-one’s died or had to go to hospital. Things would have been much better if I wasn’t in lockdown, and I’d been in a position to get in my car to go and visit. Lockdown is saving lives, but today I really didn’t care about that. I really didn’t give a toss - I could only see how it made a difficult situation horrendous.

My eyes are swollen and sore from crying. My heart is broken and grieving. My only prayer today has been “Abba! Daddy!” I couldn’t even pray for myself, or the situation. I feel utterly useless and powerless. I just want this day to be over, and for tomorrow to be a new day, with fresh possibilities and fresh hope. Even reading the Word brought me no comfort today. The comfort I’ve received today has been from my wonderful husband, from a few friends, from other Christians who have (once again) held me up in prayer when I am unable to pray for myself, who have listened as I’ve cried, who have spoken truth and hope into my bleak reality. This is what community looks like, and true community is able to transcend lockdown.

So if you’re in a dark space, a dry space, a painful space, I want you to know that you’re not alone. Today, I’ve been there. But more than that, I want you to know that if you reach out, you will find community. You can have real connections with others, even in times like these. And if you feel like there’s no-one you can call, no-one who would be willing to listen, no-one who could understand, then I want you to know that’s not true, because if you have no-one else then I will be that person for you. 

We all have dark days, hard days, difficult days. But we don’t ever have to walk through them alone. “Even though I walk through the dark valley of death, because you are with me, I fear no harm.” Ps 23 vs 4. Though Easter was a few days ago, its message resonates every day. Though it may feel like it’s Friday, Sunday’s acoming! 

Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain...

I’m sitting on my stoep (porch) listening to the rain falling through the sail cloth onto our outdoor table. In the distance I can hear car tyres whoosing on the main road that runs past our house. Ignoring the “why are there are cars moving out there?”, it’s a lovely sound. I love hearing the different sounds of water. I have my glass of sherry-replacement, and my novel, and I’ve just had a skype call with my step-dad. I can smell the smokey braai, as the left-over ashes are dampened - reminds me of camping and good times with friends gathered around a fire. All is right with the world.

(Oh dear - my peace has just been disturbed by the neighbour choosing to watch vlogs with their window open.... )

Ok, so time for confessions.

All is not right with the world, which is why I am out here and not inside where it’s cozy. I think we have definitely all been in each other’s space long enough now. I resorted to taking the dogs out onto the field next door to us, via our back gate (which opens directly onto the field) and standing in the shelter of the wall - just to breathe some non-house air. The dogs were initially pleased, but as soon as they realized it was ... well, it wasn’t raining exactly... more like a heavy mist about 4m above the ground, falling gently down onto us... anyway! As soon as they realized it was wet, they lost their enthusiasm and wanted to come back in.

So now I’m out here, with doors and windows closed so I can’t hear what’s going on inside - at least, until they start killing each other. That I’m sure I’ll be able to hear. Glass isn’t that thick, after all.

What is is about the people we love, that they can drive us completely and utterly insane?

We had such a lovely anniversary day yesterday, bar one very unpleasant situation where several things came to a head all at the same time and ... I can’t even talk about it. I can’t handle my kids being hurt. “Sticks and stones” is the biggest lie. Words hurt the deepest, because they can’t be unsaid. Any one of the issues on their own would have been ok, but thrown them all into the mix at the same time, and it felt like an emotional nuclear bomb had gone off.

We fixed things, somewhat. A bit of emotional duct (gaffer) tape, and A bit of prayer, and we managed to At least mitigate the fall out. The rest of the day was fabulous though. It’s been a no-pressure weekend for me - one in which I refused to put any expectations on myself of what I should, or ought, or must do. The kids and I had a very silly water fight, which was just incredible (albeit cold!) I wish I could let myself relax and be silly more. I wish I could have more of those moments with my kids, laugh at myself a bit more. I know how much it means to them when I do.

(I must confess I watch some of the silly videos that people I know have created, and I just die for them. There’s silly, and then there’s just totally embarrassing.)

We also had the most wonderful anniversary dinner at ‘Homemade Sibling Fancy Restaurant’. The chefs and wait staff were just lovely, and G and I chatted about the various meals and events that have stuck in our memory over the past 22 years. What a trip down memory lane that was!

Today has been even better - I haven’t even gotten dressed today! I can’t remember the last time I did that, apart from being sick and so having to stay home in bed. We went to church (virtually, of course), chatted with the Clan (my husband doesn’t just have a family... he has a Clan), watched movies, I crocheted, we went on a virtual game drive to &Beyond Ngala (a private game reserve on the western boundary with Kruger) where we got to see lions RIGHT NEXT to the Landrover (I confess I was expecting one to stand up and klap the ranger one shot! Even he admitted afterwards he had been scared. Another ranger told me previously though that they are unlikely to do that as they see you as part of the vehicle - provided you don’t give them a reason to think different, they will leave you alone if you’re in the vehicle. I wasn’t sure I wanted to test that theory though.) and they also took us to some 8 day old hyaena cubs. These game rangers are incredibly knowledgeable, I must say, and showed us lots of smaller game, birds and insects we would NEVER have found on our own. Plus, the kids get to email them questions which they answer live. It’s FANTASTIC. You should join us tomorrow. They have drives at 5.30am and 3.30pm every day, and each drive is about 3hrs long. Find them at WildEarth on YouTube.

Now I get to sit out here and listen to the sounds of a wet world, while sipping on my (4th?) glass of some fortified wine or other. (And the noisy neighbour has gone to bed...) The crickets and frogs are out. The air is fresh. The post-rain dripping from the leaves is truly the most peaceful music. I think I may sleep out here tonight....I’ll just have to see what the mozzarellas situation it like in a bit.

And it occurs to me that the most important person in my life is someone I haven’t spoken to in a while. That in the midst of my selfish schloff weekend, I have made no time to talk to the one who made it all, the one who sustains it all, the one who gave it all, the one who left it all - for me. As peaceful as it is out here, this peace is transitory. As wonderful as it is out here, this is transitory. As soon as I open the door again, everything I’m running from will come flooding back - the frustration, the anger, the upset. There is only one in whom lasting peace can be found; there is only one in whom true wonder is found. And I’ve pretty much ignored him all weekend.

Time to fix things, I think.

Primary historical sources

One of the things the kids have been encouraged to do (not that they’re doing it...) is to keep a journal from this time. The given reason is that it will, in due course, be a primary historical source of this time.

For me, it’s more about having time and space to reflect; to process what I’m experiencing and feeling. While I love writing, I am a bit of a romantic, and I do love gestures. So last night I got the kids, hubby and myself to make this memento.

Once lockdown is down, I’ll be taking this “bread” (yes, it’s made from dough) to the framers to have it put in a box frame. It’ll go on our gallery wall with our other hand and footprints from various years. Not only is April 2020 the month of lockdown, which is pretty dramatic, but it’s also our anniversary. Tomorrow we will have been married for 22 years. 22. Twenty-two. TWENTY-TWOOOOOOO.

I remember walking down the aisle (and contrary to what everyone else says, it feels like a lifetime ago, not just yesterday) thinking to myself, “It’s not too late to back out. I don’t have to go through with this. Right up until the priest pops me the question, I can still say no.” I truly wasn’t sure we’d make it a year, let alone a lifetime together.

Sadly, my reality is that almost all of the marriages on my side of the family were broken - separation, divorce, remarriage, co-habitations, remarriage to their first spouse; marriage to their ex-spouse’s sibling... In fact, as we left the church, one of my parents’ friends handed me an envelope with R5000 cash in it with the words: ‘This is for when you get divorced.’

But here we are, many, many bumps and 22 years later. Still married, still happy, with beautiful amazing kids, stable jobs, a house mostly paid off. We are seriously adulting!

[At this point I was interrupted by #1 who was gobsmacked that I have a blog... and this despite the fact that after the previous time we had that conversation I showed her the blog I wrote for her while I was pregnant and for a while after she was born.... sigh!]

So it strikes me afresh that blogging is the creation of a primary source, that what I write will be preserved (barring any electromagnetic pulses or shifts in the earth’s polarity, or the demise of all electricity generation on the planet, or the need to migrate this blog to a different format) indefinitely.  Like getting married, that suddenly feels very overwhelming - that what I say here needs to be meaningful; it needs to count; it needs to share wisdom with the future generation.... I don’t feel particularly wise, or knowledgeable, or even humorous. I don’t feel controversial, or interesting at all. I’m just... well, me.

On a related topic, I was rather taken aback earlier today. Because of lockdown, I have been making a few (rather poor, I think) videos for my matrics. No picture-in-picture (otherwise known as the talking head), and about 20 mins long each (which if you know anything about making videos for social media, is WAAAAY too long) - just my voice, and my Apple Pencil interacting with the screen. But, because I’m generous, I decided to share them with my colleagues in other schools (and my own) on our provincial email group. I’ve uploaded them to YouTube and created a playlist for this topic, and that’s the link I shared. I was gob-smacked by the responses. I can’t tell you how many teachers replied to show their appreciation - for my rubbish videos! I mean, granted, they’re not as bad as the Telematics videos (*shiver*, #notasbadaswilliamsmith), but they’re not nearly as good as the ones made by professionals like Khan, or Bozeman, or The Amoeba Sisters, to name but a few. I’m not even sure my kids need them, given resources like that. But even my kids have said how much they appreciated them. Maybe it’s just the familiarity of my voice...

So maybe I’m selling myself short. Maybe there is something special about me after all. I guess you should ask the hubby - after all, he’s lived with me and put up with me for the past 22 years. (Did I mention that we’ve been married for TWENTY TWO years???)

Here’s to you, my love! You are my hero, and your kids’ hero. I thank God for you, and the past 22 years. (TWENTY TWO!)

A week into Lockdown and counting

Today marks day 7 of our lockdown. I think we’re settling into it now, getting used to new rythyms. My body has gone back to its normal schedule - bed after 11pm some time and up around 9am. I do still find the start to the day problematic though - I could easily keep dozing till noon and do nothing all day every day, because part of me can’t help thinking there’s no point to getting up. Thank goodness the children have to “do” school... because I know I’ll get it in the ear if I don’t “do” school too.

As an Achiever (Clifton Strengths), reflecting on today I feel satisfied with all managed to do. I did some school work and connected with a few kids. I did some school related crafts....

Can you guess what these are? I’ll give you a clue - they’re molecules from the Gr 10 Life Sciences curriculum...

Then, at lunch, I got to eat some produce from my garden - YAY! - plus a delicious meal made by my husband. I spent the afternoon cleaning and sterilizing the kitchen so that I could then do some cooking for the ICU and general ward staff at Groote Schuur Hospital. (If you want to join in, most suburbs have a Community Action Network and many have a baking group. If you can’t find one for your own suburb, you can check out Pinelands CAN on Facebook for details and start your own for your own neighbourhood.) I should really have taken a photo of me in my cooking gear... including shower cap on my head to keep my hair out of my face! It was quite a palava, but so worth it. There’s no point in us doing the gratitude thing at 8pm as living in the leafy suburbs we are too far apart for anyone to hear our noise.... or at least, not in the way it would be in an apartment block. So I’m doing what I can to say thank you to them. It felt pretty awesome to hand over the mini-quiches I made to the driver this evening. (I just hope they taste OK!!)

Then, after supper, I have experimented with making a mielie meal dough (ahem! Not so much a dough as a patta-cake) which we made hand prints in, as a memento of our first week. As #1 said later: I don’t want a reminder of Lockdown! so there we go then. Thanks for nothing! As I type, it’s busy baking. If it turns out okay, once we’ve painted it, I’ll post a photo.

Thinking back over this past week, the kids and I have literally not left the house since last week Thursday. My super husband has always been the one to go out and do the essential shopping. It’s not so much the lack of contact, although even that is getting to me. (Zoom and Skype are great, but I miss seeing people in real life.) Rather, it’s that we’re not allowed to leave that is getting to me. At the best of times, I struggle with being told what to do. Even though I know that staying home is the best thing I can do to protect the most vulnerable, it’s hard.

Yesterday I opened our back gate, which opens directly onto the field adjacent to our house, and just stood in the gateway. Just having that open, and being able to stand there, felt like such freedom! Of course, the dogs thought we were going for a walk, so I didn’t stand there for long. Never the less, that small breath of freedom was intoxicating. Having the delivery of bags and labels for the food I was cooking today, and then the collection of said food, was exciting - new faces to talk to - and SUPER exciting for the dogs!

It is amazing to think how we took the small things for granted. Being able to walk out of our property - even just down the road - safely, without worrying about what we might come home with... Of course, those of us in the leafy suburbs have so much more to be grateful for - like the fact that we don’t have a shared outdoor toilet, that we have a garden space to walk around in safely, that (in general) we have jobs that continue to pay us a salary, that we can afford to buy food and that our cupboards are sufficiently stocked that we don’t really need to go out, or that we have a holiday home we were able to escape to before lockdown started - let alone that we have enough data/ WiFi access, or books on our shelves that we have only read once (or access to Kindle and Audible to download books), or board and card games in the cupboard, to keep ourselves endlessly entertained. Those of us who live in the leafy suburbs will survive this with some measure of ease, actually.

Although the lockdown is supposed to be protecting the most vunlerable, it is the most vulnerable who will end up paying the most when they lose their jobs and start to starve, or get sick. It is those who are alone and can’t get out to buy essentials, who have no-one to care for them who may suffer with mental health problems. Loneliness is a killer, literally, with more people dying from loneliness than the big 4 life-style diseases. These are the people who will really pay the price.

What does one say in view of all this? “I’m alright, Jack! Sorry for you”? Yet, there is also nothing I can do, practically, to change things at this point. So rather than focus on what I can’t do, I will focus on what I can. I can pray. I can make video calls to those who need it. I can cook and bake treats for our essential services and first responders. I can make the most of this time to get fit, so that I can keep healthy and not put further strain on our health system.

One week down, two to go (at least). Let’s focus on what we can do, and not get bogged down in the fear and anxiety that so often goes with being out of control. I tell you what, I’ll pray for you if you promise to pray for me. What do you say?

Hello. Are you there?

Today is day 5 of our lockdown because of the novel Coronavirus pandemic. It’s also supposed to have been the first day back at school for Term 2. Of course, even before the lockdown was announced, the government announced that schools would be closed for an additional 2 weeks. However, we have been asked to try to continue the academic programme as best we can in these 2 weeks so as to minimize the impact on education.

#2 has been encouraged (by school) to journalevery day. He’s not doing that, but I thought I would. Writing has always been therapeutic for me, a space to put my thoughts down and get them out of my head. Writing helps me process. Maybe reading my story will help you too.

Our kids have been at home for longer than the school holidays because we pulled them out of school early. (Partly that’s because #2 already had a cold, and partly that’s because as a family we are at risk.) So for us, this is actually week 3 of being at home.

We are in totally new territory here. We’ve had holidays at home before, but never for this long, and never in circumstances in which we aren’t allowed to leave the house. On our street WhatsApp group, we have neighbours who are gun-ho to report anyone they see out and about. We live in a cul-de-sac, so the only people on the road will be residents, and so it’s got a bit hairy at one point. If it weren’t for the concerns about catching SARS Cov2, I’d be scared to leave my house because of some of my neighbours... I imagine that what I feel is somewhat akin to what people in times and places where neighbours turned informer might have felt.

The dogs are going stir-crazy. They love having us home 24/7, but they’re used to being walked twice a day. They don’t understand why they can’t go out. I can’t explain it to them. Our older dog seems to be getting particularly morose, even though he gets to sit in his favorite place in the entire world all day, every day - the boot of my car, with the boot door open. Here he can sit in relative comfort and watch the world go by (and bark at everyone/thing going past), except there’s no world going by, and he doesn’t understand why.

The children are desperate for endless screen-time, and as parents we’re desperate to not let them disappear down the proverbial rabbit hole. Both of us are ambiverts, and so we need alone time, which now we’re not really able to get because when the kids are bored or frustrated we’re their go-to people. #2, in particular, thinks I’m his entertainment centre, or his teddy bear. He is an affectionate individual, but I am touch averse (or rather, I become quickly overwhelmed with too much touch) and having him constantly want to hug me, cuddle with me, lie on the bed with me... it’s very overwhelming. Then, he’s used to being at Aftercare with about 100 other kids every day, so there’s ALWAYS someone to play with, and now it’s just the 4 of us at home... and with 2 of us as ambiverts and needing time out from everyone... well, you get the picture.

Don’t get me wrong - I love my kids, incredibly, deeply. I am loving being able to spend this quality time with them. But too much of a good thing is not necessarily great.

We’ve had a few Zoom and Skype calls with friends and family. We’ve played Settlers of Catan online, and we’re doing quizzes in our various WhatsApp groups. We’re chatted with neighbours across the street, standing at our garden walls. Those conversations help. No doubt about it. But there’s this underlying mania or panic that seems to underlie everything. Laughter in those settings has a slightly manic edge to it. Laughter from the various memes doing the rounds also has a slight edge to it. Kind of like a “you either have to laugh or cry” feel to it.

I love the memes about the end of the world - like that we expected zombies, not this. Yet, at the same time, many of us are anxious about what the future holds. In the final count, how many of us will die from this? What will the financial cost of this be for all of us? If it took a generation to recover from WW2, how long will it take us to recover from this? Will this make or break us, as a society? Or will we get over this and find things are back to ‘normal’ with no long-term learning or benefit?

This all sounds rather bleak.... Yet, when I’m not dwelling on the anxious negativity, there’s actually so much to be grateful for, so much to enjoy. I get to stay home with my favorite people in the world, all day, every day. I get to forget which day of the week it is. I get to enjoy my recently upgraded garden (what a privilege and blessing it is to have a garden space to enjoy!) and the last of the sunny weather. I get to read for hours and not feel guilty about it. I get to bake. I get to watch Netflix movies every day. I get to play games with my kids. I get to stop rushing on to the “next thing” (endlessly). I get to focus on the important things in life, instead of just the urgent. I get to exercise in my home, admitting just how unfit and out of shape I am, and not feel stupid in front of my family. I get to support and help others who are feeling the pinch (whether emotionally/ mentally, or physically, or financially).

So if you are out there, and feeling alone, I want you to know that you need only stretch out a hand (virtually), and you’ll find a community waiting to connect with you. And if you don’t, then get in touch with me - my email link is on the right. I’d count it a privilege to walk a road with you - maybe we’ll discover new friendships that will last a lifetime, maybe we’ll only be connected during this pandemic. Either way, it’ll be a blessing to us both.

#enoughisenough

After 2 weeks since the gender violence awakening following Uyinene's brutal rapture and murder, I find I am still too emotionally wrung out to say much. Yet I feel that to stay silent is also not helpful. So I would say this: 

Enough is enough.

It is not okay, not even the same universe as okay, that women and children are maligned, used, abused, harassed, raped, tortured, murdered, slandered, terrified oude harmed in any way because of the fact of their age or gender. 

Enough is enough. 

In the same breath, with the continuation of the xenophobic attacks, I must add that it is not acceptable that the country of one's birth should determine one's value, worth, acceptance, dignity or humanity in the eyes of others.

Enough is enough. 

Evil of all kinds continues unabated.

Enough is enough.

Lord Jesus, we need you. The line between evil and godliness runs through every human heart. Lord, we need you. Only in you, only with tbe help of your Spirit can wer ever hope to defeat evil in this world. 

Lord, enough is enough. 

Let your kingdom come. Let your will be done. Jesus, please come now and put an end to all this madness, and suffering, and pain, and evil. Please. Enough is enough. 

Robert Mugabe is dead. What is your reaction?

In the midst of the gender violence awakening at the moment, I want to take a moment to comment on Robert Mugabe's death. 

I am appalled at the celebration of many art his death. Yes, he was a dictator. Yes, he was involved in despicable violence. Yes, he was selfishness and corrupt power personified. But I don't rejoice at his death. 

Jesus has not returned yet in order to give more people time to turn to him and be saved. This soul is now lost to him, and in the same way that all heaven rejoices when one souls is saved, I can only imagine all heaven laments when one is lost forever. While I am glad that he can no longer perpetrate his vile evil against others, I mourn that he could not be saved. 

Whatever evil he did, he was also a human being who was lost and broken, and now will never be found or healed, who will  now never have the chance to make reparations for the evil he did, or to apologise to those he wronged, or to be granted forgiveness. I cannot rejoice or celebrate his death, and I find I am appalled at the lack of humanity by those who do.

Making time to do nothing

This is a repost, as I accidentally deleted the original... sigh!

I took the kids to the beach yesterday, ostensibly to walk the dogs, but, as usually happens, the kids were soon playing happily in the sand. I decided to take the opportunity to do nothing, specifically choosing not to be on my phone. 

Initially it was very uncomfortable, just sitting and doing nothing. I can't remember when last I did that. Then, as I pushed through, I rediscovered the joy, the peace, of stillness. 

When was the last time you weren't busy with something - on social media, playing games (phone/ computer/ etc.), watching series, reading the news or a novel, doing chores, working.... when wad the last time you just sat and did nothing?

There I was, watching the waves, studying the sky, letting the white noise of the waves down or the constant chatter in my head, feeling the cold of the sand on my back contrast with the heat of the sun on my tummy, following the clouds across the sky and the ships across the bay...

It was so healing to be still, to rediscover solitude and silence, to just be present in the moment without the expectation of achieving an outcome or goal, or meeting a deadline, or needing to be something to someone.

I left feeling destresed, at peace with myself and the world. I definitely need to make more time to do nothing. 

The Armed Man

I cry in movies. I cry when reading novels. I cry when hearing stories of others' pain. I cry a lot, but last night was something else. Last night we went to the RGHS, RBHS & SACS combined mass choir and orchestra performance of The Armed Man: a mass for peace at City Hall. I cried throughout the entire thing.

It was beautiful, terrible, profound, disturbing, powerful, awe-inspiring. If you ever have the opportunity to go to a performance, you absolutely should take it!

The work contains the usual sorts of pieces you would expect from a mass, but the theme deals with war - it is rightly called a mass for peace though, because it drives home the message that war is a terrible evil. What makes this mass different though, is the inclusion of video and photographic material on a massive screen behind the choir. In the way that a film score matches the cinematography, the imagery was chosen to coincide with the music except that, in this case, the music was written first.

The mass opens with scenes of military marches by Hitler and Stalin's armies, continues through scenes of armaments manufacturing, to battle scenes, then on to the aftermath of war, and the rebuilding post-war. It ends with a measure of hope. There were scenes from the Apartheid government forces beating up protestors, the falling of the Twin Towers, nuclear bombs exploding, Confederate re-enactment soldiers, from both World Wars, and more. The images are graphic, and combined with the inspiring and insightful music, incredibly emotive.

I was particularly struck by several things. Firstly, after the Sanctus, the mass includes the adhan, the Muslim call to prayer. As the muezzin was singing, I wondered whether this performance was the first time that religious content other than that from Christianity, but especially from Islam, had ever been performed in City Hall. I was also struck that if I spoke Arabic, I would call God Allah, even as I prayed to a different God; that the adhan, while a call for muslims to pray, could just as easily be a call for Christians to gather & pray.

The Kyrie Eleison (Lord, have mercy) was performed while imagery of battles were shown, and it struck me as particularly poignant that children were singing this piece while adults (mainly men) were shown warring - contrasting their innocence with the death of innocence, their age with the age of the soldiers, their supposed lack of wisdom with the supposed wisdom of adults who 'know better', their cries for mercy with the relentless action of war.

"Save me from bloody men" was... unusual. Sung a Capella, in near total darkness, with monochrome footage of trenches and men crossing no man's land, it ended with a massive blast on the drums (I think it was both timpani and drum kit combined) that coincided with colour footage of a nuclear bomb explosion. I nearly left my seat with fright!

I won't go through the performance item by item, save to say that each piece left me more wounded, broken, horrified. I found myself silently calling out to God, both in horror at the evil in our hearts that would allow us to perpetrate such violence against one another and against the earth; and for forgiveness. I was reminded of Paul's words that 'if it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live in peace with everyone'. Rom 12:18. 

The scenes of the attack on the Twin Towers was particularly upsetting, as I was transported back to that day, and I remembered the horror of watching people jump to their deaths all on my own, and then wondering whether Graeme would be able to return home to me in London.

The scenes of the Allies helping the victims of the concentration camps was disturbing. There are no words for the horror of seeing living corpses, for that is how they seemed.

By the time we got to the Benedictus, it was almost all I could do not to moan in anguish. I found myself fervently praying that Jesus would return soon, to put an end to all this evil and suffering, once and for all. 

Given that the line between good and evil runs through the middle of every heart, we cannot solve the problem of evil, or of war and violence, on our own. If we cannot manage our own tempers, if we cannot prevent ourselves from gossiping or slandering others, if we cannot deal with our own jealousy or desire for power/ fame/ recognition, if we cannot control our thought life, if we cannot control the anger in our hearts, then there will never be peace. Jesus really is the only hope in this world, because he alone has the power to change us - after seeing this performance, I am more convinced of that than ever.

The final irony for me, was that the City Hall is a war memorial. (Sadly, it is a memorial only for those whites who died; it does not name people of colour.)

Afterwards, I wondered anew at the situation we face in Cape Town with the army coming in to support police in areas of gang violence. Gangs foment violence and war, but is retaliating with violence and war the solution? Even Paul recognised that sometimes peace is not possible. Sometimes radical responses are needed. If the Allies had not responded radically and violently, what would the world have looked like today? Would Hitler have conquered the whole of Europe, the world? Do the ends justify the means? Do the death, destruction and mayhem caused by a tyrannical racist warrant a world war? I suppose the problem is that we don't know what sort of death, destruction or mayhem would have resulted had there not been a world war. 

Returning to our gangland problem, surely a better solution would be changing hearts and minds? But doing so is harder than perpetrating violence - it's easier to beat someone up, arrest them, throw them in jail, or whatever, than it is to walk alongside them in conversation for days, weeks, months, years, until you have helped them to see themselves and their circumstances differently. War is evil, no doubt. War is abhorrent. But peace is worth fighting for, right, no matter the cost?

True peace is not just the absence of war though. True peace comes from a healed and restored heart, one that does not covet, is not proud, or jealous, that does not hate, that is not insecure, that can love and forgive freely. True peace is found in a heart that knows and loves Jesus, and that, without a doubt, is worth the greatest price of all. 

Meek and mild? I think not!

My cousin preached at church today, and as always, his sermon was so full of meaty, weighty stuff to consider that I will have to download the podcast later to get all the gems. But once thing really stuck with me - a definition he got somewhere else (he was adamant it wasn't his own) for word translated as 'meek'.

Being the kind of child I was, who really wanted nothing more than to go to Bible college or read for a theology degree when I left school (& yes, there's a story there about why I didn't) I learnt early on in my Bible-reading career that meek doesn't mean mild. It doesn't mean being being a doormat.

But this definition today caught my imagination: Being meek means getting angry enough at the injustices of and in the world that you are motivated to action, but not at the injustices perpetrated against yourself.

Think about that for a second - get angry at poverty, at poor ECD for our children, at the fact that some schools still have pit toilets, or that in some schools girls can't go to school without fear of being raped, or that some families sleep 5 to a room while others have 2 rooms per person in a family of 5, or that in some suburbs you aren't safe from being shot inside your home by a stray bullet punching through your window because of gang violence, or..... by all means get angry about those things and try to contribute to the solution. 

But when you feel discriminated against, or when you feel life is unfair to you personally, or when someone slanders your name, or gossips about you, or steals your possessions, di not get angry about these things if it leads you to violence.

Why? Because, as a follower of Jesus, you know that when the world shows you its ugly side, when it reveals its hatred of you, it hated Jesus first, and it hated Jesus more. 

And how did Jesus react when his name was slandered, when lies were told about him, when his innocence was hidden for political expediency, when his enemies conspired against him, when he was beaten, whipped, sleep deprived, mocked, tortured and murdered? He responded with forgiveness - "Father, forgive then, for they know not what they do." Of course they knew what they were doing! Of course the religious leaders and the political rulers, the soldiers and the mob knew EXACTLY what they were doing - they wanted him dead. But they didn't know AT ALL what they were doing - they were helping to ensure that the salvation of every man, woman and child who had ever lived, and would ever live would be secured.

When the world shows us its ugly underbelly, it doesn't realise that it is also giving us the opportunity to be, and to demonstrate, the visible love, joy, peace and freedom that is present through Jesus.

So get angry about injustice, just not injustice towards yourself. Be meek.

My cousin used a fabulous analogy. Picture a labrador puppy and an adult boerbul. The puppy gambols around the adult, biting its tail, ears, and snaps at its face. The adult boerbul could, with a single snap of its powerful jaws, annihilate the puppy. Instead, it tolerantly endures the puppy's antics. Why? Because it is meek. Power under control. It could retaliate, but it chooses not to because it recognises that the puppy doesn't really know what it is doing.

As believers we have the power and might of all of heaven on our side. As daughters and sons of the Most High God, we could destroy them. Wer could call down fire and SMITE them. Instead, we choose to be like our brother and Lord. We do not choose revenge. We do not choose anger. We choose love, and forgiveness. We choose to be meek. 

Small decisions. Split seconds. Life and death

I like speed. Not the drug - never had that, never intend to either. No, I like driving fast. In my time, I’ve had my fair share of tickets, but in recent years, I’ve been trying hard to slow down, to stick to the speed limit. I’ve even installed one of those recorder app thingys on my phone, linked to my car insurance, to encourage me to slow down. And thank God for that, because last night, on my way to the matric dance, if I’d been doing my preferred speed on the highway, I would have killed a pedestrian, and possibly myself as well.

It was dark (it’s winter), and I was in the fast lane on a piece of road with a gentle S-bend on an incline. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a pedestrian steps into the road from the concrete divider. Almost as if in slow-mo, I process this and think - “no way! This guy’s seen me, he’s going to step back.” He wasn’t stumbling and did not appear drunk. He just calmly walked across the road. In that moment of incredulity of realizing that he wasn’t stepping back, that he either truly did not see me, or was not aware of the danger of crossing a busy highway at night, I had to decide how to respond - which way around him to aim for. I braked like mad, swerved, and missed him, but then nearly hit the concrete barrier, so swerved again, and then nearly lost control of the car as I tried to avoid going into the next lane and hitting the car a few meters behind.
In the lane next to me, another car was sitting a few meters behind me, almost in my blind spot. I don’t think the driver saw the pedestrian either, until I swerved initially. As I was focused on trying not to lose control of the car, I didn’t see what happened next. But as I managed to glance at into the rear view mirror, I saw the pedestrian’s bag go flying out from behind the 2nd car, with all his stuff flying everywhere. My best guess is that it clipped him, or at least, clipped his bag. He survived though.
Thank God I hadn’t had my usual Friday afternoon end-of-the-school-week glass of wine, or, in this case, the end-of-term-celebratory glass of wine. Thank God I was going the speed limit. Because if either of those things had been different, the end result could have been very different.
Small decisions. Split seconds. Life and death.

Stand up!

Over the past few weeks I have been reading news about violence in schools - 7 fatal stabbings across the country this year already - and that’s not talking about adults, it’s talking about pupils, some in primary school, stabbing one another. 

At the same time, it has been exams, and with that has been the usual slew of exam irregularities, which includes students attempting to cheat. (Anyone who tell you kids at their school don’t cheat, they are lying - either they know and are deliberately lying, or their kids are just so smart they have the teachers fooled.) Some of the blatant methods used astound me with their stupidity - did they seriously think they wouldn’t be caught out? And then, of course, when students are under stress they say and do the silliest things, usually on social media, which then gets reported to the staff. (Again, did they seriously think it wouldn’t be seen?)

At the start of the exam season I attended the South Africa Principals Association conference. (No, I’m not a principal; the conference is open to ordinary teachers too.) One of the speakers was Emma Sadlier, who is a renowned South African lawyer specializing in social media cases. Some of the stories she shared, about how students treat each other - things they say on and do social media, were bone chilling. No need to read a horror story when that kind of thing is happening in reality in this country (and across the globe)!

All this to say that I’ve been pondering what it means to have integrity, and why it is that our young people seem to be lacking it. 

The children now love luxury; they have bad manners, contempt for authority; they show disrespect for elders and love chatter in place of exercise. Children are now tyrants, not the servants of their households. They no longer rise when elders enter the room. They contradict their parents, chatter before company, gobble up dainties at the table, cross their legs, and tyrannize their teachers.

This quote is reportedly by Socrates, quoted by Plato, but was actually a statement by Kenneth John Freeman in his Cambridge dissertation in 1907. Never the less, I think any generation would feel this way about the next generation. 

Maybe because so much of my time is spent dealing with the naughty kids at school - whether through the DT system (which I manage), or as a grade head, I can accept that my opinions on the matter are skewed to one side. Many of those I deal with seem to lack integrity. They are quite happy to pass the buck as quickly as possible, and if they can’t, to point out the faults in others to deflect from themselves. If they can’t do that either they lie outright, denying all knowledge of anything you might say. In many cases, when they have knowledge about something, they will refuse to do the right thing and inform on their friends, even if doing so would mean the rest of the school community would be safer. It’s the whole ‘snitches get stitches’ thing, which makes me mad, because it endangers the other 1000+ people in the school community in preference for a friendship with one other person.

Smile 90.4 FM have an advert that runs something like this: “If you saw a wallet on the ground, and picked it up, what would you do? (Pause) You’d give it back, of course!” It continues to espouse the value of integrity, saying that people who do the right thing have a heart. How can it be that the programme managers and management of a popular radio station feel it is essential enough to spend the money to run an ad that promotes integrity? Have we, as a nation, really fallen that far?

I think we have. I think that both through the effect of Apartheid, the effect of a modern society that promotes individualism to the extreme, and finally, through the efforts of people like Richard Dawkins and the militant atheists, the moral fibre of our society seems to have been ripped apart at the seams. There is no doubt in my mind that some of this is Satan’s work - gleefully encouraging us to love ourselves more than others, to ignore God, and to do nothing when we see injustice. But I don’t think we can lay all the blame at his door. We are by nature fallen beings, prone to going our own way and the further we are from Christ, the easier it is for our moral compass to be incorrectly aligned.

Having integrity takes courage. It requires you to speak truth, even at cost to yourself. It demands that you take responsibility for not only your own problems, but those of others around you as well. True integrity flourishes in a heart that is soft, that shows grace towards others, that loves at all times, that forgives. Those with integrity stand with not just their heads above the parapet, but their chest and arms as well, knowing full well that they make a target of themselves, and choosing to do it anyway, because it’s the right thing to do.

How do we help our broken young people develop integrity like this? How do we make it more attractive to them than the alternatives? How do we raise up a generation in this country, at this time, in our context of massive unemployment and a failing education system, that chooses to do the right thing because it’s the right thing to do - not for reward, not out of fear of punishment, not because of coercion? The simple solution is to make disciples of Jesus, of course. 

I was going to say, though, that the reality is that in this multi-cultural, multi-faith society, saying preaching Jesus is verboten. But when I look at the time that Paul spent in Ephesus, I see exactly the same set-up. Ephesus was a major city in Paul’s time, sitting on a major cross-road, and hence centre, for trade between East and West, North and South. It was the global centre for the worship of Artemis, amongst other gods. Paul stood up, every day, and preached for several hours, for 3 years. Of course, he was ultimately executed for sticking his neck above the parapet, so to speak. Yet, he was so convinced of the power of the gospel to change lives that he thought the risk was worth it.

So I guess, in the end, the question I am left with this is - do I think the risk of sharing the gospel with those around me is worth it? There is no short-term fix for a lack of integrity. If the only long-term solution I can see is to make disciples of The Way, am I willing to stand up and be counted? Am I willing to be the voice crying in the wilderness - maybe excluded and isolated, maybe feeling like a freak, maybe being insulted, probably not being liked very much - calling others to a higher standard, holding them to account, speaking truth in love?

I’d love to be able to answer ‘yes’ without a 2nd thought, but the truth is that that kind of radical faith is scary. I want to be that kind of person, and sometimes I think I am. But I know that, God forgive me!, often I shrink back, too scared of making waves, of alienating myself from others, or of looking a fool. So really, if I can’t be a model of integrity to others, how can I expect others to be one? 

I can lament the situation because I know God laments the situation too. His desire is for righteousness to cover the earth. Even in my imperfect state, I know that it’s okay (and right) for me to lament the situation. But I need to be part of the solution. I am called to be part of the solution - that’s what being a disciple of Jesus means. This is not something I can just suck up and get on with, or manufacture the strength to do. This is far too difficult for that. No, what I need is the power of the Spirit, every day, every hour. On my own I don’t have the strength or ability. With my God, I can scale a wall though! (Ps 18:29)

Planting flowers

Everyone loves a pretty garden, right? One that looks loved, and looked after, and full of greenery and colour. I get that some people hate spending time in gardens because of their allergies (grass, pollen, bees, etc.), but who doesn’t at least appreciate looking out of their window and seeing beauty like that?

With the drought of last year, and the increasing dryness over the past 3-4 years, my garden has slowly been dying. Sadly, my attempts at quick fixes have made things worse - my grass now looks less like a lawn and more like a few strands of grass with lots of bare ground. Being someone who has always taken pride in growing things, and who loves nothing more than spending time in a beautiful, green space, this slow death of my garden has caused a concomitant death in my soul. It got so bad I wanted to keep the curtains closed, so I would have to look at it. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

Earlier this year, though, as I stood contemplating the disaster of my garden, and feeling thoroughly depressed that I would ever have the type of garden I wanted, I felt God speak to me about it.

“What do you really want out of this garden?”
“I want to look out and see something that invites me to spend time in it, something that looks beautiful, something pretty.”
“If you want flowers, you have to plant flowers.”

That made me think. As a gardener, you have to plan in advance. If you want spring flowers, you have to plant bulbs in winter. If you want more fruit off your trees in summer, you have to prune them in autumn. When you plant something, you have to picture it as a fully-grown plant, to ensure that the spot you choose will have enough space for it to grow into. You are constantly thinking ahead and planning for the future. It takes time, effort, and seeing the big picture.

As a gardener, you are also constantly battling the forces that would seek to destroy your beautiful creation - pests, diseases, weeds, overgrowth, climate. That too takes persistent work. You can’t take a holiday from caring for your garden, because then something will get a foothold and before you can say “make lemonade from lemons”, all your hard work has been undone.

If I want a beautiful garden, I can’t give up. I can’t hide behind my curtains and pretend the garden doesn’t exist. If I want a beautiful garden, I have to put the time in. I have to plant the bulbs that will give me the spring flowers. I have to mow the lawn every week or so so that the grass is encouraged to grow horizontally to fill the gaps (rather than vertically). I have to turn the soil to improve aeration (my garden sits on koffieklip, so one rain and my plants are growing in rock again). I have to add fertilizers regularly to improve the nutrient quality of the soil (I have a layer of sand on the koffieklip) so that things actually grow. I also have to choose my plants more wisely - choosing fynbos over tropical beauties, because they are better adapted for my garden conditions (which will save me money in the long run). As I contemplated all this, God took it a level deeper though.

“What do you really want out of your life?”
“I want to know Your thoughts, to hear You speaking to me, and through me so that I can speak into the lives of those around me, to draw them to You. I want a life of significance.”
“You want the flowers.”
“I do.”
“Then you have to plant flowers.”

Wham! That hit me right between the eyes. If I want to know God more, then I have to spend time with him. I have to plan to create times and spaces to meet with him. I have to put in the time and effort. I also have to actively spend time dealing with the spiritual pests, diseases, weeds and other things that would seek to distract me (at best) and tear me away from God (at worst). If I want the spiritual rewards, then I have to sow the spiritual seeds, plant the spiritual bulbs, and plant the spiritual flowers. I can’t give up when things get tough - like with gardening, it’s when things are difficult that my plants need me most to protect them and provide for them. When things get spiritually difficult, that’s when I most need to lean in, to press into the spiritual disciplines even more.

I have been living with this since the beginning of the year, and I won’t say I’ve got it waxed, because I don’t. But I can say that I am moving in the right direction. Eugene Petersen (one of the modern-day giants in Christendom) wrote a book entitled “A long obedience in the same direction”, about living the Christian life in our modern world. This is what it is about. We live in an instant society, but real life isn’t lived instantly. Real life is a long, slow journey, and as Christians we are constantly heading in the same direction - becoming more like Jesus.

So, my motto for the year is that if you want flowers, you’ve got to plant flowers.

Mam for president!

Teaching is so much more than just teaching content! As a teacher you Jane to fill so many roles. The one I love best is talking about real world issues that will affect my students outside of the classroom, now and after school. Today was just such an example.

Part of the Gr 11 & 12 Life Sciences curriculum is looking at the impact that humans are having on the planet. Today we were discussing the consequences of climate change, and I pointed out that as a result of increased droughts people migrate to cities, which puts more stress on food resources.

Student 1: We should ban all immigrants because they steal our food.
Student 2: Build a wall!
Me: That's like getting a cut and, instead of cleaning it out, you simply put a plaster on it in the hopes it will get better by itself. Short-term solutions create long-term problems. Rather, we should be thinking 20, 50 or 100 years ahead and making sure our solutions solve the problem for the people living after us...

Student 3: MAM FOR PRESIDENT!!

Well, that wasn't quite the response I was looking for, but okay!

Do not go gentle into that good night

My mother has Alzheimer’s. So did my gran, and my great-gran. I was a teenager through my gran’s Alzheimer’s, and she died while I was in my 20s. Watching my gran deteriorate and having to look after her was horrid...

I had patience to answer the same question 5 or 10 times, but after the gazillionth time, I had no patience left, so would simply leave the room or the house, and abandon my mother to deal with it. Having to care for her once her sleep patterns were gone was exhausting. She would sleep during the day and be awake at night. We would find her switching on the stove in the middle of the night and then forgetting it was on, or trying to leave the house and go shopping (while undressing herself on the driveway). Even having a night nurse to care for her, to give us a chance to sleep, didn’t work very well, because my gran would frequently have a negative reaction to the nurse, becoming angry and then violent.

So when my mom was diagnosed, I was shattered. Not only did I know the manner in which I would lose my mother, but I wasn’t sure how I would be able to handle her decline. (And at the back of my mind was the fear that this is how I too will end my life...and that my kids and husband will have to care for me while I become increasingly confused, angry and violent... Rage, rage against the dying of the light...)

Yet, oddly, I find I currently have patience to answer the same question endlessly without getting upset or annoyed. I find myself telling stories I know she will forget in 5 minutes, because I know it gives her pleasure to have a ‘normal’ conversation. Where, as a teenager, I couldn’t bear to be with my gran, now I find myself eager to spend time with my mom.

Maybe the difference is that I am older. Maybe it’s that this time around the person affected is my mother. Maybe it’s that this time around I am more Christ-like than I was as a teenager. Whatever it is, I am grateful that I am able to show my mother love, care and appreciation while she is still able to accept and appreciate it. I know that won’t always be the case.

I guess the lesson is to always make the most of every day, and to tell the people you love that you love them, because there are no guarantees in life. When someone is gone, it’s too late to spend time with them, too late to tell them you love them, too late to talk, too late to share an experience, too late, too late, too late. In a way, I’m glad my mother was diagnosed - it made me realize that the time I have left with her is short. I wish I’d been less wrapped up in my own day-to-day busyness of raising children and work and chores around the house. I wish I’d made more of the time we had while she was still active and fully present. But at least I have this time with her now.

Don’t let someone’s funeral or memorial be the time when you learn who that person really is. Don’t let their funeral be the time when you turn to one another and say ‘I wish I’d spent more time with them.’ Don’t let the only time you see family or friends be at the funeral of another family member or friend. What does it matter if the house isn’t clean, or the lawn isn’t mowed? What does it matter if your clothes aren’t ironed, or that book isn’t read? What does it matter, when compared to the incomparably short time we have left on this earth? What matters in eternity is not whether the chores got done, but whether we loved others in action (and not just in words or sentiment). Do not go gentle into that good night. Wear purple  Tick off the items on your bucket list. Spend time with the people you love, because in the blink of an eye either they, or you, will be gone, and it will be too late.