Ek kyk om my heen, en ek vra myself af: waar sal ons hulp vandaan kom... Hoe moet ons reageer op die gebeure in ons land? Ek kyk met ongemak na die soveelste video wat aangestuur word. Waarmee is ons besig? Het ons regtig ons land se beste belange op die hart? Om in groepe te verdeel en die vrees op te jaag? Ja, ons land is in 'n gemors. Ja, die onreg is skreiend. Ja, dit maak mens lam om die gierigheid en magsmisbruik te sien. En ja, dit ruk mens om die geweld te aanskou wat aan onskuldiges gedoen word. Maar ek vra my af hoe ons ons moet posisioneer hierin. Dit is nie die eerste maal in die geskiedenis waar daar vergrype is nie. Ook nie afgryslike, ondenkbare boosheid nie. Ek hoor soveel mense sê dat dit nie erger kan gaan as nou nie. Dan verwonder ek my as hulle wegry in hulle blink nuwe 4x4 bakkies en terugkeer na hul veilige en gerieflike lewens. Weet ons regtig wat swaarkry is? Verdrukking? Vervolging? En ek ys as ek dink hoe gemaklik ons is. Wat ons verwagtinge is van hierdie lewe. Dat ons so gou op hol kan gaan as dinge effe knap raak. Ons glo so maklik die beeld wat vir ons voorgehou word as die werklikheid. Gaan ondersoek ons dit ooit om by die waarheid te kom? Of spring ons goedsmoeds op die volgende wa van vrees wat verby kom... Het ons die volle beeld van wat in ons land aangaan? Of leef ons in 'n blanke, bevoorregde seepbel, waardeur ons na alles om ons kyk. Het ons begrip vir wat in ander gemeenskappe gebeur? Hoe ander geraak word? Of is ons so besig om wat ons s'n is te beskerm, dat ons harte hard is. Ons oë blind. Dis nie dat ek antwoorde het vir ons land, of vir ons wêreld nie. Maar wat ek glo ons plig is as die Lig en Sout in hierdie wêreld, is dat ons ons harte sal ondersoek. Dat ons sal seker maak dat ons die regte duisternis beveg. Dat ons in die regte Koninkryk is. Want dit is 'n koninkryk wat anders werk as hierdie wêreld se baie koninkryke. Ek het by Jesus se voete gaan sit en saam met die skare geluister na waar hy Sy Koninkryk verduidelik:
Geseënd is hulle wat arm is van gees, wat leeg is van hulleself en hulle eie belange, hul regte. Sodat Hy groot kan wees. Geseënd is hulle wat treur, wat nie antwoorde het vir harte wat gebreek word en wêrelde wat verskeur word nie, maar wat self gebreek word daardeur. Geseënd is die wat sag van hart is, wat met sagte oë kyk, na hulleself en na die om hulle. Geseënd is die wat honger en dors na wat reg is, wat regtig na die Waarheid soek. Geseënd is die genadiges, wat nie veroordeel of beoordeel nie, maar liefhet, wat met deernis uitreik na mense in nood. Vergifnis is die taal wat hulle praat, want hulle bly bewus van wat hulle elke dag vergewe word. Geseënd is hulle wat suiwer van hart is, wie se innerlike en uiterlike lewe ooreenstem, wie in integriteit lewe elke oomblik van hierdie moeilike menslike reis. Daar is geen voorgee nie, slegs een ding oorheers: om in God te bly. Geseënd is die vredemakers, die wat nie verder verdeel nie, maar bymekaar bring. Wat 'Shalom', heelheid bring waar hulle gaan. Wat bou in plaas van breek. Geseënd is hulle wat vervolg word ter wille van wat voor God reg is. Ook wanneer hulle bespot en vervolg word en allerhande leuens oor hulle versprei word omdat hulle My dissipels is. Hulle wat nie terugdeins om op te staan vir wat reg is nie. Wat vol is van 'n groter Lewe. "when everything you stand for and everything you believe in become a song in you, then dying's not so hard at all." -Macrina Wiederkehr Mag ons in die wye oopte van die Koninkryk lewe, sodat ons ware vryheid mag ken, en kan onderskei in 'n tyd soos hierdie. En as ons bid, laat dit nie om ons eie klein skemas draai nie, maar mag ons vrymoedig instap in God se Koninkryk in ons, om aan te raak en in te sluit en te omhels...
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Sy was 92 jaar oud. Sy was Dirk se ouma en 'n seën vir almal om haar. En aan die einde van haar lewe het sy haar hande oor haar bors gevou en deurgegaan... Haar kinders, kleinkinders en agterkleinkinders het gestaan en snik by haar kis. Hartverskeurd omdat hulle hul ma, ouma en oumagrootjie so gaan mis. Daar is gepraat oor haar vriendelikheid en rustigheid. En ek wonder hoe sy teruggekyk het oor haar eie lewe... Ek lees gister vir Simon van koning Salomo, hy met die roemryke lewe. 'n Mens wat in menslike terme alles gehad het wat 'n mens kan begeer. Maar hy beskryf dit aan die einde van sy lewe as 'n gejaag na wind. Alles tevergeefs... Sinloos... En ek wonder oor tevredenheid. Wat sal maak dat 'n mens tevrede sal terugkyk oor jou lewe as jy aan die einde daarvan kom. En ek besef dat dit so sal wees as ek nou tevrede is. Terwyl ek voluit in die lewe staan. Ek dink dit begin met wat ons verwagting is, wat ons dink ons toekom... Maar, "ons het tog niks saamgebring toe ons in die wêreld gekom het nie, en ons sal ook nie enigiets saamneem wanneer ons sterf nie. As ons dus genoeg kos en klere het, laat ons tevrede wees." 1Tim 6:7-8 Die engelse woord is "contentment" - "that contentment which comes from the sense of inner confidence based on the sufficiency of God"- Msg. Ek gaan na Paulus toe om te leer. Hy sê: "I have learned to be content and self-sufficient through Christ, satisfied to the point where I am not disturbed, regardless of my circumstances. In any and every circumstance I have learned the secret of facing life, whether having an abundance or being in need. I can do all things, which He has called me to do, through Him who infuses me with inner strength and confident peace." Phil 4:11-13 (Amp) Ons word nie 'n pynvrye, sorgvrye lewe belowe nie, maar iets veel beter... En ek besef dat tevredenheid binne myself lê, dat ek dit nie in iets buite myself sal vind nie. Maar dat hierdie tevredenheid slegs kan kom in Hom. As ek myself oorgee. My eie voorkeure laat gaan, my eie strewes. Om in gehoorsaamheid te leef in die Een wat lewe gee. "Drink deeply of the pleasures of this God. Experience for yourself the joyous mercies He gives to all who turn to hide themselves in Him" ps 34:8 Dan bring Hy ons in 'n wonderlike oop spasie. Dan versadig Hy my. Tot die dag wat ek my hande oor my bors kan vou en tevrede deurgaan... "contentment" 70x55cm oil on canvas "...You broke open the way to bring me to freedom, into a beautiful, broad place..." ps 31:8
Elke dagbreek gebeur dit... Die donker-duister word deur die lig verdryf. En wat donker diepte was, begin lewe. Met kleur en prag. Oranje, pienk en geel... "eerste lig" olie op bord 45x60cm Nou in die winter kan ek dit so intens beleef elke oggend. Dit is pikdonker as ek met my eerste koffie by die Aga gaan sit en stil wees. Ek trek die gordyne oop om die geboorte van die dag te kan sien. Die eerste skemering. Die ligvlekkies wat stadig ligter word tussen die ou moerbeiboom se kaal takkies deur. Dis asof die orkes se instrumente ingestem word. Eers enkele klanke wat huiwerig speel. Dan al voller tot die pienk wil uitbars die hele lug vol. Dis asof vlamme die hemel aanraak. En dan die klimaks as die kleure uitbars oor die rante met die eerste strale wat alles in goud verander. Maar net vir 'n paar oomblikke, dan word die lig wit en kan die gewone dagtake begin... En in hierdie tyd, in hierdie land, gee dit hoop. Hierdie lig wat elke môre die duisternis oorwin. Word dit 'n daaglikse prentjie, 'n getuienis wat ons kan vertrou. Want ons leef in onseker tye. Ons land se sake loop nie soos ons dit sal verkies nie. Geensins. Mens voel magteloos teen die onreg. Veral omdat dit die onskuldiges is wat ly. Dit voel so onregverdig. Maar lyk my Jeremia van ouds het ook hoop gekry by hierdie dagbreek-prentjie. Want hy skryf uit sy hopelose omstandighede, uit 'n vyandige land ver van sy huis af: "His tender compassions never fail. They are new every morning. Great and beyond measure is Your faithfulness. 'The Lord is my portion and my inheritance', says my soul; therefore I have hope in Him and wait expectantly for Him." Lamentations 3: 22-23 Ek kies om dit te glo. Al kan ek dit nie sien nie. Dit is immers wat geloof is. Om te vertrou in dit wat ek nie kan sien nie. Ek ontmoet die lig as 'n Persoon... "Ek is die lig vir die mensdom. Wie My aanhou volg, sal nooit in die duisternis leef nie, maar sal die lig hê wat lewe gee." Johannes 8:12 En ek neem Jesus se woorde saam in hierdie dag in. In hierdie donker prentjie wat ek oor die nuus hoor.
Ek kies om oop te maak vir die Lig. Kies om nie in die donker te bly nie. "Jou oog is 'n lamp vir jou liggaam. 'n Suiwer oog laat die lig na binne stroom, sodat jy daar binne geheel en al lig word." Matteus 6: 22 So ek laat die Lig binnestroom om ook my donker binneste te verlig. Want Sy genade is elke dag nuut. Ek kan elke oomblik daarin lewe. Ek kan rus daarin. Want dit kom nie uit my nie. Dit omvorm my. Daagliks. Ek kan elke nuwe dag nuut begin... Dit is genade... Ons is gedwing om te bly... Daar was 'n wonderlike vakansie in vooruitsig. Drie weke in Sedgefield. My ouers sou die hele Junie-maand oorsee wees, en het ons gevra om hulle huis en hond op te pas. Ons het drome gedroom van dik boeke lees, luilekker tyd op die strand spandeer, visvang, stap in die Knysnabos, Kangogrotte besoek... En bowenal van geen verantwoordelikhede nie. In die drie jaar vandat ons die plaas gekry het, was ons nog nie op 'n gesinsvakansie nie. So ons het gedink dis hoogtyd. Dat dit ons selfs toekom. En die tydsberekening was goed: 'n rustiger tyd op die plaas, nie te veel wat moet gebeur nie. 'n Welverdiende ruskans... Maar toe breek die geweldige vure in Knysna en omgewing uit. Ons volg die berigte van verwoesting. Na 'n week word Sedgefield as veilig verklaar en ons besluit om tog te gaan. En toe breek ons kar 3 dae voor ons sou vertrek. Groot breek. Die enjin moet oorgedoen word. Ons moet bly. En ons bly, in hierdie spasie waar die werk nooit minder raak nie. In die koue en droogte. In ons daaglikse roetine. Sonder 'n kar. Sonder opwinding of afleiding. Ons kan toe niks anders doen as om aan te gaan nie. Met die gewone. Ons oes 'n mielieland, oes rape, herbou die hoenderhok, stook die Aga. Ons leef 'n winter-ritme van korter dae. En ons word verras met 'n groot rustigheid oor ons. 'n Vrede om nou hier te wees. Om nou hierdie rape uit te trek, hier in die winterson. Nou hierdie mielies te pluk. Ek kom na 3 weke van nie-op-vakansie-wees-nie, af op die volgende aanhaling van Kathleen Norris: "We want life to have meaning, and want to be fulfilled, and it is hard to accept that we find these things by starting where we are, not where we would like to be. Our greatest spiritual blessings are likely to reveal themselves not in exotic settings, but in everyday tasks and trials." Dennis Okholm sê dit ook mooi: "Conversion and growth in character happen when we remain, not when we run... Stability means being faithful where we are - really paying attention to those with whom we live and to what is happening in our common life." Ek bely ek wou hardloop. Ek het gesoek na treine en busse wat Sedgefield toe loop, enige manier hoe ons by ons vakansiebestemming kan uitkom. Maar dis toe ek pens en pootjies in 'Jan-tuisbly-se-karretjie' inklim, en in my hart 'bly', dat ek die rus kon ervaar. Te midde van harde werk. Te midde van die gewone. En soos altyd het ek dit na my huisie in die bos geneem, om in beeld om te sit. En ek het die groot wye populier voor my huisie begin verf. Die alledaagse uitsig. Ek het hom geverf soos hy daar staan: gestroop van somergroen, ontbloot om al sy merke te wys. En hy het al mooier vir my geword, toweragtig mooi. Daar waar hy so stewig geanker staan... ( "gestroop" 70x55cm olie op doek)
Op hierdie kortste dag hier in die suidelike halfrond, sit ek snoesig voor ons Aga en skryf. Dit was 'n koue nag, ryp lê 'n wit lagie oor die wêreld, en die water uit die sproeiers hang soos stalagtiete van heinings en plante. Dis ons winters hier in Molteno. 'n Sprokiesagtigheid saam met die gestoei om warm te bly. En dis 'n leerskool in die kleine om hierdie strawwe seisoen te vier... Ek geniet die intense seisoene hier. Die herfs asemrowend met die populiere wat goudgeel staan, en dan die winters... Waar alles gestroop word. Alle kleur verdwyn. Maar dan begin die oog fyner skakerings raaksien, van sagte kleure: groengrys, duifgrys, droë gras, ryp gars op die land. En dit word 'n stil fees vir die oog. Dis asof mens moet aanpas by 'n nuwe ritme. 'n Stadiger leef. Dieper kyk, want mens sal die landskap maklik kan afmaak as vaal en dood. En dan mis jy die klein wonders om jou. Die fyn detail van 'n wêreld wat sonder voorgee is, en baie het om te gee. Ek verf in 'n klein houthuisie in 'n populierbos. Dis 'n voorreg om elke dag daar omring te wees met bome wat die seisoene leef. Ek kan daagliks die verandering sien. Die droë silwer blare onder my voete hoor. Die ysigheid voel. En ek probeer die 'nou' indrink. Nie geirriteerd wag vir die lente en warmer weer nie. En dit word soos 'n oefening vir my lewe. Om te wag in die winter. Te bly in die ooglopende dooie seisoen. Selfs vreugde te vind. Help U my Here... (krediet vir foto's: Wilke, Thara en Anne Strydom. Gaan kyk gerus na hul webtuiste: wilkestrydom.wixsite.com/soetewaterfotografie) ("Wintervuur" 62x48cm Olie op doek)
We were there, at that huge gathering in Bloemfontein. We, who are kind of hermits. Not liking crowds. And I am hesitant to put words to something that was undescribable. But I will try... I asked myself what happened there in Bloem. What was so significant? It was not about the man who had the task to make the call. To bring the people together. To lead us all. I think the power was in the unity. The one vision. No division, no denominations, no race, no political orientation. But as people. Together. In the dust. On our knees. With no answers. No clever solutions for the mess we are in. Not asking for specific outcomes. But humbling ourselves so that God can work. (We so easily block Him with our dualistic minds, dividing everything into boxes and labels.) But there we were without words. Nothing to show off. No masks to wear. I never experienced such a hushed crowd. For six hours in the sun, sweaty and dusty. Hearts to get still. Tears to flow. When we knelt in the dust I didn't have words. I was overcome. By God. By the vastness of Him, His love. Many times throughout the day I looked up at the blue sky above. Not being able to grasp the beginning or end. That was the sense I had of God's infiniteness... At one stage I sat on the nearby hill and saw the people like little ants below me. So far as the eye could see. People streaming in over the autumn grasslands. And I knew that each of them had their own story. That each had their own road they were on, that brought them up to that place and time. With each one, God was busy walking the road. I was overwhelmed by the hearts of the people. Showing there neediness of a God who is in control. Dying to their own schemes and plans. Because the teachings of Jesus challenge us in days like these: to turn the other cheek, to love our enemy. And it was as if we were brought to a place of deep humility. To first look into our own heart. To see the sin, the need. Not to blame, but to die to self. To lay down our own will, our own preferences. To let God be God and to be still... My prayer for our country, as well as all humanity, is for us to be transformed into His image, like we are meant to be. So that God's light can shine in this dark world, through us, His body... as one light, in unity.
There is wonder in seed. Something we cannot understand. Life contained inside a tiny container. Hidden from the eye. Potential locked in. But it needs to go into the soil to bring forth this living treasure. It needs to be buried. Covered. Bringing life from death. When we arrived here on the farm, we had to learn everything about planting. About first preparing the soil. The hard soil, that laid bare for so long. A neighbour came to help with his tractor, to break the outer layer of hardness. We bought an old tractor. Dirk got used to the tedious work of working the soil. Preparing. You have to get your timing right. Then it is hours going slow. Breaking the surface. Breaking fine. Preparing the perfect bed for the seeds to lay in. So that they can grow strong. No hurry here. The one field he had to work nine times for it to be just right. He had to get the neighbour in to see. To feel the texture. Ready to receive the little parcels of promise... The first thing God told man to do, was to cultivate the soil. Work it, so that it can produce a harvest. We had the opportunity to experience it first hand. We laboured. First to get rid of the weeds. Then to soften the soil. Then to enrich it with organic matter and then to plant and to cover. As I think about the soil of my heart, I know God to be doing the work. Pulling out the weeds. Breaking the hard outer layer. He says in 1 Cron 29:17 (Message) that He doesn't care for the surface, but want us, our true selves. And I see in our garden the abundance that is coming if the soil is soft and loose. We put a layer of wooden chips over, to keep the moisture in and the weeds out. To produce life in the soil for food for the plant. I read the parable that Jesus told about the sower sowing seed. I let it sink in. Then He spoke about Himself. 'Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.' John 12:25. And He surrendered. Knowing what surrender had in store for Him. But Love was holding Him. Giving the trust to let it all go, so that all can be won. I meditate the Seed. He is the beginning and end. In Him is everything held. This is hope. It doesn't depend on me for it to work. This life of mine that seems to fall apart some days. This world that is in so much pain and chaos. In John 1 it says that all started in Him. The soil. The seed. Water. Light. Warmth. And life. And He, the Seed, surrendered to be buried. To die, for the harvest to come. In these days I will hold this image in my heart. Not figuring it out with my head. Not forcing it into meaning. But surrendering to this image of dying and producing life. Resurrection life. And I pray for this seed to grow strong in me and in the world. For Him to work the soil of our feeble hearts. For water and light and warmth to nurture. So that He can bring the harvest. "the harvest" And I can see there is little more for me to do. Than rest in Him. "Hiding my life in Him" Ps 61:4. Abiding in Him. Surrendering as the seed is sown and life is brought forth. Daily. This is Grace. All done for me. All done in me. All through Him.
Blessed be the Lord! Another kind of beauty. That of human beings. Creativity, enthusiasm, openness to life. These are some of the things I learn from these precious children... We are privileged to spend an afternoon each week with a group of coloured children from our little town. Ten months ago we started with 13 kids; since then it has grown to 80 children participating some afternoons. Kids raised in poverty. Vulnerable children who are exposed to the effects of alcohol abuse, violence and neglect. But children with spirits so fresh and open. It makes one feel small and humble to see their eyes so full of eagerness and trust. Ready to learn and to drink in the good and pure and beautiful. We were given an old house in town to use as space to get together. We were created together as a group. We named the house "Create". We anointed it to be filled with God's presence. So we can be re-created by love. Because that is what hold us. Not our own. But the love of the all-encompassing One. Not looking at us in terms of race or age or gender or social class or even virtue. But as beloved human beings, together in a little rundown house in a little town. Never have I seen a house cleaned with so much joy! It was like something coming alive... And we dance and sing and tell stories and pray and laugh and cry and garden and play and do sports and eat and create together... We experience how God provides: volunteers, donations, food, supplies. And we create. And I see that creativity is not learned. That it is something deep inside that just needs to be unlocked, to be given space and attention. And then it blooms and flowers and I see these children from the streets transformed into their God-created selves. Focused, at peace and deeply fulfilled. And it fills me too... And I want to take off my shoes, because the floor that I stand on is holy ground...
"See how the wildflowers of the field grow; they do not labor nor do they spin, yet I say to you that not Solomon in all his glory dressed himself like one of these." Mat 6:28,29 We went to the wildflowers. We saw how they grow. They were not toiling. They just were. Abundantly so. Dancing in the wind and sun. wildflowers lift faces with light- full moons risen in a constellation of grass. -Paulann Petersen there is not one blade of grass, there is no colour in this world that is not intended to make us rejoice. -John Calvin We strolled along the sea of grass and colour. Book in hand to learn the names, the tiny differences. Dew grass (Douvatgras), Weeping love grass (Oulandsgras), Drop seed grass (Fynsaadgras), Heart-seed love grass (Hartjiesgras), Stagger grass (Dronkgras), Thimble grass (Vingerhoedgras), Mountain wire grass (Bergkoperdraadgras), Tanglehead grass (Assegaaigras), Ginger grass (Boegoegras). I stayed there. Sitting in the grass. Let the dance encircle me. And it became a dance of life. Swaying in the wind. Life so fragile in it's beauty. And I know my life to be like the grass. No more or less than my dear friend with the dark cloud of cancer over her head, nor our old friend of 80 in intensive care. I know my life to be held in grace. Like theirs. And I surrender. And choose to dance this life in the wind and sun. Not in certainty, but in trust. sitting in the circle of dance of grass and colour swaying gently on the wind without a care stilling to the movement of trust in life dancing wildly for just this day I surrender It was a most peculiar journey. That December holiday. A journey without destination. Dirk said to prepare for a camping trip. To pack for a few weeks. We are going on a journey, but without a destination. Nowhere to book. No plans to make. We will go inland, by dust roads. But more than that will spoil the adventure. We packed the rooftop tent and trailer. We baked rusks and biscuits. We were excited. Not knowing what to expect. Not knowing where we are going. Then the day arrived. All bundled in the car at dawn. Moment of silence to ask for blessing on the journey. Then some more asking for guidance. To lead us. To take us on the roads we should go. Take us to the people we should meet. To teach us to trust. To enjoy the ride. To travel lightly. Without expectations. To keep our eyes open to see the moment as it is. To live the moment fully. To embrace this uncertainty. We opened that gate, and Dirk asked: "left or right?" The first decision to make. Nothing laid out. No easy following of a GPS with destination punched in. At every turn we had to ask again. We had a general idea of direction, inland. But the route we had to figure out as we go. We decided to stay on the dust roads. Slower going. No highways for us. There were a few dead ends. Roads that lead to nowhere. To a locked gate. Turning around with trailer on a two wheel track isn't easy... But nothing to do but to turn back. To get back to the place where we took a wrong turn. Look at the map again. Search for a better way. We saw vistas. Stopped for picnic. No Ultra City Wimpy on our road. Provitas and bullybeef taste great on a rock in the wild. And coffee from our Stanley flask. We could take some walks where we stopped. No rush to get somewhere. Not a soul to see. Only us in the wilderness... Some tense moments to find a place to sleep for our first night. Everything at Graaff Reinet fully booked. Had to go on to Nieu Bethesda. And there we found green grass and full shade and rest for a few days... We walked the little town, read under the green trees, ate at quaint little restaurants, had adventures in the mountains after some heavy rains. Built memories... After four days it was time to move on. We were all ready to go. Took the back roads again. Loxton, Fraserburg, Sutherland. Places we have never seen. Roads unknown. At that stage we knew we wanted to get to Tankwa Karoo National Park. A desolate dry piece of land. No-man's land. It was scorching hot in Sutherland. And as we descended into the Tankwa valley, the temperature just ascended. 40, 45, 50, 52 degrees... And my heart started singing, for the vastness around us. The wide open spaces... We were in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by stones and rocks and sand. Nothing alive as far as we could see. And then the trailer broke. Just like that. We started laughing at the heat as we got out of the car. The heat like liquid fluid around us to swim through. The damage to the trailer irreparable. Nothing to do. Unhook it. Leave it there next to the deserted road. All our belongings inside. All our camp gear. What now? Where to get help? We got to a few deserted farm houses. All the curtains closed. No one there. At last we found a soul, his skin a dark yellowish brown, like the landscape. His startlingly green eyes just smiled at us when we asked if it is always this hot, "dis nog nie warm nie, meneer". He directed us to a guest farm nearby. And that is how we met Ricardo. Ricardo hiding from his rat-race life in Cape Town. Hiding in the most remote place he could find. A house on a guest farm in the Tankwa area. Not a soul around. For 3 weeks. Only him. Trying to make sense of his life. To find some meaning. And then on his fifth day, in the middle of the worst of heat, laying in the little movement of air of a fan, trying to sleep through this dead patch of day, he heard a knock on the door. He thought to be dreaming. Here was no-one near. Who could possibly be moving around in this heat, at this hour of the day? He thought it to be a vision, opening the door to six people standing there on his stoep... And that is how our roads crossed those of Ricardo. On that day, in the middle of nowhere. And he took us in. All six of us. Him, hiding from society. Us, on an unknown adventure. And at that intersect we spent three days of sharing. Sharing space and food and company. We were locked in together, because of a storm after all that heat. Some rainy days, to tell stories, to play games, to just be in the living. He who didn't know children, drawn into their conversations and questions and laughter. Hours around a camp fire, musing on life and meaning. Those days were like a blessing to us all. A sense of peace and belonging, knitting us all in. It was time to go home. The trailer carried home on some hired trailer. On Christmas day. With cheese sandwiches at a picnic place somewhere along the highway. Our hearts filled with peace. Our holiday a memory of unexpected things and places and people. Surprises along the way. And we wouldn't want to change a thing. Everything a treasure. Deeply lived in the moment.
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October 2017
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