"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
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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.
I have this fear of wasting time... Not to do something worthwhile. Not to be able to show something for my time spent. Not to produce... I measure the success of my day in the things done to make the world a better place. Things produced... Beauty created. And the hours in between as wasted. Wasted with things like cooking and washing and talking and reading and relaxing. The mundane. Nothing to show. What a waste!
But I don't get this sense of urgency when I read my Bible. When I read about Abraham waiting for the promise, he had to wait more than 20 years... And that man Noah, he worked and waited 100 years for that first rain to fall... I can go on. The Israelites in Egypt must have thought, after 400 years, forgotten and forlorn... And then Jesus. It seems as if He wasted a lot of time... When his good friend Lazarus was ill, He waited some more days, before going to him. He was never too busy to tend to the needy, the sick, the children... Nothing too unimportant for His time. I get a picture of Him as relaxed, unhurried... Then I read the Words in Mat 6:26: "Look at the birds, free and unfettered, not tied down to a job description, careless in the care of God. And you count far more than birds... " Jesus says further in Mat 11: "Are you tired? Come to Me. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me - watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly." And I yearn for this: freedom and lightness... In my daily life. And I come to see that it is not in the doing, but in the being, that we learn to live in His grace every moment. That time is His. That I cannot 'waste' time that wasn't mine in the first place to take, to possess. I come to see that all of life to be sacred. Because I share it with Him. Every act becomes a small sacrament of love. Not wasted, but consecrated. To hang the washing against a blue sky, to cut the beans... Nothing wasted... Everything part of the whole. And I feel blessed...
And my heart prays: "teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom." I pray for the Spirit to teach me how to move at the pace of grace, rather than of my own hurried, self-driven pace. To live an unhurried life. Connected deeply to the One who is rooted in Eternity... |
Johanneke strydomLiving in God's grace daily. Archives
October 2017
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