I really felt it was time to post again, so if you checking up on me, here it is. This is a talk that I was asked to write last year. This is a post on Christianity, and they are my views. If you do not wish to read on, I fully respect that, but I hope you will.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Look around you. Where is the nearest Church to where we are sitting right now? Everyone can point to where they think it is.
You’re wrong. Given, yes, that building is a building with an altar and pews as such, and we call it a church, but the closest church to us is in fact even closer than that building. The church is amongst us. Right here, where we are sitting.
“Church isn’t where you meet. Church isn’t a building. Church is what you do. Church is who you are. Church is the human personification of Jesus Christ. Let’s not go to Church, let’s be the Church.”
Profound isn’t it?
So, if we’re the church, what do we do? It’s a huge privilege but can we handle it?
Why do you go to Church on Sundays?
-To learn. To pray. To meet other Christians. To worship.
So if that’s what the Church does for YOU, and WE are the church, then those things are our responsibilities to provide for others.
We have to introduce others to Jesus Christ, our Saviour, our Grace-giver.
There are many ways to show Jesus to others. It’s all very much up to you and what you find successful. My personal preference is to lead by example, and to speak about my experiences with God. I answer questions that others have and show them that I am not judgmental towards them and their decisions. People are afraid of change or something new. We need to accept others with open arms, just like the Jesus did for us. For after all, God has instructed us to love all. HE will be the judge of our lives when that day comes. It is not our job.
Two or more people gathered in God’s name is considered a Church.
I am not saying that since we are the Church, it excuses us from going to that sacred building every Sunday. We need to learn new things in order to teach those around us. It is a sanctuary for our hearts and minds, where we can grow as better Christians, and therefore take the Church to other people.
When I was a lot younger, I used to go to Sunday school where I learnt about God and Jesus, and I firmly believe that through that and the way in which I was raised, instilled a love of God within my heart As I got older, I attended Church less and less. I still loved God and prayed, but I couldn’t grow much more as a Christian. I couldn’t go out and teach others the new things that I had learnt from the sacred building.
It wasn’t until I rediscovered the Grace of God, through Happening last year, that I started attending Church more and more regularly. And that has made a huge difference in my life. I had truly met Jesus and I was starting to grasp His unending love and grace for me.
“Between here and Heaven, every minute that we live will be a minute of grace.”
We so often talk about God’s unending grace, but do we actually understand what grace is?
010 | Lump: "A lot of us have done things in our lives we are ashamed of."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ccKzpnvpJhs
I'm sorry about the Spanish subtitles.
Grace is something that we can never earn or deserve. It is a free gift, given to us, through love, from God. We are all chosen by God Himself, to be His children and His followers. We have been chosen for life and forgiveness. We are all special and yet equal in God’s eyes. God loves you just as much as He loves Nelson Mandela, Mother Theresa or even Adolf Hitler. There is nothing you could ever do, to make God love you less.
Isn’t that just an amazing feeling? A gift whose value and awesomeness could never be surmounted.
I have a friend who is working as a youth pastor in England. He has a blog space called Sacred Spaces, and I found one that was truly profound.
(Find his group on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Sacred-Spaces/111238576419)
“You are a library of Grace Stories.
Once again, God has blessed me. God has shown me grace. He has surprised me. He has provided for me. I am bursting with joy inside.
I don’t deserve, I am a sinner, I am full of contradictions at times, yet He still shows His goodness towards me.
I decided 2 nights ago to write a journal entry called: Grace Stories. I decided to document as many of the moments of grace I have had in my life that I can remember.
I challenge you do the same. As you page through the chapters of your life, you will see how God has been so gracious to you, so often.
I have had debts cancelled. I have been given big things. I have seen incredible things. I have been so well looked after. I have been forgiven and show the way forward.
My stories are different to yours...but one thing we can agree on is:
We are all libraries of Grace Stories.
Take some time to think about yours.
I cannot doubt the existence of this God who cares. Thank you, Lord.
HOWEVER a lot of these Grace Stories involve God’s agents of grace:
People who have shown me grace. People who have given me things. And people who have cancelled debts in my life. People who have given me a second chance. People who have been prompted by God’s Spirit to show favour to me. Thank you, you agents of grace.
So 2 things we can think about from this Sacred Space.
1) Where is God calling you to be an agent of grace?
2) When last have you looked back at all your Grace Stories in your life and been grateful?”
Our lives are filled with grace. A lot of which we take for granted. Being able to walk, talk, learn, see…
Every second is one of Grace.
Lastly, how often do we feel that we need to EARN God’s grace?
Jesus died for us; to set us free from the things that trap us: sin, worry, and the ways of the world and a lack of purpose.
Grace is a FREE gift… but how often… we think or act as if we need to “earn that grace.”
Why are you trying to earn your salvation and forgiveness? God has given it to us already.
On the other hand, we do need to live in appreciation of that grace. We need to show God that we are grateful.
When last have we thanked God for His grace? And when have we shown that grace to others?
“Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound , that saved a wretch like me…”
Sunday 20 November 2011
Thursday 27 October 2011
[Untitled]
Here is just a short post. Solely because I felt like sharing what’s on my mind.
As I have said before, I reiterate. Music IS my life. It controls my moods and my outlooks – and no, metal music does not make me angry, nor does pop make me happy. A song that I listen to on one day can put me on top of the world, while the next day it can make me so intensely sad. I marvel at this hold that it has on me. In fact, its hold extends to most of humankind. We cannot go a day without hearing music in some form or another, and thank God for that!
I was listening to a new band that my brother introduced me to (1), and it makes me so immensely happy. Their heavy Rock ‘n Roll vibes make me fall in love. I can say that almost literally. It, as clichéd as it may be, makes me believe. In what, I’m not yet sure. But it makes day-to-day living worthwhile. It makes my spirit want to dance (I honestly cringe as I type that, but it is truth!)
I thought back to how many times I’ve said I wish I went to COPA (2). And it’s true. I would LOVE to make music, to let other people feel the same way I do when I listen to a song. Learning and understanding the workings of music would be fantastic, but in a way I believe it could destroy the effect it has on me. Music is somewhat magical. It has energy and vibes that, to me, are comparable to the energy and vibes that humans possess. Learning about it; to make it my job, would be reducing it down to a science. Forgive me if you disagree. This is just a personal opinion on the effect it would have on me. I think it would take away the majesty of it all.
However, music is different for everybody, and I have no doubt that learning the ins-and-outs will just enhance it for others.
And that’s just beautiful.
References or Notes-
(1) Hell Or Highwater.
(2) Campus Of Performing Arts
As I have said before, I reiterate. Music IS my life. It controls my moods and my outlooks – and no, metal music does not make me angry, nor does pop make me happy. A song that I listen to on one day can put me on top of the world, while the next day it can make me so intensely sad. I marvel at this hold that it has on me. In fact, its hold extends to most of humankind. We cannot go a day without hearing music in some form or another, and thank God for that!
I was listening to a new band that my brother introduced me to (1), and it makes me so immensely happy. Their heavy Rock ‘n Roll vibes make me fall in love. I can say that almost literally. It, as clichéd as it may be, makes me believe. In what, I’m not yet sure. But it makes day-to-day living worthwhile. It makes my spirit want to dance (I honestly cringe as I type that, but it is truth!)
I thought back to how many times I’ve said I wish I went to COPA (2). And it’s true. I would LOVE to make music, to let other people feel the same way I do when I listen to a song. Learning and understanding the workings of music would be fantastic, but in a way I believe it could destroy the effect it has on me. Music is somewhat magical. It has energy and vibes that, to me, are comparable to the energy and vibes that humans possess. Learning about it; to make it my job, would be reducing it down to a science. Forgive me if you disagree. This is just a personal opinion on the effect it would have on me. I think it would take away the majesty of it all.
However, music is different for everybody, and I have no doubt that learning the ins-and-outs will just enhance it for others.
And that’s just beautiful.
References or Notes-
(1) Hell Or Highwater.
(2) Campus Of Performing Arts
Wednesday 26 October 2011
Hell on the Horizon
I felt like adding a post and I got inspired by my friend, Emma, posting an English essay on her blog. No, mine is not quite as good as hers (she is fantastic), but I enjoyed writing this one. The topic was an idiom we wished. Here goes nothing:
Hell on the Horizon
A hooded figure calls you as you stagger in the rain, past the dark, deserted alleyway.
“Come with me,” it whispers. “I can help you.”
At this point there are many thoughts gushing, like the rain, through your mind. Who is this person and why is she here? What does she want with me? Why is this happening? I should have called my parents to pick me up.
It seems absolutely absurd for a stranger to be reaching out for your hand. However, it is through this strange act of random kindness that the world keeps spinning. Kindness is like breath to a human, chords to a song. It is the sun around which all the planets revolve.
Unfortunately, in this day and age, kindness is found too few and far between. It is used so infrequently that it is now hidden in the dark, away from the view of the world. In the era of the rat race, most people barely have time for themselves, let alone anybody else, and it seems more apparent, that using others to get ahead is the new way of the wicked.
We live in sad times when by first instinct, we see the hooded figure as ominous, dangerous and as a liar.
“What do you want with me?!” you demand in terror. The rain almost drowns out the fear in your voice. With hands shaking you think back to the pepper spray you were supposed to buy.
Hostility. Hostility towards those who reach forward and try to help you when you can’t help yourself. Why are we so afraid to show when we feel weak? Within our sordid society, one is always expected to be perfect. We need to be able to go somewhat like an Energizer Bunny and never wear down. Our emotions are not allowed to wear thin and we are definitely not allowed to take a break from our chaotic schedules.
It is no wonder that our world is constantly at war. Our countries fight for materialistic effects, things that are easily shared, and kill millions in the process. During the War in Iraq alone, over one hundred thousand Iraqi civilians were killed. For what reason?
Bob Marley expresses it the best: “When the power of love overcomes the love of power, this world will know peace.”
You take a closer look at the hooded figure. Her cloak is soaked right through. She looks as pale as a corpse and as fragile as a glass menagerie. Her boney hand still stretching out.
Is she dying?
As you debate this likeliness, the pouring rain begins to dissipate.
Death.
It seems inevitable that kindness will one day die out. However, if each and every person in this world makes even a miniscule effort to be kinder and more compassionate, this world will be that much better. The dense fog of gloom will slowly begin to lift, and we will all be able to see the sun more clearly.
You look again, and her hand is still wavering towards you. Persistence.
After waging a war inside of your head, you reach out and take her emaciated hand. You cannot do it alone anymore. The rain slows to a slight drizzle, and you can see the sun peeking out from behind the clouds. Even this frail lady seems a tad more alive. She is not as menacing as she seems.
That hooded figure is kindness, something I aspire to personify, reaching out to hold your hand. To guide you. To help you. For the day when the last person stops caring, is the day when all hell will break loose.
Hell on the Horizon
A hooded figure calls you as you stagger in the rain, past the dark, deserted alleyway.
“Come with me,” it whispers. “I can help you.”
At this point there are many thoughts gushing, like the rain, through your mind. Who is this person and why is she here? What does she want with me? Why is this happening? I should have called my parents to pick me up.
It seems absolutely absurd for a stranger to be reaching out for your hand. However, it is through this strange act of random kindness that the world keeps spinning. Kindness is like breath to a human, chords to a song. It is the sun around which all the planets revolve.
Unfortunately, in this day and age, kindness is found too few and far between. It is used so infrequently that it is now hidden in the dark, away from the view of the world. In the era of the rat race, most people barely have time for themselves, let alone anybody else, and it seems more apparent, that using others to get ahead is the new way of the wicked.
We live in sad times when by first instinct, we see the hooded figure as ominous, dangerous and as a liar.
“What do you want with me?!” you demand in terror. The rain almost drowns out the fear in your voice. With hands shaking you think back to the pepper spray you were supposed to buy.
Hostility. Hostility towards those who reach forward and try to help you when you can’t help yourself. Why are we so afraid to show when we feel weak? Within our sordid society, one is always expected to be perfect. We need to be able to go somewhat like an Energizer Bunny and never wear down. Our emotions are not allowed to wear thin and we are definitely not allowed to take a break from our chaotic schedules.
It is no wonder that our world is constantly at war. Our countries fight for materialistic effects, things that are easily shared, and kill millions in the process. During the War in Iraq alone, over one hundred thousand Iraqi civilians were killed. For what reason?
Bob Marley expresses it the best: “When the power of love overcomes the love of power, this world will know peace.”
You take a closer look at the hooded figure. Her cloak is soaked right through. She looks as pale as a corpse and as fragile as a glass menagerie. Her boney hand still stretching out.
Is she dying?
As you debate this likeliness, the pouring rain begins to dissipate.
Death.
It seems inevitable that kindness will one day die out. However, if each and every person in this world makes even a miniscule effort to be kinder and more compassionate, this world will be that much better. The dense fog of gloom will slowly begin to lift, and we will all be able to see the sun more clearly.
You look again, and her hand is still wavering towards you. Persistence.
After waging a war inside of your head, you reach out and take her emaciated hand. You cannot do it alone anymore. The rain slows to a slight drizzle, and you can see the sun peeking out from behind the clouds. Even this frail lady seems a tad more alive. She is not as menacing as she seems.
That hooded figure is kindness, something I aspire to personify, reaching out to hold your hand. To guide you. To help you. For the day when the last person stops caring, is the day when all hell will break loose.
Monday 24 October 2011
Ramblings
I have decided that I cannot be profound and thought-provoking all of the time and since this is MY blog, and I feel like writing, I am free to ramble on about ANYTHING! What a liberating feeling once you get over the hurdle of, “Well, it’s just not that interesting.”
On Saturday, I went to watch my best friend, Emma, perform a monologue at a ‘V-Girl Rally’. It was all about women empowerment within the world, but more importantly within ourselves. It is mainly being able to be ourselves, and wear what we want, without being looked down-upon or abused by others. The thing that struck me was the enormous response to a question posed by one of the women. “Who here has been physically or sexually abused at some point in their lives? Who here knows someone who has been physically or sexually abused at some point in their lives?” Every girl had their hand raised. Every guy had their hand raised.
This morning I woke up to news about two girls being burnt by two boys in the koppies up the road from my school. A group of friends went up the koppie on Friday night (AT NIGHT?!) and started a bonfire. Two of the boys poured petrol on a girl and set her alight. The other girl got burnt trying to help her. The rest ran away. This was apparently an attempt at a Satanic sacrifice. I am Christian, yet even I know that this is a weak attempt at hiding behind something for their actions. I cannot understand what could possess someone (excuse the pun) to do something so horrific!
I mean, I know I am not perfect. No-one is. But I cannot comprehend how anyone could have the will to rape or murder another. I am almost at a loss for words to describe how repulsed I am at this.
We live in a sick, sick world.
However, I like to try and see the cup as half full. At least there are people who are DOING something (see my last post), just like the ‘V-Girls’ (http://www.v-girls.org/). And seeing my sister, Emma, up there doing what she was born to do, I felt privileged to know someone who DOES something (V-Girl and Animal Anti-Cruelty Rallies). Her monologue inspired me and gave me goosebumps. Luckily I had sunglasses on too, because my eyes were watering with pride. A part of me will go with her to Rhodes next year, where she is destined for great things. I can even envision her psyching up people fight for their rights down there. What a leader for what she believes in.
Anyway, I believe that my need to write tonight has been fulfilled. It may not have been perfect content or grammatically perfect. But it was perfect for me. And right now, that’s what matters.
On Saturday, I went to watch my best friend, Emma, perform a monologue at a ‘V-Girl Rally’. It was all about women empowerment within the world, but more importantly within ourselves. It is mainly being able to be ourselves, and wear what we want, without being looked down-upon or abused by others. The thing that struck me was the enormous response to a question posed by one of the women. “Who here has been physically or sexually abused at some point in their lives? Who here knows someone who has been physically or sexually abused at some point in their lives?” Every girl had their hand raised. Every guy had their hand raised.
This morning I woke up to news about two girls being burnt by two boys in the koppies up the road from my school. A group of friends went up the koppie on Friday night (AT NIGHT?!) and started a bonfire. Two of the boys poured petrol on a girl and set her alight. The other girl got burnt trying to help her. The rest ran away. This was apparently an attempt at a Satanic sacrifice. I am Christian, yet even I know that this is a weak attempt at hiding behind something for their actions. I cannot understand what could possess someone (excuse the pun) to do something so horrific!
I mean, I know I am not perfect. No-one is. But I cannot comprehend how anyone could have the will to rape or murder another. I am almost at a loss for words to describe how repulsed I am at this.
We live in a sick, sick world.
However, I like to try and see the cup as half full. At least there are people who are DOING something (see my last post), just like the ‘V-Girls’ (http://www.v-girls.org/). And seeing my sister, Emma, up there doing what she was born to do, I felt privileged to know someone who DOES something (V-Girl and Animal Anti-Cruelty Rallies). Her monologue inspired me and gave me goosebumps. Luckily I had sunglasses on too, because my eyes were watering with pride. A part of me will go with her to Rhodes next year, where she is destined for great things. I can even envision her psyching up people fight for their rights down there. What a leader for what she believes in.
Anyway, I believe that my need to write tonight has been fulfilled. It may not have been perfect content or grammatically perfect. But it was perfect for me. And right now, that’s what matters.
Friday 21 October 2011
DO Something!
Having just bought a new keyboard that is actually cool to type on, I figured it’s time to blog again. I haven’t blogged since about May. It seems as if I have had a somewhat, semi-permanent, ‘writer’s block’, which may be the reason why I never started blogging years ago.
I’m now nearing the end of a major chapter in my life. 13 more exams stand in the way of me and the ‘real’ world. Most people will tell you that they are terrified and wish they could stay in High School forever. I’ve heard spurts of wisdom countless times.
“High School is the best time of your life.”
“I wish I could be back in High School.”
“Don’t wish your life away!”
Personally, I can say that overall, I did not enjoy my time at High School. And I don’t believe that this is the common ‘teenage angst’ that everyone goes through during their five year stint. No. I’m not saying that I was unhappy either. I had many good times, laughs, memories, friends and achievements, but I will say that I don’t feel that I really clicked with many people there. There weren’t many that saw the world just as I do.
I look at humanity, and it destroys part of my soul. I look at the way we act towards others and the things we think to ourselves. Such perverse, horrible, tainting acts. I’m definitely not taking myself out of this equation. I am human too. I destroy. I abuse others. I abuse myself. But I do believe that I at least TRY to contrast this negativity by being compassionate to people around me. I TRY to give myself the proverbial ‘slap on the wrist’ whenever I’m being horrible. Sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn’t.
I know this is a very pessimistic view on the world. But I fear that this pessimism is rather realism. Not everyone is an advocate of war. Not everyone believes that Japan deserved the tsunami as karma. A lot of people do missionary work to help the victims of poverty. A lot of people donate to charity.
However, a lot of people, and I fear it to be the majority, do NONE of the above. They live their lives indifferently. They do not wish death on other people, nor do they pray for the homeless. They go on in their little boxes, living for themselves. And this is what is sending the world into the downward spiral it began many centuries ago.
The more we live indifferently, the worse the world becomes. Apathy will be the death of us all. There are only a few inherently evil people in this world, and by us doing nothing, we condone their behaviour. By the same token, there are only a few people who go out of their way to counter this. The rest of us are left in limbo. Not doing good things nor doing bad things. (Please note, I think the majority of people are born inherently good, but we just don’t act on it.)
I believe that if everyone put just a little more effort into touching onto that ‘good scale’, big things will happen to this world.
I realise that my ramblings about school may not make any sense. School is where I have been my entire life. It has been my ‘world’. That is where I have lived my moments and the majority of people I know are peers. And it scares me to think that if I can notice the human condition in the 500 odd learners in my school, how far and wide does it spread and how intense can it become? It is an overwhelming and terrifying thought.
Lastly, I’m not trying to be ‘holier than though’. I’m hardly perfect and I know it. I don’t believe that I’m on that ‘good scale’ yet, but I’m hoping that each day I am reaching closer to it.
As clichéd this may sound, we have the power to change the ways of the world. We just need to learn to harness it.
“All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”
Sunday 1 May 2011
The Camera – 1/05/2011
The Camera – 1/05/2011
I’ve been wrestling with myself on how to write about this, and even though I’ve finally got down to it, I am still unsure. I guess I’m just going to take this one as it comes.
About 10 days ago my grandfather gave me an old camera. A Ricoh AF-7. Yes, this camera uses film and doesn’t have a digital screen, yet I find this camera more valuable than any new top range model you can find at the most expensive shop. This is because the camera belonged to my Nan.
It has only been 70 days since she passed away, but it honestly feels like a lot longer. It’s always sad to say goodbye to a loved one, however this death brought with it happiness too. My gran had been suffering with the aftermath of a stroke for about 4 months and it broke our hearts to see a once active, independent and spirited lady, bed-ridden and consistently dependant on someone else.
At 77, Nan had lived a long and well-spent life. She was one of the most amazing ladies I have ever had the privilege of knowing. She had more friends than most people could even dream of, and she was the best friend anyone could ask for. A kind friend, a brilliant daughter, a great sister, a caring mother, a loving wife and an absolutely amazing grandmother.
I remember whole holidays spent at their house in Clarens, in the Free State. It was mine and Wayde’s home-away-from-home. And what a place to have grown up with. Nan and Grandpa knew everyone and everyone inevitably loved them to bits. I remember my 65-year-old Nan getting down in the dirt to play marbles with us, and absolutely thrashing us. I remember her wonderful sense of humour. I remember pudding nights, where all we ate for dinner was dessert. Instant pudding, jelly, ice-cream, trifle, cake and all the sprinkles we could want. I remember the special placemats she had especially for her grandchildren. I remember bedtime stories out of her big red book. I remember the nicknames she had for the 4 grandkids. I remember waking up every morning for tea with biscuits on the little silver trays (and the white-grey one with flowers for Wayde) and looking at Mount Horeb from the patio with the best view in Clarens. I remember my “Rose Room” and Wayde’s “Us Kids Room”. I remember sitting in the tree house that Grandpa had built for us, and hearing Nan below telling us to use the pulley to bring the lunch she had made us up to where Wayde and I were sitting. I remember star-gazing before the little town was built up, so we could see thousands of stars. I remember Nan always hiding little presents under our pillows when we visited. I remember building snowmen with her in Clarens. I remember…
There are an infinite number of memories with my Nan, the greatest lady in the world. There is also the memory of Wayde and I rushing into the ICU in Novemeber, after a 4 hour drive in the rain, to see my Nan in the bed. And she looked terrible. Her speech was terrible and you could barely hear what she was saying. And her first words to Wayde were, “Why’d you drive so far? Now you have to get your car serviced.” In times of despair, she still held onto her humour.
And that is typically Nan. After the night we thought she wouldn’t pull through, she stayed with us for 4 more months. She was so stubborn and she was determined to stay a little longer.
On her last day with us, she stopped breathing. But again, she couldn’t go without saying goodbye. She pulled through , but she knew she only had a couple of hours left with us. She told each of us that she loved us and that we shouldn’t be sad. She knew that Jesus was coming for her and she was at peace with that. A couple of hours later, the most amazing woman had left us.
I pray that I will never forget her faith in the Lord, kindness towards friends and strangers and her unending love for her family.
This brings me back to the camera. The camera that made me think back to all the captured memories in my mind. There are already some photos on film and it has now it has been left to me to finish the roll. What on earth is on there already? If anything at all? And how can I use this camera to honour my Nan’s life?
I feel as if this is one of the last material things that my Nan has left her family, and I want to finish it with justice.
I still have no clue how to use it, but I pray to find the answer soon. She has given me so much, and in a way I see this as giving back to her.
When I find the answer, I will let you know.
And so to a Nan that I will never forget… I love you with my whole heart.
I’ve been wrestling with myself on how to write about this, and even though I’ve finally got down to it, I am still unsure. I guess I’m just going to take this one as it comes.
About 10 days ago my grandfather gave me an old camera. A Ricoh AF-7. Yes, this camera uses film and doesn’t have a digital screen, yet I find this camera more valuable than any new top range model you can find at the most expensive shop. This is because the camera belonged to my Nan.
It has only been 70 days since she passed away, but it honestly feels like a lot longer. It’s always sad to say goodbye to a loved one, however this death brought with it happiness too. My gran had been suffering with the aftermath of a stroke for about 4 months and it broke our hearts to see a once active, independent and spirited lady, bed-ridden and consistently dependant on someone else.
At 77, Nan had lived a long and well-spent life. She was one of the most amazing ladies I have ever had the privilege of knowing. She had more friends than most people could even dream of, and she was the best friend anyone could ask for. A kind friend, a brilliant daughter, a great sister, a caring mother, a loving wife and an absolutely amazing grandmother.
I remember whole holidays spent at their house in Clarens, in the Free State. It was mine and Wayde’s home-away-from-home. And what a place to have grown up with. Nan and Grandpa knew everyone and everyone inevitably loved them to bits. I remember my 65-year-old Nan getting down in the dirt to play marbles with us, and absolutely thrashing us. I remember her wonderful sense of humour. I remember pudding nights, where all we ate for dinner was dessert. Instant pudding, jelly, ice-cream, trifle, cake and all the sprinkles we could want. I remember the special placemats she had especially for her grandchildren. I remember bedtime stories out of her big red book. I remember the nicknames she had for the 4 grandkids. I remember waking up every morning for tea with biscuits on the little silver trays (and the white-grey one with flowers for Wayde) and looking at Mount Horeb from the patio with the best view in Clarens. I remember my “Rose Room” and Wayde’s “Us Kids Room”. I remember sitting in the tree house that Grandpa had built for us, and hearing Nan below telling us to use the pulley to bring the lunch she had made us up to where Wayde and I were sitting. I remember star-gazing before the little town was built up, so we could see thousands of stars. I remember Nan always hiding little presents under our pillows when we visited. I remember building snowmen with her in Clarens. I remember…
There are an infinite number of memories with my Nan, the greatest lady in the world. There is also the memory of Wayde and I rushing into the ICU in Novemeber, after a 4 hour drive in the rain, to see my Nan in the bed. And she looked terrible. Her speech was terrible and you could barely hear what she was saying. And her first words to Wayde were, “Why’d you drive so far? Now you have to get your car serviced.” In times of despair, she still held onto her humour.
And that is typically Nan. After the night we thought she wouldn’t pull through, she stayed with us for 4 more months. She was so stubborn and she was determined to stay a little longer.
On her last day with us, she stopped breathing. But again, she couldn’t go without saying goodbye. She pulled through , but she knew she only had a couple of hours left with us. She told each of us that she loved us and that we shouldn’t be sad. She knew that Jesus was coming for her and she was at peace with that. A couple of hours later, the most amazing woman had left us.
I pray that I will never forget her faith in the Lord, kindness towards friends and strangers and her unending love for her family.
This brings me back to the camera. The camera that made me think back to all the captured memories in my mind. There are already some photos on film and it has now it has been left to me to finish the roll. What on earth is on there already? If anything at all? And how can I use this camera to honour my Nan’s life?
I feel as if this is one of the last material things that my Nan has left her family, and I want to finish it with justice.
I still have no clue how to use it, but I pray to find the answer soon. She has given me so much, and in a way I see this as giving back to her.
When I find the answer, I will let you know.
And so to a Nan that I will never forget… I love you with my whole heart.
Friday 1 April 2011
“White Blank Page.” - 01/04/2011
01/04/2011
“White Blank Page.”
Everyone is familiar with what is said about procrastination. It is bearing that in mind, that I still begin my second post now. I will probably kick myself later for this.
In hindsight, I realize that I should have probably begun with the explanation of the name of my blog (I am not yet over the idea of ME having a blog). But it was not so, and thus it’s happening now.
“White Blank Page”. It took me about a minute and a half to realize that I wanted to name my blog this. While I would love to claim that these three simple, yet beautiful words are attributed to my poetic ability, I am under the belief that plagiarism is actually a serious crime. Who knew? So I need to acknowledge Mr. Marcus Mumford (1) for his magnificent contribution to the world of music.
I saw this song name fitting, as this blog is somewhat my own, personal, ‘white blank page’ in which I can write absolutely anything I wish. It is open each day for me to write something new. I have no topic list to choose from or criteria to meet. I can fill this page with my every whim. It is mine and mine alone.
It also strikes me as profoundly symbolic. Quite unrelated to blogging, but symbolic nonetheless. I believe that every life needs a ‘white blank page’ every so often. A way to start anew. While every single page we write in life will have a place in our timeless tale, it seems almost cruel to have to stay on one page, tainted with the errors we have made. The new page gives us license to forget what happened last month; yesterday; a minute ago, and lets us start again. It gives us another shot at getting life right. It is vital that we learn from our mistakes, but we cannot let our past haunt us. “Sometimes it’s okay to fall.”(2). It’s a new page. It’s a new day.
“Her white blank page, and a swelling rage.”(3). Often one gets the opportunity to start afresh, but is so caught up in the past that it ruins that here and now. Your page is white and fresh, with no mistakes or need for tippex. We need to let go of the burdens we carry unnecessarily, and cleanse our minds. In the Christian aspect of this all, if we ask for forgiveness, it is never our sin that destroys us, but rather the fact that we cannot let go of that sin and forgive ourselves.
“Can you kneel before the King and say, ‘I’m clean, I’m clean’?” (4).
Please note. I am not using this blog to preach. It is merely a way to express MY views.
Lastly, I try not to dwell on the negatives of the past, but take the lessons learnt from my mistakes, put them alongside the good times, and celebrate them in all their fullness.
“Here’s To The Past!” (5)
References –
(1) Marcus Mumford is the lead vocalist, and lyricist for English folk rock band, ‘Mumford and Sons.’
(2) Fall – Jonas Brothers.
(3) White Blank Page – Mumford and Sons.
(4) White Blank Page – Mumford and Sons.
(5) Here’s To The Past – A Day To Remember.
“White Blank Page.”
Everyone is familiar with what is said about procrastination. It is bearing that in mind, that I still begin my second post now. I will probably kick myself later for this.
In hindsight, I realize that I should have probably begun with the explanation of the name of my blog (I am not yet over the idea of ME having a blog). But it was not so, and thus it’s happening now.
“White Blank Page”. It took me about a minute and a half to realize that I wanted to name my blog this. While I would love to claim that these three simple, yet beautiful words are attributed to my poetic ability, I am under the belief that plagiarism is actually a serious crime. Who knew? So I need to acknowledge Mr. Marcus Mumford (1) for his magnificent contribution to the world of music.
I saw this song name fitting, as this blog is somewhat my own, personal, ‘white blank page’ in which I can write absolutely anything I wish. It is open each day for me to write something new. I have no topic list to choose from or criteria to meet. I can fill this page with my every whim. It is mine and mine alone.
It also strikes me as profoundly symbolic. Quite unrelated to blogging, but symbolic nonetheless. I believe that every life needs a ‘white blank page’ every so often. A way to start anew. While every single page we write in life will have a place in our timeless tale, it seems almost cruel to have to stay on one page, tainted with the errors we have made. The new page gives us license to forget what happened last month; yesterday; a minute ago, and lets us start again. It gives us another shot at getting life right. It is vital that we learn from our mistakes, but we cannot let our past haunt us. “Sometimes it’s okay to fall.”(2). It’s a new page. It’s a new day.
“Her white blank page, and a swelling rage.”(3). Often one gets the opportunity to start afresh, but is so caught up in the past that it ruins that here and now. Your page is white and fresh, with no mistakes or need for tippex. We need to let go of the burdens we carry unnecessarily, and cleanse our minds. In the Christian aspect of this all, if we ask for forgiveness, it is never our sin that destroys us, but rather the fact that we cannot let go of that sin and forgive ourselves.
“Can you kneel before the King and say, ‘I’m clean, I’m clean’?” (4).
Please note. I am not using this blog to preach. It is merely a way to express MY views.
Lastly, I try not to dwell on the negatives of the past, but take the lessons learnt from my mistakes, put them alongside the good times, and celebrate them in all their fullness.
“Here’s To The Past!” (5)
References –
(1) Marcus Mumford is the lead vocalist, and lyricist for English folk rock band, ‘Mumford and Sons.’
(2) Fall – Jonas Brothers.
(3) White Blank Page – Mumford and Sons.
(4) White Blank Page – Mumford and Sons.
(5) Here’s To The Past – A Day To Remember.
Sunday 27 March 2011
“I can’t tell you what it really is, I can only tell you what it feels like.” - 27/03/2011
27/03/11
“I can’t tell you what it really is, I can only tell you what it feels like.”(1)
Blogging. The weirdest feeling ever. Writing things that other people may or may not read. It seems as if one tends to use a blog as a diary. Something in which to document daily activities and utmost feelings. Hmmm. Strange.
For me is it somewhat difficult to “blog” my feelings. Well, it’s difficult to put my feelings into words, because, for the person that I am, music says it “Ten Times Better”(2) than I ever could. It may sound strange, but it feels as if my thoughts and emotions are best described by either the lyrics of a song, or the instruments within the masterpiece.
If I envy one thing in this world, it would be a talented musician/lyricist. The ability to write his thoughts out in a set of powerful lyrics, or transpose the symphony of his day.
And so this is my challenge. Trying to get a basic point across. Either feelings, thoughts, activities, rants, boredom? We’ll see how it goes.
“Have Faith In Me.”(3)
P.S. I may or may not reference songs or little things in my posts. It may help you to understand fully what I mean, cause as I’ve said, music speaks louder than words.
References –
(1) Love The Way You Lie – Eminem
(2) Ten Times Better – Tonight Alive (Actually playing as I was typing).
(3) Have Faith In Me – A Day to Remember
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)