All the Small Things

What happens when you push yourself, and stop listening to the subtle messages that your body sends you to "stop"?

You land up in hospital for eight days, followed by an order to take up bed-rest thereafter.

Well, maybe not for everyone, but that's what happened to me a few weeks ago. At 32 weeks pregnant, I finally crashed and burned one Sunday, and we made a hasty trip to the maternity ward to discover that I was in preterm labour. Long story short... I am now 35 weeks pregnant (phew!) and on strict orders to rest, with baby girl growing healthy and stronger every day.

Thing is, when you find yourself stuck in a place like a hospital (or a prison, I imagine) unexpectedly, with all your personal comforts suddenly taken from you, you come to appreciate all the small things (and some big things) that you didn't even think twice about beforehand. As if life somehow owes you those things upfront, like oxygen and sustenance. During my eight days incarceration, and on the day of my homecoming, I came up with a list of things that I will never again take for granted, some of which I thought to share....

Tweezers. A week in hospital without tweezers, and I closely resembled the hairy James P. Sullivan from Monsters Inc. This was my first act of homecoming - to re-shape my eyebrows and sigh in satisfaction at the mirror. Followed by a gloriously close shave with a non-disposable razor... It was heavenly.

James P. Sullivan, AKA "Sully" - Monsters Inc.

Yep that's what I looked like, don't judge me.

Music. There is no music in hospital. The nurse's badly-chosen ringtone does not count. I eventually figured out that if I kept the TV above me on, tuned to a movie channel, I could catch the ten minutes of music played during every movie credit roll. Yes, I actually did this, such was my desperation. I watched a lot of junk for those ten minutes...
On my homecoming, I put on a favourite music album... and nearly cried for the beauty of it.

The smell of home. You know what I mean - that mixture of scents and fragrances that you know as yours, almost as though you and your loved ones have unintentionally marked this territory as 'home'. On the day of my return from hospital, I came into the house via the garage. It smelled of my husband's greasy rags and the petrol lawnmower. I took a deep, desperate-for-more breath - it was the scent of "welcome home".

Waking up with someone you know and love. Poking my husband for snoring, fighting over bed space, listening to him breathing... what a joy to wake up next to him every morning.

The Silences. A familiar wind rustling familiar leaves just outside my very own window. The hum of my own ceiling fan, and the creepy house-noises I've come to recognize. Strictly speaking, these are sounds, not silences, but after eight days of trolleys, beeping machines, and clanging trays... these are the sounds of Silence.

My breakfast ritual. One WeetBix stick. A dessert spoon of whole linseeds. Two dessert spoons of All-Bran flakes. One sliced banana. Loads of milk. Yum, and a very happy tummy... I've realized that I am such a creature of habit - I missed my daily breakfast so much that I actually had it for lunch on my first day back home.

Normal chatter. However well-meaning it may be, "How are you feeling?" becomes a tiresome topic of discussion. I feel tired and sore and scared and annoyed to be in hospital. But I don't want to get you down, so I'm going to smile and and say "Oh fine, better than yesterday". Since being back home, normal small-talk has been resumed. So-and-so's dog's strange behaviour. What's-his-name's new Christmas tree. The latest specials at Pick n Pay. It's La-di-da's birthday today, did you wish him? Tell me something, anything. It all matters, no matter how mundane.

Variety. I came home, and desperately wanted to be in every room of the house, all at once. From being confined to one bed and a drip all week,  I wanted to sit and breathe in the languid stillness of the bedroom; flop onto the horribly uncomfortable lounge couch; prepare tea in the homely mess of our sprawled-out kitchen; sniff the towels in the bathroom that smell of showers and fresh soap...


In a nutshell, it is great to be home. There's no place like it. You should think about your life, your home, your loved ones, your little habits, your surroundings... and take the time to enjoy them. When I got married, my amazing, wise brother gave me the best advice about my wedding day: he said, "Stop often. Look around, listen, and just take some time to enjoy that moment of your wedding day. Otherwise, it will go so fast, you won't remember anything."

The same could be said of life in general: Stop often. Look around, listen and take some time to enjoy that moment of your life. Do it, fellow inhabitants of this planet. You will regret missing all the small things in life far more than wasting a few moments to experience it.

Forget Your Lips

I had a bad Monday today. A murderous one.

Circumstances weren't great to start with, but do you know the worst part of the day?

Me.
My suckie attitude.
And that fact that I was stuck with me the whole day.

And as I was driving home this evening, I heard a song on my iPod that really slapped me on the wrist, particularly the phrase:

"Forget your words;

It's what you do - that is what you say."

(The Little Things - Musician: Shaun Jacobs) 

I realized, listening to such simple wisdom, what a rotten example of patience and kindness and joy I'd been today. Sure, people are people, and people have 'bad days', but man... today I failed!

As usual, my mind wondered completely off-track, and I was thinking about quiet times, prayer,  reading the Bible, worship... I was pondering about the best time to have quiet times, and how it affects my day. You see, certain circumstances have recently forced me to re-locate my usual morning quiet time to evening, and it occurred to me...

My morning quiet times used to serve as a peaceful, positive start to my day. I'm fresh, I commit my day to God and ask for His help.

My evening quiet times seem to now serve more as a remorseful time of repentance for all the foul-tempered and stressed-out things I did and said all day.

Circumstances won't likely change soon - I have to find a way to make this work for me.... without slipping up every single day. Hmm.

Anyways, just some random thoughts, Dear World, and for those who crossed my path today, I hope you'll forgive my blind hooting and crazy-eyed lunacy...

Tomorrow is another day, and I sincerely pray my actions will speak far kinder words than they did today.

Pregnancy: The Answers

What's it like?
How's it been?
How do you feel?

These are some of the most common questions that I have encountered in the last several months, all in response to the sight of my enormous, and apparently adorable, belly. At 29 weeks, our baby girl is now a very obvious protrusion from my mid-section, and I often find myself short on words to describe what it's like... how it's been... and how I feel....
This may be a problem related to porridge brain, which I have already described here, but when asked about something so hugely life-changing, in such a tiny context as 'small-talk'... Well, you may as well ask scientist to briefly explain string theory in one short sentence. I wouldn't know where to start, and so I usually just end it with, "Oh, it's been fine!"

So here's the story...

We discovered I was pregnant at 5 weeks, some time in early June. I didn't have any symptoms, except a 'niggly feeling', which was confirmed by a disgustingly cheap over-the-counter pee-on-a-stick-and-wait-for-the-pink-lines test. I always imagined I'd find out I was pregnant with the use of an expensive digital test that sang "Hallelujah" when it turned positive - the cheap ones had let me down so many times before. But on that particular day, not a single digital test could be found, and the only one I could find was a midstream test that cost all of eleven South African Rands. (Americans, that's about one US dollar; Europeans, you're looking at less than one Euro) How revolting. I purchased two, to make myself feel better about accuracy.

Hubby and I had been trying to fall pregnant for around 2 years, and at the beginning of this year, I made the conscious decision to "live my life". I made peace that I did not have a baby, and so I stopped living as though I 'might' be pregnant. I started drinking full-blown coffee again, caffeine and all. I took up hiking with a local club, braving 13km hikes around the beautiful mountain ranges just outside the city.... I did not shy away from exciting activities, late nights, and bad food. I had decided that what I wanted for my birthday in August was a 6-hour caving experience in the nearby Sterkfontein Caves. I was looking at my bucket list and had decided that this year, I would start ticking off the adventures.

So much for that.

And that's why its often said that when you stop trying so very hard, and just get on with your life, that's when it happens. It's almost inconvenient in it's timing. And since that glorious Saturday in June, it has been the most wonderful and awful rollercoaster experience. The highs giving you views and thrills you could never have dreamed of, the lows bringing your stomach and heart leaping into your throat, making you want to swallow hard and smile bravely for those around you.

I felt our baby girl move for the first time at 17 weeks. This is supposedly early for a first flutter, but not entirely unlikely for someone of my size. It was magical. I was at my desk at work, facing my computer. It was a tiny poke in my lower abdomen, and then it stopped. All I could do was sit and grin and hope for more.
And more there shall be. At around 20 weeks, baby girl's movements had grown strong enough to tickle her mum, and I'd find myself jumping and giggling at random intervals... only hoping that no one notices and has me certified.
There's been plenty more since the first flutter, with our baby girl now wriggling and squirming all day long. I love watching my belly move - it really is more entertaining than anything on television, although that's not saying much, considering all the crap that's on TV these days.

Which brings me to my next thought... my recent zero-tolerance for crap. Funny, most information sources describe the first trimester as the most 'moody'. I can't even remember my first trimester, such was the exhaustion and fatigue, but I would have to say that this last month, the beginning of the third trimester, has been the most challenging, as far as hormones go.

I have learned how irritating people really are. People who drive. People who send me emails. People who ask questions. People who tell stories. People who stand too close. People who phone me. People who can't make eye contact because they're so busy staring at my belly.  People who talk loudly. People who talk.  People who eat. People who breathe.

People.

The only kind of people who have recently not irritated me are those who either stay far away from me, those who approach quietly and with a hug, or those who approach with cake.

When pregnant, one is always asked about cravings. The answer for me: Orange juice. Chocolate. Salty snacks. Bananas. Milk. And no, I have not dunked my chocolate in orange juice and put it onto a salty cracker with sliced banana. Don't be ridiculous.

There's a first time for everything they say, and I'm discovering that many of those firsts fall within your last trimester of pregnancy. I snorted myself awake for the first time last week, for example. Apart from the fact that I found it truly hilarious and could barely keep from laughing out loud and raucously, I was fairly disgusted by the whole event.

And speaking of hilarity, it is said that pregnancy, while rendering you a slave to your mood swings, also blesses you with a sense of humour so profound, it's almost dangerous. Yesterday I was driving on one of our main roads, Hendrik Potgieter, and passed a most bizarre accident on the other side of the island: a very large tipping truck had miscalculated his height, had gotten himself wedged underneath a municipality sign post that extended right across the road. The tipping portion of the truck, which was mercifully empty at the time of the incident, was elevated at full tilt into the air, propped up firmly by the very-much-abused sign post.
Noting that there appeared to be no tragedies or injuries.... I found it absolutely ludicrous. I laughed until I cried. And then I got my breathe back and laughed some more. How very inappropriate of me.

Not to worry, I am paying for my sins in other ways...

My feet have started swelling up. People say, "Drink more water, and go to the loo more often." Short of drowning myself and taking up permanent residence on the porcelain throne, laptop and all... I do not foresee much change in this area.

I have started to sleep badly, the major problems being heartburn and a giant belly that feels like it goes "THUNK" whenever rolling over to the other side. No amount of pillow support seems to make a difference, and I imagine the only solution would be to find a way to fall asleep safely in a swimming pool. Baby-girl also has quite an opinion about my moving around at night, and makes it known with her own tossing and turning... I can't blame her, especially if my changing sides has caused her to land on her face, or something equally uncomfortable.

The fatigue has returned, which I was forewarned about in the third trimester.  I was reading an interesting fact the other day: A pregnant woman expends more energy lying on the couch than the average healthy man's work-out at gym. Take that, you men who don't understand! (Begin hormonal rant) Now we're not talking physical exertion per se, but we are talking energy, the essence that you use to move around and do stuff. Growing a baby is no walk in the park dudes. It's an exhausting affair with the sofa.

Among other things, there are challenges that non-pregnant people take for granted. Shaving your legs is one. Putting on shoes that have laces or buckles. Getting out bed. (Rather, rolling out of bed) Removing and applying nail polish to ugly toes. Seeing when your toes have become ugly. (seeing anything below the belly-button, for that matter) Increasing clumsiness, both as a result of the hormone 'relaxin', which softens ligaments, and as a result of not seeing where your feet are going...

...All these bizarre changes and experiences, which add up to the most miraculous and amazing thing: our baby girl growing right inside me. We were blessed with a wonderful baby shower last week, and something about that one event makes it so much more real. We've had the cot, the furniture, the linen, some basic necessities... but having all these wonderful people caring for this little girl, and all the amazing, cute little gifts showered on her... well, this just got real. Baby-girl is going to wear this dress, and those adorable little booties. She's going to need this fluffy blanket on a cold night, and she will wear her lime-green sunhat one summer's day.

Its a lot to take in, and combined with her kicks and wriggles.... I love being pregnant, swollen ankles and all.

So in a nutshell (a very large nut, if you will), being pregnant is an ultimate contradiction: the most un-glamorous, and the most beautiful experience a woman could go through.

Today's Prayer

My dearest Lord,

I don’t know how today is going to go.

I feel that I may be bad-tempered and lose my cool.

I might speak words that don’t glorify You.

I might act like a child and cry.

Maybe I’ll glare at someone, throwing daggers with my eyes.

My thoughts may be filled with irritation and unkindness.

Forgive me, Papa. 

Lord, please don’t leave my side today.

I need You, despite my foul-temperedness.

I need You, because of my foul-temperedness. Because of my humanity. 

Please be with me, Your peace – that passes all understanding – constantly by my side.

Psalm 139

Where can I go from your Spirit?
    Where can I flee from your presence?

If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
    if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
    if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
    your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
    and the light become night around me,”
even the darkness will not be dark to you;
    the night will shine like the day,
    for darkness is as light to you.

W-O-R-D-S

What do the words you speak say about you? You see, you think you’re talking about other people. You think you’re giving your opinion on matters outside yourself. But what you don’t realize is that every word that comes out of your mouth says more about you than anything outside of you. Your words, chosen to give the appearance of your own great wisdom, provides a candid window into your own soul, making those around you all the more wiser to who you actually are.

Words that hurt. Are you mean?

Words that break down. Are you insecure in yourself?

Words that gossip. Are you two-faced?

Words that cause conflict. Are you a snake?

Words that lie. Are you hiding something?

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Your words breathe these answers to every question even though you would outrightly deny them. Your words speak louder than you think.

Look into yourself. Who are you?

If you don’t know, then listen to yourself speak. It can be a life-changing, and sometimes inside-changing, experience.

Words should be Kind.

Heavy-laden with Love.

Filled with Compassion.

Inquisitive for the truth.

Laced with Understanding. Or at least the desire to understand.

And if understanding, kindness, love, compassion and truth cannot be found, then the advice my mother once gave me might be wise: If you haven’t got anything constructive to say, don’t say anything at all. 

"Be sure to taste your words first, before you spit them out." 

What was I saying?

I haven't written much over the past several months.. Not for lack of interest or even lack of topics up for discussion. So my excuse? 

Porridge brain. 

I used to wonder just how real porridge brain was. Other women would warn me, saying, "One day when you're pregnant, be careful when you do this, concentrate more when you drive, try to avoid doing that... because you become stupid and slow - it's called porridge brain." I used to wonder if "porridge brain" was just an excuse that women used for freezing the car keys, or setting the kitchen on fire by leaving their handbag on the stove. 

I did a little reading up and it would seem that porridge brain is indeed a real condition related to pregnancy and early parenthood. It really is a result of a woman's brain being soaked in progesterone and estrogen, and aggravated by the gradual decrease in good sleep. According to an interesting article on WebMD, porridge brain even serves a purpose in preparing one for motherhood. (How?, I ask you with hormonal tears in my eyes...)

Well, at five and a half months, I can confirm that porridge brain is not a myth. I have forgotten whole conversations that I've had. I find myself staring absent-mindedly at my computer at work, having completely forgotten what I was busy with. There are times that I have been thinking about something, and then the next moment gone completely blank. I've never been much of a chatterbox, but one of the weirdest things that I have found is that I struggle to hold a conversation in the first place. Socially awkward doesn't begin to describe it. I just have nothing to say, nothing to add to the conversation. So sometimes I find myself smiling stupidly at someone and thinking, "What on earth do I say in response to that...?  Umm... Wait... what were we talking about?..." 

Louann Brizendine, MD, director of the Women's Mood and Hormone Clinic at the University of California, San Francisco, says "Pregnancy brain is the feeling of walking into a room, going after something, and not remembering what you went for - about five to 10 times a day."

That just about sums it up. And that's why I haven't written much. 

Thankfully I haven't done anything enormously stupid yet... or maybe I have, and I've just forgotten about it... but I wonder what some women have done in this state. There must be some real stories out there :) 

What was I saying?...

*wonders off to make tea*

Sinking My World

While listening to an old song by the band Delirious? this morning, I was struck by a thought. The song is called "Sanctify" on the King of Fools album, and some of the words go like...

And all I want

is all You have.

Come to me

Rescue me

Follow me

with Your Love. 

I was in my "plan-my-life" world when this song came on. You know, we all have that "My World" - that selfish place in our minds where we tick off things that we've done, and make long lists of the things we want, the changes we wish for, and where we recount the indignant experiences that we've had to wrongfully suffer at the hands of this unfair world...

So I was in this world of mine, and without warning, a most unwelcome thought slapped me across the face. What does it matter, this fickle thing so-called "happiness"? 

What do you mean, "what does it matter??" What an absurd thing to ask. 
Does it matter to eternity? 
I don't know..
Is God's Kingdom better for it? 
God's Kingdom!? Where did that come from? We're not talking about God's Kingdom, we're talking about the things that will make me happy! 
Tell me, if this thing that will bring you so-called happiness would hinder the expansion of God's Kingdom... If your decision to sacrifice this thing you want would result in the saving of lives.... would you sacrifice it?
Wait, wait... I still don't think we're talking about God's Kingdom, can we just get back to the matter at hand? I don't like where this conversation is going. 
Would. You. Sacrifice. What YOU want... for God's Kingdom? 
But what about that stuff about "the desires of your heart" being added to me...? I thought my desires mattered? 
Seek first the Kingdom of God..... And THEN all these thing shall be added unto you... Is that the verse you're talking about? 
Um. Yes that one. 
*Inner voice smiles smugly*


I have these arguments with myself often, so just bear with me.... I'm not saying that our desires aren't important to God, but is it possible that our desires have become too important to us? Do our own desires consume us to the point where we are blind to the desperation of a dying world that needs passionate Jesus-followers to reach out with arms full of life? 

I sometimes get the feeling that  us Christians wipe our forehead with the back our hand, say "Phew! At least I got saved!" and then move onto the finer (and sadly such temporary) things in life. Have we become such a selfish, and self-righteous people, no better than the Jews of Christ's day? Have I?

I'm all for balance. 
Yes, having some degree of happiness in life is good. 
Yes, having my basic needs provided is important, both to me and to God. 
Yes, there is place for personal growth and ambition and the desire to grow my life on earth. 
BUT... 
Never at the expense of God's Kingdom in my life! If God's Kingdom purpose is lacking, then my life is so horribly out of balance, being all about me, me, me... happiness, being a temporary thing, will fade to nothing. 

I'm starting to face the challenge that if I can truly centre my life on what Jesus wants on this earth, He will take care of all the rest - all those things that I arduously try to sort out in "My World", all those things I fret over, the things that keep me up at night, the doubts that haunt me day in and day out... the selfish things.
There are more important things at hand. Life and death.

This really is just the tip of a very large iceberg, one that I'd like to see crashing into the cold, selfishness of my heart, sinking the whole rotten thing... making way for God to transplant His immensely compassionate heart in its place.

All I want

is all You have... 

Honest Words

Some of you may know about my recent smash-and-grab incident, which I blogged about here, and here... Well, God's been good so good to me this past month, I didn't have much more than a week to wallow in self-pity. Thing is, He also sent me the right people, to say the right thing. And sometimes, you really just need to hear something that takes the sting out of life's disappointments. 

One such person left a giant footprint on my life, in the form of a letter that she sent to me a few days after the smash-and-grab incident. Her words soaked right up into my soul, feeling like a healing balm on an ugly wound. 

Here is the beautifully written (and I believe, anointed) words shared with me by a very dear friend, who chose to speak honestly, courageously and tenderly about the Father's care for His children - I've chosen to share this, because another friend of mine was attacked in the same way just this week... and I know there must be so many out there who may need to be reminded of this...: 

Just wanted to say that I know what you are feeling. I been there and pretty much lived in fear my whole life. Fear consumed me to the point of paranoia
The thing that changed my thinking and helped me control it was what my mom-in-law said to me. She said that the very thing that you fear controls you. And I thought screw that, nothing controls me, let alone fear - I am a child of Papa! 

God has charged his angels around me, they are not only there during the day but they are encamped around me at night. (I actually visualize them outside, setting up camp, poking a fire, drink in hand) lol. No weapon formed against me shall prosper either. Doesn't mean it won't be formed but if it is, it won't get anywhere. 

I know it is just words but that is why I decided to believe it literally, as a child would, so it could be real for me. Naive and wholeheartedly trusting in Papa's promises. Blindly believing as a child does in their parent. 

For all you know that guy bolted so fast from your car because he brushed an angels wing while diving for your bag. I love believing like that, reminds me how real Papa is.   

Anyhow... I know it takes time, but the key is to not let it consume you. Take control of it (whatever way works for you) and move on. Live free and secure in the fact that Papa, the King of kings has His eye on you. 

Under the shadow

There's a song I was listening to this morning that really "un-did" me. I mean, my mind went from 160KM/H to zero in an instant. I nearly had to stop my car on the side of the road to pull myself together. I wanted to share it with you and I really urge you to take the time to listen to the song when you have a moment alone. 

The song is "Shadow of Your Wings" by Jason Upton. The lyrics and a link to a decent-quality version are below, but I first wanted to mull over something with you...

Have you ever held a bird in your hand, and felt what its little body is like? The bone structure of the wings form what could be compared with a cage, that protects the bird's fragile torso. On the outside, their wings are firm, covered with sleek shiny feathers, feathers designed to keep cool air out and, when pruned, designed to protect from other elements too, like rain. 

But if you slip your attention to what lies underneath the wings...The tender gap beneath the bird's wing is a warm haven for young chicks. The body beneath the wing is silky soft, the feathers so fine and fluffy, so delicate to the touch, you almost can't feel them. And if you've ever held a bird in your hand, you will agree that the most precious thing of all is that you can feel their little hearts beating a frantic rhythm against your fingers.

Listening to this song this morning, I momentarily imagined myself under the shadow of His wing. And for that moment, I felt the tips of his feathers brush my hair back as He drew me closer. The firm protection of His wing held me into His chest, and there I found warm, gentle rest, where I cried and sobbed and felt His heart beating for me. 

Not wanting to be carried away by imagination and emotion, I thought I'd read up a bit on this and found, among a few other verses, the amazing Psalm 91, where verse 4 claims: "He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart."

It was such a deeply profound description of my own 'imaginings'.

If you are worn out, afraid, worrying, grieving, stressed out, angry and constantly fighting... If you know no peace, and can't remember what it feels like to be at rest... It's ok. No one expects you to be Superman, except maybe you. "Stop and take a drink". The Living God wants to pour His healing water over you. Let yourself be woo'd into the shadow of His wing, feel how His heart beats for you. 

I feel like a new person. 

Listen Here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LFSlIoh_UXA 

I've Been Running Trying To Find My Refuge

Never Stopping Long Enough To See

All The While You Were Right There Waiting

To Hide Me In The Shadow Of Your Wings

Under The Shadow

Under The Shadow

Under The Shadow Of Your Wings

I Will Find My Rest

Under The Shadow

Under The Shadow

Under The Shadow Of Your Wings

I Will Find My Rest

I Get So Thirsty Trying To Find Your Presence

That I Forget To Stop And Take A Drink

All The While You Are Right There Wanting

To Pour Your Healing Water Over Me

Under The Shadow

Under The Shadow

Under The Shadow Of Your Wings

I Will Find My Rest

Under The Shadow

Under The Shadow

Under The Shadow Of Your Wings

I Will Find My Rest

In You

It's Only In You

It's Only In You Lord

~Image found on http://theinbetweentimeswaitingongod.blogspot.com

You can find this article, and others like it, at Above The Flame. Check out the Above the Flame Facebook page HERE. 

When ...it happens.

Have you ever wondered what you would do if you became the victim of a smash-and-grab, or a burglary, or a mugging...? Well I can tell you: Nothing. I did nothing. 
I didn't chase the perpetrator down the road with the intention of running him over and reclaiming my bag. Tempting, but I was stuck in traffic. I didn't fall to pieces and spend an hour crying on the side of the road. I just... went home like nothing happened.

I came to a traffic light on Friday evening, 20h30, at a traffic-congested, but dark intersection. In the corner of my eye a figure rushed to my car passenger window, shattered my passenger window, grabbed my bag from the car floor and ran off into the night. It happened in about four seconds. They say that time slows down when you fear for your life... I'm not so sure, but you do remember every terrible moment in detail. 

My whole body went numb with fear and adrenaline except for a weird, hot rush of pins and needles that pulsed into my hands and feet. And even though the perpetrator was on the run with me staring in horror at his back as he fled like a coward, I was afraid of him. I am afraid of him. There was nothing I could do. I simply put my foot on the accelerator, and got home as fast as I could. 

What bugs me is this feeling of guilt that I have. The inner argument that has been going on in my head ever since Friday, as that awful man looms outside the passenger window of my mind, his arm raise to shatter my internal safe haven...

I shouldn't have been out visiting my friends at night alone. 
But I left early, it wasn't that late? 
Was it? 
Oh no, I'm often out at night. How am I going to live?
I'll have to be a hermit. I'll have to quit half my commitments in Winter. The sun sets too early. 
I can't, I can't! I have to live!
No. I have to stay alive. 
I shouldn't have been driving that road. 
But I drive that road every day, often after dark.
It's a dark road you idiot.
But I thought it was the safest at the time. I even thought about it before I left. It has the least traffic lights and stops, and it's the fastest way home. Only 2 traffic lights, in fact, and a lovely highway. 
There are police patrolling that road constantly.
It's a dodgy road and you know it. 
I disagree. The other routes have just as many real threats, and more can go wrong on the other roads. Drunkards use the other route on Friday nights, and it's riddled with dodgy traffic lights. 
Suit yourself. Idiot. 
I should have had my phone in my pocket, not my bag.
I should have been locking my bag in my boot.
Really? I should spend an additional 30 seconds outside my car, in an open parking lot, putting my bag in my boot? 
Well it should have been behind my seat at least, not on the passenger floor.
I didn't think anyone would be able (or brave enough) to reach the passenger floor in such a rush. 
Exactly, I didn't think. I was arrogant enough to believe that I'm immune to these things. 
Oh stop it!
I should have kept a peppergun in my car, just in case. 
But then what? I gas someone else and myself in an enclosed vehicle? 
That's a good point. And he was gone in 4 seconds, like we said. That would mean I'd gas myself alone. 
Still. A peppergun might have made me feel better. 
Or worse. 
I should have..
I should have..
I should have...

My mind is racing with all these thoughts of self-blame and guilt and I suddenly just feel really ticked off. Wait a friggin minute here...! I didn't do anything wrong! I am a careful and vigilant person. If anything, I'm a bit too nice and naive, but I'm not an idiot. I did not 'deserve' this out of my own carelessness. It happened. And please forgive my use of this phrase but "Shit happens". 

And it did happen. So what now? It was such a petty crime, so not-a-big-deal. I am so grateful to be safe and un-harmed, unlike so may others. And yet... a part of me is stuck there, on that corner. I'm behind a truck and in front of a string of other cars. A man is crashing a sharp object into my car window and my mind is screaming out..

Is this it? 
Is he going to hijack me? 
What does he want?
Will he leave me here?
Will he force me to go with him?
Will he let me live?
Is this the end...???

I am still afraid, looking over my shoulder. My sense of freedom, humour and enjoyment of life is shivering in the corner of my mind, asking if it's safe to come out yet. In time, it will be ok. But for now, I have to clutch onto one thing to help me feel in control, and that is the fact that it was out of my control. I am not to blame. For that reason, I refuse to discuss the matter with anyone any further. I refuse to have people carelessly speculating on what I should have done, what I could have done, what I might have done, if I'd done it different, what I could have decided, should I decide I should have done it different....

As if I am somehow to blame.

No. No more. It happened. And that's it.

Everyday, a Random Day

I have these Random Days. They descend on me quite unannounced. I find myself absolutely powerless to defend myself against days such as these… such as the day that I am currently having right now.

On these Random Days, which seem to occur more frequently than not, I am overwhelmed by a “mysterious something” that immerses, envelopes, consumes my heart. On one hand, this something can accurately be described as fuzzy and warm, mushy and bubbly, and quite probably pink. But what absolutely baffles me is how this seemingly fuzzy, warm, mushy (probably pink) bubbly something (are you still with me?) has the capacity to hit me like a bus, quite literally bringing tears to my eyes. It’s like a tidal wave, it crashes into every part of me until I am absolutely sure that I have drowned in it.

Drowned, and yet, not dead.

In fact, so much more alive.

This something doesn’t have a name. I cannot name it, although I have tried.

It is…

…the urge to hug people.

To hug absolutely every soul on this planet. The kind of hug that people remember, those tight ones, the squeeze-ie ones that whisper “I really do care about you” without whispering at all. I have come to call such days “I-want-to-hug-the-world” days. But I suspect, due to the ever-increasing frequency of these days, that I am becoming a “I-want-to-hug-the-world” person.

I work at a hotel. I’m surrounded by people all day. I work with a diverse team, and have gotten to know them on a personal level.

I wish I could hug them. Every. Single. One.

From our biggest teddy-bear of a waiter

to the timid housekeeper with the wide eyes

to our busy managers trapped up behind their desks

to our sweetest barmen with their naughty smiles

to the singing chef filling the food with cheer

to the office ladies talking nonsense to pass the time (and working very hard).

Some people are pregnant with new life;

Some are facing death in their family;

Some are hiding sad secrets behind their eyes;

Most of them laugh every day, regardless of their lives.

I am inspired by them.

But mostly I just love them.

And I want to hug them. So badly.

So, dear World, if I start to jitter and twitch, if I grin like a psychotic fool, if I start giggling through clenched teeth… this is just the picture of desperate self-restraint and as close to composure as I can come. For inside, I am tackling you with a violently-lovable embrace, I am crushing you with my whole heart, I am pouring out the tidal wave of this “something” that’s drowned me to death and then filled me to overflowing with life.

It can only be Jesus. I, alone, am not capable of such Love.

I am reminded of a gorgeous song, accompanied by an even more gorgeous music video. “Everyday”, by the awesome Dave Matthews Band, came out many years ago… but this will never grow old.Love never expires.

Hugs to you Beautiful People of this Planet! 

Shark Attack!... or wait... no, ummm...

This is astonishing, and tragic - So hectic, it doesn't even fit into my blog page.

Rant of The Day: For The Ladies

Dear Brand Manufacturer,

When you remove a bra design that you have been manufacturing for years from your range, you are not simply discontinuing a style. You are plunging billions of women across the globe into darkness; ripping the proverbial mat from beneath their staggering feet; pushing them over the edge of a cliff, spinning them into a never-ending void of blackness and uncertainty.

There are those of us who find bra-shopping to be a most loathsome task. Those of us who spent our delicate, teen years struggling to find that perfect fit. Comfort, support, confidence. And finally, at the age of 23 – yes twenty-three! – my twelve-year search was rewarded. And, bless you, dear manufacturer, this bra was kept on the market all this time, ensuring my comfort, support and confidence for a blissful five years. Such was my trust your product that my most recent purchase didn’t even warrant a fitting – I simply walked in, grabbed my size, and walk out. (after paying, of course)

This weekend, I dragged my sorry self out to my nearest Edgars in (slightly desperate) search of one of my beloved undergarments only to find that you have discontinued this particular item, and all similar items, replacing your entire range with what I can only call “Granny-bra’s”. Now, some years have passed since my first purchase of my favourite bra, but I resent the underlying suggestion that I should now be moving onto Granny-bra’s. You have left me no choice but to make the drastic move to another brand altogether.

An infuriating hour of trying on what felt like thousands and thousands of bra’s, different sizes, different cuts, and I found myself absolutely confused about what size I really am, sending hysterical messages of despair to my husband about my body, which is obviously deformed beyond human recognition – obviously, if I can’t get a single bra to friggin fit the same way that my old one used to….!!!!!!

*deep breathing*

And so, dear manufacturer, I bid you farewell, and the song “No it isn’t” by the band, +44 is our parting song…

Please understand:

This isn’t just ‘Goodbye’

This is ‘I can’t stand you’

Start Counting...

As long as you are always looking back at the way things used to be, you will never be able to appreciate the way things are now. This is not because what you used to have is any better than what you have now, but simply because your head is quite literally facing the wrong way. 
You cannot possibly see all you have in front of you, when your eyes are constantly averted over your shoulder.

Looking back kills gratitude.

Let Go.

Take a look around.

And start counting.

You will find your blessings gradually become un-countable. 

Where are you, Fellow Inhabitants of this Planet?

Living in the past…?

Or immersing yourself in the present…? 

If You Only Knew

Dear World,

Be careful how you treat those around you.
Take care how you speak to others.
Take care how you speak of others.
Choose your accusations wisely, if you must accuse at all.
May Grace be foremost in your mind;
Let compassion soften the blow of your words.
Listen.
Listen.
Listen.
And then speak, if you must speak at all.

What you see in those around you, you only see in part.
You do not know what lies beneath the surface.
Heartache is not visible to the un-discerning eye.
Stress is easily masked with a smile.
Her child might be sick, would you know?
He is lonely, would you know?
She is facing bankruptcy, would you know?
He is in grieving, would you know?
She is fighting depression, would you know?

If you only knew...
You might take care of how you use your words...
You might withhold your accusation...
You might act in Grace instead of judgment...
You might offer compassion instead of criticism...
You might listen...
You might listen... and decide not to speak at all.

But you don't know.
You should be mindful of your "not knowing".

~ "...For you will be treated as you treat others..." Matthew 7 ~

Your Friend in Love and Grace,
Kirsty Coetzee

You can find this article, and others like it, at Above The Flame. Check out the Above the Flame Facebook page HERE. 

Love Letters in the Sky

Sometimes life (or God, as I believe) throws you a moment, or an experience, or an encounter... that you wish would last forever, that you pray you will never forget, and that you hope will be repeated in some way in the future. Sadly, we miss those moments completely - we get too busy, we think too much, we're rushing through life.

I am learning to slow down, and keep my eyes open for moments, experiences and encounters like that. I tiptoe over wet grass and take in the cold prickle between my toes. I try to pay more attention to people that I meet, note the colour in their eyes, the sound of their voice. I hold onto feelings of joy, revel in those feelings, allowing myself to giggle childishly and take note of what it feels like to smile.

One thing that I’ve recently become obsessed with is the sky. I stop and look at the sky, and find myself unable to tear myself away. A dear friend of mine once told me that the sky is like a blank page on which God writes love letters, morning, day and night. After some weeks of gazing upward every day, I am starting to believe this too.

The Heavens declare the glory of God;

The skies proclaim the work of His hands.

Day after day they pour forth speech;

night after night they reveal knowledge.

They have no speech, they use no words;

no sound is heard from them.

Yet their voice goes out into all the earth,

their words to the ends of the world.

In the heavens God has pitched a tent for the sun.

It is like a bridegroom coming out of his chamber,

like a champion rejoicing to run his course.

It rises at one end of the heavens

and makes its circuit to the other;

nothing is deprived of its warmth

(Psalm 19 vs 1 - 6)

I wanted to share some of my Father’s love letters with you – these are images taken with my phone, over the last two weeks. He hasn’t failed to take my breath away, not one day. He is so in love with me.

And with you – I just know it.

Slow down friend.  
Look around.
Breathe in.
Look up.
Take it all in.
Father’s Love is everywhere.
Everywhere!  

You can find this article, and others like it, at Above The Flame. Check out the Above the Flame Facebook page HERE. 

Whoever Declares Openly...

The following story was found on www.persecution.com, a website dedicated to the report of and ministry to countries still faced with persecution against Christianity. More stories like this can be found on Persecution.com, and on www.jesusfreaks.net. The Jesus Freaks books are a dcTalk initiative, amazing books dedicated to the martyrdom of many who have given their lives for their love of Jesus. 

"Whoever declares openly—speaking out freely—and confesses that he is My worshipper and acknowledges Me before men, the Son of man also will declare and confess and acknowledge him before the angels of God."~Jesus (Luke 12 vs 8)

Ribur was beaten and locked in jail for 60 days because she talked about Jesus.

Ribur grew up in a Christian family in Indonesia, and during high school she became interested in mission work. After studying for five years in a Bible school, she joined a community-development group that was teaching agricultural methods to villagers in Aceh, located in the far north of Indonesia’s most western island, Sumatra. Teaching agricultural methods, such as organic farming and livestock breeding, gave the team an opportunity to hear about people’s lives and share their Christian faith if asked.

Ribur soon started a small Bible study in a nearby village, meeting weekly with a family of believers and reaching out to the Muslim community as well. She and a friend from the development group, Roy, began speaking with a woman in the community named Maria. They visited her on a Monday and returned to see her the next day. Maria was ill, but they spent a little time sharing about Christ. Maria then appeared to pray and ask Christ into her life.

On the third day, Ribur and Roy went back to check on Maria. A young man waiting outside talked to Roy while Ribur went inside the house to find Maria. As soon as Ribur arrived, Maria excused herself and said she had to go somewhere. Suddenly, the young man speaking with Roy punched him, and a crowd of neighbors gathered.

Someone grabbed Ribur by her headscarf and hair, and the crowd began beating her. The crowd then forced the two Christians to walk to the village leader, lashing them with a cattle whip as they walked. When they arrived, an official accused them, saying, “Why did you bring Jesus to Aceh?” As Ribur began to answer, she was struck again.

The accusatory questions and beatings continued for 45 minutes. Ribur prayed that the Holy Spirit would give her the strength to stand strong and testify to the truth. Her face was bruised, and the inside of her mouth was bleeding. One person had used a stapler to beat her in the head. Roy was also bruised. Eventually the local police came and detained them. They then drove them to the provincial capital, more than an hour away.

They arrived at 8 p.m., and the police questioned Roy and Ribur until 3 a.m., accusing them of blaspheming Islam. “I wasn’t frightened,” Ribur said, “because I had already been beaten in the other office. Also, the Bible says you will have persecution.”

“Why were you sharing about Jesus?” the officers asked.

“Jesus is for all people,” Ribur said.

“What materials did you bring?”

“Just a Bible,” she replied.

“Have you read the Quran?”

“Yes, but not too deeply,” she said.

“Why did you share about Jesus?”

“Jesus wants everyone to know about him,” she said.

Roy and Ribur were arrested on May 29, 2012, and three days later were charged with abusing Islam so that police could continue to hold them. The police seemed to be searching for evidence.

Ribur was alone during the 60 days she spent in jail. She was the only woman in the women’s cell, and she used the time to read the Bible and pray. No one bothered her, but one of the guards told her it was the first time they had seen how a Christian prayed and read.

“Prison was a learning process for me,” she said.

Ribur was released after two months. Police could find no evidence against her and Roy, so they had to let them go. “After I was released, I felt that the same God who helped me in the prison was helping me still,” said Ribur.

The group’s work in Aceh has stopped for now. Ribur continues to help at her local church, and she dreams of planting churches in Sumatra.

Persecution is still real and tragic, and those faced with the daily challenge of faith need your prayers. Next time you find yourself able to openly declare worship to our God, please remember in prayer those who risk their lives to do so.

You can find this article, and others like it, at Above The Flame. Check out the Above the Flame Facebook page HERE.