The blessedness of possessing nothing

Is there anything I really can't live without?

I have asked myself that question various times in my life - and received different answers!

When I married Jim and left my home and family, I had to reduce my worldly goods to one suitcase and a heavy box.  The box contained mostly my kitchenware that had belonged to my mother, and so held sentimental value.  There was even a kitchen scale with the heavy weights in pounds and ounces.  I no longer used it - but I couldn't part with it.  I left a lot of stuff behind, but I was newly married and in love, so hardly gave it a second thought.

After six years in Senegal it was once again time to pack up and move countries - and continents.  I thought I didn't have much left in the way of stuff that I was holding onto, but when it came time to part with my food mixer, which had also belonged to my mom - I resisted.  How could I let this last vestige of connection with her go?  It was a wrestle, but there was a lady there who loved to bake and could really do with a food mixer, and wanted to in fact make her living with it.  How could I refuse?  (Yes, I left my scale as well!)

I must have gone through my stuff four times, each time being ruthless with myself, and each time thinking "Surely I can't live without this?"  In the end there was so little left, I really didn't care if it followed me to France or not.  I felt free.

One of my latest wrestles has been over food.  Now surely that you can't live without?  Having been on the skinny side for so many years of my life, I honestly thought that if I went a whole day without food I would surely faint and die.  But having gained a few excess pounds I felt braver to try.  So God dared me to fast for four days.  I took up the dare.  I was totally astonished by the realization that I actually don't need to eat three square meals a day.  God has so deisgned our bodies that we can go a lot longer than we think without food.  I felt free in a whole new way.

There is a great scene in the last Harry Potter movie that depicts this.  Harry and his two friends have been camping for days with hardly any food.  They arrive at Alberforce Dumbledore's home and their host puts out a tray of food.  Ron and Hermione fall on it, stuffing the food in their starving mouths.  But Harry stands back and calmly carries on a conversation with Alberforce about their mission, seemingly unaware of the food.   The book explains that because Harry had been fed only sporadically by his cruel foster parents he had become used to going without. While Ron and Hermione came from good homes and were used to regular meals.

I was really struck by Harry's Christlike attitude towards food! It didn't own him.  He was master of his body.  Reminiscent of Jesus at the well when he asked the woman for a drink of water - and there is every indication he never got it.  And when his disciples return and urge him to eat something he says this:  "I have food to eat that you know nothing about."  Wow!!  Oh to be that free from our fleshly appetites!


So is there anything I really can't live without?  I think that would be chocolate!

I'm all alone!

"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"          "I will never leave you nor forsake you." Both those statements were made by the same person!  When Jesus was hanging on the cross, the Father had not forsaken him.  It just felt like it!  This was Jesus at his most human.  He might have reasoned like us:  "What did I do to deserve this?  I have loved you, served you, obeyed you - and now I am hanging on a cross, dying.  I am being executed as a criminal, punished for crimes I didn't commit.  Where is the justice?  God, where are you?  Why are you letting me go through this?  Why aren't you saving me?  Why aren't you stopping this pain?  Why, God, why?" Jesus knew why.  He had spoken about His death many times.  He had spoken of "This hour" before it came.  He had said that it was for this reason that the Son of Man came.  He knew exactly why He had to suffer. But I think that in the moment of intense pain and suffering He asked a question that He knew the answer to - but was experiencing deepest human despair.  He had known it would be bad - but he had never experienced quite this degree of pain and aloneness!  Maybe in that question He was just voicing His very humanness? And God the Father understood. And God the Father wept. God said, "It's alright, Son, for you to say that.  I understand that it is said in the midst of incredible pain and suffering.  I am here, I have not forsaken you!  But I get why you feel like I have.  It's OK.  I understand.  I hate to see you suffering!!!  If I could stop it right now, I would.  But my LOVE compels me to leave you there, in pain.  Love has never cost me so much as right now.  Love has never hurt this bad.  I love the world so much that I have to leave you there, in pain, in anguish, alone and crying out to me to save you. This will end, I promise you.  But right now, I hate that I love so much!" When Jesus looks at our suffering, He gets it.  He gets that we can feel forsaken, abandoned.  When we ask, "What did I do to deserve this?" there is no answer.  "Nothing.  You did nothing to deserve this.  In fact, you have tried to do everything right.  Obey me.  Serve me.  Do all the right things.  And this is what you get.  You're right, it's not fair.  I agree with you!  You're asking why, just like I did.  I didn't get an answer, and you probably won't either.  There is no answer.       "You ask why I have left you, abandoned you.  I know it feels like it, because everything keeps going wrong.  Nothing is going right.  The suffering continues.  You figure that if I was there, everything would get fixed, right?  Wrong. I AM there - and yes, everything is going wrong.  And it isn't over yet.  And I am there.  Right there with you.  Just as my Father was there with me, but I couldn't see Him.  I will NEVER leave you, nor forsake.  And yes, it may get worse yet.  And yes, I am there. And I understand your tears and your anger.  Believe me, I understand.  I've been there.  And it sucks.        "I love you SO much!"

Predictability - what we all want. Or not.

My childhood years were lived according to a daily routine that never varied.

6am:        Wake up to the sound of the church bells on the radio.  Get dressed.
6:30am:   Go next door to grandparents' house for early morning tea.
10am:      Morning tea with grandparents.
3pm:       Afternoon tea with grandparents.
4.45pm  Open the gates for Dad who would drive through within minutes.
6-7pm:   Dinner with family
7-8pm:   TV show as a family.
8pm:       Bedtime
8:30pm:  Lights out.  Look out bedroom window and watch grandparents' light go out, at the same time every night.

Sundays we would change the sheets on our beds and turn the mattresses.  Mondays and Thursdays were wash days.  Saturdays we would go into town as a family, have lunch at Barbers' tea lounge, George was always our waiter.  He knew my order without having to ask - steak and kidney pie and fanta orange to wash it down!

There was a certain comfort in knowing that every day was going to be the same as the day before.  And we took measures to ensure that nothing unforeseen would crop up and disrupt that routine.  We seldom had people over, never an overnight guest.  Nice and safe and predictable. 

So how is it that my life now is as unpredictable and changeable as it is possible to be?  I never know what time a meal will be, the sheets stay on the bed until they can't stand being with themselves any longer and get up in protest and walk to the washing machine; I have lived in five different countries and speak three languages; if you ask me what I am going to do on any given day, the answer will be "Whatever the wind (and the Lord!) brings my way!"

True, sometimes I long for that sweet monotony.  That sameness.  But usually if I ignore it long enough, that longing goes away. 

If I could choose predictability - or not - what would I choose?  It seems that the Lord is not a lover of it Himself.   He seems to prefer the unknowability of life.  One writer spoke of Jesus' "maddening unpredicability"! He knows the beginning from the end - and He generally keeps it to Himself.  He thrives in the "Gotcha!" moments of our lives. That is when we are thrown off balance and have to deal with the unexpected; that is when we need Him more; that is when He can do His best work.

I subconsciously made seven "I will never" statements at various times in my life.   Here they are:
1.   I will never live in a big city.  (I lived in Harare, then Johannesburg which was 50 times bigger, then Dakar.  The Paris!!)
2.   I will never work with computers.  First job?  Computer programmer. Spent four years in the programming world.  Computer programming, that is.
3.   I will never go to university.  I spent 10 years on Wits University campus.  Ten years!!
4.   I will never leave my beloved Africa.  I have lived overseas for the past 18 years.
5.   I will never live in Europe in general, France in particular.  Lived in France ten years.  Ten years!!
6.   I will never get these stupid French verbs.  I am dropping it and taking Afrikaans instead.  Spoke French (badly enough) for 16 years.
7.   I will never live in a snowy place.  Colorado, here we come!

So I guess God wants me to learn who is really in control!!

My best surprises

My pastor recently said that part of a dad's job of leading his family is to plan surprises. 

I well remember those my dad planned.  One morning he got my sister and I up before dawn and announced we were going to go to the racecourse at Borrowdale and watch the early morning gallops.  I remember it was still misty when we got there, and we stood at the railings and watched the horses thunder by.  I had never known my dad to be at all interested in horses or racing; I can only assume it was because he knew how horse-crazy my sister and I were, that he decided to give us a thrill of a lifetime.

Once or twice a year our family would drive the four hour trip to go and visit my dad's mom on her farm.  This was such an exciting event, that if my parents told us about it the night before, there was no way we could get to sleep!  So they would plan it in secret, prepare the picnic hamper after we were in bed, and then wake us up at 4am with the wonderful news that we were going to the farm!  Unlike school mornings, I would be instantly on my feet and getting dressed before I had even opened my eyes properly.  Off we would go, stopping after sunrise for our breakfast of coffee, cold pork sausages, and boiled eggs!  I can remember it all like it was yesterday.

Perhaps the best surprise of all, was the one that I never, ever thought my dad would do!  All my life (well, all ten or eleven years of it up till then) I had wanted to build a log cabin.  I had begged my dad to buy logs and help me build it.  My dad always said no, always giving the same reasons: it was too expensive, if we built anything over 6 feet we would have to pay rates, the termites would eat it within weeks, and just no, forget it, you are not going to build a log cabin.

One winter my cousins came out from Switzerland.  They came every two years and spent their summer with us, which happened to be our winter.  Two glorious months of playing together and enjoying their company.  They were wonderful times!  I discussed with them my dream of building a log cabin, as well as my dad's objections, and one of them suggested we dig a hole, and build the cabin over the hole.  That way it would only have to be a couple of feet high, but inside it would still be six foot high.  I thought this was a marvellous idea, and we began digging!  Surely my father could not have any objections when we explained this idea to him.  Yet his answer remained the same.  "No.  I am not buying you any logs.  Forget it.  And don't ask again."

Well, we had already started the hole, so we decided to go ahead and dig it anyway.  We had found out that digging was quite good fun and we would think of something else to do with the hole.  It was about five feet square and we went down about three feet.  Every morning while I was at school my cousin would fill it with water to soften the earth, and when I got home, we would set to digging.  Now you have to know that the soil in our garden was red clay.  You can imagine our state at the end of each day's excavations!  And the color of our clothes.  But I think my mom was well used to that by now. 

I will never forget the day I was sitting in our lounge, when this enormous truck drew up at our gate and the driver got out and stood at the gate with a piece of paper.  Not daring to come in of course, with two fierce dogs barking at him.  I went out, ready to give him directions for wherever it was he was trying to find.  Obviously he had the wrong address or house number.  You can imagine my complete surprise when I found out, not only was it indeed for Mr Posselt, 5 Cambridge Road, but it was also a load of split logs!!!!

I was absolutely stunned.  I managed to tell the man that yes, he had the right address, and yes, he could go ahead and unload the logs, but I was still in a state of shock.  MY dad had ordered logs!  MY dad was going to build us a log cabin!!   My dad, whose yes was yes, and no was no, had changed his mind!!  We were going to have us a log cabin!!

Over the next several evenings, my dad, with the help of my uncles, sawed and hammered and erected the most magnificent log cabin you have ever laid eyes on!  In Zimbabwe, nogal!!  Termites and all!  It had a door that opened and closed, and peepholes, and we even managed to figure out a secret locking system, so that when we were not there, no one else could get in.  Oh we had us the best times, playing in it, acting out episodes from "Land of the Giants" and such like.  Once we had a white rat in it, but found out that rats can climb earth walls, so back he went into his box.  We also had us a birthday party there with cakes and candles.  Sometimes there must have been about ten of us squished in there, but they were great and glorious times.  Many times, too, I remember us bigger kids would run and leap in and shut the door on younger cousins who we didn't want to admit.  (I know.  That was mean of us.  Today I feel bad about that!)

When the cousins left to go back to Switzerland, that log cabin just wasn't the same.  Gone was the life, the fun, the adventure.  It was just a place of memories, and I could hardly bear to go there on my own.  I wonder if my dad regretted then the expense of the logs?  But I would tell him of one thing I am sure - the sheer excitement of the surprise of building it was worth every penny!

Heckle and Jeckle

According to Wikipedia, Heckle and Jeckle were "two identical magpies, who outwitted their foes, while maintaining a mischievous streak".  This was what we dubbed the two pied crows who frequented our garden.  

Here is what they would do:

We would feed our two dogs, Laddie and Tinker, raw meat.  Every day, same time, same place, in the backyard.  Every day, Heckle and Jeckle would sit up in the trees watching and waiting for their chance.  As soon as the humans went back inside the house, they would start cawing, and fly down to within a safe distance, landing on the ground, and taunting the dogs to come and get them.  Incensed by this swaggering act, the dogs would leave their bowls and run at the birds, barking.  Jeckle would fly back up into the branches of the tree, while Heckle would fly just above the dog's mouth range, around the corner of the house, with both dogs in hot pursuit.  He would sit in the branches of a tree in the front yard, well within sight of the dogs, where he would continue his mocking and jeering.  The dogs would go crazy barking at him. 

Then suddenly, one of the dogs would stop and think, "Hang on.  There were two of them.  Where's the other one?"  And with that, they would both beat it back to their bowls - but too late!  Jeckle had calmly helped himself to a sizable chunk which he now had on the roof of the store room, where Heckle would come join him and they would enjoy their breakfast, smirking at the dogs who were now gulping down the remainder of their meat, looking slightly foolish. 

And the next day, the same scene would be played out.  Those two dogs never learned!  A labrador and a dachsund, outwitted by a pair of birds.  Shameful! 

My tomboy days

I always wanted to be a boy.

Boys' toys were so much more fun!  They moved by themselves, they made noise, you could build with them.  Girls' toys had to be made to move, and noises made for them.

I thought that if I wished it hard enough, and dressed like a boy, I could turn into one.  Just to make sure, I checked this out with my mom.  We were in a toy shop, in front of other shoppers (naturally) and I asked my mom the burning question:  "Mom, how do you tell the difference between girls and boys?"  (You have to remember that I only had one sister and had never seen the male anatomy.)  My mother thought quickly and replied, "Well, little girls have pink tassles, and little boys have blue tassles."  "Oh" I said, and although I didn't know what a "tassle" was, for years afterwards I wouldn't pronounce that word, as it sounded like a "rude word" to me.

However, that only confirmed my theory that there really were only outward, cosmetic differences between the sexes, and if I chose to dress like a boy, and wear my hair like one, I could grow up as one.
 
So I wore pants, with a leather belt and a pocket knife hanging down, and a chunky blue and white striped polar neck.  I remember so clearly the two occasions on which I was actually mistaken for being a boy.  I basked for days afterwards in the glow of those moments!

My dad, not having a son of his own, was only too happy to give me boys' toys for my birthdays.  So I had a kite, a wind-up aeroplane, a clockwork train, and best of all, a battery-operated dump truck, with a siren!  One time when I was ill, he bought me a racing car. 

Only one time did my mother ever suggest the idea of my sister and I taking ballet, and it was shouted down to cries of "That's for sissies!"

My secret name when playing on my own was Davey (no doubt after Davy Crockett!)  And when Daniel Boone was screened on Zimbabwe television, I was its most avid fan.  Every Monday evening at 5pm would find me glued to the TV, unwilling to budge nor breathe for the next hour!  I would have to live on that one episode a whole week!  But that was fine, because I would re-enact Daniel's feats in my backyard, using a wooden stilt as a rifle.  I was Daniel Boone!  Sadly, I never did manage to procure a coon-skin cap.  Despite my eyeing my mom's one fur hat which would have done admirably, and my many hints to that effect...

So what finally brought my tomboy ambitions to an end?  My aunt, who had only had boys and always wanted a girl, was brushing my (now grown long) hair, and asked me why I wanted to be a boy?  I was a puzzlement to her!  I gave her my reasons, and she spoke these life-changing words to me:  "Well, that means when you grow up, you will have to join the army."

Crash!!  With that one simple statement, my dreams came tumbling down!  I was committed to the cause - but not to that extent.  That was going too far!  Reluctantly, I accepted my fate as a member of the female species, and began embracing my femininity.

Whenever I get into a philosophical state of mind, I muse on the role my tomboy days have played in my life.  My attitude growing up was often, "You cannot make it too tough for me."  While other girls were screaming and fainting, I would boldly push through with the attitude, "Allow me to show you how it's done."  There has always been a side to me that said, "Life is tough.  Just get on with it."  This outlook stood me in really good stead for the mission field!  Senegal was not a place for sissies!  It was a tough environment to live in, and raise babies in.  I don't think I would have made it had I been faint-hearted.  And here's the interesting thing - the more wives of missionaries I speak to, the more I find out one interesting fact: many of them were tomboys growing up too!

Oh and one more thing - living in the mountains isn't for sissies either!

Bugs, beetles and other beasties!

Growing up in Zimbabwe, Africa, naturally meant making friends with all sorts of fascinating beasties.

Like the chongololo.  This giant African Millipede (Scaphiostreptus parilis acuticonus) was always to be found after the rain had softened the ground.  As soon as it is touched, it rolls up into a protective ball, and we could pick them up and carry them in our hands.  They would usually poop an orange substance as their way of saying thank you.  They made excellent bowling balls, or could double as goons in a game of chongololo marbles!  Wonderful creatures!

Then there was the Rhino Beetle.  Phileurus truncatus.  Totally harmless, it doesn't bite or sting, but because of the hooks on its legs, I always picked it up by its horn.  They were excellent compost makers, so we would take them and deposit them in Rhino Beetle Paradise - the compost heap!

Another creature with a horn was a worm we often found on our arum lilies.  It was big and fat and green, and could grow to about three inches in length.  I would not touch these, but my mother (who was deathly scared of feathers!) would pick them up and caress them.  One time she put one on the front bar of my cousin's stroller, and he shuddered from head to foot!!  She also once played with a chameleon, who repaid her kindness with a nasty bite on her hand. 

One insect I dreaded were locusts.  Ugh!  They had spiny legs, and were just ugly!  I do not like watching the animated film "It's a Bug's Life" for that reason.  Ugh!  Ugh!  UGH!  I also did not enjoy when the flying ants came out en masse after the rain.  They would hit up against the windows, trying to get in the house, making one feel like you were living through the plagues of Egypt.  In the morning, we would have to go and sweep up their wings which they had carelessly deposited on our front doorstep.

As far as domesticated pets went, I kept, at various times, guinea pigs, chickens, a gerbil, a hedgehog (for a week) and a budgie (Australian parakeet).  Poor Tippy, he met an unfortunate end.  I killed him.  I didn't mean to!!  I was holding him while my dad medicated his beak, and he began to struggle to get free, so I held him tighter... and then his little eyes closed, and ... poor Tippy!

The hedgehog was an interesting pet.  I would collect insects for him during the day, and put them in his box.  He was curled up asleep, and totally ignored these offerings.  At night, only when once I was in bed and had put the light out, would he suddenly uncurl and go foraging for food.  He would happen upon something (his favorites were chongololos!) and you can imagine how crunchy these are to eat!  Kind of like the hedgehog version of potato crisps!  I would hear a loud "Crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch!" Then a moment to digest followed by "Crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch!"  This was why he only lasted one week!

I drew the line at reptiles.  I don't like reptiles. Never have, never will.  I did not like the giant iguanas who slithered around under the tables in the hotel restaurant in Senegal.  Nope, I did not like those!!  And I will never give in to my husband's request to keep a pet snake!  Nope, that will never happen.

Oh oh, that reminds me of my seven "I will never" statements.  Every one of them have come true!  Eek!   I never said that last one!!  OK?  You are my witness!