Mindfull

What if his life had a divine plan, What if your best friend was part of that divine plan?

Your life was on a different road and hers one with his.

You were the instrument to get their two lives together.

If only you could see that you were part of a divine plan that would save him.

Would you feel differently about me ?

Set your selfish desires aside and think of this for a second.

He was on the brink of his death and he had his last journey to walk.

And although it was not by you holding his hand and having his heart

You still saved him by bringing him to me.

There is a plan for all our lives and we should not hate its course.

We know not any better.

And we should not hate those who might seem like they intervene.

They might just be sent from a divine power greater than your own.

Who are we to question His Plan?

Who are we to hate those who are part of that plan?

Just think about your life and what might be part of your own preparation of death.

Who would you like to be in charge of your last moments?

A jealous heart filled with hate chasing after gratification.

A heart that wants to have you all to her/himself.

Or the greatest story writer of all our lives?

Who started our lives and who knew about us before we were even born?

A creator that gave you this chance at live.

Are you going to walk with this hate and anger forever?

About something you had no say in, about a life you had no power over.

About a life you knew for a mere couple of hours? Who are you to choose who and what to hate?

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17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a class. The subject was what Heaven was like. “I wowed ‘em,” he later told his father, Bruce. “It’s a killer.  It’s the bomb.  It’s the best thing I ever wrote. It also was the last. Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving home from a friend’s house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road i Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck unharmed but stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted. The Moores framed a copy of Brian’s essay and hung it among the family portraits in the living room. “I think God used him to make a point. I think we were meant to find it and make something out of it,” Mrs. Moore said of the essay. She and her husband want to share their son’s vision of life after death. “I’m happy for Brian. I know he’s in heaven.. I know I’ll see him.”

Brian’s Essay: The Room…

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room.

There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files.

They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order.

But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings.

As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read “Girls I have liked.”

I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.

And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was.

This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life.

Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn’t match.

A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content.

Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.

A file named “Friends” was next to one marked “Friends I have betrayed.”

The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird “Books I Have Read,” “Lies I Have Told,” “Comfort I have Given,” “Jokes I Have Laughed at .

” Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: “Things I’ve yelled at my brothers.” Others I couldn’t laugh at:

“Things I Have Done in My Anger”, “Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents.”

I never ceased to be surprised by the contents.

Often there were many more cards than I expected.

Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived.

Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth.

Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked “TV Shows I have watched”, I realized the files grew to contain their contents.

The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn’t found the end of the file.

I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time I knew that file represented.

When I came to a file marked “Lustful Thoughts,” I felt a chill run through my body.

I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content.

I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me.

One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!”

In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn’t matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards.

But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card.

I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.

Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.

And then I saw it.. The title bore “People I Have Shared the Gospel With.”

The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused.

I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands.

I could count the cards it contained on one hand. 

And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt.

They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all.

The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.

But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him.

No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards.

I couldn’t bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own.

He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one?

Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn’t anger me..

I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me.

He could have said so many things. But He didn’t say a word. He just cried with me. 

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files.

Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.

“No!” I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was “No, no,” as I pulled the card from Him.

His name shouldn’t be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood.

He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards..

I don’t think I’ll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side.

He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, “It is finished.” I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door.

There were still cards to be written. 

“For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever

believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.”   JOHN 3:16

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The drums are calling old man, and they are louder by the day.

They are calling you to judgment and now’s the time to pay.

for the wrongs you’ve done your country and the trust betrayed.

So hear those drums swelling, hear well and be afraid.

You came to power on waves of hope that you would make your mark,

in a land that shone in Africa like diamonds in the dark.

In simple faith the people put their trust in your care,

and were repaid by the Fifth Brigade and the CIO and fear.

twenty eight years of motorcades and lavish trips abroad.

a nations heritage is lost through patronage and fraud.

The Chiefs grow fat while people starve and famine stalks our homes.

On idle farms the weeds grow rank and cover cattle bones.

the youth are taught your slogans but even as they sing.

the drums of change are beating for the truth is seeping in.

The demagogue has feet of clay and lies will not sustain.

the shattered land that once seemed free and will be so again.

Too late to blame the drought, the Brits, the whites, the MDC.

For all know where the finger points with cold finality.

So hear the drums, old man, and listen to them well,

They foretell of your end days and they have much to tell.

for he who sows the seeds of hate will reap the grapes of wrath,

so tremble in your bed at night, at the end of your sorry path.

 
Unknown

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Love, well it’s simple to fall in love, easy to love someone and effortless to say that you love someone. But then there is life. And life is what tests our love. Not only for each other, but for ourselves.

There is so much more to love than just falling in love. Love is special for each and every one of us. Love has a diverse meaning to each and every one of us. Love is shown and certain to each and every one of us in many different ways. And we can read so much about love; we can try and comprehend the universal connotation of love. But we will never be triumphant if we think it’s logical, if we think we can pin it down to something specific. Some specific feeling that comes over us and resides within us boiling and bubbling – ever ebbing.

But I have learnt that its not. It is different to each of us and grows differently in each of our lives. We feel it independently diverse and we give it in our own construed made-up idea of what is safely “feasible” to our own hearts. So there is no perfect love, no perfect way to love or be loved. There can be no perfect love other than how the Lord loves us. When humans are involved, love I am afraid, is tarnished, imperfect and terribly flawed.

We have all these emotions and feelings, past convictions and stains, future ideas and expectations. And it is all governed by so many things we don’t always have control over. We have our future dreams for our own lives, careers and families. Every day challenges and choices corrupt the wonderful flow of our willingness and desire to love.

When we are little children we want to be all grown up and when we are grown up we yearn to be little children once again. Without a care and strangely free. When we grow to be teenagers we have insecurities and puberty that makes us fancy being adult and when we are adults and the insecurities pass we find ourselves wrinkled and wishing we only lived without a care. We fear growing old.

The same with love. When we are single all we want is to love and be loved. All we crave is to meet that special person with whom we can spend our lives with. We dream of all the special things we would do with our unique soul mates, all the superb things we would share. We dream up magical dates, breakfast romance and lunch box notes. Evening moonlit dinners and lunch picnic surprises.

And when we meet that special person we feel that all our dreams and desires have been met. Our idea of love has come knocking on the door and we let them in. Not knowing that right next to love life walks in too. Alas life has been there all along, and someone else’s life bonds to yours. It fills up the entire room, moves into every space of your heart, your thoughts and all your routines. And our hearts really start to love.

And then the space gets smaller, it moves together to merge. Our hearts are still besieged by all this emotion. But our expectation of what love is changes and it compromises. Fairy tales you see are just that – a fairy tale with a happily ever after. And those are hard to come by in this thing called life.

There is no life in fairy tales. And life, well ….

Life comes with reality. It comes with harsh realities of different personalities and these personalities come with many emotions and feelings. It comes with hormones, male and female. And male and female, well with you know whatever male and female comes with.

Then there is the past, and with the past comes the future and with the future we have the present. And how love fits into all of this depends on who we are and what we want from life. Who we are individually and who we choose to hook our souls up with and who we choose to spend most of our time with.

I guess what I am trying to say is that love can only be what we make of it. What we want from it and how we want to receive it.

And sometimes that can be dangerous. So do we set our own rules – to keep it save?

A set of rules based on our morals, principles and ethics? Values grown from experience moved by ethic! Having the same desire and strong parallel future outlook?

Rules are easy to find, easy to establish but greatly difficult to uphold and adhere to. But that is what makes it worth while. It doesn’t come easy and highlights the discipline of who we choose to be with. And the rest, well, we have ascertained that we do suite each other. We have the same set of goals and the same future expectations of our individual success. We have very similar drives. But we need to be reminded that one life is easily lived selfishly and two lives lived very differently in the past is easy work to bring together but hard work to keep together.

We love differently

We feel love differently

We give and show love differently

We need to constantly patiently teach each other through this love how to handle these differences. We need to forget past tribulations and trials and move on with experience and no regrets. Our anger needs to be set aside but recognized and mastered. Molded and shaped in a manner that we do not easily get angered. We need to understand what triggers the reaction and try and be sensitive towards those feelings and triggers. Teaching ourselves and learning from each other.

We need to constantly learn how to love each other. Because love is not just a feeling or simply a word. Love is always a work in progress and it needs to be nurtured which at times can be tough.

For that is how we know it is worth it.

What are your expectations of love and what are they for the future. What is love to you? How do you love and how do you feel loved.

For we are love, always love

And love always is

Always have been YOU

From the very first minute I laid my eyes on you.

The Airport shall always be my most favorite place.

Your girl Belle x

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In the shadow of the night, through the dusk of the dawn,

Lay a burdened light dusted and outlawn

There are tears entangled in her frosty hair

Lying small song defeated

These are her tears of darling

Her tears and frowns of her youth

She stares at the moon and awakes to the stars shooting into her heart

She feels enthralled at this new beginning and the coming of her new dawn

The tears in her frosted hair turn to crystal

The blue in her eyes wrapped in the stars and their sparkle

This is a new day fr the tears of Darling

A day to start shining bright with the lash of the sun

Wake up tears of darling and celebrate this new moon

The break of a new dawn.

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What would it mean to say, what would we choose, why should I cry, for I am so eternally happy.

Even if I were to be without a cent.

Even if my days should be without any rands.

Even if my tummy should see another morning without breakfast.

Even if my nose would never smell the smell of my first morning coffee.

Even if my car would never see any petrol.

and even if my body shall never see any branded clothing.

There will always be a full moon shining in my world.

Always a sunrise and a sunset in my days my mornings my daylight my many more years.

Because of you ,

What would I say.

What would I do.

If forever I love you,

My days will never be without the sun again.

and my nights never without the moon.

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I logged in and could not find it

I scrolled down and it was not there

I refreshed the page and the numbers still stayed the same

It was not paid in, it was not given over

I am in the eleventh month and it still has not come

How long do i still have to wait for it to be paid over,

I logged in and it wasnt there

these empty months

These long hard working hours

I scrolled down and it was not there.

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And I have waited since the very first time

That I saw you and knew

That even for however long I will have to wait

On the day that I will know that I can

On the day that I know I can look in your eyes and can know
That I believe in this thing called love and that I can take your hand

Without a care Without Fear

And know that you

Can heal the pain of my loneliness

And of time I have no concept

because of time I can fill the empty spaces of my hearts black endlessness

and the scars of my lonliness

And as long as we have faith and hope

As long as we have love

There is a reason to live

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I found Anna

This is a very happy moment for me, I have been searching for a Swedish friend that I met working in Eilat Isreal. We were separated due to her returning to Sweden, But she stayed in touch with me and one day at work I received a call from my Dad saying that there is a blonde girl with a huge backpack, without shoes sitting in front of our house on the pavement. Now if you know Anna you would know that that was exactly Anna. Barefoot always, beautiful, blonde and just always full of fun, happy and content with the basics of life. Living and loving to live. She was stunning and magnetic.

I was ecstatic and couldn’t wait to get home. The drive from JHB to Vereeniging which lasts about 40min was treacherous. I was racing through peak hour traffic like I had an emergency.

She had taken the train from JHB to Vereeniging and found the address that I once scribbled on a piece of paper in Israel. That was the last time I saw Anna from Sweden.

I have been through so much since then and her and I lost contact over the years, sadly, and recently I have been in contact with another special friend from Sweden that I met in Eilat. Klara, whom is dating a South African guy and pregnant with his baby. After looking everywhere for Anna on facebook, my space, Lost Amigos, her old cell phone number, where I received some Swedish babble saying stop sending me message, I found Klara again. And she helped me get in touch with Anna.

I was sending Anna emails left right and center over the years and the emails always came back. After seeing the email from her in my gmail account, through teary eyes I realised that I had the correct email adress I was just missing a full stop between her first and last name.

Is that not unbelievably frustrating and unthinkable - that you can miss out on years of a very good friends life by a mere full stop. I am elated this morning to have made contact with her, even if only with a mail. I saw her photo and started crying, I am just so very happy to have found her.

And so very sad that I have been missing out on so much of her life by a mere full stop.

Oh Anna, I found Anna

Be slow to fall into friendship; but when thou art in, continue firm and constant.
Socrates

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Ek Dink

Ek dink as ek kan songs begin skryf,

Vir Chris Chameleon en sy tunes

Hy sing wat ek dink en ek skryf wat ek hoor

in my gedagtes ja, so effe deurmekaar

Dis n dag vir rus hier in SA

Dis n dag vir reis, vir die paashaas om sy spore weer te kom wys

Ek luister na sy songs, ek blog van sy woorde

Eintlik selfsugtig om traffic te kry

Maar dis n lekker dag buite en son is in sy helderskyn

Praat ek nonsens of praat ek van lekker kry

Skryf vir n ster, miskien eendag word ek n ster

Miskien eendag kan ek ook lewe soos n ster

Ek dink as ek kan songs begin skryf

Vir Chris Chameleon en die skud van sy lyf

Hy sing wat ek dink

wat as hy kan sing wat ek skryf

Hier sit ek vandag en rus in SA

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