Jesus loves the little children. All the children of the world. Red and yellow, black and white. They are precious in His sight. Jesus loves the little children of the world. Well, I don't! The only things red and yellow, black and white that I like are jelly babies. And even those I always eat by biting the head off first. This was not the idea that I had in mind for a blog, but sometimes, life's situations dictate otherwise. Allow me to explain.
It's 08:30 on this beautiful morning, on this even more beautiful island of Menorca, and I should be the only one awake and out and about. So I've come to this breakfast café, to read my Bible and get inspired to write. I am - well, was - the only person in this café. It was quiet, peaceful and serene. That was, of course, until Mommy and Mommy's Precious Princess arrived. Now there must be around 30 tables in this place, all of which are empty, and yet they have chosen the table next me. The closest table next to me. Mommy is carrying a bag that looks like a wheat sack, and is filled to overflowing with every kind of imaginable inflatable pool toy, that Mommy's Precious Princess is now emptying out on the floor all around my feet.
"Good morning!" Mommy said to me in that typical sing-sing manner.
"Morning." I strained back through tightly pursed lips trying to focus on reading the same line for the third or fourth time while kicking what looked like an inflatable book back into their territory.
"Angel, put your toys over here please. We don't want to bother the man."
"Too late." I thought to myself.
"I want to play here." she replied.
"What do you want for breakfast? Bacon and eggs?" Mommy asked.
"I want a milkshake."
"It's too early for a milkshake. What about some egg on toast? Would that be nice?"
"I want a hamburger." Angel replied, hitting my shins with the tail of her blow up orca.
After many suggestions and many refusals, the waiter finally said he'd come back when they'd made up their minds.
"No, no. We'll just have 2 bacon and eggs on toast." Mommy finally said.
"But I want a waffle," came Princess's reply from under the table as she continued to throw her toys around randomly in all directions.
Princess was now very close to getting a lecture from Linti about all the starving children in Africa who would love to have the privilege and enjoyment of eating a proper full breakfast.
The shenanigans only got worse once the food arrived. I witnessed Mommy training her daughter in the art of bribery and manipulation by making empty promises of buying her a milkshake and waffle if she sat down and ate. Finally, she resorted to the counting method in order to get her daughter out from under the table and to sit down and eat. Each time she said, "I'm not going to say this again (which she did - repeatedly). Come and sit down and eat. 1 - 2 - 21/2 - 23/4 - 3!" And every time 3 was said, it erupted from her mouth like a hiccough.
No wonder this child just does what she likes. Constant threats are made, but never followed through. I hated to think what she was going to be like as a teenager. With the fourth round of the counting method underway, I was ready to intervene swiftly. My plan of action was to stick my hands under the table, grab the child by her sideburns, and assist her to the proper placement of her backside in the chair at the table. It was at that point that my Bible bookmark caught my eye. Blazoned in bold black print were the capital letters WWJD? It's a jolly good question. Just what would Jesus do in a situation like this. Would it be another scenario of Him calling the child to Himself and laying hands on her and blessing her. In the version of my mind, He called the child over to Him, and when she got there He put her over His knee and gave her the hiding of her life. Then He turned to her mother and quoted Proverbs 13:24 'Spare the rod and spoil and the child'. That was followed by Proverbs 22:15 'Folly is bound up in the heart of a child, but the rod of discipline drives it far from him.' After that, He quoted Proverbs 23:13 '
Do not withhold discipline from a child; if you strike him with a
rod, he will not die. If you strike him with the rod, you will save his
soul from Sheol.' And finally, He quoted Proverbs 29:15 'The rod and reproof gives wisdom, but a child left to himself brings shame to his mother.' And with that last quote I let out a resounding 'Amen brother!' There are some discipline quotes that come from my family that I would have liked to of added. Like Grosa 11:7 'Jislaaik, I'm going to do you a damage.' or Grosa 16:3 'You're not too old to get a hiding.' and then of course Grosa 22:12 'Just wait til your father gets home.'
Now truthfully, I actually love children. It saddens me to see how so many of them are raised without boundaries, being over-indulged and allowed to live as a law unto themselves. While editing this blog this morning, I read on news24.com that South Africa is pushing forward with a law making it illegal for parents to discipline their kids with a good hiding. How tragic. We already exist in a lawless youth society. Not just in South Africa, but worldwide. Children need to learn that disobedience has negative consequences. Disobedience in later life can have disastrous consequences. These formative years are their training ground. A training that will enable them to integrate into society as functional, mature people.
So Mums and Dads, I ask you, if not for the sake of your child, then for the sake of people like me, who just want to enjoy a morning coffee with peace and quiet in a café; teach your kids to obey. Then they will truly be a blessing from God.
Tuesday 28 August 2012
Tuesday 24 July 2012
They say that 'The Lord works in mysterious ways' and that is entirely true - at least for my life. When I think of some of the things and situations that have happened to me, I can only describe them as being bizarre and strange. Even the ordinary is sometimes just plain bizarre. That is true of homecell the other week.
After a long and exhausting day of work, I was really looking forward to some good company and a chance to just relax and be refreshed, but the course of life never seems to run the way we wish it would. It was one of those meetings where the leader says that he has got nothing prepared for the meeting, so let's all just pray and wait on God and see what He says. In these situations, my gut feel is always why can't we just eat, chat and maybe watch a movie. Especially, when you have someone like Pedro (remember the guy from a previous blog whose inappropriate comments had me imagining myself stabbing and pegging his tongue to the table with the fork I was holding in my hand), who you never know exactly what he's going to come up with as being a word from God. So, on the given command of 'let's all pray', we duly closed our eyes and bowed our heads and all began to wait on God.
I have to confess that I was very tired and having a totally off day, and although my eyes were shut, I was neither asking God, nor waiting and listening to what He had to say. In fact I was waging my own personal war against sleep taking over, by replaying the events of my last class of the day in my mind, so that I didn't disrupt the prayer meeting with an occasional snore. I had been teaching on phonics and pronunciation. After what felt like an eternity, but actually was only about 10 minutes, we were all asked what we felt God was saying. Having nothing myself, I did the usual avoidance tactics of pushing myself back in my chair and avoiding eye contact with anyone and everyone. After moving round the group and everyone sitting like mutes, I was the only one left, and I felt all eyes staring at me waiting for some pearl of wisdom to drop from my lips like honey. Responding to the desperation and insistence of the leader as to what I'd been thinking while praying, I finally confessed, I was thinking 'how much wood would the woodchucker chuck, if the woodchucker would chuck wood'. That was followed by another eternity of awkward silence.
"He's speaking in an African tongue." said Pedro, "Does anyone have the interpretation?"
"It's not an African tongue," I said, "And yes, I know what it means."
There were varied responses to my attempt to try and translate that into Spanish. Some people giggled. Some people covered their mouths and whispered into the ear of the person sitting next to them. Others just stared at me with their mouths open. But finally, true to his nature, Pedro said, "Seriously! Couldn't you not have made up something more interesting?"
"No." I said, "That would be lying."
"Well, it would be better than having people think you're an idiot." he replied.
"I don't mind people thinking I'm an idiot." I said, "At least people will know that I'm an honest idiot."
And thus was born our topic for the evening. 'Is it okay to tell white lies?' Surprisingly, our group was divided on the issue with some people maintaining that in certain situations and circumstances it was okay to lie, especially if it involved protecting someone. The puritans, championed by me, maintained that God is Truth and the devil is the father of lies, therefore it is always best to endeavour to tell the truth at all times. Should it be a tricky situation, the best course of action is to say that you are not at liberty to discuss or disclose that information. Others counter-argued that not telling the truth, when you know the truth, is the same as lying. Anyway, the evening was saved from going into yet another tarrying session.
So, what's my point? Life is so much simpler and easier when we walk in truth and speak truth. Lies perpetuate more lies, and eventually it's difficult to keep track of what we're lying about and maintain the falsehood. In Psalm 141:3 David had to pray and ask God to set a guard over his mouth so that he would not say something false or out of line. The prayer here is, that God would guard him from the temptation to say something wrong. To this he seems to have been prompted by the circumstances of the case, and by the advice of those who were with him. He did not want to utter any rash, unguarded, and unbecoming word, or express any fretfulness at the prosperity of the wicked, or speak evil of them; especially of Saul, the Lord's anointed, for the ill usage of him.
Let's try and live our lives in the same way. Be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to get angry. And most of all, let's watch what we say. Honesty is always the best policy - honestly.
Have a God-blessed week.
After a long and exhausting day of work, I was really looking forward to some good company and a chance to just relax and be refreshed, but the course of life never seems to run the way we wish it would. It was one of those meetings where the leader says that he has got nothing prepared for the meeting, so let's all just pray and wait on God and see what He says. In these situations, my gut feel is always why can't we just eat, chat and maybe watch a movie. Especially, when you have someone like Pedro (remember the guy from a previous blog whose inappropriate comments had me imagining myself stabbing and pegging his tongue to the table with the fork I was holding in my hand), who you never know exactly what he's going to come up with as being a word from God. So, on the given command of 'let's all pray', we duly closed our eyes and bowed our heads and all began to wait on God.
I have to confess that I was very tired and having a totally off day, and although my eyes were shut, I was neither asking God, nor waiting and listening to what He had to say. In fact I was waging my own personal war against sleep taking over, by replaying the events of my last class of the day in my mind, so that I didn't disrupt the prayer meeting with an occasional snore. I had been teaching on phonics and pronunciation. After what felt like an eternity, but actually was only about 10 minutes, we were all asked what we felt God was saying. Having nothing myself, I did the usual avoidance tactics of pushing myself back in my chair and avoiding eye contact with anyone and everyone. After moving round the group and everyone sitting like mutes, I was the only one left, and I felt all eyes staring at me waiting for some pearl of wisdom to drop from my lips like honey. Responding to the desperation and insistence of the leader as to what I'd been thinking while praying, I finally confessed, I was thinking 'how much wood would the woodchucker chuck, if the woodchucker would chuck wood'. That was followed by another eternity of awkward silence.
"He's speaking in an African tongue." said Pedro, "Does anyone have the interpretation?"
"It's not an African tongue," I said, "And yes, I know what it means."
There were varied responses to my attempt to try and translate that into Spanish. Some people giggled. Some people covered their mouths and whispered into the ear of the person sitting next to them. Others just stared at me with their mouths open. But finally, true to his nature, Pedro said, "Seriously! Couldn't you not have made up something more interesting?"
"No." I said, "That would be lying."
"Well, it would be better than having people think you're an idiot." he replied.
"I don't mind people thinking I'm an idiot." I said, "At least people will know that I'm an honest idiot."
And thus was born our topic for the evening. 'Is it okay to tell white lies?' Surprisingly, our group was divided on the issue with some people maintaining that in certain situations and circumstances it was okay to lie, especially if it involved protecting someone. The puritans, championed by me, maintained that God is Truth and the devil is the father of lies, therefore it is always best to endeavour to tell the truth at all times. Should it be a tricky situation, the best course of action is to say that you are not at liberty to discuss or disclose that information. Others counter-argued that not telling the truth, when you know the truth, is the same as lying. Anyway, the evening was saved from going into yet another tarrying session.
So, what's my point? Life is so much simpler and easier when we walk in truth and speak truth. Lies perpetuate more lies, and eventually it's difficult to keep track of what we're lying about and maintain the falsehood. In Psalm 141:3 David had to pray and ask God to set a guard over his mouth so that he would not say something false or out of line. The prayer here is, that God would guard him from the temptation to say something wrong. To this he seems to have been prompted by the circumstances of the case, and by the advice of those who were with him. He did not want to utter any rash, unguarded, and unbecoming word, or express any fretfulness at the prosperity of the wicked, or speak evil of them; especially of Saul, the Lord's anointed, for the ill usage of him.
Let's try and live our lives in the same way. Be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to get angry. And most of all, let's watch what we say. Honesty is always the best policy - honestly.
Have a God-blessed week.
Sunday 15 April 2012
Out Of Africa ... deepest, darkest Africa!
I'm sitting here at my computer in a somewhat pensive mood, hoping that inspiration to write a blog will miraculously drop out the sky. Well, inspiration didn't drop from the sky, but it did open the window of the apartment next to mine and appear in the form of my 80-something year old neighbour hanging her knickers and brassieres out to dry. It's not quite the inspiration I'm looking for, but it'll do. After each of our encounters I always leave with a smile. She refers to me as 'that boy from Africa'. Each time she calls me that, my mind conjours up images of me in the deepest, darkest jungles of Africa, dressed in tribal gear with a bone through my nose, standing next to a black cauldron with two bound European explorers quietly simmering away in a gourmet jacuzzi. Despite me being as white as the white-washed walls of our building, she has repeatedly asked me if my parents are black. Not only that, but also whether I come from a tribe and what's its name, and have I come to Spain for asylum and how many more of 'us' live in the apartment. We have struck up an odd sort of friendship. From her side it's about curiosity and intrigue to know more about my world, and from my side, well, as long as she keeps making me tuna empanadas (a Spanish pie like thing), I'll keep talking.
Last week we had a particularly amusing conversation as our wires were very obviously crossed. Being the Easter weekend, I wished her Happy Easter, to which she responded by asking me if I'd kissed Jesus' feet recently. That took me totally by surprise as that's a rather abstract Scriptural concept taken from Lk. 7:38 where the woman with the alabaster jar anoints Jesus' feet and then kisses them. Most people only remember the part of her washing His feet with her tears, drying them with her hair and pouring the expensive perfume over them, but not the kissing part. Me thinking that this was all metaphorical for worship, replied by saying that as a matter of fact I had just done so that morning. "Wonderful!", she exclaimed clasping her hands in joy, and asked me where I'd done so to which, much to her further delight, I replied in church. Obviously elated by the knowledge that the Gospel had reached as far south as South Africa, she raised her now teary eyes heavenward and thanked God that the savage world of the Dark Continent had obviously been evangelized and again asked me where I'd kissed His feet. Not sure how much more specific I could get I quoted the full street address of my church, to which she clarified herself further by wanting to know if I'd kissed Jesus on the toe, the ankle or the heel. Confusion was now really setting in, as I'd never thought of any specific location and the thought of the toe, the ankle or the heel kind of grossed me out. I tried as best I could in Spanish to explain that I imagined it was on the upper part of His foot just before it turned upward to His shin. "What?", she said somewhat horrified, "what did you do that for?", as if the Gospel that had reached Africa had been corrupted and perverted. Not wanting to upset her further, I tried to justify myself by saying that my imaginary kiss had actually been very close to His ankle and possibly the part of my lips at the side of my mouth had probably even touched His ankle. It obviously wasn't a good enough explanation. She then went on to explain where she was coming from. Every weekend from the Thursday after Ash Wednesday, in her church, they take down the effigy of Jesus and people come from all over Spain to kiss His feet. You kiss His toe in worship and thanksgiving for coming from Heaven to Earth, you kiss His heel for walking the Earth and bringing the Gospel, and you kiss His ankle INSTEAD of the top part of His foot representing where the nail was driven through in His crucifixion. Apparently, if you do this it guarantees you greater blessing throughout the rest of the year, and you feel the presence of God when your lips touch His feet, which is why people come from all over the show and stand in line to do it. I had actually seen the lines of people queuing for several blocks waiting to get into this particular church a few weeks back when I went to an art exhibition. I had passed a comment that maybe revival was breaking out in that church - little did I know that they were lining up to kiss a toe, an ankle or a heel.
Very obviously I had done a sacrilegious act by kissing the upper part of His foot and she was not at all impressed. But, it did get me thinking this Easter. How grateful I am to God for everything He has done for me and for those who put their trust in Him. I'm even more grateful that His mercy, His blessing, His favour, His forgiveness and His love is not dependent on whether I kiss His toe, or His ankle or heel, but simply on that I love and obey Him. I'm even more grateful that I can 'kiss His feet' at any time of the year and feel His presence with me all the time, and not just from Ash Wednesday until Easter Sunday. It's been one week since Easter, and I hope that all that that weekend signified has not been forgotten already, but that the gratitude for all that God has done still is alive and fills your heart. Sadly, it's also been one week since my last tuna empanada!
God bless
Last week we had a particularly amusing conversation as our wires were very obviously crossed. Being the Easter weekend, I wished her Happy Easter, to which she responded by asking me if I'd kissed Jesus' feet recently. That took me totally by surprise as that's a rather abstract Scriptural concept taken from Lk. 7:38 where the woman with the alabaster jar anoints Jesus' feet and then kisses them. Most people only remember the part of her washing His feet with her tears, drying them with her hair and pouring the expensive perfume over them, but not the kissing part. Me thinking that this was all metaphorical for worship, replied by saying that as a matter of fact I had just done so that morning. "Wonderful!", she exclaimed clasping her hands in joy, and asked me where I'd done so to which, much to her further delight, I replied in church. Obviously elated by the knowledge that the Gospel had reached as far south as South Africa, she raised her now teary eyes heavenward and thanked God that the savage world of the Dark Continent had obviously been evangelized and again asked me where I'd kissed His feet. Not sure how much more specific I could get I quoted the full street address of my church, to which she clarified herself further by wanting to know if I'd kissed Jesus on the toe, the ankle or the heel. Confusion was now really setting in, as I'd never thought of any specific location and the thought of the toe, the ankle or the heel kind of grossed me out. I tried as best I could in Spanish to explain that I imagined it was on the upper part of His foot just before it turned upward to His shin. "What?", she said somewhat horrified, "what did you do that for?", as if the Gospel that had reached Africa had been corrupted and perverted. Not wanting to upset her further, I tried to justify myself by saying that my imaginary kiss had actually been very close to His ankle and possibly the part of my lips at the side of my mouth had probably even touched His ankle. It obviously wasn't a good enough explanation. She then went on to explain where she was coming from. Every weekend from the Thursday after Ash Wednesday, in her church, they take down the effigy of Jesus and people come from all over Spain to kiss His feet. You kiss His toe in worship and thanksgiving for coming from Heaven to Earth, you kiss His heel for walking the Earth and bringing the Gospel, and you kiss His ankle INSTEAD of the top part of His foot representing where the nail was driven through in His crucifixion. Apparently, if you do this it guarantees you greater blessing throughout the rest of the year, and you feel the presence of God when your lips touch His feet, which is why people come from all over the show and stand in line to do it. I had actually seen the lines of people queuing for several blocks waiting to get into this particular church a few weeks back when I went to an art exhibition. I had passed a comment that maybe revival was breaking out in that church - little did I know that they were lining up to kiss a toe, an ankle or a heel.
Very obviously I had done a sacrilegious act by kissing the upper part of His foot and she was not at all impressed. But, it did get me thinking this Easter. How grateful I am to God for everything He has done for me and for those who put their trust in Him. I'm even more grateful that His mercy, His blessing, His favour, His forgiveness and His love is not dependent on whether I kiss His toe, or His ankle or heel, but simply on that I love and obey Him. I'm even more grateful that I can 'kiss His feet' at any time of the year and feel His presence with me all the time, and not just from Ash Wednesday until Easter Sunday. It's been one week since Easter, and I hope that all that that weekend signified has not been forgotten already, but that the gratitude for all that God has done still is alive and fills your heart. Sadly, it's also been one week since my last tuna empanada!
God bless
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