Bedtime Story

For all of you who have ever felt worn and threadbare....

"The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nanna came to tidy the room. "does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter all, because once you are real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
~ From The Velveteen Rabbit, by Margery Williams

Purple Purple Everywhere!

Most of you probably know that Pretoria is called the Jacaranda City and that Jacaranda trees are originally from Brazil; they're not native to South Africa. But what you don't know is what the street I work on looks like at this time of year, so without further ado, I present the view from my office window:

I love it how, when the blossoms fall, they create a carpet of purple that covers the red soil. It's such a beautiful contrast. Unfortunately, the colour of Jacaranda blossoms is one that is nearly impossible to capture on camera. So if you want to see what they really look like, I suggest that you buy tickets for next year's World Cup and then stay for four extra months! (I'm serious, by the way)

Saturday Quote

"I know of only two alternatives to hypocrisy: perfection or honesty." - Philip Yancey

My Nightmare, Part 3

It seems that once I realised I'm not so great in the grace area, God has been giving me tons of "growth opportunities." Lately I've been getting cut off in traffic and having grumpy employees at the till. Even the post office man yelled at me for not having my passport with me in order to fetch a box ("That's just WRONG, lady!"). Sigh.

The clincher was on Sunday morning at church. I sat next to a beautiful African mama wearing a traditional dress. The thing was, she was a BIG African mama, and every time she sat down she partially sat down on me! I was trapped underneath her when it was time to stand for worship. I was hampered during communion. And taking notes during the sermon was not so easy. When she started fanning herself with a piece of paper, her elbow was in my face.

I'm still at the point in my foreigner status where I wasn't sure if this was normal, if it would have been rude to ask her to move over (although there wasn't really anywhere for her to move), or even if I would be labeled a racist for exerting my rights to personal space.

That's when I closed my eyes and prayed desperately for grace. It went something like this - "Lord, help me to extend grace to this woman. I really don't want to, she's really irritating me, and I can't see the pastor through her elbow. But maybe she's going through a difficult time, maybe she's had some negative experiences in her past. I don't want to add to that or distract her from hearing Your voice. But I don't WANT to extend grace, she's wrinkling my skirt, and I feel GRUMPY! Help me help me help me help me help me help me!"

At the end of the service they handed out chocolates to celebrate the opening of the new foyer, and I promptly forgot being rendered temporarily two-dimensional.

Sometimes I think I'm really pathetic. The amazing thing is that God loves me anyway, and that may be the best example of grace ever.

My Nightmare, Part 2

I'm still thinking about this dream and what - if anything - it means. And every time I think about it I end up thinking about grace.

If grace is, by definition, giving someone what they don't deserve (in a good way), then grace is also, by definition, unfair. Unjust, if you will.

How many times have we - have I - said, "But that's not fair!" This is, of course, always said when I get the short end of the stick, but when I am blessed unfairly, when something good happens that I don't deserve, do I also cry, "But that's not fair"? Hardly. I usually smile through the rest of my day gleefully with an extra bounce in my step.

God extending grace to us is also unfair, unjust. Yet He was willing to suffer that injustice on our behalf. Jesus isn't recorded as saying, "But that's not fair!" as He hung on the cross.

It is easy to accept unfairness when it benefits us, but when it costs us... ah, but that's a different story. And yet I am called to be like Jesus. Which means that I need to be willing to suffer injustice for someone else's good, so someone else can be blessed "unfairly".

And this haunts me because it is so counter-intuitive, so difficult, so mind-boggling, so.... unfair.

My Nightmare

I had the weirdest dream the other night. I dreamed that I was paired up with Julius Malema and Eugene Terrblanche, and Jesus was sending us to reach out to people in the community (if you don't know who these two guys are, it is enough to know that they are on *completely* opposite ends of the political spectrum here in South Africa).

I looked at Jesus and said, "You've got to be kidding, right?" He said, "No, and you three are so bad in the area of unity that you need to practice on the animals at Pilanesburg Game Reserve before you work with people."

So off we went to Pilanesburg. We were only just inside the gate when Julius and Eugene started arguing about where to begin. This went on for some time so I just sat down on a rock, and that's when I noticed that I was carrying a backpack full of American junk food.

I was super excited about the junk food and was about to dig in when Julius took my backpack and started eating all of my food. Eugene was still waxing eloquently, going on and on in some impassioned speech, only no one was listening.

I sighed and looked up to the sky. "Why me?" I said to God. He responded, "Because you need to learn how to extend grace and love those who are difficult to love."

And that's when Dan woke me up.

I'm still wondering, several days later, if there's more to this than just a dream. Is God letting me know that I stink in the "extending grace" department or was it merely a bizarre dream? Or both? Either way, it's got me thinking.

A Small Victory for Immigrants

I now know what an IRP5 is. And UIF and PAYE deductions. I feel so smug!