Thursday, February 22, 2007


There are times when I, bewildered, don't know where to turn or what to do.
All possible options seem to be tried, without satisfying result.
This has been one of those frustrating weeks in limbo.
I was about to make one last phone call, as my eyes fell upon the calendar standing on the kitchen table. One of those with a Bible verse for every day.
This very Thursday the quote was from Isiah 30,15:
"In repentance and rest is your salvation,
in quietness and trust is your strength."
I'll have to rely on those words. I wouldn't dare not to.
Guess I have a bit of growing up to do.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007


Three ducklings in the hurricane.
Out on the roaring sea, boats going under.
Ashore houses are being lifted from their foundation.
Roofs flying through the air like huge condors.
In times like these it's not easy keeping the aim in sight.
Or clinging on to the belief, that every hair is numbered,
like every grain of sand.
Yet there is no other reasonable alternative.


Midst in the infinite wonder of motherhood, she sat quietly in the dusk nursery, humming and rocking her firstborn to sleep.
A sudden chill filled the air, as a blur figure materialised beside the mother. Bending over the cradle, she, of a sudden, revealed herself as the thirteenth fairy.
In a cracking, but distinct voice, sounding like an unforgiving curse of the doomed she proclaimed:

"May the baby give you as much sorrow, anger and despair as you yourself have caused."
The innocent, newborn infant opened its blue eyes, and chased all evil away.
For awhile.
The mother was left in eternal fear.
The spell had cunningly been engraved in her heart,
ensured to haunt her for the rest of her life.
Until she one day realised:
"But I never was really bad. I've never willfully harmed anyone. That label was deliberately put upon me by someone, trying to hide her own hatred and defeat.
I am free.
My fragile treasure is saved!"

Sunday, February 18, 2007


This picture of my father was taken Jan. 27th 2007

Very often, as I stumble along, so much wanting to do the good things, the right and obvious necessary deeds, I find my self stopped, trapped and haltered with "no particular place to go."
I stand bewildered before the Lord with all my whys.
Taking care of and comforting the helpless must be right, isn't that so?
"I was sick and you did not look after me?" He said.

That's just what I want to do and I am so vigorously hindered.
I am confused and hurt and helplessly scared.
Should I not honour and nurse my ill father?
He, who has been nothing but good to me all these years.
Whom I have loved and cherished since I was a child.
He who has carried me, patiently taught me and picked me up whenever I fell.
I need an answer and I need it fast.

Just a few years ago my father sat truly by my side, while I had broken both wrist and ankle, and was diagnosed with osteoporosis.