I’m no longer a slave to fear!

After this weekend and several “demeaning” posts I can’t keep quiet anymore. So this post is to all my friends who believe differently to what I do, or don’t believe at all. 
In my opinion it probably takes more faith to believe that there was nothing and one day there was something and one day there will be nothing again. 

What saddens me is that “we” don’t ridicule and mock other belief systems, while “we” are constantly under attack and being made to be idiots for what we believe. 
However, I won’t apologise for being a Christian and for believing that one day I will meet my Maker in the place that He has prepared for me. 
Your beliefs are yours, and my beliefs are mine. I respect that.
As some “Jesus freak” that actually went to Bloemfontein for the “It’s Time” gathering on Saturday, I believe that I have a right to voice my opinion on some of the claims that have been made. 
I did not pay for a ticket. Entrance was free. 

I did not pay for my parking. It was free. 

I did not pay R20 for a bottle of water or R50 for a hot dog – I had to pack my own cooler box and snacks. There were NO food or refreshment stalls. 

I did not have to pay to go to the loo – the “porta potties” were sponsored. 

I did not buy a book or a dvd – there were none on sale.  

Angus Buchan is NOT God, nor does he want or claim to be – he brought a message and facilitated a prayer for a million people. 

No one was forced to say or do anything they did not agree with – it’s easy to hide in a crowd that big. 
What I did experience was this;

Normal, everyday people are tired of immorality , addiction, corruption, crime, rape, murder, theft, rape, abuse, mismanagement, assault and everything else in between. 

These people (myself included) were willing to travel toe Bloem and sit in the beating Freestate sun for hours, not to make a statement, bit to try to make a difference. 
You, yes you that was all “whooohoooo” about the #ZumaMustFall marches, but stayed at home (or maybe you showed face), yet you laugh at million people that in your opinion are “stupid” for believing what they do, you are the ones that are mocking the people that wanted to do MORE. 

Uncle Angus had the guts to attempt to get a million people together. What did you do to try to make a difference?
I am an unapologetic Christian and you can mock me as much as you like. The difference is, I am no longer a slave of fear. When you go to bed tonight and you fear for that break in, or that assault or God forbid that rape or death, I go to bed knowing that God is with me, and if I were to die tonight, I get to join Jesus in heaven. If I’m wrong, and I just go into “nothingness”, then at least I will know that I lived a life where I loved people. But, what if you’re wrong?
As I said before, your beliefs are yours and I respect them. I will not mock you, but, I will try my best to love you like Jesus loves me. All I ask is that you offer me and my fellow “Jesus Freaks” the same respect. 
Amen.

This is not my photo, I would love to credit the owner of it. If you know who it is, please let me know. 

Advertisements

About God’s Goodness, Faithfulness & Protection

 

 

At 07:14:50 this morning, I stopped at our local Shell garage.  I had been to Spar prior to that and I forgot to buy cigarettes.  Upon realising this, I told my girls that I forgot and I’ll just stop at the garage.  Abigail begged me “mommy, please don’t go buy cigarettes”.  I ignored her.  I ignored a HUGE warning sign which I believe God had tried to give me.

 

I got out of my car and walked into the garage shop.  Usually the kids get out of the car with me, but I decided to lock them in the car instead.  God’s Goodness at work.  I had not been in the shop for 10 seconds when I looked around, just to check on my girls and stared right into a group of men all wielding guns.

 

They yelled at us (customers & staff) to get down on the ground.  While dropping to my knees I tugged my engagement ring off my finger and stuffed it into my bra.

 

There was a lady in the line ahead of me.  As we dropped down, she grabbed my hands and calmly told me to just breathe and pray with her.  I wept quietly and told her my kids were in the car outside.  She started praying for their protection, that they would not see or hear what was going on inside the shop.  I “double locked” my car – this makes it impossible to open the doors from the inside – this way I knew that they would not be able to get out of the car and walk into danger.

 

While we were lying on the ground, the armed robbers demanded our cellphones and wallets.  I handed them over without hesistation, and without looking up.  I just saw this hand grab my phone & purse, and the next thing he threw my purse back at me – I had no cash.

 

The angel with me just kept praying and kept reassuring me that my kids and I would be fine, that God ALWAYS protects His children.

 

The robbers yelled at the owner to open the safe (they assaulted him badly)

 

Suddenly, the shop was quiet.  You could hear a pin drop.  I asked out loud “are they gone” and we started getting up.  I ran to my car to check on the girls.  They were laughing and playing on the back seat.  Kathrin asked me “mommy, what just happened, why did those guys run out and jump on the back of a bakkie”.  That was all they saw.

 

I got a business card from my car and gave it to the garage manager so they could get hold of me if they needed to.  I got back into my car.  According to Matrix, it was now 07:17:58

 

I dropped the girls at school with a smile on my face, hugged them really tight and told them I love them.  I was incredibly calm, I had Shalom Peace until the moment I drove off the school grounds – they never saw the fear or terror that I was experiencing.

 

 

God tried to warn me through my child, but I didn’t listen.

God protected them by not letting them come into the shop with me.

God protected us all in that shop for the entire time that the robbery was taking place.

God heard every prayer, and showed His faithfulness in keeping us all safe from harm – not a single shot was fired, my kids were safe and besides the obvious shock, I am okay.  Rattled beyond belief, but okay.

 

God doesn’t always speak in a loud thundering voice, He uses a still small voice on the inside, or the still small voice of a 7 year old girl.  We should just learn to listen to Him.

 

All thanks, glory and honour go to my Heavenly Father who sent his angels to protect us today.  I thank God for the promises He made in Psalm 91, and I thank Him for keeping those promises today.

 

Psalm 91

 Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.[a]
 I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress,
my God, in whom I trust.”

 Surely he will save you
from the fowler’s snare
and from the deadly pestilence.
 He will cover you with his feathers,
and under his wings you will find refuge;
his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
 You will not fear the terror of night,
nor the arrow that flies by day,
 nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,
nor the plague that destroys at midday.
 A thousand may fall at your side,
ten thousand at your right hand,
but it will not come near you.
 You will only observe with your eyes
and see the punishment of the wicked.

 If you say, “The Lord is my refuge,”
and you make the Most High your dwelling,
 no harm will overtake you,
no disaster will come near your tent.
 For he will command his angels concerning you
to guard you in all your ways;
 they will lift you up in their hands,
so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.
 You will tread on the lion and the cobra;
you will trample the great lion and the serpent.

 “Because he[b] loves me,” says the Lord, “I will rescue him;
I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.
 He will call on me, and I will answer him;
I will be with him in trouble,
I will deliver him and honor him.
 With long life I will satisfy him
and show him my salvation.”

 

Thirty Three

Short Story writing prompt:

In the beginning, sometimes I left messages in the street. – David Markson, Wittgenstein’s Mistress (1988)

 


In the beginning, sometimes I left messages in the street. Unobtrusive messages. If you didn’t know what you were looking for you were not likely to see them. I was elated as the morons I was dealing with shrugged their shoulders and made nothing of it. Mankind is strange in the way that they believe they are already knowledgeable enough, intelligent enough. Alas, they are mistaken. But I digress. In the beginning, sometimes I left messages in the street. Had they been paying attention the game would’ve progressed much more rapidly and it would’ve been to a great extent, simpler.

The first message was right outside Amanda’s residence, a compass carved into the plaster on her wall. It pointed unswervingly at her location. I remember the night as clear as if it was yesterday. She had returned from work at a late hour, as usual, while her infant son had been weeping for her the entire day and eventually fell asleep, exhausted. Worn out from crying for his absent mother. Exhausted from yearning her soft bosom against his rosy little cheek.
She had walked into the house barely glancing at him before falling onto her bed like the spoilt pocket of potatoes that she resembled. The alcohol induced lull into which she fell suited my needs perfectly and it was with very little if any effort that I was able to confiscate her from the house where she never lived.

In the beginning, sometimes I left messages in the street. Such as at the second locality. The historians tell us that the ancient Egyptians were intelligent beyond their own means and I do believe they were correct. Consider the Giza pyrimads, not the structure, but the alignment to the Belt of Orion. There lies great wisdom and mystery there. But I digress. Had they been paying attention to the alignment of Orion on that night, it would’ve pointed them to the same location as the compass pointed. Had they been paying attention, they would’ve seen the feint markings on the pavement, Alnitak, Alnilam and Mintaka were proudly displayed and aligned with their counterparts in the heaven.

That night too is a fond recollection; Mari had arrived home punctually at 17h30 as every other day. Her two young children greeted her at the door. Beautiful babies. The boy was a mere six years old and the girl not yet four. They sparkled they were so uncontaminated and clean. Mari did not indulge the grime and untidiness that walks hand in hand with a child. Mari was not mommy, but Mother. A firm peck on each cheek while the children cowered as they looked at her. After the customary screams of fear and pain had subsided one could still hear the silent sobs of the two frightened children alone in their beds. Mari’s sleeping tablets ensured that she could not hear the incessant noise of their wailing at night and soon took effect. Perfect. I was able to lift her off her bed and carry her to the car with no exertion whatsoever.

In the beginning, sometimes I left messages in the street. As the realization that my messages were being overlooked dawned on me, the subtlety was replaced by cruder more obvious messages, yet they still could not find me. I think that it was after the sixth or seventh time that I started using these women’s own blood to leave the trail. The direction was always clearly indicated, whether using a compass, constellations or astrological signs, yet, there was no-one that could break the code, that could understand the wisdom of the Ancients.

After every incident I would watch the newspapers like a hawk, but they were unable to connect one incident to the next. It was then that I realized that I had become a ghost. I was invisible and ultimately untouchable. That was my tipping point, yet, I also understood that now, more than ever I could not make mistakes. Thus I became more attentive, more meticulous and more cautious with my every action.

The warehouse where these women were held was rather comfortable. Each of the 33 cells was fitted with a lavatory, basin, shower, desk and bed. The food was in no way cuisine, but it was nourishing. They were unable to see or hear one another, thus believing that their confinement was solitary. 32 of the cells were now occupied and still there was no indication that I would be found. I did not fear being caught as I am an enlightened individual. I have been fated to sacrifice my life for the sake of my destiny. Destiny also thought it well to bestow on me the gift to express the shadow side of the collective consciousness of mankind. I am not a tyrant, nor am I a malevolent being, however, I will through my actions transform the world’s perception, the world’s morality and the world’s mothers.

It had taken me years to formulate my plan, to ensure that every cog in this great wheel would run smoothly and above all, to scrutinize the inventory of items that would qualify these women to be included in this, MY destiny. My own mother had been the raison d’être of this path I now found myself on. It would not go unnoticed any longer. As a child I had longed for her presence in my life, I had dreamt of doing things with her as a mother and her child should but she chose to bring me into this life and then leave me to fend for myself. Her drunken stupors, incessant yelling and harsh blows had shaped me, as the sculptor shapes his clay.

It was time. I readied myself for the last moment, for the culmination of the events that would finally bring into fruition all my hard work. Tonight it was Lana’s turn. Lana too was a atrocious mother who would drug her children and then leave them with no supervision while she cavorted with any man she could find.

The anticipation of this night had been building over a period of 33 weeks, this one being the last. Tonight, when Lana was safely in her cell, when the only sound was that of a crying child, when, as every one of the others she starts writing that farewell letter to her children, then the grand finale can eventually take place.

33 Women who should not carry the name mother
33 Families who have been rid of these shameful creatures
33 Cells
33 minutes before they start choking on their own words and thoughts
33 minutes until death creeps in through the cracks

As I leave the warehouse to complete this last task I switch on the recording of the crying children. On the monitors I can see each one of the 32 women screaming into the darkness, their eyes fill with tears and the insanity claws into their souls just a little bit deeper. I walk to my waiting vehicle and flip open my Cellphone, number 3, speed dial. A tiny voice answers the phone. “Hey baby” I say; “Mommy will be home by supper”.

©

The State vs The Accused

On 6 February 2001 at approximately 14:30, while driving from the office where we had had a meeting, my car’s right front wheel broke off, somewhere between the Hans Strijdom and William Nicol offramps on the N1.  I lost consciousness and my vehicle crossed the middleman and went straight into oncoming traffic.  Two vehicles crashed into me and three people were seriously injured.  I was one of the injured parties and was transferred to Sunninghill hospital.  The other two injured persons were a husband and wife visiting their children from America.  On the way to the hospital, the man passed away and after being comatose for 16 days, the woman passed away.

The Star Newspaper 7 February 2001

The Star Newspaper 7 February 2001

My car at the scene of the accident

My car at the scene of the accident

While I was lying in ICU, a counsellor came to speak to me and informed me that the man had passed away.  I was shattered.  When I was later informed that his wife too had passed away, I was devastated.  It felt like my entire world had come to an end.  I cannot explain to you how it feels knowing that at YOUR hand, someone has died.  I was tormented with nightmares for a very very long time after that.  Even though I couldn’t remember a single thing about the accident, my mind constantly tried to recreate what had happened.  Every time I drove on the N1 between the two offramps, my chest would close up and I would start shaking uncontrollably.

I was at home recovering when I was served with a summons to appear in court.  I was charged with a count of reckless and negligent driving and two counts of culpable homicide.

Almost exactly one year after the accident, I stood in the dock as the accused.  I heard the eye witnesses testify and I heard them being cross-examined brutally by my attorney.  I heard them saying that it was my fault that two people had died.  That children were without parents, that parents were without their children, that sisters and brothers had lost their siblings.  I had devastated families, I was responsible for their heartache and they wanted justice.  They wanted my blood.

The State Prosecutor gave me his everything, between him and the detective they battered me, I felt emotionally raped by them.

My attorney had warned me of this prior to the trial, he had prepared me for as much as he could.  Because the fact remains, in every story, there are three sides, my side, your side and the truth.

The purpose of any trial is to get to the truth, to filter through the version and testimony of the witnesses, to filter through the version and testimony of the accused.  Somewhere, in there, usually deeply hidden is the truth.  It is the exposure of the truth that allows justice to prevail.

I was found not guilty on all charges, the scene reconstruction showed that my version (put forward by eye witnesses) was the truth, the tracking device in my car showed that for minutes before the accident I had been travelling at a constant speed of 116km/h (well within the legal limit), the toxicology reports showed that I had not been drinking.

I was probably traumatised by the trial, I can’t remember those emotions anymore, but I still think of the families of the husband and wife that sadly passed away in this accident.  I still feel heartache that I had a part in them losing their lives, today I know it wasn’t my fault, I know that I wasn’t responsible, I understand that my car was the tool that ended their lives, it was not at my hand.

I’m thinking of this today because there is such an uproar about the #Oscartrial about how Barry Roux tormented the state’s witnesses, about how Gerrie Nel is badgering Oscar, and I realise that it is nothing new, it is nothing out of the ordinary.  The only difference between what Oscar is going through in trial and between what I went through on trial, is that mine wasn’t televised,  I was not a celebrity that went from hero to zero in a single moment.   We have a good justice system, it is fair and every accused is offered the same rights.  Sure, not all of us can afford the “hot-shot” attorneys and advocates, but there are thousands more of them that are just as good as Barry Roux and come at a much more affordable price.

I have sympathy for how Oscar is feeling regarding the unfortunate death of Reeva Steenkamp, but I do not have sympathy for him being on the stand.  When a life is taken, someone has to be accountable for that death, and the law must be allowed to go its course.

 

“Neither you nor I nor Einstein nor the Supreme Court of the United States is brilliant enough to reach an intelligent decision on any problem without first getting the facts” ~ Dale Carnegie

Deur my eie oë

Ek dink vandag aan mense wat diep spore in my lewe getrap het.

Gevul met nostalgie herroep ek spesifieke gebeure.  Oomblikke, dae, selfs weke en jare.

Dit verstom my hoeveel mense al deur my lewe geloop het, hoeveel hierdie mense bygedra het tot wie en wat ek vandag is.

Verbaas besef ek dat elkeen gehelp het met die vorming van my menswees.

Daar is mense wat vir ’n oomblik daar was en ’n diep positiewe bydrae gemaak het.

Vreemdelinge wat ’n leeftyd met my gedeel het.

Goed en sleg, mooi en lelik, lekker en seer.

’n Balans van bydraes.  Positief en negatief.

En hier is ek.  ÉK. 

Tevrede.

Gemaklik.

Rustig.

Tussen die herhinneringe deur onthou ek ’n gesegde wat ek eenmaal gelees het:

“As jy nie hou van wat jy sien nie, moet nie kyk nie”

Ek besef dat wanneer ek in die spieël kyk, na myself deur my eie oë, hoef ek nie my kop weg te draai nie. 

Ek is gemaklik in my eie vel.

Tevrede met myself, foute en al.

Sonder dat ek myself hoef te regverdig kan ek lééf.

Elke oomblik aangryp, omhels, geniet en later in nostalgie dit weer herleef .