'Esprit'

It sure seems so. Day two of the year la 2008 in the office:

Colleague #1: Do you have any New Year’s resolutions?
Me: Yes. Lots.
Colleague #1, interested: Really?
Me: Sure… doesn’t everybody?

A quick audit of the office at this point reveals that nobody else has any resolutions. “I find it’s better to not make any and then feel bad about breaking them later,” explains colleague #1, with the kind of cold logic that makes our capitalist world such a delightful place for, say, child slaves and seals.

She then admits that she does have one: getting her driver’s license. “Isn’t that more of a goal than a resolution?” I ask. “Yes I suppose so,” she replies thoughtfully.

I have so many resolutions I don’t know where to start. My boss recommended narrowing them down. But how do I choose from saving the world one beggar at a time and starting that band?

I now realise that as with all things in my haphazard life, order is… well, in order. Hitherto my resolutions have remained unlisted… like a dodgy company avoiding the stock exchange.

In order to pin it down and hold it accountable I shall attempt to commit it to paper/screen.

I would post it here but resolutions, like bathroom activity, are something of an overshare. People want to see the results of what you do, not necessarily the process.

Of course, lists are one thing, but achieving them is another. More than any resolution, I want to rely on God increasingly and trust His spirit to empower and enable me to do his will. If New Year’s resolutions are passé, striving on one’s own strength is even more so.

So… here’s to a blessed and grace-filled 2008!

It’s the end of a hellishly long week and I’m past the point of fatigue. Not so much tired as weirdly light-headed with a vague tautness around the eyes. We’ve all been there.

And it’s in this strange head space that I’m reading the equally strange yet compelling writing of celebrated diarist, Anais Nin. The woman was more than a little strange making a name for herself with her erotic literature. Yet she writes the most poignant lines that appeals to some subliminal sense of beauty I’m convinced we all share at some level.

There’s a palpable beauty in the flow and syntax of her writing. It’s like tasting honey on your tongue: rich and slow.

“A leaf fluttered in through the window this morning, as if supported by the rays of the sun, a bird settled on the fire escape, joy in the task of coffee, joy accompanied me as I walked.”

But while her philosophical and psychological ideas are just a tad disturbing she is an artist as heart who is privy in part to some of the truths inscribed into us and the world around us. A popular quote of hers goes:

"Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage"

I hope with every step to expand the scope of my life. It’s a painful process and it’s a constant struggle to resist the tendency to settle. To become complacent and not take risks. But Nin knew that it took guts to reach out for what you wanted. In fact it took a near miracle:

“The dream was always running ahead of me. To catch up, to live for a moment in unison with it, that was the miracle.”

Unlike Nin, I have the original miracle worker in my life. I can only expect the best.

I'm doing a story on an Egyptian academic, who heads up a peaceful resistance movement to the dictatorial rule of Egypt's President Hosni Mubarak.

Apparently he "followed the path of many of Egypt's intellectuals, eventually abandoning his secular leftist ideology for more Islamist-influenced political beliefs".

I really like what he says about that:

"It was a long process, nobody else has resisted God more than me. For 30 years I used to put patches on my materialistic robe until the patches became much more than the robe itself."

I spent this past weekend at a Destiny Camp, with my church. It was all about getting some definite direction in one's life, and finding out where one's talents, abilities and giftings lay. Although nothing new emerged for me, it was great to see that God has made me thoroughly unique, with very specific abilities... to suit the very specific part he has for me to play in his kingdom.

The camp happened at the beautiful reserve: Assegai Trails. I must admit the highlight of my trip was the hike I did with Helen. I'm becoming pretty obsessed with nature, and there is nothing like creation to calm a troubled soul. The more alienated we are from our natural environment, the more neurosis and anxiety we suffer from. Green open spaces... try it.

Continue reading for a poem on the topic...

It's actually the weirdest thing... I've been whinging about my terrible work life lately to no end. Everything seemed to be going wrong in all spheres where work was concerned. Complications with my job next year, self-induced crises in both my concurrent part-time jobs this year, not to mention the debacle at Grocotts newspaper earlier this year. Then there is my never-ending battle with my terrible work ethic. Through out it all I was kept going by the incredible friendships and relationships I have around me.

Today I returned from a weekend hiking trip to find my inbox filled with emails from editors of various national publications, confirming they want to use my work or work with me. I've been trying to get going as a freelancer for a while and it's really taken off. My work life is finally in enviably top form, just as a I had a minor crisis in my personal life an hour before checking my email.

The balls are never all in the air at the same time are they? I guess God won't work on all areas of your life at the same time, because you'd just break. Sigh. So now I'm feeling like less of a failure, but more of a reject. Nonetheless I am increasingly comforted by the recent revelation that no matter how badly things go wrong in whatever area of my life, underneath it all is the soft murmur "It's all ok, you're ok." And that's what really counts. There is a place with my creator, my core, which is never affected by the sound and fury of the tale of my life: a place where I am always a 100% safe in Abba's love, no matter what.

David, of the old testament, had such incredible humility. Whenever he faced trial and persecution on his life- which was often is his early years, thanks to Saul- he appealed to God to save him, not for his own sake, but "for the sake of Your name". 

In Ps 30:9 he asks for God to save him from death, because his dust will not be able to praise the Lord, or proclaim His faithfulness. For David, his entire reason for being was as an instrument of praise to God.

One would think that would mean his life was spent as an excellent and incredibly creative and talented musician. Not so, for while God did bless him with these talents, he also made him King. That is a powerful statement right there: by making our whole life an anthem of praise to our God we are fulfilling our primary purpose, and God will rewards us accordingly. When we worship in spirit and truth, we find a place amongst kings.

Today I went to the bank to sort out some stuff. I ended up opening up a 32 day savings account. I am inordinately happy about this new development in my life. I sang all the way from the bank to the church office to tithe, grinning maniacally (Ella Fitzgerald being the sound track of course) Why on earth was I so excited by this?

Then it hit me. I had just attained a measure of freedom in my finances. Of course it's appearance is just the opposite: my money is going into this account where I can't touch it without a month's notice. But for so long, I was earning all this money and it would just disappear, no matter how disciplined I was (most of it on food, incidentally, which is bizarre considering that all my meals are provided for). But by imposing this limit, I was assured of being protected from myself, in a sense. I know that I need to save this money for setting up next year, but I can't seem to do what's good for me. That's human nature I guess: immediate satisfaction is just far too tempting.

This realisation came to me because I know this is how my faith works. A classmate and I were doing a story on monks and celibacy. She was shocked that I didn't date and was celibate. When I told her my reasons she asked: "Don't you find religion restrictive?" Well, besides the term religion which I find problematic, I just had to answer that it was exactly the opposite. My relationship with God and the guidelines he puts in place in my life protect me from my own tendency to self-destruct: he protects me from me a lot of the time. This is in obvious ways, like with depresssion, guilt and self-hatred, but it's harder for others to see when it comes to dating. It seems that freedom would be to be with whoever you want. 

But squandering my riches on people that won't satisfy my need for true intimacy is no kind of freedom. My purity is locked away right now, until the right time and person comes.

And you know, not only is my money being protected in that account, it's earning a heck of a lot more interest than it would have ;)

I wake with a start from my afternoon nap. Time to return to work, yet I am loathe to leave my warm nest. I burrow down into the blankets, but the chill has worked its way to my toes and there's no shaking it off. Though light flutters at my window, I know better. Winter has stopped teasing us with surprise bouts of sun and gotten down to business: this is winter in earnest.

Reluctant, sullen: covers are back tossed and feet are in shoes crammed. Why can't I stay inside? Though chilly, it's surely better than whatever is out there. Engulfed in a heavy jacket I open the front door and brace myself for the cold. Instead, I am greeted by the stillness of a warm afternoon. It is the kind of warmth that seeps through one's skin, to tingle in the heart and diffuse it's glow. 3pm and the sun rays have turned oblique, from the white glare of high noon to the golden beams of late day.

I walk down the street, absorbing the solitary embrace this afternoon offers me, against all expectations. It is gleefully mocking my silly notions of cold, but I don't mind. The jacket is now draped over my arm, and I smile at how wonderful it is being proven wrong- if it's wrong about hope. As much as my pessimist soul will decry all that is good in the world I thank God that my spirit forces me beyond the narrow parameters I have placed to keep me safe.... parameters that would eventually imprison me.

Did I forget that I live in a country with sun all year round? What notion of winter was I was buying into? One I had seen on TV perhaps, or read about. The tricks my mind would play on me... the beauty and freedom I could be robbed off. But thankfully it is not so. I get to experience another blessed day on the free Grace card my Abba has given me. Call me spoilt: I know I am. But undeserved is always the best kind of gift.

Red lucky beans lay scattered along the pavements and grass all around campus. They are gem stones flung out far and wide from the parent Coral tree, spreading its branches in an ebbing wintry greenness all above my head. I bend to pick them up- a futile task. For every one gathered ten more wink invitingly at my feet.

 
How far have I flung my seeds? Do I cling to them like a hoarding scrooge, unwilling to toss my jewels forth? There can be no returns, no new growth this way. I must take the risk of unselfishly, lavishly and seemingly foolishly hurling the best of what I have: that inchoate potential, into the soil of the world, to let it grow and flourish into the fruit it was meant to be.

 
I’m on my way to the monument up the side of the hill, just behind my house. It is about four in the afternoon, and the winter sun in South Africa is the kind that beckons one outdoors to experience it while it lasts. I have abandoned my work and, bible in hand; I trek up to the top of the grassy slope, pausing only for breath and the odd red seed.

 
First I make my way towards the eastern sky, turning my back towards it and sitting down on a tuft of grass to face the golden orb in the west. I am placed downhill and the rays cascade towards me, illuminating the white seed heads of the long grass so they are beacons that catch the fire and beam it out for all to see. I cannot look directly at the sun but I can gaze as much as I like upon these attentive priests: standing upright with head slightly bowed, alive and alight. Everything in me cries out to be as one of these.

 
It is still warm so I pick my way along the stony path, curving around the monument. Suddenly I find myself deep in conversation. And the truth that is being driven home again and again is that He loves me... just as I am. It’s too much to fathom, when self-hatred has become a natural reaction. But if we are called to love one another as we love ourselves, then He could only have meant that we are to be kind to our fragile selves... that our capacity to love one another is directly proportional to how we treat and see ourselves.

 
I’ve come to the end of the path, to the road. The slanting rays of the sun are illuminating less and less, but across the road there is big mound of grass that strains upwards and catches the last light, oblivious to the falling darkness around it. I make my way to the top, looking into the distance at a chalky ravine between the yellowy-green hills. I am happy with this kind of landscape: the colours remind me of the dry and stark beauty of the highveld that is home. John 14 I hear, and opening up I am transported into another conversation. “Whoever has my commands and obeys them, she is the one who loves me... and I too will love her and show myself to her.” David got it right when he said- such knowledge is too wonderful to attain. I am charged with the overwhelming sense of being utterly loved: absolutely and without question.

 
There was a song that we used to play at Year of Your Life, during my gap year: “I can only Imagine”. The lyrics talk about what will happen when we stand in the Lord’s presence one day. Well, if today was anything to go by: I’ll be a mess, laughing and crying at the same time, collapsed on a grassy mound beaming with joy.

 
It’s time to go back and get ready for Jen’s 21^st. I pause at the top of the path and survey the city sprawled out beneath me, red roof tops winking like gems in the distance. I can’t pick these up, but I can almost touch them in this light. To my left the sun is gradually losing colour and form as it slips beneath the horizon. To my right a delicate pink blooms just above the low-sitting clouds. It’s not the most beautiful sunset I’ve seen, but it’s the most hopeful one in a while.

We had just finished climbing Tor Doon. The mountain's name said it all: it was as impressive and grand as it sounded. The last time I had climbed Tor Doon was when I was 14: heady Hogsback holidays with my cousins, running amok at my uncle Jaya's huge plot. This time I was visiting my friend Helen's house along with other priceless types of people: the kind you'd happily fight off sleep to talk late into the night with.

We were rushing back to meet a group of our friends who were coming from Grahamstown that evening. As we descended the grassy footpath running straight down the mountain, the sun sank comfortably in the sky, like an old man in his favourate chair. At evey turn the pink and gold streaks in the sky assumed an increasingly intense hue, until the word 'beautiful' became quite meaningless and we simply watched as the canvas above deepened and darkened to a midnight blue.

We meandered down a road tunneled in my trees that curved above and shook hands with each other over our heads. Debs and I were deep in a conversation about **Grace** ... that awe-inspiring concept, when, rounding a corner, we came to a clearing in the trees, and saw the moon for the first time. It was a perfectly round orb that lit up the sky and earth with surprising intensity ... the moon will shine like the sun... Isaiah 30 had been pounding in my heart since Thursday, when God had begun his healing work.

We stopped and stared. It was the only response really. The others caught up to us and we continued our journey. With walking stick in hand and backpack I felt rather like a travelling hobbit, on a great quest with an amazing fellowship by my side. (It helps that J.R.R. Tolkien was born in Hogsback and the place has an incredible resemblance to his descriptions of middle earth). But I had underestimated the magic that the evening had in store. The next corner delivered us into a new tunnel of trees, pierced here and there by moonbeams leaving sharply defined shadows. In the darkness I saw sparks of light, dancing around us and floating round our very heads. "Fire flies," Helen grinned back at us on the dirt track.

It was easy to see why people would believe in fairies in situations like these. But real magic is something else entirely. And if Grace is anything, it is pure magic.

All I need is everything/ Feel the slip and the grip of... Grace again.

More Over the Rhine wisdom ;)