The ever popular Lion’s Head route will be closed for upgrade from January 7 to February 15, 2019, according to media reports.
The mountain is roughly 668m high and overlooks the iconic Table Mountain, Atlantic Ocean and the City of Cape Town.
The ever popular Lion’s Head route will be closed for upgrade from January 7 to February 15, 2019, according to media reports.
The mountain is roughly 668m high and overlooks the iconic Table Mountain, Atlantic Ocean and the City of Cape Town.
Paul was of the opinion that all leaders are appointed by God. Maybe he forgot a little detail.
The Jews were taught, in the inspired writings, that being the Old Testament, that we should not let non-believers rule over us. At least, that is what the Word of God implies.
Through Hosea, God laments the fact that the nation appointed kings & princes that HE did not approve of.
From this, I understand that we have a responsibility to vote and, when we do so, to vote for the candidates HE would point out. As we see popularity, but God sees the heart.
Remember that David was chosen although his clan thought him unworthy.
Now for the next bit of advice: whether you like Trump or not, he was pointed out as God’s choice in prophecy going back about a century, in a country far from America, by one of the most accurate and reliable prophets that had ever lived during the past 2,000 years.
Cast your vote, be sure that you honestly and truly seek God’s counsel first. Then obey Him, even when you disagree.
Read Hosea 8:4.
The Bible teaches that anyone under the Law is cursed. Jesus already fulfilled the Law, took away the curse.
Maybe, first read my post about the four stages of spiritual growth.
In Colossians 2, we read that nobody should burden us with all manner of laws. In Galatians 4, Paul laments that the law is being used to put believers back into slavery.
Already Jeremiah bashed people who had made rule upon rule, law upon law. In Acts 15, we read that new believers shouldn’t be burdened with the Law.
I know of a charismatic church that sends elders into people’s homes, where they demand to see payslips, then have stop orders signed. Even the tax authorities won’t visit without a court order, but these wolves invade homes of church members to rob families, take food from their tables.
In Deuteronomy, we read that one should eat your own tithing, it is written in more than one chapter. It should be done in honour of our Lord. In effect, God invites the believer to dinner, or take him on a holiday as travel is mentioned.
This won’t sit well with legalistic Church rules.
Every third year, provision should be made for the Levites. But the Levites didn’t pay their tithes, which is why Malachi berated them for their greed. He didn’t address the general population.
Don’t burden liberated believers with Laws, don’t undo what Jesus had done on Golgotha.
Don’t undo Jesus.
We are free men, not slaves.
We also see that the tabernacle was built with voluntary gifts.
Solomon’s temple was built by gifts from a worldly king, not by taxing the believers.
Voluntary gifts are good, but demanding tithes as a tax is going against His Word.
Church, take note!
Na jare se sendingwerk onder Jode en Moslems, het ek duidelik gesien dat die grootste struikelblok in hulle weg tot saligheid gevestig is in ‘n lering wat so ‘n paar honderd jaar ná Jesus die kerk binnegekom het.
Hierdie leerstelling is ontleen aan antieke afgodsaanbidding; dit kom uit valse godsdienste. Dit is in wese in 284NC veramptelik deur ‘n Bisantynse monnik maar deur die Konsilie van Nicea in 325 NC in die Roomse Kerk aanvaar. Dit is gedoen met een doel voor oë: om samewerking tussen Rome en Konstantinopel te bewerkstellig om politieke mag te verstewig om handel te bevoordeel. Geld was die beweegrede.
Hierdie leerstelling is selfs in Bybels ingeskryf; dit was nie in oorspronklike tekste te vinde nie. Dus is die Bybel wat ons nou het, aangepas om menslike dogma te ondersteun.
Hierdie dwaling staan in die pad van ander se saligheid, geen wonder dat Jesus gesê het dat die godsdienstiges ander se weg tot saligheid geblokkeer het nie.
Ons lees in Handelinge, Romeine, dat mense in die Naam van Jesus gedoop is. Dit gebeur vandag nog so in Iran, byvoorbeeld.
Sondag na Sondag sê lidmate in gereformeerde kerke, die susterskerke, die geloofsbelydenis op. Dit leer dat God die Vader alles geskape het. In Johannes 1:3 lees ons dat Jesus alles geskape het. Dieselfde Jesus wat, volgens Johannes 1, self God is en van die begin af daar was. Die Jesus wat in Jesaja 9:5 die Ewige Vader genoem word.
Jesus, wat gesê het dat, “voor Abraham was, EK IS.” En ons weet WIE gesê het EK IS.
Jesus wat aan Satan gesê het “jy mag die Here jou God nie versoek nie.” Wat gesê het dat wie Hom gesien het, ook die Vader gesien het.
Maar die mens het dinge in die Bybel ingevoeg, die betekenis verander, en verdedig hierdie misleiding met die skerpte van die swaard. Mattheus 28:19 is veranderde teks net soos die Comma Johanneum nie in die oorspronklike grondtekste was nie.
Maar ons godsdiens staan amper moedswillig, koppig by hierdie veranderde dogma, ons bou ons geloofsredenasie daarop.
En maak van ons wedren ‘n hinderniswedren vir ander.
Keer terug tot die suiwer leer soos wat dit was in die eerste eeuse volgelinge van Die Weg in Jerusalem. In die dae voordat nie-Joodse paganisme ‘n ander evangelie ingevoer het.
So kyk ek Pasella op 7 November 2018.
Melding word gemaak van Atlantic Rail, Ceres Rail, se susterslokomotiewe Jessica en Dominique. Ek ken hierdie twee nogal goed, was self al op die voetplaat. Ook die unieke Klas 26 Red Devil.
Jessica hou, so ver ek weet, die spoedrekord tussen Kaapstad en Pretoria, vir die befaamde Bloutrein.
The Blue Train, amptelike naam, is die enigste trein op aarde wat tot op hede eers agt keer agtereenvolgens, toe weer drie keer agtereenvolgens, plus nog ‘n slag of wat, bekroon is as die wêreld se beste luukse trein. Hierdie ikoniese luuksetrein, ryk aan tradisie, kom eintlik al van 1929 af aan in verskillende formate. Tans is dit vir die negende agtereenvolgende jaar ook die beste luukse trein in Afrika.
Tans is die Maharaj van Indië amptelik die luuksste trein op aarde. ‘n Ander Suid-Afrikaanse trein maak aanspraak op hierdie titel maar dalk is dit net ‘n goedkoop reklameslenter. Feite verskil van die reklamemateriaal.
As mens wil aanvoer dat jy die luuksste is, moet jy eers die titels wen. Gaan kyk gerus op die amptelike webblad.
Tans is Die Bloutrein se rekord nog nie deur ‘n ander verbeter nie.
Swartlanders het gepraat van “Die Res se Berg,” maar vanwaar dié naam dan?
Lawrence G Green vertel dat daar ‘n staning oftewel uitspanplek by Grey’s Pass was. Dit was The Rest genoem.
Die pas is hedendaags in Afrikaans bekend as Piekenierskloof. Swartlanders het daarna verwys as “die Res se berg” na aanleiding van “The Rest se berg.”
Interessant om te sien waar plekname vandaan kom.
Reader’s Digest’s claim to fame was verifying facts five times prior to publishing, yet they managed to place the Brandvlei Dam at Brandvlei in the Northern Cape. In reality, it is located at Worcester near Cape Town and named after steam emanating from a hot water spring on its shores. Formerly Lake Marais. The farmers at Brandvlei in the arid Northern Cape would have given their right arms to have such a body of water at their convenience!
Lawrence G Green misjudged the dates of the commissioning of the railways at Worcester, Touws River and Matjiesfontein.
Laurie Green also confused the US battleship Alabama, that had visited Cape Town in 1863, with the Alibama that had cut vegetation for bedding near Velddrift. Afrikaans kooigoed, hence the traditional song “Daar kom die Alibama.” In the song, reference is made of the reeds used for bedding.
Black Sophie was a coloured lady of Cape Town, who ran a tavern where she employed girls to see to the needs of visiting seamen. Black Sophie extended this hospitality to men scraping guano on Dyer Island, at Kleinbaai outside Gansbaai. At the harbour entrance to Kleinbaai, there is a cube-shaped black rock named after Black Sophie. I would know, as I sustained an injury there in 1977, leaving a scar on my forearm.
Laurie Green mentions in several of his books that Black Sophie is at Plumpudding Island off the Namibian coast near Lüderitz and that it appears on maps. I could only find a Black Rock near the Bogenfels on the maps, perhaps a local resident can verify this. It could be that there is more than one rock called Black Sophie.
I just love reading Lawrence G Green and presently have nine of his travel journals by my bedside. He was a most entertaining author and adventurer. Small mistakes are easily forgiven.
She was fourteen or fifteen when she doubted her village god. A ruthless, heartless god consisting of rule & regiments, of instant judgment and harsh punishment. Losing one’s head to a shiny sword wasn’t just a fear, as fear became reality, often enough. So she wanted to know if there wasn’t perhaps a more compliant, forgiving, loving God about. And she did the unthinkable, asked the True God to please stand up.
In a desert where literally no flowers ever grow, where goats seem to chew at rocks, and where womenfolk can be executed for appearing on a public street, the unthinkable happened.
A man, a total stranger, came to her room at night. OMW!!
And He brought a fragrant thingy on a green stick, oh so beautiful. But who was He, what was that beautiful red thing that had smelled so nice? The man would be friendly, never touched her, kept His distance, the perfect gentleman. Every time He visited at night, He would extend an arm, holding the red magic thingy out to her, but she could never get near enough to touch it. Then He would disappear into the murkiness of the night.
And she wondered who He was, what His business was, what the fragrant red thingy was. And she couldn’t discuss it with anyone in her household, because laws were draconian and she could be executed, for “having a man in her room.”
Then, the visits stopped and she pined for more of these magical moments, of beauty, calm and peace. And to feel really loved.
So she asked, if the Real God existed, to please send someone to explain this all to her.
On the other side of the planet, a professional lady went for her daily lunchtime walk through the nearby botanical gardens. And she felt led to spend time in prayer, in the special rose garden section.
And that is where, under the power of the Spirit of God, she was convinced to go to that country, where none of her 47kg would be a welcome sight on the streets. She knew she had to go, but faced many giants.
Our little Garden Rose never showed fear in the face of any adversary. She enlisted us ob her inner prayer circle, resigned from her job and wound up her affairs.
Her first training phase was spent sans any comforts, in a real desert, not far from the arid paradise that she had grown up in. Six months of hardship, cracked heels and blistered lips. No bathroon mirrors, no bathroom, either. Nowhere to plug in a hair dryer. As there was almost insufficient water to drink.
A short leave, then on to the next preparation phase, in a war-torn desert. She taught at an impromptu school, with bullets flying and grenades exploding in the streets. It was a hard year, this apprenticeship.
During the leave that followed, she was placed on sleep therapy for six weeks. None of us, inner circle regardless, was allowed contact.
Then she left for the real purpose and calling. Through enemy territory, in political, military and religious terms, she went. Eventually, she was inserted special forces style, to a rocky outcrop beyond the border, in positively hostile territory. And it was a moonlit night, instead of the preferred dark moon.
Hidden in a crack between rocks, she had to ask God when she should in- or exhale. As there were soldiers inches away, who would smell her breath and shoot her.
Have you ever had to live in such obedience to God?
Somehow, she managed to get to the village and ended up in the home of the girl who had wanted to know about the man with the fragrant red thing.
After a stay of a few months, during which time she blended in with the household and taught a foreign language, the teenager mustered confidence, took her aside, telling her of the nightly visits and the red thing.
So knowledge of Jesus was shared, also that He was the Rose of Sharon. The girl accepted Jesus, as did others in her household. It was easy to see Truth, for God is Love.
Our missionary friend was finally arrested to be shot at daylight. Around the world, we interceded in prayer, her life was spared.
At the heat of the day, sitting under the shade of his turpentine tree, Abraham saw that three guests had arrived. He called into the kitchen and his wife made bread, using 16kg or more than 32lb of flour. It must have been quite a lunch. Add to that freshly harvested veal from a calf. No expense or effort spared. Cheese, yoghurt, milk added.
Then one guest says that, over a year, Abraham’s geriatric old wife would bear a child. Sarah thought, privately, that this was crazy. But the visitor could read her thoughts and they realised the visitors were supernatural.
Two gents left, heading towards Sodom & Gomorrah. (We see them in those cities, soon after.)
But one remains, the Angel of the Lord. That is a manifestation of God, of Jesus. The Bible is very clear on this: the one who remained, was the Angel of the Lord.
Now, there are theologians who base their trinity on this stretch of Scripture. It takes basic expertise to see that this doesn’t fit into these verses.
Just as three men appeared on a mountain: Jesus, Moses and Elijah. No trinity there, either.
I really don’t want to appear arrogant but, really, some theologians really should take a post-graduate course in reading interpretation. There is no logical reason to even try explain trinity from these Scriptures.
Read Genesis 18.
Do I believe every single word written in the Bible? The original texts, yes, but not how translators presented it. The many errors, though, still didn’t manage to cover up or alter the core truth. A rope may have become a camel, a furnace turned into a cliff face, committed people being set aside wrongly became eunuchs, but these little discrepancies doesn’t deduct from the truth of creation, sin, redemption, salvation or afterlife.
And any reasonably intelligent person will know, by 2018, that the spiritual world is real.
The Bible, written over 1,500+ years by more than forty authors delivering at least 66 books, end up telling the same story. Prophets predicting events that happen hundreds of years later, or even thousands.
And, 5,500 years after man was banned from Eden, Jesus came to restore direct access to God. Just as God told Adam that He would come to die Himself, to save the world, after 5,500 “days.” No error in that.
Even people from other walks of faith prove that Jesus is God. As He created all and can forgive sin. They make videos and post it to YouTube. After all, Jesus left behind an empty grave, rose from the dead to our salvation.
If it all adds up, the reasonably intelligent person will realise that the only logical faith is in Jesus as our Saviour.
After all, a renowned psychiatrist, Dr M. Scott Peck, wrote that he gradually became a Christian as, after his two decades in practice, the only reality he could see was Jesus Christ. And he started out being a non-believer with a mild interest in Eastern philosophy.
But, then, believing in Jesus really isn’t a Western thing, as Jesus was revealed in the Middle East.
Becoming a follower of the Creator God, the One who washes away sin from His creation, is the highest form of spirituality. How can anything else even come close?
James Scott, eens my intelligente buurman en enigste gas wat ooit drie maal op Spies & Plessie verskyn het. Hy laat my amper uitpaas van die lag, sê hy het gesien hoe my oë omdop. Ek het mos Duitse Rust-bloed ook in my are, ons geslag Blootvoete val mos van stoele af soos ons lag. Soos oorle Oom Daantjie (Dickey) van Roedtan.
Vertel James my mos hierdie vir die waarheid, ná ek hom vertel het van https://filosopete.wordpress.com/2018/10/27/die-misverstandelike-troukoek-van-spookdraai-ware-verhaal/
Die storie gaan so:
Dis warm en klewerig en die vroutjie is haastig want sy moet dokter toe en kinders moet opgetel word by ‘n kinderpartytjie. Want Afrikaners is plesierig, kindertjies ook.
Die kinders se gesiggies word met ‘n jammerlappie (die badskamersoort, nie kombuisgoed nie) afgevee. Desjare voor wetwipes het ons mos altoos ‘n nat waslap in ‘n sellofaansakkie byderhand gehad om almal darem soort van beskaaf te laat vertoon. G’n stofstrepe of rooi koeldrienkbekkies nie.
En kinders kom taai en vuil van die partytjies af, besmeer met alles en nog wat.
Op pad dokter doen sy die ongewone en lappie moet sommer elders ook beskawing in die verste uithoeke bring. Na alles is mens se hare darm in ‘n perm en Crimplene-rokkies met sykouse hoogmode en betaamlik. Ons is mos nie fietas nie.
Sy lê met oë en bene wyd oopgesper terwyl die dokter, dáárdie soort, onder die bonnet loer en vroetel en torring soos mans mos maar maak. En seg hy so ‘n paar maal, die dame hoef darem nie so uit haar pad te gaan voor sy nou kom vir introspeksie nie. Hy is maar net nog ‘n ginekoloog. En sy beaam maar weet nie waarvan die kop onner die tent heeltyd praat nie.
Maar dis toe sy tuiskom en lappie vir redes vir ordentlikheid onder die badkamerkraan gaan afspoel, dat dit haar tussen die oë tref.
DIE LAPPIE SIT VOL VAN PARTYTJIEBLINKERTJIES 😨😨😨😰😂😂😂
James het my daardie dag met koffie moes lawe. Ek dag ek kry stuipe soos ek lag.
So ry Tannie Wyngaard neëntienlankterug dorp toe om oorkant KFC die troukoek te gaan oplaai. Oom Petoors het die reuse koek met baie lae netjies gemonteer op ‘n houtbord. Die karretjie se sitplekke is agter afgeslaan en Saterdag se troukoek staan fier en regop. Staaaarig ingelaai. En sekuur, ook. Versigtag.
Nou die tien myl plaas toe, daar langes die wynkelder.
Die Wyngaards boer fluks met die vrug van vrede, die druif. Geslagte al kom hulle aan.
Die tannie ry staaaarig. Koek moet regop.
Nou is dit mos ook so dat Spookdraai ook in die distrik is. Daar waar lorries en busse val. En dis hoekom daar die ma van alle brandweerwaens in die land is. Snygoed, losbreekgoed, knipgoed, buiggoed en allerhande fieterjasies en domkragte en meganiese kake en goete. En paramedici buitensporig paraat. Een het glad onderstebo aan die dakbalke van die Moederkerk se saal rondgekruip. Anders hoe sal mens die meisiekinners se aandag trek?
So ry Tannie Wyngaard staarig. Die Kapenaar trek weg by KFC en val agter haar in. Ook staaarig, want die lig is rooi. Maar nie al te lank nie, toe slaat hy groen. En die Kaapenaar gee vet. En Tannie Wyngaard ry staaaaaarig solat die troukoek nie altemit sy ewewig verloor nie.
Maar die Kapenaar wis nie van troukoeke en spanningsvolle trouvoorbereidings nie. En hy gee gee gas, sy groot kar slaat die koekbelaaide staarigkar van agter.
En die eerste wat Tannie Wyngaard tot verhaal kom en besef daar’s nou geleentheid vir verleentheid, is toe die sny-alles-oop rooilorrie stilhou en die brawe brandweerman vra of sy dan die vrou met die bekkenbesering is.
Want in al die tyd na die stamp van agter, stamp Tannie Wyngaard aanhou haar kop op die stuurwiel en gil histeries dat jy haar tot op Kleinplasie kan hoor:
“MY KOEK! MY KOEK! MY KOEK! MY KOEK!”
As the deny God
They deny His right to us
Therefore, they say, there is no sin
Therefore no need for redemption
Therefore no Redeemer
They say it started with a big bang
Another scientific theory
Will they end up in a Black Hole?
In much the same way, Jesus killed sin & death but it still can bite. One has to tread carefully.
“The dictionary defines joy as delight, great pleasure, joyfulness etc. If you replace the word joy with pleasure it will read, “The pleasure of the Lord is my strength.”
‘The Joy of the Lord is my strength’ is one of the most famous statements in the church, and yet growing up I didn’t know what it meant. I was born and raised in the church and I heard this statement all my life. I heard this statement used when someone was going through a tough time and I could see the look of confusion on their face as to how that was going to help. I even used it to try and console people even though I didn’t know what it meant. I thought it was so simple until I was going through a tough time and realized that I didn’t know what to do with that statement. As I was sitting in class one day, one of my teachers made that statement and the Lord asked if I knew what that meant. And my answer was an emphatic…
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My parents were in love, after 59 years of marriage, when medical science killed my mother prematurely. A doctor caused her peritonitis, then refused to treat her. By the time he finally called in a specialist, it was too late. Can you imagine how my Dad is suffering, pining away? Last year, we would have celebrated our combined 90 years of marriage. We enjoyed our thirty years of wedded bliss without my parents.
As my mother’s little wooden box in her living room is a monument to medical science. Her ashes proof of another failure of said science.
My wife and I met on a blind date, I often call it a bland date, as we were invited by mutual friends to a rather boring Gospel music concert. The singer-songwriter a much-loved South African Christian musician. But his style isn’t mine.
More than 31 years later, still deeply in love, we have faith in true love. We did weather storms, people hate us for being happy and so many church people, pastors, our own relatives and even my own daughter tried hard to get us separated. But we stick together, we are in love like teenagers, although we don’t exactly look the part.
Now, after all this time, if someone would try to convince us that our love is purely chemical, or brain activity….that person will be our laughing stock. Trust me. We know that love is real because we live it. And our love endures despite us living through extreme hardship as I am writing here, such as few of you will ever experience. But it doesn’t affect our love, we just become more in love.
And anyone who belittles my Beloved, just for lack of belief in Love, is insulting Those closest to my heart. Is that conducive to building friendship? Should I wag my tail in joy? Think twice. Don’t touch my Beloved. If you choose a different path, that is your choice. But don’t argue with me to prove that my very real life doesn’t exist. It is my reality, not yours.
Our love is rooted in God, who is Love. And we have had a combined eighty years of intimate, personal relationship with Him, during which time we have seen over and again how real He is. So many miracles, sometimes many on one day. How can we don’t believe after one experience after the other defies natural laws, making science look silly? Science uses a measuring rod that is too small to size God.
Famous psychiatrist and neurologist Dr Viktor Frankl found that there is an inexplicable bond, a force, that interconnects people, events, circumstances. But science couldn’t explain it.
Famous author, psychiatrist Dr Ms Scott Peck found, after twenty years in practice, that only Jesus Christ is real. And Scott was an agnostic.
An atheist neurosurgeon had a major medical crisis, returned to this life after he saw heaven and that it was real. He also wasn’t the only medical professional who had been convinced of God in similar way. Research the books written by such.
They found what I have known since childhood. But I wasn’t arrogant enough to try to prove God.
Trying to convince me that God doesn’t exist, is to tell me that love is fake, or that every experience I ever had was a delusion.
It takes a higher level of evolution, a more advanced science, to discern the very real spiritual world. Natural science doesn’t make the grade.
Scientists fed me Librax for trying to cure a compressed spinal cord. Misdiagnosed by a seasoned doctor, a scientist. His own partner was furious as he correctly diagnosed me at first glance. And saved me from a permanent wheelchair ride. Science may one day find the difference between a colon and a spine.
Science misdiagnosed me for 35 years, maybe more, tried to cure me with Nuzak. I handed myself over to at least three psychiatrists, spent a month in hospital where a whole team of them assessed me 24 hours a day. Finally sent me back to the dictors, saying my internist isn’t doing her job. Meanwhile, I was feeling awful all the time, had a heart attack, stroke already at age 32. My heart kept throbbing madly for another eighteen years, I had severe hot flashes, acutely high blood pressure.
Until I ended up in a medical crisis, in ER. Two days after a radiologist friend from Libya suggested I get tested for diabetes. He saw it from my physique. And he was right. Wonderful to see how many scientists failed to even see the blatantly obvious. I repeat: blatantly obvious.
I was cured by a change in diet and some Metformin. But the change in diet did the most to make me feel better. Coincidentally, Banting-like LCHF diet did work wonders, yet medical “science” still fights it.
More than 35 scientists, medical professionals at that, simply failed in their own trade. Their own profession. Science.
Or how about the young doctor who physically touched under her chin, saying “Uncle, your adenoids are there!” 😱 Imagine the damage had she to remove my appendix.
Please don’t even try to propose science as the only way to understand life, or to explain away spirituality. As your efforts will only frustrate you. Practice had proved Love where science failed.
Science, in not being an exact one at that, should not be used to explain or deny what we cannot see. As LOVE is very real and God is Love.
And three cheers from a little wooden box on the sideboard.
In Cape Town, South Africa, we often see yellow New York taxi cabs, or black London taxi’s, complete with red phone booths. As many international movies are filmed here.
As our economy is a bit down, seeing the Federal Reserve in Darling Street, Cape Town, is great news. 😂😂 Just like in the movies.
This building is the former Old Mutual building, where I had my office more than thirty years ago.
At least someone is earning a few beefy US dollars. Hollywood is such a blessing, to some.
Oom Bert was ‘n plaaskind van Namakwaland en is na skool Polisie toe op Upington, hulle blitspatrollie het (regtig) op kamele gery. Baie skelms raak mos gerieflik weg in die Kalahari. Die oom word toe later ‘n speurder en word deel van die Diamant-speurtak op Kimberley. Na jare van sukses, word hy Boland toe verplaas as distrikspeurhoof as kolonel.
Hulle koop ‘n huis langs ons en ek en oom Bert se seun, Dick, word gou vriende.
Op ‘n dag stap ek en Dick na Toons, wie se gesin ook pas van Kimberley af Boland toe verplaas is, hulle woon op Skuldbult ver van ons af.
‘n Groot, wit Mercedes-Benz vat sy draai te wyd en tref die kolonel se amptelike subsidiemotor met gewone nommerplate. Die lang, ryk Indiër kom ook van Kimberley, negehonderd kilometer ver. Oom Bert herken hom, hy herken nie die oom nie.
Oom Bert skribbel ‘n nota en stuur ons daarmee na die ouetehuis vir blindes oorkant die straat.
So daag die vangwa op en bêre die diamantsmokkelaar na wie Oom Bert toe al jare lank op soek was……
Name verander om mense se identiteit te beskerm. Dit het wel in die 1970’s gebeur.
One evening in 2003, my teenage daughter and her friends asked me to take them to a charismatic church some distance away. Their own church’s youth service, complete with a great band of musicians, was insufficient.
At the charismatic church, elders on the stage became angry with me because I didn’t participate in their typical, ritual clapping. After all, it was worship music, not a song of praise. I can’t see how the inner me can connect with God while doing something else.
And then they started belittling, slandering the Satan, even taunting and openly challenging him to a duel.
I asked my daughter to pass me the Bible, as I wanted to look up this scripture so as to educate here and her friends. As she grabbed the Bible, she lost her grip and it fell open at Jude 1, where it is written about godless people who blaspheme spiritual beings in the occult (unseen) and that not even the archangel Michael would do that!
I so wish people would live according to the Bible. And not do inappropriate things in church, as they lead the impressionable young astray.
Paul clearly taught us to be polite, not offensive.
Paul also said that, while people were still circumcising, why not cut the entire thing off? Image someone saying this in church today, or a famous televangelist telling people to dismember the male digit. Twitter will trend, Facebook will be frenzied, the lawyers will be busy. The paparazzi will have a feeding frenzy. Was it polite to say such a thing?
Someone else he called son of the Devil, fraudster, trickster. Imagine saying that in a meeting full of litigious Americans. I can only imagine the civil lawsuits for defamation of character, slander.
This begs the question: how honest or true is the well polished, impeccably polite Christianity of today? In my own experience, some of the most dangerous people with murderous hearts never set a foot wrong, yet they silently kill, using carefully selected words, perfectly timed.
As Christians, should people not rather know where they stand with us, instead of getting nasty surprises? Should we not rather be predictable, reliable, dependable.
Paul was a learned man, someone who intimately knew the law, yet by his own admission, a man of rude speech.
But Christianity sees what they choose to. The true Paul would come as a shock.
Something interesting. I was raised not to even buy anything at the church fete from my tithes, but to take extra money. However, twice in Deuteronomy, we are taught this:
– to take your tithe to where the Lord shows
– there to buy what your heart desires, to eat and drink
– including wine and beer
– to be joyful of the Lord
– so as to remember Him.
– every third year, to share with Levites, widows, orphans & foreigners. (those who cannot fend for themselves)
Ever since I read this, I have asked several pastors why this is, but nobody even responded.
Would you care to comment? Do you have a real understanding of this? What is the Jewish context, the background against which this is set?
So many Christian missionaries can relate how they were told by God to marry each other, sometimes even before they met formally.
I can say the same for my marriage. We weren’t even in love as we are now, almost 32 years later! We loved each other, but falling in love really came a year after we were married. And none of my thirteen other very Christian candidates would have lasted til now, endured what my darlingmost wife is prepared to. A life of hardship, sacrifice, discomfort. And never a sigh, just sparkles in her eyes, a heart full of love. She truly is a blessing, a gift from God.
It isn’t good enough to marry someone just because he or she also is a reborn Christian. The question should be whether God truly ordained that specific matrimony. A pastor’s blessing in a church isn’t necessarily God’s blessing. Of course, many won’t even understand what I’m talking about.
In the Song of Solomon, we read that we shouldn’t awaken love prematurely.
Too many marriages go stale or end up in divorce because well-meaning Christians were bending God’s arm. Whatever choices we make in life, should originate with Him.
We must be more than believers, we are called to be disciples.
Disciple = discipline
Discipline = obedience
Obedience = righteousness
Righteousness = Love. 😍
Imagine Thessalonika or Korinth, 70AD. Every street block or two has its own cell group, or at least every few houses. All form part of the only church in the city. No division.
They meet daily, after work. Share meals, remember Christ. Care for each other. Two or three speak in tongues, taking turns. An interpreter.
We did the same, while still living in Cape Town, prior to our exile to the north in 1992. And our various home cell groups were a pleasant blessing, we had more than one.
Everyone had a turn to bring a message, we prayed for each other, sang together. It was very blessed. So many prayers were answered, people freed from oppression.
It never would be the same, where we went to live elsewhere. Not for a lack of trying, but there were snobs. Or people who told crazy stories for the truth. The honesty and integrity lacked. Yet, two very poor families walked the distance with us and there was joy and blessing.
Back in Cape Town since 2004, we found gossip, promiscuity, all sorts of things Paul complained about. We almost couldn’t believe our eyes and ears.
Do we long back to what we had up to 1992! Sure, we do, it was pure bliss. Sadly, due to rationalisation, affirmative action and politics, the former friends are scattered all over the country.
We saw food increased, multiplied, for instance. Three times. There never was the emotional highs that people mistake for the Holy Spirit. His Spirit is fact over feeling.
Interesting how the Holy Spirit would reveal someone’s needs, under group prayer. Miracles happened when we then addressed those needs in prayer. One guy was delivered from a specific bondage while we prayed, the Spirit let me to play the Chuck Girard song ‘Name Above All Names.’ I later emailed chuck, giving him our testimony of how the brother was delivered through his music.
Someone meanwhile reinforced my views with a great testimony of a group of people, from the same district, who had travelled far to attend a mass Christian meeting. On the way, but also at their caravan at their destination, God moved in a powerful way. Just a small group focused on God.
Maybe I should tell what it means to be joined together in matrimony by God. Watch this space.
In His own words, He said it.
He said that He spoke in riddles to some, to His followers in plain language.
And He explained why.
As there were people who were proud, hard of heart, argumentative, law-bound. Unrepentant. Proud.
So He, in His own words, kept them confused. As if they got the message, they might repent and then He would have to forgive them.
There is more on forgiveness in Matthew 18:15-18.
And Jesus never said “forgive them for they know not what they do.” That never was part of the original texts but added later. It does contradict what He said elsewhere and I often wondered why, until I started researching how the Bible was translated.
Boy, do we love carving a Jesus the way we could love Him, one that would live up to our standards or wishes?
A marshmallow Jesus covered in choc dip. And sprinkles. Don’t forget the sprinkles.
But we have long ago swapped the Living Word, the true Jesus, for the more popular Paul. It is on Paul that we generally build our religion. As the real Jesus ain’t cool enough.
Who is Paul if not for Jesus? Zilch. Zero. Nothing
Accept Jesus for who He is. As He is ready to accept you as you are.
Isaiah 9:6 calls Him Everlasting Father. John 1 calls Him God. He said that “before Abraham was, I AM.” And who has seen Him, has seen the Father.
Build your faith, then, not your religion, on this amazing, awesome Jesus.
The Name above all names!
Die Middeleeuse kruisvaarders (Crusaders) het groot marakkas aangejaag in Israel en baie Jode vermoor. Vroue, kinderspeletjies, babas. Niks en niemand was gespaar nie. Brutaal, wreed en so onnodig.
As sendeling, het ek soveel maal die gebruik van die woord “crusade” bevraagteken. By Jode en Moslems kan dit nie anders nie as om skok en weersin te ontlok. Mense onthou nog die strate vol bloed, die skerpte van die swaard. Kruise geskilder op die perde se saalklede, of op mantels geborduur. Die Evangelie is baie rof afgelewer.
Christene kan soms lelik op loop sit met goed. Vat nou maar 2008 se MightyMen saamtrek. Niekie van den Berg laat feesgangers inbel en vertel.
Eers hoor ons die vrye en gratis byeenkoms het toe wel ses miljoen Rand hekgeld gevorder, maar oral word luid uitgebasuin hoe die Heer alles bonatuurlik voorsien het.
En dan bel ‘n Swellendammer om te vertel dat een man glad ‘n BUS gekoop het sodat mede-dorpenaars saam kon gaan fees toe. Hoe meer Niekie oor die bus uitvra, hoe kleiner word dit. Uiteindelik gereduseer tot ‘n tiensitplek Kombi. En RSG-luisteraars luister na die sirkus. Dan word vertel hoe die Kombi met die terugkeer met vliegtuie ingewag word, gaan haal word ver voor die dorp al.
Dis hoe mense antwoord as Niekie vra hoe mense by die saamtrek baat gevind het.
Net mooi niemand vertel van skuldbelydenis, ware wedergeboorte ensomeer nie. Al waarvan jy hoor, is opgewondenheid. Dus in die vleeslke.
Die R6m wat moes instaan vir verlore boerderyproduksie, is seker nooit op die IB12 aan SARS verklaar nie. SARS noem sulke alternatiewe inkomste change of intention.
Geen bewys van geestelike herlewing. Vier jaar later in Israel, brand die TV-vragmotor se drade en die oom skryf in sy boek dit was die vuur van die Heilige Gees. Nou, as daar vuurvlammetjies op mense se koppe was soos 1860 op Worcester of 1987 in Bothasig, sonder dat organiese materiaal verteer is, sou ek kon saamstem.
Ons ruk op Bloemfontein toe om te bid dat ander mense kan verander. Net mooi die teenoorgestelde van herlewing.
Die Kaapstad-saamtrek word opgevolg deur ‘n verwoestende storm en bykans geen reën nie. Meer as ‘n jaar later is Bergstan Ingenieurs steeds besig om die Seepunt Promenade te herstel.
Dis asof God se toorn uit die see opgestaan het. Mense sien dit nie raak nie, tel die paar druppels.
En die Messias het in die sand geskryf.
In 1992 dring mense by my kerk in Pretoria aan dat ek moet saam Mabula toe vir ‘n mannekamp. Daar is ‘n oud-Springbokrugbyspeler op die verhoog, wat heel verwaand aanvoer dat niemand in die gehoor weet van die man met ses vingers aan elke hand nie. Nog voorbeelde word opgenoem.
Die konsepte waaroor hulle praat, die hiopteses en teorieë, het Jesus lankal met my in die praktyk deurgewerk.
R200 was baie geld in 1992, om te betaal vir iets wat jy reeds in jou beenmurg weet.
Maar: as jy nie Woord In Aksie of MightyMen toe was nie, word jy by jou kerk gering geskat, uit geselskappe gestoot en eenkant gelaat. Want jy slaag nie die snobtoets van liefdevolle, onberispelike Christenskap nie.
Jou eie diep, intieme paadjie met Jesus tel nie. Jy is eenvoudig nie die skerpste potlood in die space case nie. En in Afrikanergeledere is dit mos ‘n halsmisdaad.
Ons kan nie emosionele opgeklitsheid aan die wêreld voorhou as die werking van die Gees van God nie. Ons moet hom nie laat goedkoop lyk omdat ons te blind is om te kan onderskei nie.
God is HEILIG.
Die Bybel waarsku teen valsheid in die lering wat mense bring en leer ons om alles te toets.
En ek is seker iemand sal my graag op die brandstapel wil sien braai. Tog kom ek soos Jeremia in die woestyn en roep mense tot ware bekering.
Terloops, as duisend mense in tale praat, is dit noodwendig die Gees van God in hulle, of dalk bewys dat enige van hulle minstens wedergebore is? Onthou dat die bose Koning Saul en sy trawante heeldag gelê en profeteer het toe hulle bloot naby Samuel en sy profete gekom het. En ‘n donkie kon op ‘n kol ook praat.
Moenie bewyse vir God in tekens gaan soek nie. Kyk liewer om jou in die natuur.
Dan is ek ook klaar met groupies of dan the club thing. Die groot saamtrekke laat my koud. Ek vind God in die stilte van die aandwind. Nooit weer sal ek ‘n mannekamp gaan bywoon sodat ouens by die kerk my sal aanvaar nie.
Vir Jesus was ek nog altyd aanvaarbaar. Onrein en sonder aansien. Nes ek opdaag, aanvaar Hy my.
Kom ons raak gehoorsame, Geesgeleide dissipels en los maar die crusades vir die Middeleeue.
Just as Capetonians even in 2018 still don’t know that the Atlantic Oceans don’t meet at Cape Point, but at Agulhas 225k further down the coast, South Africans don’t know that the Krüger National Park isn’t the largest. The Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park is practically twice the size of the Kruger, free from malaria and the place to see lions and leopards.
Addo Elephant Park is third in size. Addo also is the ONLY park on the planet that houses the Big Seven. It also is home to the largest coastal dune field in the southern hemisphere.
Just as the Big Hole in Kimberley is smaller than the one at Trompsburg. But all and sundry touts Kimberley as the largest.
It is easy to believe anything one is told. Best is to check the facts. Visit http://www.sanparks.org
In an area of a mere 470-odd km², no less than 2,200 indigenous floral species abound. More than the entire United Kingdom has over some 244 000km².
The Cape Peninsula truly can be called a floral kingdom. It also is the only floral kingdom within a single country.
From Table Mountain to Cape Point is roughly 70km as the crow flies. There are several overnight cottages and tented camps, also a wide variety of pristine beaches, hiking trails, picnic areas.
And, no, the two oceans don’t meet at Cape Point. (The locals don’t know.)
They arrived in heaven at a very ripe old age, both centenarians. And they couldn’t believe the luxurious accommodation, the best meals served, no crime, no bond repayments. One can walk the streets, not getting robbed. Everybody is friendly, most fantastic live music. And the IRS has no office there. So he turns to her and says: “If it weren’t for you and your health diets, we could have been here thirty, forty years ago!!”
The professor in endocrinology says on the radio that Banting and its high fat content damages the liver, heart tissue and may cause pre-diabetes. She says that Banting can shorten your life expectancy with up to four years.
My own Dad is 87 and suffering in an old age home, wasting away. Unlike my mother who had passed away a week after her kind doctor gave here peritonitis and then not intervened So kind, so. professional
I lived on very little meat and 7on after I turned fifty, I had sudden news about a prodigal and ended up in ER with diabetes within 48 hours.
So, even having been as fit as a gent with much restricted mobility could muster and a healthy diet, I still developed all the conditions the good medical professor feared. In fact, my first heart attack & stroke already came at age 32!
After a life of extreme hardship, trials, tribulation, even persecution by fellow Christians, what incentive do I have to prolong my suffering here? Why spend one second to many upon this corrupted planet?
I know that I know that I know that my intimate and personal relationship with Jesus Christ, a life of daily miracles, affords me the very real prospect of being with Him. The same Jesus who five times appeared to me, visibly, between October 2007 and some time in 2008.
Why postpone being with Him?
Perhaps some people have a reason to fear death, I don’t. As I have everything to gain in death.
Op TV anderdag, aas gegarneer met een enkele waterblommetjie en so ‘n duifdrolletjie vyekonfyterigheid daarby. Ons jong sjefs rook sterk goed. Nog ‘n topsjef dink bokkems is Japannees. Hemele bedek my!! 😨
Oorle Oupa Simon en Ouma San het ‘n Agastoof gehad, ‘n grote soos die hotelle gebruik het. Hulle opstal is ‘n nasionale gedenkwaardigheid. In die klein kombuis, oorle Tannie Christine se heiligdom, het ‘n kleiner Aga gehad. Sý was Pa se kleinsus.
Tannie Christine was loshande die doyenne van waterblommetjiebredie. Een, twee keer per jaar het die groot trek Krombeksrivier toe plaasgevind. Van alle kante van familie, aangetroud en hulle aangetroudenes, met bybehore, aanhangsels, byvoegsels en bybedoelings. Ons kinders het lankal nie geweet wie is sussie, niggie, agterkleinste niggie of sommer net nie. Dieselfde vir ons neefsgoed.
Daar is lekker vet Heidelbergskaap in ‘n diep pan bruin gebraai, sonder olie. Die vleis trek sy eie vet uit. As dit duidelik bruin is en Sorsie lê kwyl op die agterstoep, is uie in daardie pan met skaapvet lekker bruin gebraai.
Dan is die spulletjie na die groot konfytpot toe. Veertig mense kan twee keer daaruit eet.
Die waterblommetjies is gepluk op die dam voor die huis en goed skoongemaak. Pot toe saam met vleis, uie en geskilde aartappels. BP1, nie up-to-no-good blusgoed nie.
En gee die Aga tyd met daardie waterblommetjies. Jy sal nie glo watter geure uit een pot kom nie. Saam met klonterige jasmynrys, veral. Die mense eet blinkbek. Om te dink, dis net bykos by die groot kos!
Verlang ek darem nou. Mens maak nie prentjies met een verwese waterblommetjie op die kant van ‘n bord nie. Mens maak ‘n regte bredie daarvan. Dís wat erfeniskos mos is!
My pet sin is to dig in my past, playing ‘what if.” And I come out bleeding more often than not.
Looking back is also conducive to adopting a victim mentality or a loser’s attitude. In post-apartheid South Africa, it has become a national habit and it destroys the nation.
In America, people remember the painful slavery as if it happened just yesterday. For every slave that was brought to the USA, four white slaves were raided from Europe, by Islamic Africans or even Arabs (the real slave traders throughout history.)
Why didn’t you hear about the white slaves? Maybe because the Europeans left it behind them somewhere in the 1600’s to 1800’s. We don’t remember as it had happened too long ago.
When Catholics expropriated the land of my ancestors and brutally persecuted them for their Protestant faith, they had to drop everything and flee to the Cape, where the Dutch of the VOC further oppressed them through discrimination. They built up a proud legacy with their bare hands.
Do I feel their pain today, do I wallow in the murky depths of their calamitous fate? I choose not to.
But I have to programme myself, make a cognitive decision and act upon that, not to have a pity party in celebration of my own sad past.
Paul taught us to forget what is behind, to embrace the future. Brad Delp, Tom Shultz and their friends echoed them in this once popular song, albeit unwittingly. Take a listen, read the lyrics on Songfacts.
Then move onto a new you.
Never, just never give up. Never lose hope, never lose faith.
Faith is a binary possibility. The guarantee of failure is found in quitting.
Were Adam & Eve ever forgiven, will they go to heave or hell? After all, they were evicted from God’s holy presence, weren’t they?
The Bible is mum on this, even though the most romantic love story, of admission of guilt, of the deepest remorse, when God said to Adam that He would have to die for Adam’s sin.
What followed was repentance, a change of heart on God’s side. I last could read this about a decade ago and I forgot my memory in the mall, so what I am saying here is a sketchy recollection of the impression that it had made on me.
The Forgotten Adam and Eve was written in “King James English” by a cleric, Dr SC Malan, who was born in Geneva, Switzerland. He used base text written in Egyptian and Arabic.
The story, or a part thereof, was included in the Jewish Talmud as well as the Islamic Q’uran. Pity it was excluded from the Bible as it teaches repentance, forgiveness and restitution.
It also tells of Jesus Christ, putting Him into perspective.
Try find a copy, read it, as it could only benefit your relationship with God.
Ons het gewoon op ‘n plaas met ‘n baie groot rivier, met baie lope wat somerstye opgedroog het. Lekker baie walle, diep, los sand. Heeltyd speeltyd.
Toe kom die viertrekklub daar aan. Een ou sleep sy groot CJ7 op ‘n laebedsleepwa tot daar. Nog een het ‘n Landcruiser met ‘n V8-dieselenjin uit ‘n Humvee van die US Marine Corps. En ‘n klein Stallion wat iewers ook ‘n agtsilinder 4×4 geword het, nes die Cressida Stasiewa. Dan ‘n afgeleefde Geländewagen, so ‘n langpens 230GE sonder fênsie wiele of fieterjasies, lyk soos ‘n afleweringswa. Broodblik.
En daar is baaaaIe jerriekanne met ekstra brandstof, die karre raak dors. Dalk net vyf myl per gelling.
En RoadBlocks. Baie, baie RoadBlocks. Dis wat hulle enigiets Landrover noem in daardie geweste. Voor jou is een glo altyd stukkend of sit vas.
Die Toyota’s het almal slotjies. Troetelnaampie vir ewenaarslotte. En ‘n stil, sterk oud-recce (verkenningsoldaat) met sy Hardbody en sy netjiese vrou en kinders.
Ek kom aan by die een RoadBlock, so ‘n wit Disco 2 wat hopeloos vasgeval het. Die woestaard met swartbaard seg nee, hy het nie banddruk nagegaan nie en ek begin toets. Een wiel druk op 2.70, nog een 2.30, die derde amper 3.0 en dan enetjie net oor die 2.0. Die druk moes .80 voor en 1.20 agter gewees het. Mens maak die bande papper om die spoor langer te maak. (Ons ry jare lank al met Peugeot 504 stasiewa, Mercedes-Benz, ens., op die Plaat, toe dit nog wettig was, om mossels the djaaif. Jy sal nie glo waar ek met platkarre in was nie, ook self daar uitgekom!)
Nouja, vir domwees is daar nie pille nie. Die lokomotief met die Humvee-enjin kom sleep uit maar sit self gou vas. Dan haak die groot Geländewagen met sy klein viersilinderenjin die hele konvooi, sit al drie diff-locks aan en pluk die hele treintjie met een hou uit. Dan gaan pronk hy, rol dit – met opset, sy paartie triek – twee keer, skakel dit aan en wys gou hoe ‘n regte 4×4 werk. Ek sweer daai ding het diff-loc op sy waaiper mouter ook.
Dit raak saans en ons word genooi vir ‘n braai. Die Hardbody Recce braai eenkant, vrou en kinders sit blinkbek om die kampvuurtjie, hul braaivleis is geurig en sag. Ander manne staan om die groot vuur en pleeg grootboetpolitiek oor slotjies – die Groot Onderwerp. En hulle is swaar op brandstof, kry verseker nie eens een myl op ‘n gelling nie. Die baie vroue en kinders is nie daar nie.
Op pad soontoe die Spinnekop se hubs gaan sluit en toe is die laestrek viertrek oor ‘n lywige wal en diep donga tot by die kampplek. Vra een my of ek dan nie 4×4 gebruik nie, want hulle kon sien die Haailaks se voorste dryfas staan stil, toe ons deur die dik sand die wal uit is tot by die vuur. Tyd om uit te vind die splaains het lankal gestrip.
En dis toe dat die groot ding hortend en hygend die rivier loop opkom in ons rigting. Dis agter ‘n sandwal, daardie diep rivierloop met diep, los sand. Dan verskyn dit oor die bult en kom hortend in ‘n stofwalm tot stilstand. Ek staan verstar toe ek die kolos sien. Kindertjies, vroue en baie pizza. Die dorp is mos tien myl ver en die ware manne sorg nie vir vroue en kinders nie. Hulle is te swaar op brandstof, kry nie eens een myl op ‘n gelling nie.
Nes met die Groot Trek en die Boere-Oorlog, is dit die vroue wat die ware veldslae geveg het. Met ‘n rooi Kombi, nie eens ‘n syncro nie. Daar net buite David Kramer se dorp.
Dis waar mens ‘n rooi Kombi sal kry.
Krap ek rond in my vrou se heiligdom vanmiddag, kom af op my lankalsoekboek. Jy weet watter een.
Of jy nou bênt of nie, kry vir jou Toortsie se jongste boek. Ek mag dalk net eendag meer ernstig resenseer, maar die baaskok wat namiddag op TV waterblommetjies verfomfaai het, kan by hierdie voorslag boervrou kom leer oor kosmaak.
En as jy gedink het kerrievis of mossels is vervelig, kom leer by Toortsie. Sampioene op verskeie maniere gevul, spinasie wat heel smaaklik op die tafel kom, lamsboudjops. Mensig, my bekkie begin water.
Jong sjefs deesdae is regtig clueless. Jammer, maar die koning is kaal. Gaan Suidpunt se kant toe, gaan leer hoe om regtig kos te maak.
Snoepgoed, geurige sop, bykosse. En as jy nou nog nie weet wie Toortsie is nie, ry jy seker met die Rover op die Rooi Planeet. Maar op dese aarde is jy nie.
We went on a three month course far from home, in Pretoria, South Africa. She was from Cape Town, I came from a city three hours’ drive away.
As course members, we went out together one evening and that is when we connected as reborn Christians, she and I. Nothing to do with romance, we were both happily married and not into student antics. But she had a burden, she had no child and she was 32 already, although she looked more like 23. Her heart was really in pieces, as if it went through a meat tenderiser. It sort of struck a chord of compassion in me.
That night, alone in my single quarters, I prayed for her and fell asleep. After my back injury and surgery, I don’t sleep on my back yet I woke in a state of spiritual excitement, on my back with my hands up in the air and I saw something like different shades of pink fluid and tissue, resembling the nebulae in outer space. Then I saw what it was: a baby being formed in the womb, as if pieced together in very thin layers. I saw a baby being made inside a woman! When I really woke up, I started praising God, praying about it.
Next morning, I couldn’t wait to get to class. I sought her out during early morning coffee, took her aside and told her what I saw. We were then half-way through the course.
Unexpectedly, we were given a weekend pass, the military is known for sudden surprises, good or bad. So, she asked me to take her to the airport where I drove her right up to the Falcon 50 ministerial jet. And off she went while I drove home.
Soon after I arrived, the phone rang. It was her husband, a very senior officer, on the line. He thanked me for having taken care of his wife in his absence, but I reminded him that he should be spending time with her. 😁 Instead of fraternising with lower ranks while there was work to be done.
The course completed, we all went our separate ways. We made good friends, I later took my family to visit a new friend on an air force base far away, others came to stay with us. But never a word from my Christian lady friend again and I was demobbed following my injury and disability. So we lost contact.
A year or so later, at a campground two hours from Cape Town, someone called me on a nickname colleagues gave me during that three month course. I looked around, there she was. Elation. And her husband, an officer and a real gentleman.
And a year-old baby in the push-pram.
And send me your prayer requests via the Contact form. It remains confidential.
Two years ago, I still had a Google+ account with 1,1 million readers. I had used this for Christian ministry at the time.
Google now is set to end this social media portal. Many will mourn the loss, as it was great for promoting both blogs and businesses.
Read here how you can check if you even have Google+ (many are unaware that they have it) and then how to delete it.
Living in a country where my gender and skin color, more so at my age, keeps me from being formally employed, is really no joke. Not that I’m not working, I just don’t get paid.
For the past 21 years, I worked as a freelance Christian missionary, sent out without a coat or a purse, as was the mission of the seventy. The only difference being that me and my wife weren’t received as field workers should have. Perhaps other Christians mean that provision comes at the end of the rainbow, or with a lightning strike.
But God called upon fellow believers who then chose to ignore the call. The final straw was when Paul spilled his guts about being industrious. Maybe he didn’t live in South Africa, or he wasn’t disabled. Or someone gave him seed finance. But it is plain rude to call anyone lazy when that person cannot earn a living like anyone else.
I won’t invite Paul to tea, as he is outspoken about topics he has little or no understanding of. Get into my boots, Paul, let’s see how far you will go!
As for Christianity, well, it can be a hard place to be in, sometimes. Especially when the 1 John 3:17 acid test is failed.
Someone threatened to stalk me if I didn’t write about this.
We have people so un-evolved that they consider freaking baboons superior to man. Some even seemingly French Kiss the big apes roaming the southernmost parts of (C)ape Town.
Oh, they look so cute, funny maybe, the baboons I mean. People stop to gawk at the bush geeks. But are these beasts really so cute?
With absolutely no natural enemy, until the Cape leopard gets re-introduced, that is. But whose first grader will be first to be caught for lunch? Now, if leopards we don’t want, baboons need to be controlled. But you tell that to the types marrying trees or heating up a bouquet for dinner. As this all happens mostly behind the Lentil Curtain. Yes, we have a region like that, you just maybe won’t find it on a map.
And the few baboon troops grow and multiply and know they’ve got the freedom of the city. Parade with regimental colours on display does happen. Only that they’re not disciplined soldiers but gangsters from hell.
As the break into homes, fortified with solid metal burglar bars, security doors. Heavy duty. But the baboons get in. Through the roofs, if need be.
They will kill your dogs, they have 9cm teeth. Incisors that can rip open the belly of a mature lion. After killing dear old Rover, they will invade your home and destroy everything in their path. Insurance companies shy away from certain areas as the risk is too huge.
No, the baboons weren’t trained by people feeding them, they are just inquisitive, creative and adventurous. My son found the alpha male in his kitchen in Welcome Glen, had much trouble to keep the three Boxers safe. The baboon was crafting a torn salad.
Once, we had to leave Tokai Forest immediately after a park ranger rushed to warn us that the troop was around the corner, leaving a twister-like trail of destruction behind.
More recently, exasperated farmers at Constantia were stopped from culling these pests as authorised by Cape Nature.
Permits are issued by Cape Nature only if seven other possible solutions have failed. We don’t easily shoot baboons. It is done as a last resort.
Sadly, we have delusional primeval citizens who don’t see that humans also have rights, that our property should be safe, or that our pets should also be protected.
After all, there is a female species that will starve her kids to feed the cat. I am referring to actual cases, experienced first hand. Or s stupid woman who called the vet to pump antibiotics and vitamins into an innocent seal pup taking a rest after a long swim. There are people like that, yes. The scary thing is that they can and do procreate, so we end up with even more village idiots.
Such is the love for destructive baboons that one told me that it would be good to kill all humans so that animals can have peace. They teach little kids not to eat anything with a face, that animals are friendly and loving.
Consult with a gnu about the virtues of the placid Nile crocodile, or maybe the impala can relate her experience of such beautiful lions. Even the Praying Mantis is known for its sheer brutality. But you try convince people worshipping baboons.
Maybe land expropriation without compensation has been going on without changes to Section 25 of the Constitution. Chacma baboons leading the way.
And, tourists, fore Pete’s sake, don’t feed the animals. Eventually your fun may lead to them needing to be killed, as they become mortally dangerous.
Daar in die verre Wes-Vrystaat. Ons is gaste van Karoolsie en die Uitlander wat ons ingeskryf het vir ‘n potjiekoskompetisie. Van die begin af loop dinge skeef, want ‘n paar spanne het reeds afgestig en hou hul eie kompetisie by die skouterrein se veekrale. Afrikaners ken van afstig.
Boer van Landmeetersmoeite, waar die aarde baie plat en gelyk is, se kinders bou ‘n geurige ystervarkpot. Die kinders ken hulle werk en beïndruk. Ek ken van tradisionele potjie maak. En ek ken vir pot as ek hom sien.
Die vorige aand sit ek gerookte varknek (eet deesdae nie meer otterjasie nie) en skaapnek in ‘n skottel met ‘n jong, rou Cabernet Sauvignon. Dis die ene tannien en dit week die vleis tot murgsag. Maar dan kan jy nie die vleis bruin braai nie, want die tannien sal bitter brand.
Op potjiedag het ons eers lekker uie onder in die pot, sommer ‘n groot handvol, fyngekap. Toe die vleis, dan baie droëvrugte. Perske, appelkoos, pruimedante, pere. Selfs gedroogde mango en piesang.
Die kleintjie pot langsaan, soos die Basotho dit noem, stowe geurige begrafnisrys gaar. Geelrys met rosyntjies, vir die wat oningelyf is.
En ‘n skeutjie saggemaakte Cabernet Sauvignon, maar baie min. Net genoeg vir ‘n bietjie mistieke agtetgrond. Mens versuip nie ‘n pot nie. Ek gril as mense dit doen.
Die twee handelsbanke op die dorp neem ook deel. Beide bestuurders raak gekletter en gooi hul verskillende soorte dop met kouk en ys in hul pot. Die Weesheer behoort dit by hulle weg te neem.
Die bankbestuurders maak ‘n groot staanvuur voor die skoupawiljoen. Een val daarin. ‘n Boer ry met sy viertrekbakkie daaroor, stoot tru en hou stil bo-oor die kole en braai sy bakkie se pens.
Ek skaam my in ‘n stilte in vir onse mense.
Dis maar goed dat wette ons eenkant gehou het, die bure kon sleg dink.
Die beoordelaars stap tussen die twintigstuks potspanne deur. Een is hoofsjef by ‘n vyfsterhotel, die ander hoofdosent in spyseniering by die Technikon asook voorsitter van die streek se sjefsvereniging. Loop met sigaret en ‘n dop terwyl hulle moet kos proe. Nie een van die twee hofnarre het al van begrafnisrys gehoor nie en skrik vir die naam. Nie een het geweet jy kan met droëvrugte kook nie….. wat leer sjefs tog op kollege?? En hulle verkwalik my oordat ek nie die vleis bitter gebraai het nie. Ken nie van wyn in kos nie.
Ons kry tweede plek en wen die prys vir die pot met die meeste finesse. Die plaaskinders met hul ystervarkpot wen, wat hulle verdien. Hulle pot smaak agter die oor. Poenangkies.
Mense bied ons baie geld aan vir ons pot, maar dis aandete by Karools en die Uitlander se huis.
Ek weet nie wie die afgestigte kompetisie gewen het nie.
Afrikaners is plesierig.
They call it the second coming but I beg to differ. When Jesus returned, nobody noticed. He did establish His kingdom upon earth and some saw it in their lifetimes, just as He had promised. Pagan trinitarian beliefs blinded believers, from the third century AD and onward. And to get Christians to see their God for who He really is, won’t be easy, as they lack discernment. They are blinded by their religion, brainwashed for two millennia.
Just as the fake “Toronto Blessing” phenomena, in reality an occult Kundalini spirit, deceived many. Typical charismatic witchcraft.
In the same way, when the Fake Jesus appears and brings his clever party tricks, many will fall for his deception. Jesus said “be vigilant, as many of YOU will be DECEIVED.” And He said this to His followers…..!!
Yes, the quasi-Christian religion delivered, neatly packaged in altered Scriptures and iconic religion, redistributed through demonic phenomena in our churches, already proved how easily many will fall for this. As Christians swallow the crap bait, hook, line & sinker.
My message: get back to the pure teaching of the true first century church in Jerusalem, before (we) non-Jewish believers infiltrated the Gospel with all manner of paganism and produced a commercial product. As this is what modern Christianity has become: a lucrative commodity auctioned from pulpits by greedy auctioneers. It is revolting to see how the televangelists tell terribly poor Christians around the world “for a Love Gift of at least $95, you may have the Holy Spirit” …on DVD!! Ridiculous, that guy is SELLING the HOLY SPIRIT on an optical disk!!
Repent!! Repent!! Repent!!
Yes, it is easy to see that Christians won’t be able to discern between the fake Jesus and the Real One.
And the second coming happened at Pentecost. Two thousand years ago. It is time for His final fiery return in the clouds, not throwing the dice and performing magic tricks. Read Matthew 24:29-31 and 2 Thessalonians.
Deal with it.
Get with it.
Find it in charismatic and Pentecostal churches, both Protestant and Roman Catholic.
As our Calvinist reformed church found it most loving to shun or even oust those who obeyd Jesus in getting baptised after being reborn, many of us ended up in places of weird worship. Having grown up in the church of the 1860 Andrew Murray repentant revival, at least I knew from childhood days what revival is and also what is not. I have seen miracles before I even grew beard.
I found a lack of Scripture knowledge in the world of happy clapiness, a lack of reverence and a very much Pauline parallel religion with very little knowledge of Jesus. All the more reason to be vigilant.
I saw people moo like cattle, or “catching eggs lain by fellow church members in the Spirit.”
But these people foolishly believe it is the Holy Spirit. Clearly, not the slightest idea of the HOLINESS OF GOD.
Getting “drunk in the Spirit,” then reviling like drunkards from a tavern. Show me the holiness in that. I do, by the way, intimately know being in the True Holy Spirit, not this demonic invasion of the church.
Our very dark Hindu friend’s face went ashen when she heard about this, saying “it will destroy them.” She should know, as Hinduism is where the Kundalini arises from.
It is time for such Christians to wake up and see their error. Itis time for them to meet the True Living God. Angus Buchan thought that an electric cable fire was an outpouring of the Holy Spirit. Just like he thought that the destructive storm, bringing very little rain but much damaged to a parched Cape Town in June 2017, was God answering his prayers. Get to know the wrath of God instead. And the “revival” at En-Gedi in 2012, where many spoke in tongues? Well, the evil king Saul and his henchmen lay on the ground prophesying, without ever being changed inside. They were just too close to Samuel and his truly Spirit-anointed fellow prophets. Katy Perry also was slain in the spirit; does she worship Jesus and exalt Him through her music today?
The church meeting where people let Kundalini manifest in a living room church of a private home in Woodstock, Cape Town, comes to mind. The woman pastor was coming on to me in such a way that I became very uncomfortable and she said and did things that I deem inappropriate. Also, others made sounds like aninals or “spoke in tongues” that were no tongues at all. No languages consists of the endless repetition of “tik tik tik tik tik.”
The next thing they did, was to utter very racist, unloving comments, make a few from a certain race feel very unwelcome. The Holy Spirit? My foot!
Outside of “church” it reeks of irreverence. Traffic offenses, watching porn or listening to it, their favourite TV show titled “Lucifer.”
If one cannot see the fruit of the Holy Spirit, or evidence of relationship with Jesus, realise the absence of the True God.
And that should be a warning sign.
A wake-up call.
Over the past ten years, after having been verbally assaulted by religious zealots, I have learned that radicals are just unbalanced.
(Two days after writing this, I get verbally assaulted in public by another atheist who chips into a private conversation. She tells me who tested her IQ, which according to her, is off the chart. her own words. Tested at Harvard University, she says. Yet she lives in Cape Town, South Africa. So she assaults me and ridicule me, which is why I write posts like this. Nobody forces you to even read here, just as that woman could have reserved her opinion to herself. Why does she have to be so small-minded and abusive? Yes, I can see that she has no God! Oh, later I was told that she is bipolar.)
If someone chooses to follow a certain path, so be it. Let him be. Just don’t ridicule that person in public, or be very rude, as many atheist have been, sadly. And this ain’t no hearsay! And please don’t force your beliefs upon others, regardless of how right you think you may be.
If religion is an irrational belief in the unseen, then atheism could be seen as a zealous religion, an illogical belief in nothing.
No further discussion.
An interesting position held by South African endocrinologist Dr Tess van der Merwe a week ago on Afrikaans radio RSG, is that Banting or low-carb diets could possibly reduce one’s life expectancy with up to four years and be damaging to health. It was said that the diet should consist of at least 55% carbohydrates.
I never did Bant full-on but had a severe reaction to diabetes medication in 2015, lasting five weeks, during which I lost 22kg as I simply couldn’t eat at all, for the first three weeks.
When I started eating again, all I could stomach was handfuls of cocktail tomatoes, beef patties, red meat. Also apples and some banana. No tea, coffee, sugar, milk….just green Chinese tea.
I was healthy, energetic no end, slept better and, as a diabetic, much impressed with my constant blood sugar levels that hovered between 5.0 and 6.1. Not 12 or 18.
But eating meat is for those who can afford it. Do, back came carbohydrates, in the form of bread of a type I consider to be a poisonous substance.
The old Israelites, Moses and even Jesus ate wheat, but from a more natural variety and prepared more healthily. Our wheat types of today differ in so many ways. Flour isn’t just flour as wheat can be used to make at least fourteen types of it, some which would invoke allergic reactions in my body.
Something the jury is still out on, is how Keto/Banting/LCHF could possibly aid type 2 diabetics. Any factual position on that? Please advise.
We in Africa see stiff maize porridge as typically traditional African food.
In the spirit of decolonisation, though, please then first crucify this tradition as corn or maize is Mexican food, spread by adventurers, discoverers and colonists. Get rid of the outlandish tradition if a purge of colonisation is called for.
And you don’t need tacos or tortillas if Mexican is your fetish, just settle for a pot of krummelpap. As it isn’t African by a long shot.
Never to old to learn, eh?
God referred to us as “Moses & Aaron,” two regular guys called to change the lives of many, to bring hope where housing, healthcare, education and infrastructure were in deficit.
He is a strong guy, a former athlete of national recognition. A self-made man, yet not a God-made man.
God gave me a specific purpose and calling, my Christian partner to be the financier.
For four years, we toiled together, working at getting funding for our projects. I also laid the foundations of a lucrative tourism business, something in my bone marrow lends me to travel and wanting to share the experience. I live in a most scenic tourism hotspot, rated as the best city in Africa & Middle East. Ninety thousand Britons rate Cape Town as the best travel destination on the planet.
So, the Lord does His miracle and tremendous funding from a diamond mining group arrives on July 15, 2018. And my partner disappears with it…..without sharing a single cent.
Many weeks prior, he put me on the phone with a known criminal, someone I know as an identity thief who, in 2003, defrauded the very poor community of De Aar from a large amount of money. Their life savings gone. My partner takes advice from no-one, decides he is wiser than the Almighty God. Earlier this year, he teemed up with a fake tourism booking agency in Cape Town, one sought for fraud and facing legal prosecution, both civil & criminal. But my big old friend knows better.
God’s own hopes and dreams, the answer to so many prayers, thwarted by one man, just as we so often see in the Bible. When man disobeys God. Along the way, already, I saw this guy loved the limelight, saw himself as the mighty victor while not giving God the credit.
Someone with the potential to become the next RG Le Tourneau, yet get seduced by arrogance and greed. It would serve every Christian well to read about Le Tourneau, inventor of the bulldozer, the oil drilling platform and so many other inventions. Such as the rubber tire or an electric engine inside a wheel. Sorry, Volvo, you get second place, this is old technology.
Greatness is best achieved through being confident but humble.
Don’t be unequally yoked. Ensure that your partners knows to obey God, not just believe in Him. Christianity is all about obedience, after all. Self-discipline. The word “disciple” comes from the same root as “discipline.”
Don’t stand in God’s way. As the fool, even the believing one, says there is no God.
Lees gerus eers hierdie vir agtergrond:
Karoolsie boer met veldmuise en haasbekmielies, sulke inkiltepitkoppe, in die stofvlaktes van die Doringveld. Sy Uitlander is ‘n gesofistikeerde ex-Kapenaar wat teen die hange van die Klaasjagersberg grootgeword het. Volksvreemd.
Op ‘n tyd het ek wynrubrieke geskryf vir my een van my werkgewer se publikasies. So nooi die Uitlander ons oor vir ‘n paar dae plaas toe sodat ek die distrik oor wyn kan opvoed.
Ek is prakties en gaan loer in by die klein ko-operasie in ‘n stowwerige systraat. Maar ek is aangenaam verras toe ek Dassie Smit se Blanc De Noir van Botha Kelder en ‘n skaars Pinot Gris van Tulbagh daar raakloop. Lekker Nuy Muskadel, kampioenwyn van Wilhelm Linde.
So kom die distrik se boere en hul vrouens en trek saam in die ruim woonkamer. Twee bankbestuurders, die dominee daarby. En ek verduidelik watter wyn met watter kos moet, bietjie oor variëteite, terroire, die wynmaker se keldertegniek, ens. Die mense van Doringdorpie geniet dit en gedra hulle voorbeeldig. Maar Karoolsie sit buite, maak met rokerige mieliestronke die braaivuur terwyl daar berge doringhout is.
En Karoolsie sug, dáárdie sug. Diep beswaard. Hy sit sy glas ferm genoeg op die draadtafel neer om die inhoud te laat uitspat. Goeie tyd om te swyg. Weer dáárdie diep sug.
Seg hy toe mos, ferm en beslis: “Peet, jy weet, hier in die Vrystaat het ons ‘n gevestigde gebruik as dit kom by tafelwyn.”
Ek vra hom wat dit dan is?
Seg Karoolsie. “Brandewyn en kouk.”
Sy was ‘n fynbesnede, lang skoonheid met raafswart hare en diepblou oë. Warmbloedig, kunsinning, romanties en met ‘n pioniersgees in haar beenmurg. Hy noem haar Uitlander want sy kom van volksvreemde kultuur.
Hy was ‘n muisboer, met inkiltipit mielies tussenin, in die Doringveld en ook die distrik se stootskraperman. Gebou soos ‘n Romeinse soldaat in ‘n Asterix & Obelix-boek. Konserwatief, onromanties, pragmaties funksioneel.
Sy kry toe mos die gedagte in haar romantiese lyf en gaan huur silwer en kristal by die Lebanees se alleswinkel in die dorp. Tafeltjie keurvol gedek in die kamer, nuwe beddegoed gaan koop. Kersligete vir twee. Kerse en blomblare van die voordeur af tot doer agter in die kroninglike suite.
Sy dra toe net ‘n tergtoutjie met so stukkie lap wat net die heel belangrikste bedek.
Karoolsie kom tuis, nog in sy stowwerige, ghriesbesmeerde oorpak en swaar stewels. Die badwater is reg, ook dit by kerslig en sjampanje.
Hy betrag die kersbelynde huis en frons diep, sug dáárdie sug. Soos hy stap, skakel hy ligte aan. “Was die jinneryter dan af dat jy kerse moes brand?” vra hy in so boerse onkunde. En hy kyk haar so van voor af, knik tevrede maar vries to hy haar van agter sien. “Ag nee man, Uitlander, gaan trek vir jou aan. Jy kan nie so kaalgat met kos werk nie.” En hy sug weer dáárdie diep sug.
Stilweg skeur haar romantiese hart en maak plek vir ‘n moermetertjie wat in die rooi revs boer. Twee dae later bekla sy haar lot by my wyfietjie, haarself van romantiese ingesteldheid. Dit pas my Franse bloed. En ek boer nie met haasbekmielies en veldmuise nie.
So nooi ons hulle vir ete. Ons dek tafel, met blomme en kerse. Karoolsie sug dáárdie sug, aanhoudend, terwyl my liefste keurige geregte opdien. Dis ‘n vyfgangmaaltyd. Ons is Bolanders in exile en ek het al die regte wyne gaan uitsoek vir elke gereg.
Die ete staan einde se kant toe en daar is vrees en diepe onrus in my ou vriend te bespeur. Hy raak al hoe ongemakliker en sug dáárdie sug.
Toe ons klaar is, druk hy die kerse dood en in dieselfde beweging is hy op en uit by die voordeur, steek sy Chesterfield brand en sug. Dáárdie sug…
“Ou Peet,” sug hy na stille betragting, “ek verstaan darem nie die ding van die kerse nie….” 😂😂😂😂😂
When women compete in sports, such as football or athletics, with men on equal footing, there will be equality. As long as they have their own classes or leagues, or want to be treated differently, they commit to be different or even inferior.
As long as rules are made to hamper an African athlete’s career with pills to retard her progress, the international athlethics federation is showing the world that the fairer sex is also the weaker one.
Scrap all rules that makes gender distinction in sports! Do it now! 🏃🚴🏊🏄
Afrikaans is ‘n baie interessante taal wat nie bloot “user friendly Dutch” is nie, maar ‘n inheemse skepping wat sy ontstaan dalk in die Bo-Kaap gehad het. Dit bevat ook elemente van Duits, Maleisies, inheemse tale, selfs dalk Arabies.
Op sy beurt, het Afrikaans weer woordeskat aan bv isiXhosa geleen. Dink aan Bhuti, Sisi, istule, patale, ens.
Afrikaans was seker nooit kognitief deel van verset teen kolonialisme nie, maar tog was dit altyd deel van ‘n nuwe nasionale identiteit vir bruin, swart en wit. Selfs vir sommige Asiërs wat Afrikaans as eerste huistaal gebruik.
Dit is jammer dat die taal gekriminaliseer word deur onkundige politici, wat self setlaars van elders is. Die taal word wyd onderdruk en die onderdrukkers daarvan is regtig onwys en oningelig.
English is en bly die taal van kolonialisme, van die 1913 Land Act wat baie mense van grond vervreem het, ens.
Ander inheemse tale word ook onderdruk en byvoorbeeld Nama word nie meer gehoor nie. Van die Khoi-Santale sterf drasties uit, die oorspronklike inheemse tale.
En taal is kultuur. Wanneer taal uitsterf, sterf kultuur en tradisies ook uit.
Baie tale wat as inheems gereken word, is in wese kontinentale kolonisasietale. Setlaars het ook vanuit Afrika gekom en hul tale en kulture kom vestig, terwyl inheemse mense gemarginaliseer en verplaas is.
Afrikaans is ‘n egte Afrikataal. Dit is interessant dat ‘n sinsnede in Nederlands een betekenis het maar die direkte Afrikaanse vertaling daarvan mag dalk die teenoorgestelde beteken. Gehoorbegrip is nie verstaanbegrip nie.
This came to me via WhatsApp from a friend.
– A Beautiful story . . . makes you understand that things happen for a reason .
The brand new pastor and his wife, newly assigned to their first ministry, to reopen a church in suburban Brooklyn , arrived in early October excited about their opportunities. When they saw their church, it was very run down and needed much work. They set a goal to have everything done in time to have their first service on Christmas Eve.
They worked hard, repairing pews, plastering walls, painting, etc, and on December 18 were ahead of schedule and just about finished.
On December 19 a terrible tempest – a driving rainstorm – hit the area and lasted for two days.
On the 21st, the pastor went over to the church. His heart sank when he saw that the roof had leaked, causing a large area of plaster about 20 feet by 8 feet to fall off the front wall of the sanctuary just behind the pulpit, beginning about head high.
The pastor cleaned up the mess on the floor, and not knowing what else to do but postpone the Christmas Eve service, headed home. On the way he noticed that a local business was having a flea market type sale for charity, so he stopped in. One of the items was a beautiful, handmade, ivory colored, crocheted tablecloth with exquisite work, fine colors and a Cross embroidered right in the center. It was just the right size to cover the hole in the front wall. He bought it and headed back to the church.
By this time it had started to snow. An older woman running from the opposite direction was trying to catch the bus. She missed it. The pastor invited her to wait in the warm church for the next bus 45 minutes later.
She sat in a pew and paid no attention to the pastor while he got a ladder, hangers, etc., to put up the tablecloth as a wall tapestry. The pastor could hardly believe how beautiful it looked and it covered up the entire problem area.
Then he noticed the woman walking down the center aisle. Her face was like a sheet. “Pastor,” she asked, “where did you get that tablecloth?”
The pastor explained. The woman asked him to check the lower right corner to see if the initials ‘EBG’ were crocheted into it there. They were. These were the initials of the woman, and she had made this tablecloth 35 years before, in Austria .
The woman could hardly believe it as the pastor told how he had just gotten “The Tablecloth”. The woman explained that before the war she and her husband were well-to-do people in Austria
When the Nazis came, she was forced to leave. Her husband was going to follow her the next week. He was captured, sent to prison and she never saw her husband or her home again.
The pastor wanted to give her the tablecloth; but she made the pastor keep it for the church. The pastor insisted on driving her home. That was the least he could do. She lived on the other side of Staten Island and was only in Brooklyn for the day for a housecleaning job.
What a wonderful service they had on Christmas Eve. The church was almost full. The music and the spirit were great. At the end of the service, the pastor and his wife greeted everyone at the door and many said that they would return.
One older man, whom the pastor recognized from the neighborhood, continued to sit in one of the pews and stare, and the pastor wondered why he wasn’t leaving.
The man asked him where he got the tablecloth on the front wall because it was identical to one that his wife had made years ago when they lived in Austria before the war and how could there be two tablecloths so much alike?
He told the pastor how the Nazis came, how he forced his wife to flee for her safety and he was supposed to follow her, but he was arrested and put in a prison. He never saw his wife or his home again in all the 35 years between.
The pastor asked him if he would allow him to take him for a little ride. They drove to Staten Island and to the same house where the pastor had taken the woman three days earlier.
He helped the man climb the three flights of stairs to the woman’s apartment, knocked on the door and he saw the greatest Christmas reunion he could ever imagine.
This is a true story submitted by Pastor Rob Reid who says, “God does work in mysterious ways. I asked the Lord to bless you as I prayed for you today, to guide you and protect you as you go along your way. His love is always with you. His promises are true, and when we give Him all our cares we know He will see us through.
“So when the road you’re traveling seems difficult at best, just remember I’m here praying and God will do the rest. Pass this on to those you want God to bless and remember to send it back to the one who asked God to bless you first.”
Please reblog/reshare also on social media.
Oupa en Ouma het ‘n baie eenvoudige huis gehad met pragtige houtmeubels, bal-en-klougoed vam imbuia en stinkhout. En ‘n klavier met geelkoper-kersblakers.
Oukersaand was daar ‘n Kersboom, waar hulle ‘n dennetak op Gouda opgespoor het, weet nugter. Daar is net bloekoms, rooibessies en baie muggies.
Ooms, tannies, neefs en niggies het voor die tyd gewas, sommer in waskommetjies in die kamers, water was skaars. Netjies aangetrek, skoene en kouse.
Soos Rocco dit deesdae doen.
Oukersaand is daar voor die boom tuisgemaak, ‘n art deco-bank kan baie familie vat. En dan is daar kersliedere gesing, Ouma en van die tannies of niggies het klavier gespeel. Daarna is die verhaal van Jesus se geboorte vertel, ons het saamgebid.
Daarna geskenke, meesal klere en dalk ‘n Japannese opwenkarretjie met opgeverfde insittendes.
Daar is vooraf gebraai, met "Kaapse pap" oftewel braaibroodjies. Later koffie of tee met kondensmelk. Daar was nog nie Eskom nie en die paraffienyskas is net oopgemaak indien absoluut nodig. Ma se heerlike vrugtekoek, maande vooraf gebak en benat met Nuy se muskadel en tienjaar KWV-brandewyn.
Die enigste bier was die bitter alkoholvrye hopbier van Sullivan’s in Kimberley. Dit het Oom Mike van De Beers saamgebring.
En niemand het sterk drank gedrink nie.
Kersdag self was ook ‘n gewyde, geestelike dag. Huisgodsdiens, waterblommetjiebredie, skaapboud en gebakte aartappels, geelrys met rosyntjies, koue sousbone, slap hakskeentjies en perdalks net een glas droë witwyn per persoon, niks meer nie.
Trifle met Monopoly-speelgoedjies daarin en sjerrie onderin. Baie smaaklik.
Veertig jaar later begin Boney M al in Oktober in Shoprite met hulle kersgekerm, blinkgoete oral. En Moslems in Kaapstad, wat óók Kersfees vier, maak groot potte kos om te sorg vir Christen-kerswese wie se ouers dronk lê.
Iets het in veertig jaar baie verkeerd geloop. Kom ons vergeet van happy holidays en bring die ware Kersfees terug vir die regte rede.
Pas is Kaapstad wéér aangewys as die beste stad ter wêreld. En ek kan sien hoekom.
Saans dek ons tafel op die nommerpas balkon, ons eet grênd en speel ons leef ‘n vyfsterlewe. Ons verkies om werklikheid te verdoesel in ons eie fantasieë.
Die balkon word ‘n elegante rykmanstuin met ‘n stroompie en ‘n bruggie daaroor, ‘n swaai en ‘n geboude gazebo uit 1890.
U Eie Keuse word ‘n kamerorkes en die mees delikate Franse Champagne vloei uit ‘n koukbottel, kaviaar uit Snoekies se lekker olierige snoek & tjips. Stokvis is vir kommin mense of weeksaande. Weskussnoek is Boerekaviaar.
Dis die aroma van ‘n melhoutboom iewers in die buurt wat help met sprokies maak, mense sê dit stink, maar vir ons herinner dit aan die goeie dae voordat die tsunami’s ons begin tref het.
Saam met die melkhout se geur adem ons die soutvars see in, dit sweef twee blokke ver en kom maak liefde met ons longe. Mens kan nie anders as om betower te word as die aandlug ruik na Atlantiese parfuum nie, soms met ‘n tikkie vars kelp daarin.
Die son soen pienksag teen die kabelhuisie, laat Leeukop soos ‘n perskeroomys lyk. Op die bergkruine flits dit as mense sien waar die son in die bloublink see wegsak om Donald Duck te gaan wakker maak.
Dan kom tientalle liggies teen Leeukop af, dit lyk soos die Trans-Karoo in die nag. Soveel stappers geniet die spiraalroete daagliks.
Dan word dit snags en die kabelhuisie se drie liggies merk Tafelberg af teen die donkerte. Die kleinste bietjie lig staan sy man teen die duisternis.
Mense stap na restaurante, kuierplekke om met groot draairoomyse terug te keer of naam gemaak en weer verloor met karaoke. Die rooi giggelbus met die jinneryter agterop vir die boemboks binne, vol vrolike liggies en baie vroliker partytjiegangers, toet en grommel verby in die straat onder. Dit jil en dit gil.
Lank na middernag woel die stad steeds, ek betrag dit met ‘n geurige beker Arabica in die hand.
More-oggend sal Seinheuwel weer swewende valskerms baar, wat kleurig sal sweef om uiteindelik soos albatrosse voor RSG op die promenade te land.
Mense sal weer draf, stap, fiets of in rolstoele al teen die see langs na buite leef. Pronkmerries met pony tails gaan weer lyflustig trippel sodat die kopstertjies kan wip. Iemand gaan met ‘n plastieksakkie Woef se Poef optel en die swarttobies eet wonderwurm al fresco.
‘n Seemeeu gaan krys, die vakbondvoëls wat net altyd demand demand demand en nooit self ‘n vissie probeer vang nie.
En iewers belowe ‘n "bergie" om vir iemand se ma e-pos te stuur.
Vanaand sit ek weer op my balkon, tafel keurig gedek, al is dit net vir pilchards op roosterbrood.
Ons is te grênd vir toust.
He was born in Turkey and came to faith in Christ Jesus.
There were many poverty-stricken young girls who had taken to prostitution and this burdened his soul. So, when all was snowed under, he would throw coins through the chimneys.
That was how the story of St Nicholas, or Santa Claus, or Christmas Father, was born.
He prayed and Russia wasn’t defeated in war, which is why there are so many St Nikolai churches in that country.
His purple and black sled was painted red and black by Coca Cola for advertising, once it proverbially passed through Hollywood.
Reblogged from Beauty Beyond Bones, a sober look at what I call charismatic witchcraft.
They burned my beautiful Zimbabwean teak African fish eagle, a work of exquisite art. They smeared oil all over my house, said playing Rummy is sin.
Yet they went gambling at Taung Sun on Day of the Vow.
I have seen much superstition and witchcraft, sexual immorality, even how they openly worshipped Kundalini or promoted 666. In their happy clappy churches.
We left church end of 2006, we fellowship daily with believers but Babylon is now only a vey vague bad memory.
Read this very sober post.
A few months ago, I deleted all my social media accounts. For a day or two, I had a serious bout of FOMO. Fear Of Missing Out.
Soon, however, that gave way to peace, tranquility, no more nasty people, nobody argumentative or confrontational. No more dishonest business associates, no backstabbing or conniving. No more animosity. And the prevailing mood now is JOMO.
The Joy of Missing Out! I have me back to myself.
For a child is born to us. A son is given to us; and the government will be on his shoulders. His name will be called:
Prince of Peace.
Jesus said to him, “Have I been with you such a long time, and do you not know me, Philip? He who has seen me has seen the Father. How do you say, ‘Show us the Father?’ Don’t you believe that I am in the Father, and the Father in me? The words that I tell you, I speak not from myself; but the Father who lives in me does his works. Believe me that I am in the Father, and the Father in me; or else believe me for the very works’ sake.
Also, Jesus said that "before Abraham was, I AM." When God appeared to Moses in a burning bush that wasn’t being consumed, He identified Himself as I AM.
I have an idea that we are blinded by our religion, by concepts that have been fed to us over 1,700-odd years. The early church in Jerusalem knew that Jesus was God (Emmanuel, God-with-us) and worshipped Him as such. Think John 1 verse 1-15.
Are we perhaps, as Christians, interpreting wrongly because of literal interpretation of the metaphorical speech of Jesus, when He calls Himself "son of God" only to show how we should be sons? Jesus led by example, role play situations, but legalistic, fundamentalists took His words literal instead?
Jesus wasn’t man turned God but God wearing a man suit.
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