Questioning What is Accepting

It was the early to mid nineties and a world renowned evangelist was to host a rally in the Good Hope Centre in the Cape Town CBD. Both my parents, my brother, husband and I met together to attend this meeting and what a meeting it turned out to be.  By that date in time I had attended many church services but this was the first time that I had been a part of a group of thousands straining and pushing and shoving to get into the building.  We all arrived at least two hours before the doors would open believing that we needed to find parking close by to avoid a long walk to the centre.  Little did we realise that would be the least of our problems.  The queues of folk stretched for miles and at some point they all started singing.  It was mind blowing and I still get goosebumps at the memory of that day.  The scariest part was when the security people started unlocking the doors.  As soon as they were seen moving toward the doors, the crowds started pushing and shoving and I feared that we would be crushed to death.  Dad giving instructions on how to stay together, we all hooked into each other like ducks in a row and shuffling and shoving we managed to get through the entrance and once in that foyer, we ran.  Can you believe it?  People were actually charging around at full speed to find the perfect seat and we joined the race.  Running wildly, our eyes darting to and fro, we charged into the auditorium which was already packed with seated folk.  Coming to an unsteady teetering halt, we looked around hastily and spotted seats open in the gallery.  “Hurry up, this way” my father shouts and we go running like mad again, terrified that somebody else was going to grab our seats.  We made it safely and sat down quite out of breath.  Now I know people have run like mad to get out of church but who has ever heard of people running like Olympic sprinters into a church?  It was actually quite frightening because one could easily be crushed to death in a stampede of that nature.

The hall soon filled to over-flowing and the singing never stopped.  It truly was an amazing sight to witness as thousands gathered under one roof to worship Christ.  I was in awe and watched all the goings on around me.  I noticed that there was a wheelchair section and it was the most heartbreaking sight to see folk completely paralyzed coming with hope to be healed.  I just could not take my eyes off them.  I had heard a number of controversial stories concerning the evangelist and I was inquisitive to watch him as he preached the gospel.  He was soon on stage.  I will keep my opinions strictly to myself concerning the evangelist as we are all entitled to our own opinions.  Deep into the service he instructed the audience to stand and to hold hands except obviously the folk next to the aisles.  We all stood and he began to pray asking for an anointing and soon people started falling down. My parents and brother fell back into their chairs.  Now I am not sure why I did not feel a thing and stood right back up again determining that I was there to meet Jesus personally and I was not going to leave this place until I had done so.  I stood, hands raised and eyes closed and I began praying to meet Him.  Suddenly I felt an explosion in my stomach and forgetting my hands are still raised, dropped my chin to stare at my stomach.  One of my fears has always been that my appendix would burst and I thought that it just did but then realised that I was experiencing no pain at all.  Still staring at my stomach, not knowing what to think, the most incredible ball of heat began to spread from my stomach area upward.  Slowly slowly the intense heat spread and soon my face felt as if it was a glowing coal.  I felt slight dizzy and had to sit down in a hurry.  “What’s wrong with you?” my brother asks “Your face is bright red and glowing”  Up until today I have no idea what had happened but whatever it was sure as heck had my attention.  My biggest question that day was why did not a single person from the wheelchair section experience any form of healing?

As a family, this event was good for us, bringing us together in a way that was completely new to us and so exciting.  We were experiencing faith as a close family unit.  I came to appreciate that day as extremely special when I found out that my father had terminal cancer.  When my mom called me one weekend to give me the news my husband and I packed a few things, gathered the boys and hopped in our car.  We would be in Cape Town that day.  Upon our arrival, dad came to meet us at the car.  I could see that he was in terrible pain and he looked wan and drawn.  I looked at him.  Where was the strong man, the man of laughter and jokes, the man who always had a smile on his face and that twinkle in his eyes?  Before me stood the shell of the man he used to be.  The weeks flew by and time became our enemy.    After four weeks of dad going for this treatment and that treatment I realised that there was no doctor, no medication, no amount of money that would take this cancer away.  For four weeks we had placed our hope in the medical field and now we had nothing else to hope in.  I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and pleaded with my God to be merciful, to bring healing to the man I loved as my dad.  “There is nothing to hope in anymore Lord, there are no doctors in the world who would be able to heal  my father.  What should I pray for now?”  I cried for my father.  “Please show me what I must pray for” and after those four agonising weeks, I received the answer.  Give the one you love to God and may God’s will be done.  Know peace and rest in God.  And I did.  It felt as if a huge burden had been lifted as I gave my father to my God knowing that only He can take this burden upon Himself.  And peace entered my heart.  It was a Monday and my sister flew down from Johannesburg with her six week old first born daughter.  At such short notice, she was able to find a seat, the only seat left and my husband and I drove to the airport to pick them up.  The mood was sombre and heavy and we could not find much to talk about.  We had our own thoughts and emotions to deal with and soon we parked the car in the hospital parking bay.  It was time for my sister to see our father for the first time since he had become so ill and I feared for her because he had been as fit as a fiddle, brown as a berry and strong as an ox the last time she had seen him.  The shock of seeing our father as he lay dying would be almost too much for her to handle.  I stood and watched from the little bathroom in the hospital room as she approached our father.  And then I could not watch any further when I saw the great sadness enfold her in its arms.  She held our father’s first granddaughter close to him and he strained forward desperately wanting to welcome this little one into the world.  He kissed her softly and it was the first and the last kiss he would give her.  Rev Cecil Begbie motioned for us to stand around the bed, holding hands and to sing and pray.  We all moved closer and looked down to gaze upon our dying father.  He knew that he was dying and managed to tell us his wish of which songs he would like to be sung at his memorial service.  As a family,  my mother, my brother, my sister, my husband and I held hands and with the tears streaming we began to sing for this once strong man who had come to the end of his life on earth.  Soon he would enter the Kingdom of our Heavenly Father.  We sang and we cried.    For the last five days of his life my father had been completely paralysed from the waist down but now as we sang, he moved those paralysed legs without any effort.  He moved his own paralysed legs.  He was not paralysed any longer.  He opened his startling blue eyes and with a slight frown on his face, looked up and his blue eyes turned to a glowing blue colour.  They began to twinkle like the stars in the sky.  For a few moments he stared and watched and I looked up trying to see what he was looking at.  I believe he could see beyond the curtain which seperates the spiritual and the physical.  Closing his blue eyes his breathing became shallower, the pause between each breath became longer and longer until he breathed no more.  Dad had left us.

As I have mentioned my spiritual journey began at this point and took me to places of wonder , places so unfamiliar that I would hesitate for the longest time asking first this friend, then that friend for affirmation of its authenticity before I would take a step.  I was called a confirmation freak.  Confirm, confirm, confirm, was my motto.  And what is this laying on hands story?  Well, at this point I thoroughly believed it all to be mass hypnosis and I was not going to be one of the sheep who followed blindly.  But before entering that arena let  me take you to the starting blocks of my race.

A few days after experiencing this mind blowing vision and waking up with the greatest need to know this Jesus, I immediately joined the local library and consumed books on a scale of the highest degree of starvation and thirst.  I hid those books under my mattress, in my cupboards, just wherever I could in my home.  I read and read and read.  Now I wanted to go to church.  It became a desperate need but I had absolutely no intentions whatsoever to let my unsuspecting husband know what had happened to me.  So without sounding as desperate as I was feeling, I promptly declared that we would be going to church on the Sunday morning.  Sunday arrived and I could hardly contain my excitement.  I purposefully dressed in black because to me this was quite the solemn occasion and although I had such a desperate need to attend the service  I was also rather nervous.  Afraid that I would be noticed I instructed hubby that we would only arrive once everybody had taken their seats and the minister was on the platform.  You see I had watched enough movies to know that these darn ministers had a tendency to stand at the door to welcome his flock and I honestly was not courageous enough to be in any kind of spotlight.  I wanted to slip into the church unnoticed and slip out again quietly to go home without having to meet a single soul.  I should have known that it was not going to work like that.  For some odd reason as I sat in the car while my husband drove us to church that morning, I knew, I just knew that Jesus was going to be in that service.  I knew that I was going to meet Him right there.  Not saying a word on the short drive we arrive at the parking lot only to discover that the extremely tall, white haired minister was still standing at the door greeting folk.  I wanted to die.  Oh my husband didn’t bat an eyelid.  He opens his door and gets out.  What could I do?  I had to climb out and with my head hanging and focusing on the ground, I walked toward that door.  That minister was the tallest man I have ever seen.  He had a thick mop of snow white hair and piercing blue eyes and when he spoke, his voice could drown out a thunderstorm.  Raw power just emanated from him and it scared me witless.  I looked up very quickly, mumbled a greeting and hastened to get inside that church.  “We are going to sit here, right at the back”  I told my husband, “because if we do not like the service we can just leave without disturbing anybody”.  Made sense to me and we sat down.

I sat there riveted to my seat, soaking up every word, soaking up the environment.  As it turns out, it happened to be Holy Communion too.  The last time I had participated in the ritual was so many years ago.  I watched as the powerful minister in his black gown, spread his arms wide inviting all to meet with Jesus and directed our attention to a wooden table upon which the silver chalice stood with a platter of small pieces of bread.  The scene was incredible because the table was placed upon a small stage in the alcove which had blue mosaic glass windows and the sun was casting the most beautiful soft blue light upon the white lace tablecloth laid across that wooden table.  I knew that Jesus was in the house.  Now I am not one to put myself out there to purposefully be noticed especially in an unfamiliar environment but do not ask me why and how but I found myself walking down that red carpeted aisle toward the wooden railing in front.  The minister stood there smiling as I took my place among those who had come forward to receive the Holy Communion.  I was handed the tiny plastic cup and a piece of bread and not knowing the procedure swallowed the juice and ate the bread which formed a pasty lump in my palette and I had to swivel my tongue around in my mouth to dislodge it.  All done, I looked to the person on my right and then glanced at those standing further down the line and realised that they all still held their little cups and pieces of bread.  I wanted to panic but remained standing as the minister began a prayer.  Closing my eyes I begged God that nobody had noticed that I did the whole ritual wrong.  After the blessing each of the folk swallowed their juice and ate their bread.  I was so relieved when that was over and hurried back to my seat. 

That afternoon I informed my husband that I had given my life to God and to my surprise he said it was a good thing.  A few weeks down the line I had become a regular and the minister told me that he would like me to meet his guest who was to hold a special healing session.  The minister hailed from Cape Town.  The laying on of hands was mentioned and all my red flags immediately shot straight up into the air.  Mass hypnosis.  The Tuesday morning I went to the church.  Preparations were being made for the introductory service.  All the women were attending and so I would be too.  Talking to our minister he points to the front of the church.  “I would like you to meet Rev. Cecil Begbie”  he says with a smile and looking toward the man I almost did a double take.  He was black.  Yes folks I was still racist having been raised in an army home.  To be blunt when I first started attending church I had the most awful time of accepting that I was most probably seated next to members of SWAPO, my father’s deadly enemies and would keep a nervously beady eye on all the black folk in church just in case they tried to plant a bomb and blow us all to smithereens.  Well,  this minister of colour was not a member of our ethnic people, he was of muslim origin but his skin was very dark and he strode toward me, arms open wide and he embraced me.  I stood as stiff as a poker, hardly daring to breathe.  I was completely paralysed.  “You and I are going to walk a long road together”  he says and all I could do was just nod my head slightly.  Surely this could not be happening.  “My father is going to go nuts!” is all I could think and stepped out of this man’s brotherly embrace.  All my defences were up now.  Here is this minister who is going to try and put us all under hypnosis and he has a black skin to boot.  How much worse could this get? 

The service was about to start and my determination to show this charlatan up for what he is, I sat in the pew just waiting for him to blow the trumpet and begin his process of hypnosis.  I was ready for him.  I would allow him to believe that I was under his spell and just when he got rolling, I would jump up and show all the folk that he was a fraud.  Did it work out like that?  Of course not.  My doctor’s wife was one of the congregation and she was one of the first to go up to have hands laid on her.  Now I knew her fairly well and of course I knew her husband.  She was not given to swooning spells or frivolous displays of unbridled emotion.  This woman had both her feet planted firmly on the ground.  I leant forward to get a closer view as the minister stepped toward her.  I was waiting for him to do his thing and nothing would happen.  I was hoping it would be like that.  He anointed her and then gently laid his hand on her and what happens?  She slumps to the floor.  I was shocked, and so disappointed in her.  Surely she should have known better and with a bit of anger and my determination to end this charade once and for all, I walked up when he asked the next group to come forward.  Enough was enough.  I watched as one by one the woman slumped to the floor and then he was standing in front of me with a soft smiled.  He dipped his finger into the vial of olive oil and proceeded to anoint me while saying: “In the Name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost”,  and that is all I heard.  I hit the deck like a ton of bricks.  Do not ever ask me how that happened because I have absolutely no idea.  Eventually after a long while I opened my eyes and saw my doctor’s wife being helped to her feet.  I moved and rejected the helping hand.  Walking to my seat my mind just could not grasp what had happened to me and I sat down.  And then the incredible shaking began.  My head, my arms, my stomach, my legs, my feet, every part of my body began to shake violently and I could not stop it.  Soon the session ended on stage and the minister walked toward us as we sat watching him.  I think we were all so dumbstruck at what we had experienced but why was I the only one shaking as if my entire life depended on it.  “When is this going to stop?”  I stuttered.  Even speech was difficult.  He smiled and told me that its going to be fine.  The way I was going, Elvis did not stand a chance against me in any competition.  I was shaking for both of us I believe.  Needless to say the shaking did subside and the minister and I did walk a long road together.  He buried my grandfather,  he buried my father and presided over my brother’s wedding.  He was the one person to whom I told my story and he was the man who confirmed that I was not some crazy lunatic after all.  He led my parents to the cross, and he also led my brother too.  He was truly sent by God.

I had one more eventful experience a few years after that day which also shook my foundation.  I responded to an altar call at the Little Falls Christian Centre and without any emotional hype or even expectation, I stood up for prayer.  The pastor prayed over me, my legs wobbled but I held my pose because I had a tight skirt on and very high heels and I was not going to fall down and have the entire congregation laugh at me.  Well, the pastor moved to the person standing next to me, turned to look at me and stepped my way again.  All he did was softly blow into my face and I was down.  I tried to stand but could not and with absolute determination wanted to get to a chair.  All I could do with great effort was crawl to the nearest one.  Heaving myself into it, I lay slumped wondering if I would ever be able to walk again.  I waited for a little while until I was able to stand without help and hurried back to my chair.  These experiences have purpose and it led to a series of events which included my eldest son being head hunted by a company who refused to accept his decline to be hired.  They paid for his airplane ticked and his first few months of accommodation.  He left home with one suitcase of clothing, R20 in his wallet and R9 airtime on his cellphone and today he owns his own company.   The strangest part being that upon my return from the Old Year’s Eve church service, I walked into our little flat and my son has a huge smile on his face.  The company had called him on OLD YEARS EVE to say that they have bought the ticket and what their plans for him were.  Now I ask you with tears in my eyes,  what company calls anybody at that time of year stating that you just have to take the job they are offering?

The worshipping crowds swayed with ecstasy, their eyes filled with wonder and their mouths open as they hummed and exclaimed in awe at the wonderous sight above them.  The golden glowing beings were beyond their wildest imagination of beauty.  I too stared in puzzled awe.  “Who are they?”  I desperately needed to know and tried to recall what I had learned during the years of Sunday School and the short period of attending YFC.  “Oh! This must be God the Father and Jesus, the Son” I anxiously thought and also  remembered  that  there should be three persons in the Godhead. “ The Holy Ghost!” I exclaimed,” That’s the third person but why can’t I see Him?”  Immediately answering my own question I reached the logical conclusion that the only reason He was not visible to the naked eye is because He is a ghost.  Yet I still felt dissatisfied and stared at the two golden beings.  Surely this must be the Godhead but why is the tall, thin one so cold and aloof? I wondered and it worried me that it seemed as if he had absolutely no compassion, no love, no mercy, no warmth.  “No warmth!” I stood and watched him for the longest time trying desperately to understand what and who I was looking at.  “It is almost as if he despises the people” I thought and watched him closely as his stony gaze swept over the worshipping crowds.  “It has to be because He is a Holy God.   Perhaps holiness is cold and aloof. That must be it”. I concluded but still the unease coursed through my mind.  There was no peace and no satisfaction in this thought and I continued to study them.  The tall thin man was obviously the authorative figure and on his left, facing toward the crowd, was the shorter, slightly plump man who carried a golden quiver of golden arrows slung across his back and he held a golden bow in his hand.  He seemed the friendlier of the two and turned to look at his companion with a smile and leaned in closer as he mouthed a question.  The authorative figure nodded his head slightly in agreement and I so desperately wanted to know what the question was.  I clearly remember the facial features of the one in charge.  He was tall and slim, with long fingers and toes, not disproportionately so.  His face was not rugged but rather more Asian in the shape of the high cheekbones and sharp chin.  He had thin lips, a cold and cruel mouth.  His eyes were slightly slanted with a look of what I thought to be hatred.  But surely it could not be.  How can God hate anybody because I remembered so vividly the maroon velvet cloth which had hung over the pulpit in the Methodist church with the words in golden embroidered letters, God Is Love.  There was no love here at all.  I hated the anxious feeling of not knowing the answers and wracked my brain and memory in search of even the tiniest scrap of information which would assist me to resolve this question.  None came to mind and I stood there in total and absolute ignorance.

The crowds grew more intense in their worship.  I turned to look and focussed on the gentleman with the short brown hair.  His hands uplifted and his face filled with joy as he adored these two beings.  I looked up again at the two and saw the short one reach over his shoulder to pluck an arrow from the quiver.  He loaded it into his bow and lifting his arms he took aim at the crowds.  By this time I had absolutely no idea who these two were because nothing made any sense at all.  But I will admit that for a moment I thought him to be cupid because of his bow and arrows but that soon vanished from my mind when he released that arrow into the masses.  The extremely high pitched zinging noise of the arrow as it took flight with incredible speed was almost unbearable and I watched its flight path and soon the air all around was filled with thousands upon thousands of these screetching arrows streaming toward the worshipping crowds.  Oh these people saw the arrows and opened their arms and hearts to welcome its piercing impact.  I stood and stared in horrified fascination as the scene before me became one of terror.  As each arrow found its target, it buried itself into the chest of each victim in the soft area just beneath the breastbone and as it did so, a golden halo of light formed around the shaft and the area of penetration.  It’s victim who only seconds before had stood with welcoming arms uplifted and faces filled with wonder,  looked down at the arrow as it stuck out of their chests, first with a look of profound confusion and then as if watching a wax doll melting, their open mouths turned from vessels of joy to dark caverns of unknown horror and pain and their eyes bulging from their sockets in fear.  The joyful humming became screams of raw terror as they stared at the arrow which had claimed them for itself.  On and on it went, the piercing screams intensifying with every moment and the anxiety which had built up within me turned to panic.  I wanted to help these people but I had no idea what to do.  I had no idea who these two beings were.  I had no answers and my sense of panic almost overwhelmed me.  “Oh! What do I do, what do I do?”  The question screaming through my mind and I turned to look at the tall male figure standing slightly to my side and behind me.  “I don’t know what to do, I don’t know who they are! “ I cried.

Within a blink of an eye, at the height of my state of panic, I was suddenly whisked away from the scene and found myself standing on a dusty gravel road which had white round stones placed along the length on both sides.  I was not alone as I looked about me.  There were a number of people walking upward away from where I was standing and I decided to follow them.  The road forked, one led to the left and the other to the right and a few folk had chosen the left pathway.  I stood there not too sure of which road I should take and looked to my right to where a crowd of people were standing and talking to a man dressed in white.  This huddle of folk were not merely a few metres away from me, they were standing at quite a distance from my position.  I suppose the word, crowd is not a good indication of their numbers.  I would haphazard a guess of about ten or so people.  He was leaning forward and inclined his head to listen to what one was saying.  As I looked at that man, I recognized him immediately, I knew him.  How? I have absolutely no idea.  I had never met him before and I knew absolutely nothing about him except what I had heard as a child. But the strangest of all was that it wasn’t only my mind that knew him immediately, my entire body, every cell and atom, every nerve, every vessel, the entire of me knew him immediately without a trace of doubt.  And I started running toward him, calling his name. “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!”  I cried needing to be in His presence more than I ever thirsted for a drop of water, more than I have ever hungered for a morsel of bread, more than I loved my family and even my children who were my life.  I had to be in His presence and nothing else mattered.  I called and called and ran toward Him.  He drew me like a magnet.  How could He not?  He was my Creator, He was the One who gave me life and I belonged to Him alone.  And then He turned to face me!.

I saw His beautiful face but there are no words to describe Him because He is The Great I Am.  He is all and everything His Word says He is.  I understood so many mysteries that night.  The Great I Am.  He is all powerful in every way imaginable and beyond what we could imagine.  He is so purely powerful that the enemy of God and man is but a dry crumb upon His table and with a slight flick of His finger the crumb would disintegrate, He would flick it from the table to the floor to be trampled upon by whoever steps upon it.  This Jesus is merciful, He is love, He is majesty, He is creator, He is provider, He is comforter, He is forgiving, and He is all the Word tells us He is.  He is the Great I Am.  Yes He is love, God is love and His love is perfect, and His love is All mighty.   I wanted to remain with Him forever.  The moment He had turned to look at me, my legs collapsed beneath me of their own accord and I fell before Him and worshipped Him, never once being aware of any concept called time, never tiring, never thirsting and never once having need of anything or anybody besides Him.  He is all and only He is able to fulfil perfectly.  I understood so clearly how one could worship and praise Him for all eternity.  Because He is The Great I Am.  And then He spoke to me;” I have been waiting for you since you were fourteen years old.”  This was all He said and I sat bolt upright back in my bed instantly.  My ears were still ringing from the awful screeching of the arrows but I was immersed in a complete desire to know all I could about this Jesus.  My need to know Him was so overwhelming, it drove me day after day, night after night for many months after.  Oh how desperately I wanted to tell somebody, anybody about my experience but I was afraid.  I looked at the person I was, and I looked at the wonderful experience I had been a part of and I could not bring the two together.  How does a person like me experience something so supernaturally powerful and wonderful?  I was humbled, completely humbled as I saw my sin.  Why would this Jesus choose to show me Himself in such a way?  Surely such things were only meant for priests, ministers, pastors and the highly spiritual people?  But He did choose this way to reveal Himself to me.  Why? I still have no answer to that question.  I often ponder that perhaps I was so drenched in the world theology of denying His existence that it took such an experience to shake the foundations of my house built on the shifting sands of delusion.  There have been so many times when I have wished never to have seen what I did because now I do not have the excuse to say, I never knew.  I know, and will always know and although I may be ridiculed, laughed at, scorned, disbelieved and perhaps certified, I will know the truth because I saw it so clearly.  I was there.

What did I learn from this experience immediately after living it?  Well, I learnt that if you do not know the truth, you will fall for the lie and that lie will destroy you completely.  Not only as man is able to destroy the body, no, it will destroy the whole of you.  The lie will dangle the promise to fulfil your desires of wisdom, of beauty, of false peace, of spiritual wealth and supernatural experiences.  It will enthral you, captivate your imagination and fill your senses to meet your desires.  The lie will fill your heart and mind with fear and anxiety to bring you to the place of desperation, to the place where you will clutch at anything just to make the fear go away and to make you deny the Truth of God.  But this Jesus is exactly who He says He is, your only hope in all things.  And your disbelief, your fight against Him, your sarcasm and witty remarks and your opinions and theories calling upon theories propounded by so-called experts will never change what is.  No matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, this Jesus was and is and is to come.  “I am the Way, the Truth and the Light, no-one comes to the Father, but by Me, says the Lord”.  There is no other way no matter what anyone tries to tell you or what you tell yourself.

Why am I writing about this after so many years?  To let you know that in this world of indecision, of chaos of instability, of death, rape, torture, murder, robbery, hi-jackings and of hatred and jealousy, of disease and sickness, of hunger and thirst, of lack of housing and extreme poverty, of watching babies die of neglect and malnutrition, of insecurity, not knowing what tomorrow brings, of floods and fires, of mud slides and volcanoes and earthquakes, of weakening currencies and corrupt government, of lies and deceit, of greed and vanity, of the sacrifice of our children and our unborn babies, there is a merciful and forgiving God. There is a God who has never failed to fulfil a promise to man.  He is your creator and His creation has rejected Him to follow their own desires.  Why do we call foul when our desires are not met?  If you have declared yourself your own god why then raise your fist to the heavens to curse the true God?  Why can you not help yourself or the world?  God is a Father, a protector, a provider, a comforter, a warrior. He is the King of all kings  and He is a jealous God.  He established His Truth, the only truth and there is no other.  He has this Truth in black and white for every person to read about to know what our choices on this planet are and what the consequences of those choices will be.  And the truth is so hard to hear,  yet the truth will set you free.  It is written and will never change.

My children have asked, no demanded angrily as I have done on numerous occasions why we have to suffer. “Why did dad have to die” My son asked with such a depth of pain and anguish which broke my heart.  Why indeed?  Who would I point out in a crowd to have died in his place?  Death is a natural part of our lives on earth and none will escape it.  We will all die unless God decides otherwise.  “If your God loved us why does he make us suffer like this?’  My beautiful blue eyed son cried out, his fear so evident in his pale face, there are dark rings under his eyes from lack of sleep and so much worry.  The answer I have treasured in my soul is that suffering is in the world.  It is a part of the life we lead on this planet.  Who would I pass my suffering to and watch them cry?  Yet even amidst the suffering I look to my God and live in a permanent place of daily miracles, small miracles and big miracles, if one is able to point out the various degrees of such.   I am so grateful that I was not alive in the days of the Roman might where the truly obedient and faithful disciples were fed to the lions in the arena.  Imagine their hours of suffering and anguish as they awaited their fate in the dank, dark dungeons listening to the cheering crowds who had come to watch them being torn limb from limb but never once sacrificing their faith in the One True God.  They walked out into those arenas to face a gruesome and terrifying death and they died knowing that to die is to gain and to live is to gain.  They endured, they persisted, they sang in the face of looming death, they sang while imprisoned and chained, hungry and thirsty, beaten and persecuted.  They sang songs of praise despite their suffering.  And through their immense suffering they became strong and bold filled with hope and living in faith.  Their faith was not in worldly riches, expensive homes and cars, cupboards filled to the brim with groceries.  Their faith was not in designer outfits of the day. No their faith was in Jesus, in His forgiveness and everlasting life in His presence.  All mankind will know sickness and death.  We will be surrounded with poverty and the homeless, with all the atrocities perpetuated by man and because man chooses his own desires and will, we will live within the environment of those choices.  Earth is not heaven but we are able to experience the Kingdom within ourselves while on this earth.  We have hope, we have God to talk to, to hope in, to walk with, to rest in.  Who do you have?

This was just the beginning of a long journey for me, a journey which will take me for the rest of my earthly existence to travel as I learn, understand, grow in wisdom and knowledge, and become the person I was intended to be.  I wish many times that it could all happen quickly but that is not the way to grow.  Patience is most definitely a virtue, one which I am sorely lacking in but I am not able to change God’s timing no matter how hard I have tried to convince Him otherwise and believe me, I have used every tactic and reason imaginable to highlight my point of view.  It just does not work simply because we cannot see the bigger picture.  Trust, trust, trust.  How hard that is to do.  How so very hard to not be in complete control of our destiny, of our daily lives, of the lives and actions and words and thoughts and opinions of our fellow man.  Trust God that all things will always work together for the good of those who love the Lord.  Despite the immediate circumstances you may be facing right now. 

It is time! These three words are continuously in my thoughts, day in and day out. And trust me when I say that I have tried very very hard to simply ignore them but it is impossible to do so.  Yes, it is time to tell the story of the biggest and most profound event which changed the course of my existence, my way of thinking, seeing, understanding and living. But please keep in mind that I have fallen so very hard on so many occassions in so many different ways which has always been my reminder that all of humanity is equal. One is no different to another at all. We fall so very short all the time and there is absolutely nothing any individual can do to earn his or her way to a literal and spiritual place we all know as heaven. All the good works you perform are like dust in the wind if you do these things with any other motivation than love and sincerity and most of all belief and knowledge of the truth. The most wonderful knowledge of this truth is that it is unchangeable. The truth is not adaptable to the era or the life-styles we choose to lead. It has always been the same since its conception and will remain steadfast and true to the end of time. The truth is a rock, a foundation upon which we are all invited to stand with assurance that we may rest in the knowledge that it will never change. This truth is guaranteed for our own sakes and our own peace for our present and for our future. The past is behind us, and each day is a new beginning, each hour and minute is a new beginning. There is no democracy in this truth and the opinions of the nations will never sway it’s course. No war, no pestilence, famine or disease will change it either. This truth is everlasting for all mankind. You may trust in it, no, you must trust in it.  This truth will never cater to your whims and fancies, it will not disappear simply because you wish it to nor will it hide because of your denial and anger. Never will the truth agree with you should you try to argue your point and the truth will never argue with you at all simply because the truth is the truth. Steadfast and true forever despite your disbelief and opinions, science and technology and whatever other argument you could possibly think of. For this truth I owe my life to the God of truth, mercy, love and forgiveness. I of all people, deserve none of these yet I am blessed in all things despite my own self.

“I lift my eyes to the hills, from whence does my help come? My help comes from the Lord”

I watch the hundreds of people, safely from a very large window. I am there, I am able to feel the expectation and excitement of the crowds, I am able to clearly hear their louder than usual voices as they hug one another, laugh with abandoned joy and talk to all and sundry.  Yet I am seperated from the crowds by the window. “I wish I knew what is going on” I state to the male figure but he says not a word and continues to watch the people. And so do I, my eyes darting from one face to another. I do not recognise anybody at all. There is one man in particular who holds my attention. He looked to be in his early to mid thirties, with short straight medium brown hair. I watch him laughing, his mouth wide open. Slowly the excitement builds and almost becomes deafening. I watch absolutely fascinated and my heart is racing. “Should I be there with them? I am sure that I am supposed to be there” I say, the uncertainty of not knowing where I should be starts to build within me. I cannot stand still and fidgeting with uncertainty my mind is filled with eagerness and hesitation at the same time.  The level of excitement reaches a deafening crescendo and suddenly within a literal blink of an eye, the entire beautiful blue sky, the green grass and trees and shrub, the ocean is blanketed by the most intense and darkest black and a hush descends upon the crowds. Now I have no clue as to what is happening and by now my heart is beating frantically.  The man standing slightly behind me has not moved at all, he has not spoken another word. He remains standing and watching. And then out of nowhere two exquisitely brilliant figures appear, suspended above the ocean. They are beautiful and they are gold from the tops of their heads to their toes. I studied them closely and I was absolutely bowled over by what I was seeing and noticed that even their toenails were gold, so too each strand of hair and the paths made as if their hair had just been combed through. Their sandeled feet, their garments and their accessories also were dazzling gold against and amidst the blackness which had fallen like a thick blanket upon the scene. The crowds went into a pure state of absolute worship, lifting their hands to these beings, their faces enraptured in total spiritual bliss and they began to worship the two golden figures in the sky. These were the ones for whom they had gathered upon the beach to meet, these were the ones they had been hoping for and their hope had now been fulfilled.

This scene was the beginning of what I was shown and there is so much more to follow. Yes, it is time to tell my story which began in November 1990 when my youngest son was only a few weeks old. As I have mentioned in a previous story, my utterances of remaining fourteen years old had been noted in the spiritual realm and was soon to be revealed to me.  All the years preceding 1990 of my life was wiped clean and I was handed a new slate upon which to write and what a story I have experienced since that evening in November 1990, the telling of which I will continue to do so on the next page.

In 1988 I packed my possessions and left Oudtshoorn for a small oasis in the Namibian desert, called Oranjemund.  My husband, his father, his brother, his uncle all worked for the diamond mining company for so many years.  We moved into a lovely home and proceeded to landscape a fairytale garden filled with hundreds of roses, ferns of all species and so many other flowering bulbs.  There was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary which occurred and I never gave those negative episodes of ‘voices” and appearances a second thought.  Our eldest son was almost four years old and attending pre-primary and my husband and I had quite a number of friends, well they were all his friends who allowed me into their close knit family and the folk of the Namib are most probably the most amazing people on our planet. The men worked extremely hard for exceptionally long hours but they were hardy men, built to overcome and soar with the eagles.  They worked hard and played hard.  On weekends we would all meet at the various sporting clubs where hardly any sport was ever played but the parties were great. The catching up on the latest gossip, and believe me, there was never any lack in that department, the music, the dancing, the letting go after a long week of work and it was really great.   The oasis was truly beautiful surrounded by the yellows and caramel colours of the desert, the oryx was as plentiful as domestic cattle and they would raid your flowering garden if they had a tiny opportunity to find that open gate calling them to enter.  We would fall asleep every night with the sound of the howling jackels and on many an occassion a neighbour or friend would have to remove a puffadder or some other viper from their lawn or front gate.  My boys knew the desert as their playground and now and then they would have to run like the wind from a chasing snake but it was all good.

Every Sunday was the traditional braai and the grid would be packed with lamb chops, pork chops and sausage, the potatoe salad cooling in the refrigirator. The other salads packed around it.  The coke would flow like beautiful ice cold tinkling rivers and the sound of the cracking beer can was quite comforting in its normality.  Sitting under the tree to escape the midday heat, the whole family would be together and talk about everything.  It was so good.  As I mentioned before, there was nothing exceptional to detract from the normality of domestic life in the middle of the Namib desert. My youngest son was born and my husband and I caused a bit of upset because we did not believe in the traditional child baptism and actually never saw the inside of a church for years.  I had completed the process of confirmation while at school but it was compulsory leaving me with no choice and once I walked out of that church I never went back.  In my opinion at the time I thought all the Christians were truly arrogant to believe that their religion was the right one and all the others were wrong.  Surely all roads lead to Rome? Needless to say I had no knowledge of anything biblical at all and the little which I did learn when attending Youth For Christ was a long forgotten memory which had no place in my life.  I was extremely careful not to befriend these Christians because they would certainly make me look the fool because that is how I viewed them.  We had absolutely nothing in common at all and they just wanted to talk scripture anyway and I could not for the life of me understand what could possibly be so interesting about that topic. As far as I was concerned they dabbled in the weird stuff and I honestly wanted nothing to do with that.  I had notched up enough bad experienes thank you very much.  

Our youngest son was almost six weeks old and I had resettled into our normal daily routine.  Husband up early to leave for work and waking up our eldest for school.  The washing machine tumbling away and the picking up of scattered toys.  Trying to vacuum clean my eldest room was a feat of courage.  I would have to first crawl around on my hands and knees on the carpet feeling for nails, screws and other little goodies which he might have used trying to build or fix something.  He was always building the most incredible objects and I would just stand and stare, absolutely amazed at his ability and achievements.  Another normal day passed and I had cooked dinner, washed and dried and packed all the dishes away, put the boys to bed, crawled out of our youngest’s room because he hardly slept and was similar to a ticking time bomb waking up at the slightest disturbance and then it was off to bed for me.  I fell into a deep sleep.

Somebody called my name, loudly, authoritively yet gently and I opened my eyes. “Where am I”? I looked all around me and I was standing on a hilltop overlooking the most pristine and azure blue ocean one could imagine.  The sky above was cloudless and perfectly blue, the sun bright and beautiful but not too hot. The tall green trees and shrub were luscious and the greenest grass like a lustrous carpet upon which many people stood, sat, or lay down.  There were so many people everywhere and each and every one was filled with a great anticipation and excitement which was completely and utterly tangible. “What’s going on here?” I silently thought the question which I directed at the tall young man standing slightly behind me.  I never felt the need to turn and look to see who he was yet I felt truly comfortable in his company. His presence was strong and reassuring. And I could sense his height.  ”Watch” is all he said in reply and so I watched the many hundreds of people with great questioning interest.  The story which unfolded before my eyes was beyond my comprehension, beyond my limited understand and certainly my own knowledge.  I experienced many different stages of emotion, and of thought during the episode but when I was returned to my bed in my room in my home in the middle of the oasis, I could not dare to deny what I had witnessed and never would I have the opportunity to deny the truth which was handed to me in undiluted proportions. I would never ever be the same again. 

The telling of this experience is not the easiest of things to do because firstly it is extremely personal and secondly I spent two full years trying desperately not to talk about it just in case I would be certified and declared insane or something to that effect.  I was also afraid that I would be tarred, feathered, stoned and chased out of town.  I could not accept that people like me would experience what I had experienced and after the period of two years when I did eventually pluck up the courage, I made sure my entire family surrounded me in my father’s lounge, just in case.  I had never mentioned it to my family or even my husband until that point but I trusted them enough not to have me locked up in some sanitorium for the not so healthy folk.  I related my story as if it had happened to somebody I knew very well, just to play it safe you know but the immediate, confident answers I was given from a man of trust and knowledge in this department soon reassured me and I was able to finally, finally admit that I was the one it had happened to.  The shocked expressions on the faces of my family are without description to say the least but I completely understood because I had felt exactly the same even though I had experienced it.  But finally I could allow the burning coal of words on my tongue to roll off, to spit it out, to find relief and I did.  I will finally talk about this freely within the safe context of this blog but will do so on the following page. All I wish to say right now is that you must be prepared to read the words I will write and I hope that you will find peace in the reading of it.  Believe me my friend, I truly and fully understand your hesitancy and doubt, simply because I was there too!! 

Life became quite a struggle, a struggle to survive, to keep my sanity, to keep my wits about me.  I was dodging figurative bullets on a daily basis and once again fear silently settled firmly within my soul.  The years sped by and life had become a literal nightmare on the one hand yet a beautiful joy on the other hand.  At the time I had no understanding of why certain situations were a part of my daily life but I learnt to seek beyond my immediate surrounds.  Back in Oudtshoorn I found employment at a pharmacy and fell into the rhythm of life.  It felt so good to know that I had friends who smiled, who laughed with abandon, told really funny jokes and to spend my days with them away from my privately secluded world of despair.  “Jose,”  I utter completely out of the blue one morning as I was enjoying my cup of coffee and a cheese and jam vetkoek in the kitchen at the back of the pharmacy.  Jose looks at me questioningly.  I respected him so much. He was always honest and to the point,  slow to speak and quick to listen.  “Jose, today something really terrible is going to happen here”.  He stares at me, his face unreadable this time.  “I woke up this morning knowing that today was going to be a bad one Jose”.  I say and he remains silent.  And I had awoken the morning with a heavy dark mantle draped over my shoulders.  I could feel death, I could feel tears and I could feel fear.  I tried so hard to shrug it off, to ignore it and tell myself that I am only imagining things and proceeded to live my day.  That feeling never left me.  It is incredibly difficult to explain how one experiences these situations.  And as much as I desperately tried to deny its reality, it only became heavier as the morning wore on.  I never wanted anything bad to happen but I knew it would.

A few hours later a gentleman and his wife step across the threshold of the pharmacy.  I knew them because they lived quite close to where my parents had resided for a few years and I also knew the man was very very ill because my father had mentioned it quite a while back.  I had not seen them for quite a number of years and noticed how they had aged.  “My husband needs to have passport sized photos, would you be able to take them?”  The wife asks and because I dealt with that department I asked them to follow me upstairs.  We were laughing and chatting about the good old days and all went very well.  Thank goodness those instant Kodak cameras were on the market and how I wish they still were.  I wonder why the manufacturers took them off?  Stupid decision if you ask me.  Well back to the point here.  The photographs taken, cut to size and put into the little envelope and we proceed to the door.  I walk ahead chatting as I trip down the first flight of wide stairs, then onto the little landing and step down the last 3 or 4.  I cannot remember exactly how many stairs there were.  Walking toward the counter to ring up the sale, I hear a panicked scream and turn around to look and in absolute and total shock, I just stand there.  “No, this cannot be happening”, I scream inside my head and stare transfixed to the spot.  One of the other sales ladies had rushed to the gentleman as he lay in a tangled heap on the little landing, his wife crying in desperation and tugging on him, calling his name.  “Phone the doctor, phone the doctor now!!”  The sales lady shouts and I grab the phone.  “Tell him I cant feel a pulse”  and she starts applying CPR as his wife kneels next to his side with her hand over her mouth her eyes wide with fear and the tears pouring down her cheeks as she pleads with him to wake up.  “Tell him the patient’s skin is clammy and he’s not breathing” she shouts totally focussed on the man.  It was only a few minutes later when the doctor comes running into the pharmacy.  I just could not watch.  I wanted to go home and not know about this.  I was a coward filled with dread and fear and I wanted to run away as fast as I could.  I walked away and went to the little kitchen and just sat on that little chair with my head in my hands.  I looked for Jose and he stood at the small counter with the palms of his hands supporting his weight, head hanging and saying not a single word.  The most wonderful news is that the gentleman survived that day due to the sales lady’s quick reaction and the doctor’s medical knowledge but I do know that he passed away due to a terminal illness.

This is only one of the incidences which occurred while I was employed at the pharmacy but there was one other which I will not write about here.  What I realised a few years on is that these dark predictions would be most powerful when I was at my lowest, crawling around in the slime of sadness and hopelessness and fear.  There was absolutely nothing good or positive about this at all and all I wanted to do was deny that these experiences were happening to me still.  

While sitting in my bed at the moment walking down the starkly lit passageway of time and opening each door as I pass, it struck me for the very first time in my life that no female persona ever appeared to me.  They were all male for some odd reason.  My apologies for the sudden interjection at this point.  But while highlighting a few pointers I might as well throw in the following occurrances which I am sure we have all experienced at some time or another, some more often than others.  We catch a fleeting glimpse of somebody walking past the window or open door and when we go take a peek, there’s  not a soul to be seen.  Or just out of the corner of your eye you see somebody but they instantly vanish when you turn to look.  “Hello”, you call out, absolutely convinced that somebody had knocked on the door and only a few moments later do they do so.  Or you say the telephone is ringing and seconds later it actually does.  Oh we would laugh about it my sister and I.  It was quite normal for us as I am sure it is for you.

I finished my schooling career in 1983 and by early 1984 I decided that I wanted to live in Durban.  I resigned my job in George where I had found employment, paid my debt, bought a one way ticket which cost me R150 back then and had R20 cash in my back pocket and one suitcase of clothing.  Luckily for me I found employment with the same company doing the same work within the first week.  That was a strange occurrence on its own because the employer mistakenly hired me thinking I was the girl from Cape Town who had transferred.  And guess what?  She never showed up.  And then it was off to work.   Living in Smith Street in a bachelor flat was the beginning of my adult life.  Every stick of furniture bought was chosen and paid for to the little second hand shop just below the apartment.  Starting out with a double bed mattress on the floor, blankets for curtains, well for the front window anyway because the side window had a pleasant view of the brick wall of the building next door, a two plate stove and that’s it but it was good.  Our hours were long and the pay was low but the life experience and the environment was really great.  The one specific evening after walking home from the city, I put down my bags and made myself something to drink.  Soon night fell and I went to bed.  Half asleep, half awake, I roll over onto my left side and get the shock of my life.  Sitting crossed legged on the floor, watching me is a man of colour.  I look at him and he looks at me.  And I could not for the life of me figure out how he possibly could have got into the flat.  It only had one door and the window was inaccessible.  I felt really uncomfortable right then.  And then he smiles at me.  Now I felt more than uncomfortable.  He was  quite over-weight, wearing a red coca cola T-shirt which did not cover his entire tummy area and it was bulging over the waist band of his short pants.  And then to top it off, he was wearing a bright yellow cap, and he just kept staring and kept on smiling and he did not move a muscle.  I screamed and sat bolt upright and poof, he vanished.  Just like that.  I have absolutely no clue who he was and why he was in my flat.  To be blatantly honest, I really did not want to know and tried to forget about it.  Obviously I did not try hard enough it seems.  Was it witchcraft?  I suspect so but I do not want to think about that possibility. 

Soon after our display manager informed the team that we will be driving down to Kokstad and Matatiel and he would pick me up at five in the morning because I don’t think walking from close to the beachfront to the city centre at 4am would have been a good idea.  The evening before we would leave, I prepared my clothes for the following morning and eventually went to bed.  By this time a television, a working one, was close to the bed.  Those years once the station had shut down for the night, a test pattern would appear displaying the time. 

“Nicky”, my display manager calls my name and I shoot up knowing that I had overslept and never heard the alarm clock ringing itself into oblivion.  I rush to the window facing the street when he calls me for the second time, this time louder than before.  I push up the sash window and shout out “Im coming Peter”, and charge around the flat like a possessed soul, I flip on the telly and although I see the time, it doesn’t register.  I’m quickly dressed, out of the door and jump the steps all the way to the bottom.  I am also wearing my watch.  In the foyer I greet the night watchman and wonder why on earth he was still on duty as I walk out of the building to stand on the pavement.  No car, no Peter anywhere.  “Oh no!! He’s going to fire me” I panic and look up and down the street.  Then I look across the road and there are two drunk guys swaggering along.  “I don’t remember five in the morning still being so dark”,  I look around in confusion and walk back inside the apartment building.  The night watchmen is certainly watching me with a blank look on his face, but he’s watching all right.  “Hi, what time is it?”  I ask because I noticed the watch on his arm.  “It’s twelve, at night!” he bluntly informs me all the while watching and watching with that blank look on his face.  I have no idea if he had wanted to laugh or call the police on me.  I looked at the time on my watch.  He was right.  The only sane way out of this situation was to smile politely, say thank you and climb the steps back to the flat.  Why do the “voices” always want to call at night for goodness sakes?  They should get their timing right and learn a few manners along the way.  I was so up to my ears with these strange happenings and cursed it for upsetting my life and I wanted no more of it.  But as I have mentioned, good manners never feature in situations such as these.

I will only mention a few instances as I go along for interest sake and will keep the telling of some them as short as possible.  As I have said, to experience these not so wonderful situations is not something I wish for myself or anybody else for that matter.  Only many years later was I shown exactly what I had been experiencing and why.  The reason for my telling of this is just to say that I will never know the opportunity to deny the reality of the spiritual forces which intrude upon our lives so unexpectedly and quite rudely if I may say so.  I have been told with wide-eyed seriousness that I should embrace the gift but you know that there are only two types of gifts, the bad ones and the great ones.  I was not experiencing the great ones at this stage so please, whoever says embrace your gift, first take the time and trouble to find out exactly what gift it is.  Both my father and I were born with what folk call the Caul or as in Afrikaans, met die helm gebore.  There are so many superstitions attached to that and I am not fond of superstition at all.  I do not wish to hear about it and I most certainly do not intend to ever investigate that aspect at all.  Just to make my opinion on that topic very clear.

I had just entered the horrible hell of puberty and my life was caught up with hours of ballet classes,  and gymnastics.  Oh boy!  Was my ballet instructor as mad as a spitting cobra when I bluntly informed her that I am now participating in the gymnastic classes too.  I spent many hours a week practicing and dancing in the eistedfords and examinations.  I would complete my class for the day and arrive home to grab a bite to eat and quickly peruse the schoolwork and then continue to do a few stretching exercises, work my feet and practice on my own.  So my days were full with my activities and time was so limited.  But I would have it no other way.  At the age of thirteen I made a friend who could sing like a true heavenly angel and she introduced me to the Youth For Christ group.  We would get together on Friday evenings and it was a good time.  I would look forward to the meetings with excitement and anticipation and I met really amazing people.  Within the year of belonging to the group,  my ballet and gymnastics took to the skies and I was enjoying the success of winning, of being the best and my confidence levels knew absolutely no limits.  “Happy birthday Nicky”, a friend of mine wished me one Friday evening while we were in the kitchen making coffee for everyone.  “Oh thanks! But I refuse to get any older. I will stay fourteen forever”  I seriously informed him and we laughed, picked up the mugs and carried them through to the lounge.  Well, well, well,  my utterance had been noted in the spiritual realm to return to me  in November 1990 when in my twenties.

Fourteen years old and I walked away from the YFC group and immersed myself in my dancing.  Everything was just so bright and peachy and I was surfing the crest of success,  and I became arrogant, completely and truly arrogant.  I also met a young guy from another school when I was fifteen and we got along well enough.  My parents were happy with the dating too because he was a fine upstanding young man from a very good home.  “What time will you be arriving in Cape Town?” he inquires over the telephone.  We were going to leave Oudtshoorn the next day for Cape Town because my sister had to attend a gymnastic competition in Stellenbosch and we had made arrangements to stay over at my god-parents in Brackenfell.  “My dad says we should be there by 7pm but I know that we are going to be late.  Something is going to happen to the car”  I nonchalantly inform him.  “Oh yes, Im sure its going to happen.”  He laughs and says he will see me the next evening at about 8pm and we say our good-byes.

The day dawns, bright and sunny and the car is packed to the brim.  Every single time that we would do any travelling we would take the whole household with us.  How my father could drive for so many hours with a pot plant perched behind his seat and the foliage blowing fluttering butterfly kisses against his cheeks, I do not know.  We excitedly pile into the car, squeezing our feet in between all the goodies packed and off we go.  “Lovey did you switch the iron off?”  My mother asks and for the life of us none of us could remember.  We had not even driven over the first stop street yet and my father has to make a U-turn  and drive back up the driveway to park at the front door.  Dad runs inside to check.  “We’re off” he exclaims with a smile on his face and away we go, all of us praying silently that we did not have to turn around again.

My father had just recently purchased a ford fairlane, a V8, whatever that means and he was extremely proud of his car.  So was I because whenever he put his foot down on the petrol pedal, it would feel as if we were in an aeroplane during take off.  “Dont you want to hand me one of the hard boiled eggs please lovey?”  and my mother bends down and the packets pressing against her legs rustle loudly as she tries to find the right one containing one of my father’s favourite snacks.  Soon the coffee flask is opened and the mug filled for my dad and we play I spy with my little eye, sing songs and then the boredom sets in.  “How far is it Dad?”  One of us would eventually ask, our butts aching from the hours of sitting.  “Still far to go love” my father would reply and we would sit back with a sigh and stare out of the window wishing that Cape Town was closer.  “There’s the Ladysmith board”, my father points out and we look with excitement and then lose interest.  Suddenly the car jerks.  “What the hell” my father exclaims with a deep frown on his face and soon the car is putt putting to a standstill between somewhere and nowhere.  The only sights to see are the karoo shrub for miles and miles in all directions.  He opens his car door and climbs out. “Lovey, pop the hood” he asks my mom and soon he is engrossed in the confusing task of whatever happens under that hood.  Hats off to all mechanics because those funny looking boxes and wires are truly meant for the highly intelligent folk.  How on earth do people understand how those things work?

Soon the moon rises and the sun flees to wherever it hides and the only sound to be heard are the night insects.  I was falling asleep on the back seat,  our patience levels completely all used up.  We are hot and hungry and thirsty and of course the pushing and shoving and moaning begins as we try to settle down.  I have no idea what my father did that night but we were driving very very slowly toward a farmhouse which was off the main road to our right.  We turned onto the gravel road and followed it.  The farmer came out of his house and my father opened his door and climbed out of the car.  Handshakes and the two men began discussing our predicament.

Suffice it to say we never did arrive in Cape Town at 7pm that evening and the young boy whom I was supposed to have met up with at 8pm was not very comfortable with the memory of my words.  Do we speak things into existence?  Perhaps we do, perhaps we do not because why is it that its always the negative that seems to be so ready, willing and able to rush forward to fulfill our words and thoughts?  Just an average question wouldn’t you say? 

“Tamara, Tamaaaraaa, Taamaaaraa”  I woke up and listened and again the male voice called my sister over and over again. I was afraid suddenly because I knew that something was very very wrong.  Being an eight year old I could not understand what was happening nor could I figure out who this tiny man was who stood near the bedroom door at the foot of my bed looking at my sleeping sister while calling her name.  Again he calls her. “Tamaaraa, Tamaaraa” and he is smiling slightly.  I remember him as if it happened only yesterday.  I remember the bright red clothes he wore and his short stature.  He had a full thick and long beard but his eyes were cold and he was old, so very very old yet he looked young.  I know that it doesn’t make sense but for some odd reason I knew him to be old.  He never blinked, not once.  He just stood there as still as a rock with a cold smile on his face and called my sister over and over again.  And then I had had enough of trying to be brave, enough of trying to remain as still and silent as a statue so that he would not notice me. “Mommy!”  I screamed as loud as I could. I was terrified right out of my eight year old wits.

The bedroom door was slighty ajar and my mother pushes it open as she comes walking into the room.  “Mommy, there’s a man there” I scream and point to where I clearly see him standing, still smiling and she walks right through him and she never saw him at all.  I was completely shocked because how did she do that?  How did she not see him or feel him? “It’s just a nightmare Nicolette” mom says and makes sure that I lay down once again.  But I could not for the life of me just lay there and I push myself back up all the while trying to explain what I had just witnessed.  “I promise you that it was only a nightmare, now its time to sleep”.  “But mom, why are all the windows open now and you closed all of them when you came to switch the light off?”  I ask as my mother walks toward the open windows to close them again.  I noticed her slight hesitation but she never answered that question.  “Sleep now, there’s school tomorrow” she says and switches the light off after checking that all was in order.  My sister remained sound asleep through all of this.  I lay there wondering how it is that she could sleep even while mom and I were talking, well I was the one doing the shouting and mom was trying to calm me down in a whisper.  Whispering didn’t help none, that much I can tell you!

Laying alone in the dark, the fear rebuilt itself brick by brick and the first night of so many nights began for my sister and I.  I climbed out of my bed and walked toward hers.  “Tamara”, I call her softly but she doesn’t wake up.  “Can I get in your bed?”  And without waiting for an answer, I place my left hand on the pillow next to her head and my left leg on the mattress.  And as I shifted my weight over and across Tamara, I brought my right hand down onto the pillow on the other side of her head and in the process of this movement, I look down and a dirty grey, misty replica of my sister’s head is laying smiling at me exactly where my hand is about to rest, to balance on that pillow.  I could not pull back, my momentum forced me forward and my hand went right through that smiling grey face.  Instantly it slithered onto the wall next to the bed and quickly slid all the way across the wall to turn the corner toward the windows which my mother had just closed.  The face disappeared.  Terrified I could not scream and sank down under the blankets desperately wishing that my sister would wake up but she was sound asleep.  I lay in her bed as close to her as possible and shivered with fear.  Who would believe me?  So I kept that incident to myself for so many years but every night from that night on, I would creep into my sister’s bed.  I just felt safe knowing that there was somebody I could feel close to me.

I wish I could say that it was only just a nightmare, but I knew and know still that it was real.  I cannot tell you how many times I wished that these episodes never occurred and I would have done anything to make it stop, but it never did stop for a good many years.  As parents we cannot accept that the supernatural could be occurring in the lives of our young children, I know that I would do my utmost to convince myself and my boys that it is all just nightmares and I did try to convince them when they were small young boys until I could not deny the reality of what they were experiencing because even as young as they were at the time, they knew that it was no nightmare.

On another occasion more or less within the same time frame, we went to visit gran.  It was getting quite late and as any young child I wanted to be where the adults were because the stories they would tell and the laughter was something which I wanted to be a part of but not to be noticed, if that makes any sense.  “Come on, bedtime” my mother says and we walk down the passage, past the kitchen on the left until we enter gran’s room on the right.  The bed looked enormous and soft and cuddly and I loved my gran with all my heart, so sleeping in her bed was almost like climbing into the clouds in heaven.  All tucked in my mother pulls the door slightly closed but leaves it wide enough to hear if I should need her while she is in the lounge with all the adults.  I lay there in the bed, the light switched off but the passage light shone into the room.  And as I look toward the door, a tall elderly man stood there looking at me.  He had a white shirt on, and a dull grey coloured pants with pleats on each leg and a grey waist coat. His hair was thick and slightly wavy, not curly at all, just wavy. He was clean shaven.  The next minute he is sliding along the wall, his whole body and I stared with wide-eyed fascination not knowing if I was terrified or not although I distinctly remember that I was confused and uncomfortable.  He never smiled, he never pulled a face.  But he slid all the way and when he came toward the wall that the bed was against, it was almost as if he shrank to avoid touching the bed and continued on his way past me and then he was gone.  Now that to be quite honest was one of the oddest experiences I had as a young child.  I never called out for my mother and as true as heaven, I just lay down and fell asleep.

It might be extremely difficult to understand that an eight year old is really experiencing these things and many would put it down to hallucinations but as an adult I am able to look back and see every detail of these episodes and almost relive each one as if it had happened just yesterday.  I know within myself that these were no nightmares and certainly no hallucinations.  How simple and logical life would be without the supernatural popping up now and then.  We all gasp in terror while watching a horror movie, which I despise, and refuse to watch today, we enjoy the chills and thrills and goose-bump effect of our own fear as we scream in wide eyed terror during those types of movies.  But to actually experience these things is  most certainly not funny at all and those who do will say that it is something that is rarely boasted about.  These are things which would be so much better to forget.

My advice is that you should never go looking for the ghosties hiding in the bushes because my friend you just might find him.  Never delve into the side of life that you do not understand but be aware that these things most certainly exist and are not always your friend.  There are two opposing forces at work and if you do not understand the hierarchy, then do not play with fire.

For those who would rather avoid anything of the spiritual sort I honestly suggest that you close this blog because this section will be devoted to that area of my life. What point is there in denying our entirety anyway?  I am who I am.  And I wondered where should I begin and the obvious answer is, always begin at the beginning.  An important point to consider is that there are most definitely no perfect people in the world.  We are all full of faults and short circuits, we have all had skeletons in our closets and whether it be one or a hundred, believe me old bones rattle the loudest shouting in a whisper;” Here I am, here I am. Come and find me!”  And what is our reaction? You just want to kill those dead bones all over again.  I have often wondered about the saying, ‘Honesty is the best policy and I have reached the conclusion that one must be wise before blabbing your mouth because your words hold immense power to build or to destroy.  Choose to whom you confess, choose to whom you speak freely because people have an exceptionally long memory and may just be the one who will use your own confession to harm you and your loved ones.  Be as wise as the snake but as gentle as the dove.  It doesn’t sound very nice, I know but those are words which I have absorbed and only now understand its full meaning.  Why oh why did I not have the knowledge I hold in my hand today when I was twenty?  I believe that to be a universal cry of wishful thinking.  So without further ado, I will draw back the velvety soft but extremely heavy curtains of the past and introduce to you the mysterious and the supernatural as I have lived it since my earliest memory of childhood.  These are my experiences and only I will ever know the beginning of understanding because of it. 

“One….two….three!!!!  I did it, I did it”, I shout triumphantly as I safely land on the other side of the open man-hole.  “Again, again” I shout and jump over the gaping hole to once again land safely on the cement on the other side.  My friends and I had discovered the hole in the ground a few days before and we spent our time laughing and playing around it without glancing its way but today for some odd reason, that big black hole in the ground drew us like magnets.  And the only game to play was to jump and jump and jump over it because it wasn’t so wide in our view.  I cannot remember if I had started my schooling career or not back then but I do know that we were still living in the big black and white house quite close to the Wynberg Military Hospital.  My brother was still just a twinkle in my parents eyes and had not yet made his grand and loud entrance yet.  That one had a mouth on him allright!!  But lets not move away from the point.

“My turn. I want to jump!”  I declare and jump.  I never made it across this time.  I fell for what felt like an eternity far far down into the deepest, blackest hole.  I cannot remember if I was screaming or not because while falling, it felt as if I was doing so slowly and gently.  I was aware of the damp rotten smell which enveloped me and I noticed the slimy goo clinging to the walls.  I was highly aware of my surroundings but I was never afraid.  Perhaps at the age of 5 we do not know what fear is, I don’t know and have no answer for that statement/question.  And then I was into the dark murky water right at the bottom and I was sinking, my eyes open, the water so freezing cold and I could not swim.  I looked up, and saw a light far far away and I looked at my hand above my head which seemed to be floating like waving seaweed amidst the broiling waters of a stormy sea.  Perhaps then I was afraid and perhaps my mind has shut that emotion out completely but remembering that long ago experience does not recall any sense of fear.  But the cold wetness of that dark murky water is something which I will never forget for as long as I live.  I never felt as if I was drowning and I cannot remember whether my body was craving oxygen.  I only remember that it was a peaceful place, the sounds dimmed and muted and gentle.  Down and down I sank, further and further away from that pinprick of sunlight when suddenly I was being pushed upward with an incredible speed toward that pinprick of light which grew brighter and brighter as I got closer to the surface.  I could feel a giant sized hand and I was sitting in its palm.  I wanted to see but I had no opportunity to look down because the sun had grown full and swollen and I was pushed with one mighty heave and almost thrown right out of that hole onto the cement.  I cannot for the life of me remember what happened after that.  I cannot remember walking home, I cannot remember my friends being there but I distinctly remember being too afraid to tell my mother where I had been playing because I had known that we were not supposed to have been there.  But that hand, that hand which lifted me from that pit to the surface will never leave my memory.  This experience is from my earliest memories of the supernatural but as a child and even as a teenager I would only give it a fleeting thought and would soon forget about it and jump back into my daily life with glee and anticipation.  Perhaps it sounds incredibly self centred but it was almost as if I believed that well, that is just the way it’s meant to be, you know, normal.  And as I entered my teens and young adulthood, I preferred just not to consider anything of the supernatural nature.  Too many weird things there and just dealing with the normal was tough enough.  You see I had had quite a number of the not so normal and I honestly had no desire to acknowledge its existence.  I just craved normal like everybody on this planet except that we all move in the realm of the supernatural whether we admit it or not.