Once Upon A Time

2010-06-23T14:25:00.005+02:00

Molly (RIP)...
I am sorry that I never got the chance to introduce you to Molly. Molly was our first family pet.

I say was because while we were at the sea last week for a bit of a break, Molly was hit by a car just outside our house and killed. I believe she was killed instantly and didn't suffer. We weren't looking for a family pet, Molly found us. A friend, Matthew Tarboton, was moving from Queenstown to East London and couldn't take his 1 year old cat with him. When we heard that Molly was looking for a home we didn't immediately respond, but waited for a while to see if perhaps she wasn't meant to be with someone else. When "someone else" didn't materialise we knew that we were supposed to take Molly.

We bought her a collar with a heart-shaped tag, stamped with her name and her home telephone number. After a while we realised we would need to get a bell for her collar because she kept killing birds and dragging them into the house. Michael Watson, another friend of ours, said this was because she was looking for attention and approval. I think it was because we were underfeeding her. We started feeding her meat portions every second day instead of just pellets and since that day she didn't kill a single bird. She was a very affectionate girl who loved a warm, inviting lap. She did however have the unfortunate habit of wanting to lick our skin wherever she could find an exposed bit. This was not pleasant at all so at times Molly got a gentle reprimand.

When we received the news of her death we felt quite helpless being 178km away. Her body was still in the road when we received the phone call although someone had been kind enough to move her to the side. I took a chance and phoned Romain & Gcez, two of our other friends here in Queenstown. I asked if they could dispose of the body for us, quite a big ask wouldn't you say? They not only agreed to do so but they took time off work to relocate her body from the road into our garden until they could deal with her properly. After work on that same day Romain and Gcez fetched Molly from our garden and took her around the back of the house to the foot of Long Hill Mountain. There they dug a grave, lined it, placed Molly inside and buried her. Then they made a wooden cross, said a few kind words in memory and sang a song.

I know what you are thinking. What kind of friends are these? Exactly! Romain and Gcez, thank you for handling our first pet's passing with such care and love. You guys are exceptional friends.

Molly, RIP. We will miss you, even your tongue.

2010-06-08T08:37:00.001+02:00

Winter Reflections…
There is this street in my town. It is right up against one of the mountains that hold Queenstown in hand.

The street is lined on both sides by poplars and oaks. I like the poplar side, not least because poplars are my favourite tree. When fully clothed in summer green they remind me of fire reaching to heaven, burning for their Creator and pointing towards their source of life. When the wind blows gently they tremble in a shimmering emerald-flame dance.

But in winter they are stripped naked. In the late afternoons when I run along this long road the scouring winter sun calls the bareness of each branch into full disclosure and the wind whips through each unprotected limb. Yet the trees do not look pathetic. Their arms remain raised upward in surrender as the sun reveals and the wind cleanses. I must confess a terrible jealousy as I consider the bold presence of their unruffled vulnerability. There they stand; they cannot run and give no hint that they want to hide. Rooted in the place they were planted, once ever year, they are cleansed of pretence and outward adornment and allow themselves to be tested. They know that they are not there to impress. In the exposure of winter they do not care about who may see what. They are in a time of scheduled stillness, rest and simplicity; fasting from every superfluous activity and focusing on the most important thing. Remaining in an attitude of sustained respite there is truth between them, their Creator and those with whom they share the street.

This is such an important element of life as an object of creation. There must be sincerity between the created order and its Creator. But there must also be seasonal shedding of all the stuff we accumulate as we live, even the good that keeps us from the best, from naked worship. Worship, I think, is that place of truth where we get undressed before our God of naked light. He too, holds nothing back. The Light reveals what we cannot see; between the crusty bark, right inside these open cuts and scrapes. The Wind cleans and washes.

But often when the Light shines and the Wind blows in our vulnerable moments we tend to hold on to our coverings so fearfully, so successfully, that we miss the blessing of winter. We remain clothed. Dignified, protected, safe and unhealed. We remain hidden from God (so we think) and others, hidden from true life because there is a kind of life that is counterfeit. The harsh discipline of winter can bring truth and wholeness back to into everything we are. I wish I could live this honestly in the winter of my discontent. How much more integrity would there be? How much of a healthier, stronger place would the world inside and outside of me be?

Like I said, I envy the winter poplars.

“In repentance and rest is your salvation. In quietness and trust is your strength”. Isaiah 30:15.

2010-05-28T15:58:00.001+02:00

Autumn Reflection...
I'm not sure why but until very recently I had associated Winter with death. Summer was for life and fun, Spring for the budding of new life and Autumn for decline.

Autumn has always been my favourite season. Living in the Eastern Cape for most of my life has reinforced this. Summer is too hot, humid and rainy. Spring is too windy. Winter I like, except towards the end when it starts to get windy. Autumn means dry, warm days, cool nights, very little wind and no humidity. Also, I am a little melancholic so I feel that Autumn gets me.

I had always seen the natural cycles of death and life in the seasons and had made great peace with this, accepting that one day I too would become like an autumn leaf; older, blemished, dry and on my way to death. But this year I have seen something else in Autumn besides just the beauty of the colours.

I have seen that there is a promise of continuity built in to Autumn, specifically into the colour and smell. Not the continuity of karma or reincarnation because that is a never-ending, defeated cycle of hopelessness. I know that Nirvana sounds great to those who are sick of the pain of living and who would want to reach an eternal state of bliss; to dissolve into the collective divine consciousness, hey it even sounds great to me, but is it attainable or even desirable? I think not.

I see in the colours of autumn a promise of the colours of spring. In the last moments of a deciduous leaf's life it is transformed into a flag of hope that flutters and signals towards something that will have to be believed by faith because of course after the incredible parade of beauty comes death and as we all know, death is final. Or is it? And then the smell. I had not noticed before that autumn has a signature smell. Spring is obvious and in your face; overwhelming and undeniable - new life is here! But autumns scent is veiled and gentle; perceived by those who may be searching for meaning. It is very slightly sweet and softly spicy; like embalming lotion? But there it is, the second bridge of hope to cross the the chasm of death. It is not a negative smell and therein is the confirmatory sign. A scent from realms beyond what we now know.

Autumn just got better for me. It used to be my favourite season but things just got metaphysical. Now it's unbeatable.

2009-03-17T16:33:00.000+02:00

Milk Teeth…

After weeks of red mouth, spotty chin and painful moaning Joel’s first teeth have broken through. Two, in the middle, at the bottom to be precise.

Kylie has all her teeth now, thankfully. When Kylie had a tooth making headway through the gums the whole universe got to know about it. Joel is not as bad as Kylie was but he has not got molars. Yet. Exciting times. Trying to get Kylie pinned-down for her daily teeth brushing is an exercise in strategy, skill, stealth, manoeuvrability and, when she has been caught, brute strength. It’s not that she minds having her teeth cleaned, she just turns it into a game of “catch me if you can/ hold me down if you can”. When we have finally caught her and when gasping for breath we try to keep her from squirming away, she often bites down on the brush, rendering it immobile in her vice-like jaws. This she does with a massive, teeth-clenched smile on her face and with giggles erupting from the pit of her belly. The threshold for parental sense of humour failure is around about this point of the game. What was meant to be a simple two-minute task is turned into a fifteen minute tag-team wrestling match with a Barney toothbrush. Needless to say that toothpaste often ends up in the hair, under the chin, behind the ears and eventually in the mouth. Welcome to parenthood.

Yet to not go through the (massive) effort of cleaning the milk teeth regularly and of teaching a child good habits is to set them up for greater pain later. Think holes, infections, dentists, drills, needles, medical bills – you get the picture. I have found great value in learning how to take care of what I have been given. The less I wash my car, the quicker it rusts. Not backing up my data will lead to the loss of my whole life, well almost. Spending quality time with my family leads to better family life, closer relationships and fewer arguments. The Bible calls it stewardship. As God’s image-bearers everything on the planet has been given into our care. If we tend to all we’ve been given with unselfish love then it will support us and provide for us. People, animals, rivers, plants air, sea, our bodies, our spirits, our minds etc. This is the inconvenient truth to beat all others. It’s all connected and we are responsible to take care of it all. Fail to steward one area properly and it affects all others. Philosophers call this Chaos Theory, or The Butterfly Effect. Earl calls it Karma. But we won’t get into that now.

So we will be buying Joel his own toothbrush and we will start brushing his two teeth as soon as they are brush-able. Gotta keep the world turning.

“And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up” Galatians 6:9

2009-03-03T14:49:00.000+02:00

Superheroes…
There are a few lines of this song entitled “Superman” by the band Five for Fighting that are part of who I am.

“I can’t stand to fly, I’m not that naive. Men weren’t meant to ride, with clouds between their knees. I’m only a man in a silly red sheet, digging for kryptonite on this one way street. Only a man in a funny red sheet, looking for special things inside of me”

You know how in the Superman movies, nerd guy Clark Kent enters a telephone booth or a secluded alleyway and comes out transformed as a basically indestructible superhero in a really tight leotard? Life doesn’t work that way right? At least not for us mortals.

Caryn and I were married for two and a bit years when these photos were taken in the beautiful city of Durham, England. By the way, Durham boasts one of the top universities in the world and the greatest (and sublimely beautiful) Normal Cathedral in Europe. Kylie had been swimming around inside Caryn merrily for twenty-one weeks at this point. We are now into our sixth year of marriage and we love each in so many more ways now than then.

Yet there are times when things break down. This is so often a matter of the heart not being in the right place and when it happens communication becomes hard and painful. Things get said out of a place of unrest and perhaps accumulated negativity in the heart and before you know it someone is wounded; usually both of you since married couples tend to love a good volley.

That’s why I felt the telephone booth was such a great analogy for what can go wrong and right within a marriage. We are not closet superheroes who can save the world and save each other’s lives, marriages, children and so on with a simple transformational procedure like the one Superman does. All humans are broken and fragile, carrying around wounds that are partially healed or open and it is so easy to act and react out of our hurt when someone presses there. Perhaps what we can do though is go into the booth together and talk about our pain, the places that hurt. Not so that we can have an up-close and personal blame game, but rather a time of confession, of soul-baring.
"Sorry" is always the door to a conversation like this. Relationships can become sterile deserts, bleak, harsh and unliveable instead of the life-giving oasis they were intended to be. Without an apology there can be no honesty. We need to talk about our weaknesses and ask for help. Much like the songwriter for the song above. Great empathy and compassion is aroused when we understand each other and why we are the way we are. This is not a quick fix but a rocky path that can be long but which leads to ever more frequent sanctuaries of rest, peace and wholeness between us.

We so badly want to change the world as people; we all dream of doing superhero stuff. The greatest heroes start with their own hearts, admitting their weakness. Then they work to reconcile their marriages. From a strengthened heart and restored relationships the world can become a better place.

One person, one family at a time.
“…and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed” (Genesis 12:3; ESV).

2009-02-24T12:24:00.001+02:00

The Pot Stirrer…
Kylie is incurably curious about everything at the moment and wants to be involved in many of the details of housekeeping. Except cleaning up and packing away her daily tornado of mess that is.

The other day I was making potjiekos and she offered to help me stir the onions. She loved it and seemed to get such a great sense of worth out of feeling like she was contributing to something meaningful.

This got me thinking about how many times I so easily assume that she is being naughty when in fact it is me who is not relating to her properly on her emotional level. I just learned (through books and friends) recently that when I tell Kylie to do something in an authoritarian way I am bypassing her free will, a fundamental human value and one Kylie treasures. By doing this I naturally invite rebellion. Nobody likes being told what to do. She then says no, and I end up shouting at her, or worse. This escalation is pure failure to misunderstand that my daughter has a younger intellect and emotions that are not yet manageable. Not sure if ladies ever quite get the managing part perfectly right but that’s another post for another time. (I think I’m gonna get creamed for that one).
The new approach that I have learned is to first show her that I understand her crisis, acknowledge her feelings. “Kylie I can see that you are angry with Daddy”. This makes her feel heard. Secondly I empathise with her. “Daddy also gets upset when he has to….” This connects with the emotional place she is at and makes her feel vindicated. Her feelings are not good or bad, they just are. Thirdly I look for ways to solve the problem together. This is the difficult part but when, say for example we come to the decision to pack toys away together, she is getting a value instilled by example and by cooperation. This is a double reinforcing of good values. Lastly praise. By now she will have sensed great feelings of solidarity and worth by the joint completion of the task so when she is praised for doing it, it will be the icing that seals the lesson.

This really works by the way. I have now tried it a couple of times. I don’t always remember to stop and consider her first before I lose control and blow my lid (thereby giving her an example of what to do in a similar situation when her will is blocked), but when I do it almost always works.

I say almost because when I forget or when the situation deteriorates I need to remember that I can be just as big a pot stirrer. And then I wonder where she gets it from.

2009-02-16T19:53:00.000+02:00

Blue Monday...
Mondays have an almost mythical blue-ness about them. The weekend starts on Thursday evening as one starts to anticipate the weekend and all around you just feel the spirit of TGIF. The number one Facebook status on Friday is, well, you know.

But not for most pastors. For us the weekends are just the beginning of our working week; Mondays are like Red Bull for us. In fact, the only blue in my Monday was the Tanzanite canopy of the sky on this rare, windless twenty four hours in Jeffreys Bay.

Kylie and I have needed some bonding time since I feel like all I do is reprimand her lately; me being a grumpy old fart and her being a precocious little 2.5yr old. Not a happy mix. So we hit the beach this afternoon whilst leaving Caryn and Joel to gel back home; not that the latter relationship needs any encouragement. We live one street, or, in a straight line, 150 metres from the beach. This translated into a 3 minute walk on my own and a 15 minute walk with Kylie.

She picked almost every wildflower growing through the cracked pavement and stopped to point out a house under construction, very troubled that it was "broken". We had a great swim in the waves, dug holes in the sand, sat in the holes and got covered up, dug our toes into a beached jellyfish, skimmed (or simply chucked) stones across the water and had some good laughs. Some moments you wish you could just push pause. This was one of them.

Life goes on but for one Dad, I will giftwrap this memory and keep it for when the weekends are like Mondays for everyone else.

2009-02-07T09:38:00.001+02:00

Prison Break...
Boys will always have the potential to become little troublemakers, let's be honest. The adage, boys will be boys, was coined for a reason. But if you want to double the trouble put a boy in a vest.

Perhaps its a boy's natural inclination towards self-appreciation and body worship but when a boy is in a vest he is making a number of statements. Firstly, "I am confident and self assured and by the way I'm pretty hot stuff". Secondly, "I'm invincible". Thirdly, "I'm now going to try and prove my invincibility". Bring on the kryptonite!

I remember once when I was in Std 8 (Grade 10) I went to a boys only, combined schools Winter Camp in Barbeton. It was called Veld School and it was compulsory, as many things were back in the 80's. Our school bus full of boys stopped off at Middleberg for refreshments and the other school's bus arrived at the same time. I was wearing a vest at the time and when I stepped off the bus the boys in the other bus (I learned later) marked me out as a troublemaker. Simply because of the vest. And probably because they correctly perceived the whole Alpha Male thing. Needless to say I was the safest person on camp.

My point? I love Joel in a vest and so does Caryn. His chunky arms and legs pop out of the garment and say, "Do you feel lucky? Well do ya punk?" I can just envision, a la Brad Jones, Joel getting ink all over his arms and strutting around in his vest like the peacock that owns the world. And even if he never causes any trouble in his life, at least people will think that he has the potential to.

Did I mention that Joel will be auditioning for season 5 of Prison Break?

2008-12-04T20:27:00.002+02:00

Crash...
The next morning, Sunday, we checked out of our hotel room and drove to Café Creole, a delightful coffee shop owned by acquaintances of the bridal couple. They opened exclusively for the Cranna family, a few wedding crashers and us. We pigged-out on every cancer, fat, life-shortening food you can think of but had so much fun in the process. The Crannas have a super family and it was great getting to know them.

Sadly our time was drawing to an end and we needed to get to the airport so we said our goodbyes. Stuart gave us a lift to the airport in Andrew’s Car, a red Hyundai that he had generously let us use for the whole weekend. We were 5km from Durban North on our way to the airport and … crash!!
This guy in a blue-grey souped-up Fiat Uno turned in front of us at the last minute and Stuart had very little time and space to react. He held the car steady and braked sharply, the tyres skidded and screeched. We lurched forward, straining against our seatbelts and within a split second we heard a sickening crunch as we collected with the Uno. The front of the Hyundai went into the passenger side door of the Uno and sent it veering off to the front and left. We got out of the car immediately (no airbags to pick out of our teeth), checked every bone, inch of skin and muscle and ascertained that at worst we were shaken and a little stirred but nothing more. Joel, Kylie, Caryn, Stuart and I were all fine. The driver of the UNO slowly crawled out of his car, walked over and if I remember correctly the first words out of his mouth were, “Hey man, there’s no need to involve the cops in this, we can just sort this out ourselves”. Likely my friend! To be fair, he did have a mullet and a distinct Southern Johannesburg accent. Can’t expect too much right? His “partner” and passenger, whom we guess was a professional entertainer of sorts just disappeared, walked away.
While Stuart was phoning the cops and the insurance company the driver himself vaporised, leaving his car unattended. Maybe he went to buy some milk and bread, but we’re guessing he needed to work a fair dose of telling chemicals out of his system in a place where police with breathalysers were not. Loren, Stuart’s wife, came to our rescue, packed us into her car and whisked us off to the airport while Stuart was left behind to pick up the pieces. We couldn’t help but feel for Andrew at this time, who had so freely lent us his car and who was now on honeymoon at the Cavern. Not a great reward for generosity, but then God can never be accused of working in easily discernable ways. Especially when inebriated South African’s with mullets are involved.

We made it to the airport on time and then began the next leg of our journey, see Flying High. The Crannas are beautiful; they gave us the best weekend ever and made many memories for us.

A toast; to the Crannas. If you are going to drink to them, don’t drive :-)

2008-12-04T19:34:00.003+02:00

The Wedding...

The ceremony started at 2:30pm on the Saturday morning and Debbie was not a minute late (accountant - internal audit - makes sense), looking stunning in her dress as Andrew stood at the front of the aisle, like a deer in headlights (software developer - makes sense) gazing at his bright, beautiful, fated future. With the vows vowed and the rings exchanged Debbie and Andrew were husband and wife. A wedding ceremony is something that is never easy to get over; it is mystical and magical, and this was no exception.

Photos followed around the church gardens and the Durban botanical gardens, the latter of which are impressive to say they least. Kylie couldn’t work out why the photographer had no interest in her and felt quite snubbed. So she hung around Mommy who was circling the stone colonnades. Joel eyes were still locked on their targets, of course. Couldn't let the twins out of his sight. We made our way to the reception which was held at the regal venue of the Royal Hotel. The speeches were great, the MC’s and the Groom’s especially; they were God-honouring. The Best Man was a bit risqué, but pulled though just fine. The food was good, the cake was sublime and Kylie persuaded everyone to get onto the dance floor with her Teletubbies rendition of a “tap-shoes boogie” shortly before Caryn whisked her off to sleep on a chair in an adjoining rest area.
What amazed me was that Joel and Kylie slept through the noise like little angels whilst the less religious Baptists burned the dance floor to the ground. Heather, Andrew’s sister, did not stop dancing for a second; she’s a great lady who can clearly dance anyone under the table. Andrew and Debbie took their (much anticipated I’m sure) leave at 10pm and disappeared into conjugal bliss whilst the rest of us tried to find our cars in the hotel parking lot and then made our weary, but satisfied ways home.

2008-11-29T19:27:00.002+02:00

The Hotel...
Our accommodation in Durban was truly heavenly.

A kind member of the Durban North Baptist Church sponsored our family (and others) a long weekend stay at the Umhlanga Sands Hotel, a beautiful 4 Star hotel on the Umhlanga waterfront. We were on the 16th floor, I loved it. Check out the view from our huge sliding glass windows. Kylie kept wanting to get out of the window/ door and onto the very narrow ledge of the balcony. We were not too happy about this and so the doors stayed firmly shut.

Caryn was a little nervous and claustrophobic in the lifts but their was no need to fear as they were noiseless, fast and efficient. They must have been very well serviced. The room was huge, children's bedroom with beds and a kitchenette, well outfitted bathroom with a shower-bath combo. The main bedroom had a huge king size bed with comfortable mattress and bedding and their was a lovely table next to the bed for breakfast etc. The table was right at the window. From the window you could see all the ships waiting to berth at Africa's busiest harbour. We counted 14 but I believe that it can go up to thirty ships in the queue. We also saw plenty dolphins charging the waves and playing amongst the surfers, it was so tranquil.

One of the funniest and simultaneously most frustrating events in the hotel room was when we were running a bath. Caryn, Joel and myself were on the bed chilling and waiting for the bath to run when Kylie disappeared very quietly. All of a sudden we heard a change in the nature of the water sound and then a huge scream and cry. It turns out Kylie had pushed the button that switches the flow of water from bath to shower and the shower head (which was not set up and low down near the taps, facing in her direction) had sprung to life with great force all over Kylie and all over the bathroom floor. We used every last towel in our room to mop up the water from the floor. Then we bathed, this is Joel and I in the bath, him resting pensively on my feet. He's a deep thinker, like his Dad. One of Stuart Cranna's nicknames for me is Don the Ponderer. Sorry Joel. The bath was a blast though. Can't exactly remember how we dried ourselves thanks to Kylie.

Staying at the hotel was a blessing. Lots more happened but my intention was to share just a little of our news, not to bore you.

Next, the wedding.

2008-11-29T11:17:00.000+02:00

Flying High (Part 2: The Return Trip)...

We boarded the Kulula.com 737-200 which was plastered in all its green glory, much to Kylie's delight. "Green airplane Mommy"! We made it to our seats, each carrying the requisite 100 bags per parent. Airlines are very gracious to parents. The kitchen sink and the pram went into the hold. We strapped ourselves in, ignored the cheesy overdone (Kulula must change this) announcements and safety instructions (getting told that if the plane nosedives it is standard procedure to place your head between your legs and kiss your tushy goodbye is just not funny to any passenger, sober or not) and were pushed back out of the parking bay and onto the taxi way. After sitting for 10 minutes in the same place we were told that there was a hydraulic problem that was being investigated. Comforting. My own hydraulics also started having problems, right about the same time as the announcement. Coincidence? Another 10 minutes later and the hydraulic problem had evolved into a starter motor problem. Another 10 minutes later (Kylie starting to get serious ants in her pants) and the next announcement cheerfully (not joking) informed us get off the plane, the problem is not immediately solvable. At this point Kylie broke down. We carried her out of the aircraft sobbing her heart out. She loved the green airplane and had become emotionally invested. I eventually managed to convince her that some men would come to fix the plane and that we may be boarding again soon. This seemed to cheer her up, but not much.

We made our unamused selves into the British Airways Business Class Lounge, the concession for our pain, and one whole aircraft full of people cleaned out their complementary peanuts, chips and drinks in about 2 minutes flat. Lesson; unhappy, delayed passengers eat their way to revenge. After an hour in the lounge we were informed that British Airways (BA - Kulula's holding company) had managed to find some open seats on other airlines and that anyone wanting to get home sooner should approach reception. With my own two eyes I witnessed men, women, the elderly and people with walking aids scale couches, counters and tables to get to the reception. People were trampled and crushed in the scramble. It was amusing and sickening. I just sat patiently waiting for the inevitable priority that is given to parents of small children. When the appeal was made for parents Caryn and I smugly stood up from our couch and nudged our way past the piranhas and other varieties of closet wild beast that had formed a blockade in front of the reception desk. As we walked past them they actually hissed and snapped! Welcome to debased human self-preservation.

Needless to say we got on that flight, a beautiful SAA Canadair Regional Jet (Americans call them Puddle-Jumpers) with leather seats and meals that you didn't have to pay for. My compliments though to the BA staff who had to get our luggage off the green aircraft, bring it to us for identification and re-tag it, making sure it was placed safely on the Puddle-Jumper and didn't end up in Nelspruit the next day. They did everything with a calm, positive, can-do attitude and took pains to make sure that we were comfortable and ushered onto the next aircraft as soon as possible. We were meant to land in PE with Kulula at around 3pm. We landed with SAA at 07h45pm and got home to Jeffreys Bay at 9pm. Exhausted but grateful and glowing from the adventure. It was longer than we had expected but it was great fun. We kept our heads level, our hearts at peace and we just went along for the ride. God took care of the rest, took care of us. I highly recommend a good attitude of peaceful trust in difficult situations. It rubs off on your kids, who were both little angels and, like their parents, just enjoyed the journey.

So this was the account of our two flights. What happened inbetween to follow.

2008-11-29T11:05:00.001+02:00

Flying High (Part 1: The Trip There)...
We left on the Thursday on the white aircraft, a Kulula.com leased Boeing 737-200.

Kylie has been amped for this trip since we first told her about it three months ago. I had prepped her by us spending time watching dozens of commercial aircraft take-off and land on the Internet. But when it came to the crunch and Kylie stepped out onto the apron at Port Elizabeth airport her little knees were knocking and she wasn’t so sure anymore.

Joel was oblivious to everything except trying to maintain visual contact with his mother’s milk makers; it is after all still a matter of survival for the guy. As long as he had his two friends in sight he was a-ok. But Kylie made it into her seat and as son as she was strapped in she was loving it, take-off, landing, everything.

The take-off was her hands down favourite and she giggled her way through the whole thing as the engines roared, as she felt herself being pressed back into her seat and as the aluminium tube lifted into the sky. She was a star. Smarties and fruit juice helped. Alot. The trip to Durban was blissfully uneventful. The return trip was anything but. Check out Part 2.

2008-11-25T14:58:00.003+02:00

The Crannas...
Our host family in Durban were the Crannas.

They consist of Stuart, Loren, Andrew and Heather. Our family has known them for many years now, having met in East London through First City Baptist Church.

This is a super family. You know you you get superheroes, meet the family equivalent. They could not have done enough to make us feel at home, cart us around, feed us, treat us, bless us and bless us again. At every turn there was Cranna showering gifts of time, availability, resources and love. All of this around the very stressful time of the marriage.

Their extended family of aunties, uncles and cousins were just as amazing and we had a memorable time getting to meet and share with all of them, always around a meal or a cup of tea. They are God-honouring, compassionate, giving, humble, funny and present. You know how some people are just not present even though they are in the same room?

Clearly this family are not the Simpsons, they are the antithesis. There was no strangling, but plenty of hugs.

The Holmes family love the Crannas to bits.

2008-11-24T20:52:00.001+02:00

Durban...
A few weeks ago our family of four was treated to an all expenses paid weekend in Durban.

The occasion was the wedding of my esteemed friend Andrew Cranna to his Princess Bride, Debbie Druce. We had a complete blast and would like to tell you a little bit about it. That's if you are interested? So the next few posts will each cover a chapter of the weekend. Hope you enjoy the ride.

This picture, bye the way, is Caryn and Kylie on the Umhlanga beachfront walkway. I am behind the camera rocking the pram with a sleepy Joel inside.

End of intro.

2008-11-05T15:09:00.000+02:00

The Diva (Part 2)…
I am not a prude, neither am I a stick-my-head-in-the-sand believer who tries to avoid the world in order not to be tainted by it. So before you think I am a freak show, hold off your judgement until the end of the post.

On the one end of the media spectrum we have the Maxim, FHM, Nandos “Double Breasted” Burger, teen booby movie – type of models. Here we have nakedness, scary and suggestive exposure of breasts, thighs and bums and, in some cases, simulated porn all strategised for one purpose; the sell, turnover, the maximum possible revenue. On the other end of the continuum we have the Mickey Mouse Club (Britney Spears & Christina Aguilera got their big breaks here), KTV (Candice Hillebrand), kiddies adverts and magazine layouts for kiddies such as Living & Loving etc. Profit is once again the motive.

The one borders on porn and diversion; selling a product using the female body as a sales hook or using the body as the product itself like outright porn. The other is quite benign and harmless; who doesn’t get a warm fuzzy feeling when looking at a chubby, clear-eyed baby on the cover of Your Baby?

My concern lies with the profit motive in an industry whose nuts and bolts is human skin; just the outside of a person, the covering over the bones, the very essence of superficiality. When profit-driven business people select, capture and manipulate images of humans on the basis of culturally-shaped definitions of beauty or worth with the chief aim of profit then the means can become very fluid in the attainment of the end. And so you may end up with overworked, overexposed, over stimulated (in mental-emotional-spiritual places that are reserved for adult temperament), overeducated (for their place in life), unbalanced children who start to view the world and all subsequent humans through their media-shaped lenses. Then people can’t be people without the right body frame, lip pout, nose profile, hairline, clothes, accessories and all the other add-ons that pop media have included in their “how to be most fully human” handbook. These glossy children can and often do become impulsive, impatient, shallow, ambitious and exploiters of other humans par excellence. And so the cycle continues, humans living a “dream” that is actually a nightmare of never-ending exploitation and demeaning of the image of God. Humanity is trapped in the media bubble and is strangled and diminished.

Now I have stated my case strongly, perhaps too strong for some, and yet the message still may not get through. I would like to urge all parents who consume TV, magazines, newspapers, clothes and internet to start educating their children at a young age with regards to what it means to be truly human. Buy “big” dolls if you must and if you can’t then explain that self-worth comes from a completely different place other than externals. Affirm humility, gentleness, peacemaking, servanthood, reconciliation, contentedness, self-control, patience, listening, empathy and love as true markers of self-worth and true mirrors of success. Model this yourselves.

In that way our children will critically assess the MTV-fashioned spaces around them as flawed and untrue. Even though they live in the midst of the lie they will be able to discern and live out the truth. The truth that all human beings are made in the image of God and none are for sale, none have a price, none are to be exploited, that there is no price high enough for a human being and that true living is Jesus living. To love God and love others presupposes this and insists on it.

I call you to be part of the re-education and reaffirmation of humanity and to step off the massive exploitation machine you didn’t even know you were on.

Then many more Divas will look more like Mother Theresa and less like Madonna. Divas are goddesses, may they start to look like God, who had no outward beauty to attract us to him.

2008-10-16T20:51:00.001+02:00

The Diva (Part 1)...
I have often been guilty of the so-called fault of bias when it comes to my children. So let’s agree that all normal parents are like this and we can move on to what I want to say. Agreed? We all think that our own children are the most beautiful and talented in the cosmos. Settled!

Bearing the previous paragraph in mind Caryn and I think that Kylie would make millions, no billions of Dollars (not Rands) should she start modelling. We can see her career path mapped out in front of her already. We apply to a modelling agency for childhood models once Kylie turns three. Apparently the agencies have categories for newborn to one year old and then from three to thirty five. Not for two’s. Not sure why J. Anyway, Kylie is an instant hit, she does magazine cover-shoots and adverts for television to begin with until she is a late teenager at which point we send her to acting school. Following a brief appearance in a South African Soapie she gets noticed by an American director and before we know it she is a superstar. Her name is on everyone’s lips and she diversifies into music, releasing her debut album which goes straight to no.1 on the US Billboard Charts and stays there for a record period of time. A Grammy, an Oscar and everyone is talking about the new Charlize Theron. Her parents are ecstatic and we couldn’t be happier or feel more vindicated by her obvious and concrete success. Surely this is what everyone wants. This is the life we all want for our kids! Or is it?
Not a day goes by where Kylie’s beauty and worth is not affirmed and celebrated, whether it’s in the eye of the beholder or not. She has taken well to the nurture of her feminine identity and is glowing with confidence and carries herself like someone who loves herself. She has learned the third part of the greatest command and has internalised it. Because she understands and believes her identity she lives it to the full “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbour as yourself” (Luke 10:27; ESV). Love yourself; that’s a command and an integral part of growing into the person God wants you to become. Kylie’s got it taped. Kylie’s biggest fan is Kylie.

But even if we were to secure an excellent financial future and a worldly characterisation of success for our daughter I have doubts as to whether starting her on this process so young would be the wisest course for her life. There are many adverts calling for child models in magazines and newspapers; is it not legitimate to affirm our child by placing her in the media limelight (sic) and letting her use (sic) what God has given her as reasonable stewardship of her talents?

What do you think? Is this affirmation or exploitation…? Leave your comments; I’ll reveal my thoughts in Part 2.

2008-10-11T21:24:00.000+02:00

The Mirror...
Here is Joel and I taking a nap today, apart from the fact that I’m not actually napping, I’m just pretending.

So why the staged photo opportunity? Well, more and more people are saying how they can’t get over how much the little guy and I look alike. So I decided to take a look myself. My reflections?

Yes, he does look like his Dad. A cleaner, more innocent, “new beginning” model of me. My face is not so much aged (I keep telling myself) as it is experienced by decisions made for right or wrong and the hard-paced nature of life on planet earth in the 21st century. It is a young face with a few stories to tell. I have had the privilege of getting to know people much older than myself and one thing I know, they are not really older. They too are children with the same human hopes, hurts, desires and longings. They have just walked a longer road. It their faces that tell the story best. Furrowed joy, hard-won knowing smiles, landscapes of desperation and perseverance amid largely private pain. Good stuff, the stuff of life lived to the max.

Joel’s face? Very me, yet one word stands out more than others. Promise. Perhaps potential comes in a close second. A canvass waiting for the strokes of time and experience to make their unknowable marks. So fresh and anticipatory – an interface of learning. His eyes suckle everything in; he has very few opinions on anything, he observes without understanding. But he wants to understand, he wants to grow, wants to communicate, to interact.

Joel will always be partly me, but will never be me. Just as a reflection in a mirror is not truly you but a reflection of you. Joel will be an expression of who I am, of who Caryn and Kylie are. I want that. But more, I want him to mirror the goodness of his true Father who is “merciful and gracious … slow to anger and rich in unfailing love and faithfulness (Exodus 34:6; NLT).

That’s a picture worth painting, a story worth living and face worthy of reflection upon another.

2008-10-09T21:54:00.002+02:00

I have a son...
This is Joel Donovan Holmes, one of only two males in line to sow the legacy of my family’s as yet unrecognised nonetheless extraordinary bloodline into the future. Ladies beware.

Our little bundle of boy-ness was born at 7:43am on 5 August 2008, weighing in at 3.045kg, 48cm long with a perfect APGAR score (10/10) and respectable wedding tackle.

I didn’t think that a father could be more proud or have as much love for his second child. Kylie’s birth almost two years ago seemed like an unrepeatable event for me, dooming any future spawn to a loveless, wonderless future in a house of unconcealed favouritism. But at the moment of birth God renewed and increased my capacity for love; the “appallingly-jealous-and-protective-love-for-my-child space” inside me was enlarged, blown open, and with one look Joel was enthroned alongside his sister.
He is such an alert, responsive and smiley kid who’s favourite activity is to gaze at the pathetic faces of his parents and grin like he knows exactly where he has us. In the palm of his hands. Kylie of course does not necessarily like sharing the limelight but that is another story for another time.

For now know that I am the father to a son and although I know there is no substantive difference between boys and girls I feel like the king of the world. I have no favourites but I just want to let you know…

I have a son, his name is Joel.

2008-10-09T19:50:00.000+02:00

Leo...
This is Leo O’Connor.

He is married to Linda and has a toddler son, Thomas. Leo is a full-time minister of the gospel specialising in mercy missions, disaster relief & and short term outreaches. He is also a specialist in data collection and interpretation via a GPS based programme that allows end users to effectively strategise their operations, ministries and businesses. Leo leads a home fellowship group, is an excellent discipler, a devoted dad, committed, loving husband and has the strongest mind out of anyone I have ever met in my life. Faith, organisation, loyalty, honour & perseverance are Leo’s strongest strengths. He is the only person I know who would go from non-runner to running a half-marathon, full marathon, two ultra-marathons and a 100 miler within the space of 6 months. He did this to raise money in order to buy Bibles to be sent to a country that is closed to the Gospel.

Leo is also a romantic; he proposed to Linda in Istanbul one cold, Northern Hemisphere winter’s night. From the top of a glass walled restaurant in the Hotel “And” overlooking Europe and Asia (divided by the Bosporus – Istanbul is the only city in the world straddling two continents) Leo got down on his knees and asked Linda to marry him. The poor, unsuspecting girl was like a deer caught in headlights, what could she do?

Three months ago Leo was diagnosed with brain cancer. After suffering from migraines for a few years Leo started having seizures. A scan revealed a tennis ball sized, slow growing, malignant tumor that had been growing for over three years. It was present and growing when Leo left the comfort and security of the family business in order to trust God for the future He was calling him to, the creeping death was lurking and growing while Leo was asking Linda for her hand in marriage and it was there in the joy and delight of Thomas’ birth.

Leo is my friend and a true brother in Christ. He is not content with a faith in words or concept only; a confession bound by walls and false traditions. The world and the relationships around him are altered upon contact. He has integrity, what you hear and see is what you get. Pray for him, Linda and Thomas before you leave this page. The world may not be worthy of such men, but Leo is so much a part of those who love him that, well, you know.

I accept this, but I don’t have to like it and I don’t understand it. Long live the “Koning”.

2008-10-08T17:18:00.004+02:00

Birth Control Antidote...
Well, its been a while and alot has happened but I'm back baby!

Yes, yes, I know what you are looking for (the new squeaker) but first take a look at this. They say that for married couples TV, books, Internet and young children are all legitimate forms of birth control. But I think I have found a way of taking two of those contraceptive elements, combining them, and turning them into bona fide reasons for making babies. So to all our young married friends with 2 - 5 year "plans" stop being so silly. Hop into the shower, pop a breath mint, break out the champagne (hey, it worked for me if you know what I mean), dim the lights, get into your whatever-works-for-you underwear and check out the "Our Videos" bar on the right hand side of the screen (scroll down a bit). Let me know what happened by leaving a comment.

Just keep the details to yourself.

2008-06-05T13:16:00.004+02:00

Klu Klux Pink
There is an organisation in North America known as the Ku Klux Klan. It is a well organised group of white supremacists who express their beliefs in radical, violent means, praying on white fear of anything non-white really to engender hate and separation from those other than themselves. It is, in a word now very well known to South Africans due to the atrocities sweeping our nation, nothing short of extreme xenophobia. It feeds off organised lies, the distribution of misinformation and group hysteria. It is also, sadly, in many cases, theologically backed.

Not to make light of the huge and undeniably sad reality of the problem, but it seems that even our own family has been visited by a strain of this phenomenon. Kylie is fast approaching the terrible twos and this brings with it certain unenviable personality “disorders”. Firstly she has become quite self conscious, “Oh, I exist, cool”! But her self consciousness is, in a typical toddler sense, boundless, it has no confines. She believes not only that she exists, but that she is in fact the whole world, or at the very least, that the world should bow to her every request. Secondly she believes that all property in the known cosmos is her own and that she has rightful title to it, “Mine”! Thirdly she believes that all other toddlers of similar age are an absolute threat to her existence and should be eliminated immediately either via self imposed physical force, screaming or by agency - roping the parents in to do her dirty deeds.

The implications of such lies, misinformation and hysteria are as follows. Although Kylie is not organised in any sense of word she is an individual force to be reckoned with. Try dressing her for example. She knows exactly what shoes, shirt, pants, socks and hat (when she feels like accessorising) she wants to wear from moment to moment and will not allow a parent to dress her, “Do it self”, is the usual rebuttal. If she is not left to “Do it self”, there are immediate and predictable consequences which I shall leave up to your imagination. This scenario plays itself out in ten thousand ways ten thousand times a day, from the kind of trolley at the supermarket to the brand of sugar placed into said trolley to being placed in a car chair and so on. Should a visitor arrive with any human being that has the remotest appearance of toddlerhood then such enemy is kept under microscopic surveillance. The enemy only needs to come within arms length of any material item and the war sirens start to sound, gunships are readied and battle-stations armed. If the enemy actually happens to touch a restricted item or wander into off-limits areas then war is declared and it gets ugly. Casualties mount up on both sides, including caregivers; not a pretty sight. This also happens at other people’s houses since, as has now been established, she is the sole landlord of all things.

The picture of Kylie with her beanie pulled over her head was taken when her Dad took her for a late afternoon walk yesterday. She decided that she would use her as yet underdeveloped powers of x-ray vision to stare through her beanie and thereby walk the entire way as such. So a fifteen minute walk took an hour. Who cares when you are the giver and taker of time herself?

So toddlerphobia is rife in our household but we do not lose heart because we know that every day there is progress toward adulthood (via teenage-hood) and so the villain in the pink hood will learn that she is not the centre of the universe and that she is beautiful and loved anyway, not because she is any specific colour, or because she is rich or poor but because she is human. And that should be enough for anybody. It is for God.

So God created human beings in his own image. In the image of God he created them; male and female he created them. (Genesis 1:27; NLT).

2008-06-04T19:38:00.004+02:00

The Floater…

If this post was a movie the opening scene would be a choppy expanse of water with Kylie and I swimming around in blissful innocence until the blood chilling bass tones of the Jaws soundtrack breaks in to clue the audience about impending danger; duu dum, duu dum, du dum, du dum, dudum, dudum, dudum, dudum … you know how it goes.

I have personally experienced the same terror that stalked those poor sods who got mauled by the ill fated Carcharodon carcharias. Except, this time it was a water borne horror of another species altogether. And it has happened to me twice, so far for lightening never striking in the same place. Once about two months ago, and tonight in fact. It was a narrow escape.

Except the soundtrack at my location, in a bath with my toddler daughter, didn’t play the Jaws soundtrack. What I got was just as frightening; I got a loud, bubbly underwater fart followed by the words, “Daddy Poo”. And there by glory it was; rising up from the deep like a shark attacking a surfer from below.

There are two human land speed records, one documented, one not. The first is the hundred metre dash. As that athlete hears the gun every muscle is fired into life by a brain conditioned by years of training and body and brain work together in a symphony of coordinated perfection to be the first out of the blocks. A parent in a bath with a toddler needs no such training however. I think we can all agree that just the thought of sharing the same 150 square centimetres of water with a not so friendly floater evokes similar reactions in any human being, regardless of physical condition. So when the senses are first alerted to the threat one is able to break all human limitations and possibilities and get from in the bath to out of the bath faster than a speeding bullet. Now that’s a record worth documenting.

I think I’ll phone Guinness, but first, where is the darn disinfectant?

2008-05-05T19:43:00.001+02:00

Trouble in Paradise (Part 2)…
Well here’s an update on the last story. Since the incident at the church the ladies involved have being trying to live normal lives again.

At best, they are jittery during the day, always looking over their shoulder and nervous to stay at home alone; at worst, they struggle to sleep at night with memories of what happened flooding back into their minds. Caryn, Rene and Rita went for group counseling last Monday which seems to have helped a great deal. Still, every car guard, every beggar, every street child becomes a source of frayed nerves. The man who slips the advertising pamphlets into our front door security bars freaks Caryn out and, at night, all blinds, curtains and windows remain tightly shut. Yet every day there are small improvements for which we are both grateful.

The two guys who attacked the ladies have been caught, identified in a lineout and even confessed to their crimes of all things! They were two young men, aged 20 and 22 years, who had carried out two other such assaults that same week against vulnerable women. I guess that a few court cases lie ahead of us, the outcome of which is in the hands of the justice system of the country. If the men are successfully prosecuted I hope they are sent to the local prison in Patensie, because then I will be able to visit them and spend time with them. But hey, the police so far have been exceptional, the church and community in Jeffreys Bay have been so loving and compassionate and we have definitely felt the hand of God on us.

I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? My help comes from the LORD, who made heaven and earth (Psalm 121:1-2) (ESV).

2008-04-24T21:02:00.003+02:00

Trouble in Paradise…
At around 09h30 this morning two men walked into the Jeffreys Bay Baptist Church Sunday School rooms and robbed and assaulted four ladies at gunpoint.

The first lady, Rita, is in her sixties, retired, spunky, comes from the wrong side of the Johannesburg tracks and takes no crap from nobody. The second, Rene, is a missionary’s wife, forty something, with two children in school; she is gentle, composed and wouldn’t harm a fly. The other two girls are my pregnant wife, Caryn and my 21 month old daughter, Kylie.

The men entered through the front door and demanded handbags and possessions whilst threatening them with a weapon. Rene and Caryn fell to the floor. Kylie was in Caryn’s arms and Caryn buried her head into her chest so that she wouldn’t see anything, she cried and screamed in confusion, sensing her Mom’s fear. Rita was pushed to the floor and kicked in her head after approaching the men and telling them to get lost. This is true, she actually tried to bounce these armed men, not ignorant of the fact that this is South Africa and you get popped for nothing, let alone confronting criminals. Rita and then Caryn were sprayed in the face with Pepper Spray, not fun, considering that Caryn’s eyes are still red and burning some eleven hours later.

The men left and Caryn got in the car and raced to the petrol station across the block for help. There, an American stranger – who was also an angel – by the name of Dave noticed that Caryn was crying and panicking and he stopped to help, lent her his phone and waited with her until I got there. When I received the call I was at the home of our Student Pastor, Mark Knight. Mark raced me to where Caryn was in his beach buggy. Before we left for the police station Dave prayed for us. The police were similarly angels. They offered the ladies coffee and tea, gave Kylie a chocolate and a packet of crisps and went out their way to be kind even though they see this all the time and more.

The Managing Director of the armed response company, Carl Trahms of Smhart (reverse the surname) Security, came down to the police station to offer his help and empathy. Our senior pastor, Roy, came down to pray with the ladies and to lend his support. Mark went back to the church to get the ladies personals together and see that everything was in order. He was a real “knight” in shining armour and couldn’t do enough for us.

To all who helped, Rita the crazy cool old duck with Chuck Norris’ heart, Mark the knight, Dave the angel, the Jeffreys Bay police, Pastor Roy, Carl and to all who phoned and prayed, thank you and God bless you. No one was seriously hurt, no one died, thank God. Our small town complacency is gone.

Even paradise has its troubles.

2008-04-21T19:59:00.005+02:00

The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow…
Last Monday morning I went down to “Kitchens”, the main beach otherwise known as Dolphin Beach for my first surf. Caryn and Kylie followed in tow.

I must admit, I was feeling quite cocky. I have skate boarded, ice-skated and snow-skied successfully and I pride myself on my upper body strength and balance. To set the scene - and by way of explanation – there was a strong wind blowing directly onshore making the sea choppy and the waves were slinking in credibly close, frothy, discontinuous sets.

My friend Brad Jones helped me hire a long board (for beginners and fatties – I’m a beginner, and a bit of a fattie) and I walked the 300m path to the beach struggling to hold on to the board in the blustering wind. Brad gave me and Murray (the pastor of the New Covenant Church) some lessons in the sand. Kylie really enjoyed this part and came to join me on the board. Check her pose! She has the perfect style; quite a natural – we’re going to have to watch her closely.

So anyway after a few minutes of theory it was time to hit the waves. I honestly thought I was going to go out there and just surf. How hard could it be? I get knee deep, thrust the board out in front of me and jump on. So far so good. I start paddling, so far so good. The first wave hits the board, I bail. Back on the board, pride slightly dented, hoping no-one was watching, they all were. So I finally manage to get past a few waves and try to turn the board around by paddling with my arms. Waves were drawing close, the board was not turning fast enough, a wall of water smacked me side-on, and over I went, rolling and tumbling. Back on the board, paddle, turn (slowly), look behind me, wave incoming, paddle furiously, catch the wave, try to stand, board slips out from under me, and round and round I go. Back on the board, very frustrated. Next wave, same old story, starting to get pissed. Eventually after multiple trashings and seriously diminishing strength I caught a beauty and managed to stand, for a split second, looking like Pavarotti on a banana peel before I fell backwards and was swallowed up by the merciless sea. After an hour I half hauled myself out of the water, was half washed up on the beach, dragged my weary feet to the surf shop I hired the board from, gave it back, got my deposit and left.

I felt like I had the whole Indian Ocean inside my head, approximately one litre per minute was pouring out my nose and relieving the pressure inside my brain. I got home, went to the bathroom and took my boardshorts off. More sand fell onto the floor than was actually on the beach. In the shower it took me about half an hour to get the grains imbedded in my butt off. I was exhausted and dejected. It was much harder than I thought it was going to be. At least I gave everyone some good laughs. Will I ever surf again?

Yes, tomorrow actually, 9am, Kitchens.

2008-04-10T19:57:00.001+02:00

The Ethics of Barney...
The first word that comes out of Kylie's mouth in the mornings as we move from the bedroom to the living room is "Barney". Kylie sits her padded backside into her very own lounge chair and waits impatiently for Barney. This happens every morning. Every morning. Barney. In our lounge.

Understandably, you will agree, this irritated me at first. Not just Barney's, "hu, hu, hu, hu, hello kids", voice, but the repetitive songs (The Wheels of the Bus) and the way he claps like a Sandton queen watching "As Good As It Gets" after his second strawberry daiquiri. By the way, one of my good friends is just such a queen when he wants to be, just in case you thought I was mocking. I wasn't, I was comparing.

But gradually I have come to have a change of heart for good old Barney. The purple Backstreet Boy is teaching Kylie some pretty important things. Like look both ways when you cross the street. Buckle up when in a car. The value of reading and a love for books. Have a nap if you are grumpy. The magic words, please and thank you.

I'm quite starting to like this fixed-smile Guru who always has the answer for everything, really. I mean, Caryn and I can tell Kylie to say please and thank you until we're blue in the face, but when purple face says it, Kylie does it! Now, you may try to shame me for not turning to the Bible for such values, but, to be honest, I can't find a Bible verse about please and thank you. We will teach what we can from the Bible, and there is alot.

But, for now, Barney is a great ethics gap-filler and a super role model. I'm thinking that Barney should start a music career and go to MTV with his own music videos. I'm almost sure that this will spark a revolution and a develop a Barney counter-culture that will undermine and remove all of the sex and innuendo in the industry. We'll have a return to good old home values thanks to Barney. That way when Kylie is a teenager MTV will be clean and wholesome.

I'm writing to Barney to suggest it.

2008-03-27T20:01:00.007+02:00

The Devil Wears Prada (part 2)…
Since I began blogging, Part 1 of this post has attracted the most hits and attention according to my web analysis software. A while ago a good friend sent me an excerpt from the last book in the trilogy and asked whether I might change my mind in the light of what was written.

To be honest, it was pretty scary stuff. Philip Pullman, the author, really revealed his atheistic views here quite graphically and forthrightly. Any Christian adult reading these pages would come to the same conclusion, this man is trying to defame and disprove Christianity, and he is using a children’s story to do it! I’m not sure if the movie screenplay will go as far as the book has, but in any event, I stand by my last post. Firstly, this is a good story; secondly the god portrayed in this series of stories is not the Christian God.

Whether the intention of the author/ filmmaker is good or bad the Church would be wise to see this as an opportunity to teach its members and its children when they are old enough to understand. Teach what? How to engage those with views different to our own without calling them names, defaming them in return and running away to hide under the blankets until the storm subsides. Don’t Scriptures say, “Live wisely among those who are not believers and make the most of every opportunity. Let your conversation be gracious and attractive so that you will have the right response for everyone” (Colossians 4:5-6).

So let’s take a look at the offending paragraph verses. In the scene, two angels are talking about the one who claims to be God. This is what they say:

Balthamos said quietly, “The Authority, God, the Creator, the Lord, Yahweh, El, Adonai, the King, the Father, the Almighty – those were all names he gave himself. He was never the creator. He was an angel like ourselves – the first angel, true, the most powerful, but he was formed of Dust as we are, and Dust is only a name for what happens when matter begins to understand itself”.

Wow, talk about blatant. The author puts many of our God’s most well known names in the mouth of the angel Balthamos and then proceeds to reveal that our God is not who he says he is. The implications for this are staggering if this children’s story is true. But it is just a story (a well told and engaging story) told by a man with a certain religious conviction.

To react to this story by labelling it pagan and anti-Christian and to hide ourselves and our children from it will also have terrible consequences. It will reinforce the idea in our minds and in the minds of our children that we are to hide in our huddles until the world comes to an end or we die. It will reinforce the idea in the mind of the atheist that Christians don’t really understand or can’t defend what they believe and just resort to name calling when cornered. It will be another lost opportunity to share the Gospel, our greatest treasure and highest truth, and theirs too, they just don’t know it yet.

We need to be turning this thing around, overcoming “evil” with good. This is our job And we do it in love and with gentleness. How? Watch this post for a discussion guide for the movie; the first part of which is due to be released on DVD at the end of April. You will be able to use this at Bible Studies or as an Evangelism tool.

Let’s “go into the all the world” with our Treasure.
Keep watching.

2008-03-25T19:14:00.008+02:00

Capeesh1?...

One of the more interesting Christian couples I have had the pleasure of gotting to know during my stay in JBay is Brad & Vicky Jones.
Vicky is a local (excellent) hairdresser and Brad heads up the African division of a ministry called Son Skate. Both of them are covered in tattoos (ok, only the upper half of their bodies – that I know of) and Brad has huge earrings and speaks funny, using words like “groms2” and “milked3” that I have to ask him to interpret. Son Skate is a ministry whereby a group of Christian skaters in any one city or place will start a skate club that gets together at certain locations on a regular basis and provides a great environment for all potential or wannabee skaters to practice their passion and be exposed to the gospel, skater style.
This is the view from their offices on a hill overlooking the Bay, tough life! I guess I can’t complain much, I walk out my door and three minutes later the waves of the Indian Ocean are lapping at my toes.

God seems to know what he’s doing doesn’t he? Imagine me trying to reach a skater, or for that matter, imagine yourself? For one, I just don’t look like a skater; I look like a Backstreet Boy. Secondly, I only have one tattoo. Thirdly I have this distinct aversion to pain and skaters define their lives by how many times they wipe out, which random bone they broke last year and the accumulated volume of blood they’ve lost since they started skating. Fourthly, I can’t skate. Fifthly, if I use slang, it is probably severely outdated and would sound more like a speech impediment coming out of my mouth than actual words they would understand. Lastly, I wouldn’t know where to begin striking up a conversation with a skater, “So, nice rash”!

The theological word for someone learning someone else’s culture by becoming like a person in that culture is incarnation (taking the form of). It’s what God did so many years ago by living amongst humans as a 1st century Jew. Its what he’s doing today by placing you and I exactly where we are meant to be, so that we can incarnate (flesh out) God’s holy presence into the lives of the creatures he created so that he may be understood and rightly.

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us (John 1:14) (ESV)

God with skin, righteous4!

1. “Capeesh” Italian-American slang popularised through 1940’s gangster movies. (Capiche) for “Do You Understand”?
2. “Groms” Slang for describing young people. Grommets are small plastic tubes inserted into the middle ear of children suffering from ear infections. i.e. draining irritations. A term of endearment or statement of fact.
3. “Milked” Slang for “Taking advantage of” i.e. A surfer saying, “We milked those waves”. Probably has nothing to do with the diary industry.
4. “Righteous” Slang for “great” or “wonderful”. Original usage in Hebrew denotes putting something right (justice) or acting rightly towards someone (justly) or having a morally excellent nature.

2008-03-18T11:13:00.004+02:00

The laughter of God…
Have you ever felt that as an adult fewer and fewer things surprise you and that it is not often that your expectations are exceeded? Perhaps this is because we become jaded as we grow up or perhaps its because we begin to see through the marketing ploys and promises of the advertisers and those who offer so much but in return give so little.

Or perhaps it’s because one of the coping mechanisms we learn as we try to make sense of the world around us is that of trying to make sense of the unknown. It makes life a little easier to manage if we can sum a person, a whole people group or a country up because then at least if we are asked our opinion we can say; “He is like that because…”. Knowledge is power as someone once said and how good it is to use what we know about others to further ourselves or to justify ourselves or to defend, define and control “the truth”. Knowledge is indeed power but what happens when that knowledge is simply conjecture, theory or gossip, no matter how widely held? Then it becomes a weapon against those whom our ideas are constructed against, against our own selves because we unwittingly harbour distortion in our minds and a finally against the truth itself.

Then you meet and spend time with Britney Spears or George W Bush and you are forced to reconsider your limiting constructs because you found them untrue. Britney Spears is an irresponsible slut and George Bush is the personification of Satan until you walk in their shoes for a few days, listening to their hearts, sharing a meal with them. Bob Geldof just spent a few days with George W as he toured Africa to see how his multi billion Dollar charity USAID is making an impact on this continent. This is what Geldof had to say, “The bush regime has been divisive – but not in Africa. I read it has been incompetent – but not in Africa. It has created bitterness – but not here in Africa. Here, his administration has saved millions of lives”1. The caricatures become nuanced and multilayered; you may even end up liking them.

This happened to me this past week. I had this idea in my mind, a terrible generalisation, that Southern Baptists were odd, time-bound (the 1950’s) Christians who were particularly closed-minded, old fashioned and judgemental. Then I journeyed with a team of seven of them, including two pastors, from Germantown Baptist Church, Memphis, Tennessee. For six straight days I heard God cackling away as he watched me learn from them, fall in love with them and change my mind about them in ways that resemble extreme makeover before and after images. You can read more about our time together at my other blog site.

“Then I'm walking in Memphis Walking with my feet ten feet off of Beale Walking in Memphis But do I really feel the way I feel”2

Because I met some Southern Baptists from Memphis my feelings have changed.

1. “Travels with George” TIME, March 10 2008, pp23.
2. “Walking in Memphis” Marc Cohn, Atlantic, 1991.

2008-03-17T21:54:00.006+02:00

Picnic at the edge of the world…
Today is Monday, the first of my six days off. Didn’t you know that a pastor only works on Sundays? Why do you think we get paid so little?

Just kidding, but really, today is my weekly day off and because the wind wasn’t blowing the skin off our bones for a change we decided to take advantage of the calm weather with a trip to Cape St Francis, just 30 minutes down the road.

The lighthouse was constructed in 1878 and is perched on the second most southerly tip on the continent of Africa. It is therefore exposed to the full force of weather systems roaring in from the Antarctic whose first point of contact with land is here. It also means that in summer the lighthouse sees some of the longest days in Africa and in winter some of the shortest. The coastline is rugged and storm sculpted.

There was a light, frosty east wind blowing as we sat on the rocks between the lighthouse and the pounding waves and ate our sandwiches. Kylie loved it and was fascinated by everything she laid eyes on. She didn't stop dancing, singing and chatting. It was a rewarding day with my family and I thank God for such moments.

Mightier than the thunders of many waters, mightier than the waves of the sea, the LORD on high is mighty! (Psalm 93:4).

2008-03-07T12:48:00.003+02:00

A difficult start to the day…
This morning I went to have coffee at this shop on Jeffreys Bay’s main beachfront. I had met the owner, Edwin, the week before under a strange set of circumstances and he invited me back to come have coffee with him.

He wasn’t there this morning but his son, Edwin, was there. So I ordered some filter coffee and sat facing the large glass windows with the sea breeze blowing through and the palm trees dancing because it is a Friday after all. The sea sparkled Indian Ocean blue and clean sand shone like vanilla snow.

There I sat all alone with my thoughts and dreamed, planned and prayed for forty minutes or so. This was the most creatively productive time I have had all week and I came away completely refreshed. It was a surprisingly difficult start to the day.

But the coffee made it more bearable.

2008-03-05T16:09:00.003+02:00

Knocked up…
The family received a gift from some stupidly generous friends (they’re not wealthy but they love giving) last month. The condition attached to the gift was that we had to use it for something enjoyable for all of us, like ice-cream or something I suppose. It was not be used for general household expenditure, dental floss and serviettes etc.

So we settled on a kettle braai (barbecue). This would mean that we could have family braai’s as well as have guests around. The cheapskate I am, I scanned the papers for weeks waiting for a good special. And then I saw it, it was like God himself shone from the pages and commanded, “Buy it”. After four and a half years of marriage we finally got our first braai. Imagine our excitement.

When I got home and opened the box I discovered to my horror that I would have to assemble the thing, me! The limit of my usefulness when it comes to constructive handywork is changing light bulbs. I have the cleanest, softest, most delicate hands in the known universe (I’m a pen-pusher after all) and a brain that sees a nut, screw, or bolt and congeals into a Neanderthal state of duh! I was incensed at the cheek of it. You don’t buy a car knocked down, or a self assembly cellphone for pity sakes. I felt like I needed to ask for a discount relative to my hourly earn rate for productivity lost to the world forever.

So feeling as sharp and ready as an ape on cannabis I picked up the screwdriver in one hand, the instruction manual in the other, with the pieces all strewn out on the floor in front of me and waited for some form of eureka moment to light my way. I am immensely proud to report however that it wasn’t nearly as difficult as I thought and after 45 min (a lesser man – DIY types - may have taken 20 min) the contraption was knocked up, perfectly.

I guess that I now join the ranks (if only the lower order) of that manner of man known as the indispensable, the well-formed and the top 0.5% of the male gene pool. So close to all round perfection it’s frightening. It seems my misgivings aside that I have it all. How lucky is my wife?

Just don’t ask her!

2008-03-05T16:02:00.003+02:00

Lonely, I’m so lonely…
This is my second week of uninvited bachelorhood. And it sucks. Caryn & Kylie are in East London where I left them on Monday 25 Feb.

We went back to Slummies for our quarterly weekend off (which I am still trying to recover from) and on Monday I returned to JBay. Caryn’s old employer, Safmarine, begged her to work for them for two weeks due to a staff shortage. They offered her a good daily rate and so as a family we decided to try it as an experiment. Kylie is being taken care of by a super lady called Nozi in the mornings, this is at Caryn’s folk’s place. Then the in laws (mine, not hers) look after the Terrorist in Pink for the afternoons, with my mom occasionally taking her out for the latter part of the day.

It has been a roaring success so far much to the chagrin of my usually impeccable judgement and altruistic pride. I was initially so unhappy at them going off and leaving me for a few weeks that in the days leading up to me leaving them (or them leaving me … depending on your outlook) I was physically nauseous and I am only starting to get my appetite back. We vowed never to let this happen again, that the cost to Kylie and to the family was going to be too great. So we (I) thought.

It turns out that the girls have been having a blast. Kylie has been spoilt rotten, has had more fun than intravenous Disneyworld and has not so much as even asked after her pining father. Caryn has been able to spend time with her family and friends, go shopping in actual shops (sorry JBay) and have the peace of mind that her daughter is in good, if not corrupting hands.

Yes, I am feeling sorry for myself and if you will permit, it feels good okay! A little bit of carefully nursed self pity can be quite cathartic. It’s so wrong, but feels so good. I can enjoy it today and ask for forgiveness tomorrow. O dear, I have such a long way to go.

Come home my ladies, your beloved spouse and father is going mad….

… with love.

2008-03-03T17:35:00.004+02:00

Five Centimetres
Hello strangers. We have finally got our DSL line up and running after almost two months of administrative back and forth with our National Telecommunications Mafia aka Telkom and we are back in the business of blogging.
So we have lots to catch up on. A good place to start is with home. This is where we live in Jeffreys Bay. This is the house we are renting on an 18 non-renewable lease. It’s a lovely 3 bedroom place just 3 minutes walk from the beach and we are blessed to have it for now. Our family has settled in as comfortably as ants in a sugar bowl and we are all working hard on our new roles.

Kylie’s new role is that of boundary-pushing-toddler. Her and Caryn get to spend a solid, testing, but rewarding twelve hours a day together and Caryn works her new role out, that of full-time-homemaker. My office is in the house and therefore when I close the door in the mornings and take up my new role of new-pastor-guy at my church I get to be the proverbial fly on the wall of Caryn and Kylie’s progress. A door is after all only 5cm thick and hollow at that. That’s all that separates me from the two most adorable loves of my life.
So Caryn & Kylie live in each other’s pockets all day long, playing games, hanging up washing, going for walks, reading books, cleaning house, making food and generally getting under each other’s feet. They are adjusting well together and have found a routine that suites them.

I have found working from home to be difficult at first but I’m starting to like it a lot. For instance, to go to the loo I have to leave the office and walk down the passage. By this time Kylie has had enough of her Mom (45 min usually) and has missed her Dad so much that she comes running up to and throws her arms around me like I was returning from war after years of service. To peel her off my body takes some time, a bit of distraction and maybe some lying I’m not proud to admit, “Hey, what’s that, a moo cow”? Also, it’s easy to get caught up either in work, or with an extended break with your family and boundaries are hard to come by. When you work at an office you start at a certain time, have lunch at a certain time and go home in the same way. I’m learning to be flexible and to relax about rigid time boundaries. When all you have is 5cm you have to. You learn to give and take in other ways that leave the job and the family never feeling cheated. Ministry is also a strange thing. It’s not like working for a human boss at a secular company. The people in your church are also your family and they have appointed you to shepherd & lead them. This is not conducive to strict boundaries either. “Sorry man its 6 o’clock, will chat tomorrow”! Doesn’t happen like that.

Caryn has also had her share of challenges but I will leave that for her to tell since that is her story. I’m hoping that she will start to contribute to this blog in the near future as I am thinking of starting another one focusing on faith, Christian living, church and theology. Family news will become a team effort.

That’s all for now. Will share more, much more later. Thanks for hanging in there and checking back to see how we’re doing.

I guess you have to when there is so much more than just a door between us.

2008-01-05T11:16:00.000+02:00

Brave hearts…
Do you like rollercoasters, bungee jumping, paint ball warfare, spicy food and other such thrill generating activities? I do. Maybe it is partly because my life is comparatively dull but I do tend to go for these things.

I didn’t always though, I had to develop a capacity for it, and perhaps someone had to dare me. I once challenged my dear friend, Julian to eat a bowl of chillies whilst we were having a leisurely dinner at a Mexican Restaurant one night in our student days. He did, I still think was not bravery but stupidity. He didn’t speak to me for the rest of the night. Not because he didn’t want to mind you. He also walked funny for a few days afterwards and had deepened crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes.

Kylie seems to have quite a capacity for danger. Trampolines, swings, walking around the edges of swimming pools, wandering into the street without looking are all part of her repertoire of parent-ageing games. I have a hunch that the real reason she is so carefree with these is that she is simply oblivious to any possible danger. She feels invincible, especially with mom or dad nearby. But there will come a day, through many knocks and bruises, that she will come to terms with much of the menace in the world and she will be more cautious. I only pray that she does not become too cautious.
She will do well to retain her current fear of Father Christmas and all other strange men as far into the future as she likes. I will encourage this as strongly as I will encourage convent schooling and a subsequent career as a nun. But I’m talking about other, more harmful fears that creep in and take hold, retarding our passage to wholeness as adults. You know what these are, we all have them. Fear of change, the unknown and of not being able to provide for my family are just a sampling of some of mine. They are irrational, nonsensical and counter developmental. They will also stunt and get in the way of our intimacy in relationships, with God and human beings.

Today is Friday and on Monday my family move to a strange town full of people we don’t know to take on roles we are not sure we are ready for. This is the perfect environment for fear, which, if left unchecked, could render us useless, frozen by something as vaporous a feeling. Pray that we will not lose heart, but will use the emotions coming our way to energise us for what lies ahead.

Our next communication will be from Jeffreys Bay. If it takes a while please be patient, there will be lots to do and Telkom is (obviously) setting up our telephony. Keep checking the site or set up a RSS feed. If you don’t know what this is ask a teenager; they know everything right?

Until next time dear friends…

2008-01-05T11:08:00.000+02:00

Whew…
The food has all been eaten, the tree unceremoniously stripped of its adornment and packed away in a dark, musty box until next year and the bank account has gone from record highs to depressing lows so fast you are wondering how you are going to make it through to the end of January.

This is the Christmas/ New Year fall-out period where we all wander around bewildered; staggering at how we got so carried away again when we tried so hard to resist the consumerism that is so anti-Christian and anti-human. And yet we also sense a great deal of relief that the previous year is past and a new year lies ahead, full of expectation, hope and promise. If you are one of last year’s survivors congratulations you have made it through. Take this time to breath, think, read, sleep or whatever it is you do that constructively recharges you. Whatever you do, try to take account. Meditate on the year past and ask yourself what kind of person you have become as a result of the experiences of this year, good and bad. Give thanks for the ways in which you have become a better human and contemplate how the darker, less uplifting side of yourself can be transformed. Don’t just pack the anger, bitterness, hidden feeling and shameful secrets away like the Christmas tree because it always has to come out again, whether you like it or not, often uncontrollably and with negative consequences. Its not easy sorting through the junk of our lives from time to time, facing up to some hard, personal realities, but this is the pathway to restoration.

And isn’t that the real message of Christmas, the true newness of the New Year? The restoration of all things that was foreshadowed in the Israelite Law, preached by the prophets, pre-ritualised by the (good) priests and embodied (some times) by the (good) kings has now been revealed to us in the person of Christ. He is the perfect human and became through his life, ministry, death & resurrection the beginning, the first sign/ fruit of the new creation coming, where all will be restored. And we who follow, who take the name Christian must try with all that is within us and all that is within Him to become more and more like him continually.

So that “…love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness [and] self-control…” are manifest more fully in the skin we are in (Galatians 5:22-23). Then our end of year “phew” will be one of contentedness and satisfaction; whether we have eaten or not, or whether we have money at the end of the month or not.

Happy New Year.

2007-12-29T12:17:00.000+02:00

Our bags are packed…
Last Friday we packed our home up and the movers carried it away. It all sounds so simple and routine but only after sore hands and bodies and many frayed nerves, lost senses of humour, and a couple of tantrums later were we able to say “we have moved out”.

Dealing with the movers was hard, they were very professional and friendly, but they arrived late and they forgot to provide a ferry for our small complex; large vehicles cannot enter therefore the furniture needs to be ferried by a smaller truck to the larger one outside of the walls. So we started late and that put me in a bad mood I am embarrassed to say.

To add to it Caryn started feeling pregnant if you know what I mean, tired and queasy. Throw in the fact that Kylie was very aware that the only world she has ever known was being dismantled and carried off by strangers. She had a terrible time on the day of the move (the pacifier never left her mouth) and was needy, clingy and tearful. Imagine seeing everything you have ever known walk out the door in such cold, mechanistic fashion, no explanation, just one stunning shift in the way things are. I think I felt like Kylie halfway through my theological studies, where I discovered that I was going to have to accept my faith for what it is and how it is (faith) otherwise lose it. Too many theories, unknowns, variables and uncertainties were discovered behind, in front of and in the text itself. The ideological underpinnings of my beliefs were dissolved and I was left with sand in my fingers trying to decide whether I wanted it to just slip away or to try to fashion something real out of what was left. Of course, I wasn’t alone in this, I had the Holy Spirit, the church, history and thousands of years of good (because there is bad too) tradition to help me piece everything together again. Perhaps I will continue with this story in another post but back to the main plot.

So we have been staying my folks for this week (Christmas) and we will be staying with Caryn’s parents in the week to come (New Year), starting today. So in a sense these family members of ours have been our glue, keeping us together and grounded us in something of what we know as we venture into mystery. They have been such a blessing to us and we realise once again the extent of a parent’s love. Church has also been very loving and supportive; both our outgoing church (First City Baptist) and our church to be (Jeffreys Bay Baptist). We have received gifts, phone calls, e-mails, snail mail, letters, hugs, words of encouragement and invitations to meals just off the top of my head. These have all helped keep us together. We are doing well because of the love of family, friends and the community of the church.

We are very appreciative of everyone who has come around us so overwhelmingly. If we have not responded with appropriate gratitude it’s probably because if we did we would spend three lifetimes doing so; this is how much you have loved us.

So although one huge part of our lives is coming to an end another is being born and you have made it all delightfully bearable.

Thank you.

2007-12-29T11:45:00.000+02:00

Merry Christmas 2007…
To everyone we know and to all who know us (that would be you, dear reader) may the peace, love and grace of Lord be yours now and in the year to come.

May you seek him as hard, if not harder as you did when you went shopping and expended so much of your energy this Christmas. May you enjoy his presence as much if not more than anything you receive. And may you smile and laugh as much if not more than Kylie when she is dressed up by her mother and taken for a walk around the neighbourhood; one of her favourite things to do.

So peace, love and grace to you; and maybe a silly looking hat too. And maybe a silly sounding rhyme as well.

Keep smiling.
Don, Caryn & Kylie

2007-12-19T12:36:00.000+02:00

The Devil Wears Prada…
So have you seen the Golden Compass yet? I have, twice, and I loved it. What a great story. Good versus evil, the same ancient old plot that has been played a million times in so many ways gets a fresh take. This time, as has become fashionable of late, established religion (or any controlling institutional ideology for that matter) represents the dark side. The good guys are the ones who challenge the institution and its ideas and finally, in the last of the series, kill god I believe (I haven’t read the books).

So why are the fundamentalists choking on their hairballs and pulling out their fur in a frenzy that seems to have outdone even the squealing outcries that Harry Potter and the Da Vinci Code combined evoked? Well, to be kind to them (they are my brothers and sisters for better or worse), they have taken the story as a personal attack on the Christian faith. This is exactly how they see it, which, if you are perpetually looking for a fight, is the way you will see most things. Even in the Gummi Bears.

Six weeks before the movie landed on the beaches of my city I was receiving about three chain e-mails a day urging me to sign their petitions. Christianity needed to be defended against this attack, the future souls of our children were in mortal danger. Time magazine (“Sympathy for the Devil” 10 Dec 2007, pg 47) and the Sunday Times (“Movie sparks a virtual jihad for Jesus” 16 Dec 2007) have both run articles on the Christian insurgency. So, with cannon blasts ringing in my ears and shrapnel zinging past my body (all from one side) I did the only responsible thing, the thing I do with most chain e-mails, I deleted it. And I decided to watch the film for myself, reserving judgement until later. I’m so glad I did.

What I found was a story worth telling and a fight worth fighting. Sadly I cannot join the side of the fundamentalists; I take my stand alongside Lord Asriel, Lyra Belacqua, Serafina Pekkala (a witch) and the gorgeous armoured bear against the Magisterium. So have I switched allegiance? Am I now too an atheist? No. I have no doubt that the story’s writer, Phillip Pullman is, and that, on some level, atheistic thought is woven into the tale. But that was not his chief intent. If I understand the story correctly, the author’s purpose was to encourage children (and adults) to think and to not accept those who would try to control what they think and know. The Magisterium’s role was to tell people what to do and think, for their good apparently. They were the keepers of ancient wisdom and knowledge and had built a society that represented what they alone taught. Everybody was expected to tow the line. So when some new discoveries were made they tried to squash attempts to verify them because this knowledge might contradict their teaching.

History tells us that when it was suggested that the earth was not the centre of the universe and was not flat, but round, such discoveries were deemed heretical by the church and dissenters were silenced, imprisoned or executed. This actually happened! It still happens today, organised religion and institutionalised ideology is still trying to box the minds (in some bizarre and extreme ways sometimes) of those who think, discover, search and want to grow. Of course the question “to what end” comes to mind but we won’t get into that here.

To control and dictate thought is not religion’s purpose (or at least not Christianity) and if in some circles it has become so then those who perpetuate these practices have lost touch and are in dangerous territory; they have started operating from a base of fear, not love. You always become what you fear; you take its shape in trying to defend yourself and others. Love frees, fear enslaves. This is what Lyla and her friends are fighting and I will join them. And if the god we overcome is the god of fear it will be because that god was an evil god. But that god is not my God.

There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love (1 John 4:18) (ESV).

Do not be overcome with evil, but overcome evil with good (Romans 12:21) (ESV).

So, if you are a Christian with children and you are feeling paralysed by the fear mongering of our fundamentalist brethren throw yourself a bone. Go and watch the film and make up your own mind before you blindly follow the froth of panic. Be aware of your presuppositions, biases and even your own fear. But go enjoy the story, enjoy it the way a child would. Debate it the way a mature adult would. Then, watch it with your children if you choose and use it to explain and debate and discuss and to teach your children how to be intelligent, critical thinkers in a world full of sheep.

You have nothing to fear.

2007-12-19T12:32:00.001+02:00

Boxes…
Packing up is hard, unrewarding work mostly resulting in guilt and aching muscles. Guilt because once you start unpacking your cupboards and putting things in boxes you realise how much you actually have, … too much. Well I do anyway, Caryn has too many shoes, but she would say I have too many books. Aching muscles because to pack is to bend up and down more than our human design specifications allow, to extend limbs that have not been extended in the last five years and to hold very heavy objects for ridiculously long periods of time.

But getting back to boxes, they are very useful for certain things. For storing junk, transporting goods, for wrapping on special occasions (assuming there is a gift inside of course) and for “playing house” if you have a 16 month of child.

All this packing and all these boxes got me thinking. People do not live well in boxes and yet so often we want to live in them or place others in them. The systems and neatly packaged logic of the world call out to us to be definable; eat this, wear that, buy these, holiday here, drive this car, make sure you have that deodorant under your armpits, believe so and so religion and so on. I’m not arguing that to have preferences is wrong, but to allow the opinions and manipulations of others, be they individuals or large corporations, to define you into a shape you were never meant to be is to be put in a box. I read today that marketing firms have been so successful in their campaigns this Christmas that the vast bulk of upper and middle class children will want the exact same things under tree. Toy stores have been running out of stock for these goods simply because the marketing machinery is working too well. The in-house psychologists and advertising executives have created needs that previously did not exist, convinced our children that their lives will be impoverished without the fulfilment of these needs by their products, and the kids have swallowed it hook line and sinker. The saddest part is that our children don’t get as much pleasure from the toys as they do from the affirmation gained from their peers to whom they verify that they too now have their own Spice Girl Barbie or whatever.

But we adults are the same. We don’t need to look at what we own as proof, just at the bottom line of the companies that sell what we buy; … boxed. But we can be boxed in other ways too. Perhaps the most dangerous way we can become boxed is in our belief system; when we become so dogmatic and rigid about what we believe that we cannot hold normal conversations with other intelligent humans without half choking, flying into fits of self righteous rage in defence of “the absolute truth”; … boxed.

Boxed people are easy to figure out and read. They are predictable and cliquey, they love those who are the same as them and will always react the same way when certain buttons are pushed. They are the darling of the moneymakers and the mind controllers. Push this and money comes out. Push that and they say exactly the same thing they said last time, only louder. Boxed people are also pretty much dead though. What else is their left in life for someone who has definite opinions and responses to everything? The millions of cells that make up our human bodies tell us that to stop changing is to die. It is no different with anything else. This is the way the universe works; stop learning, take a break from thinking, don’t ask any more questions, become set and inflexible and atrophy sets in, and then death.

People die in boxes. We weren’t made for boxes. We are astoundingly unique humans in an unimaginably complex world in a vastly wild universe with mysteries around ever corner. Read widely, listen carefully, question insightfully, watch like a child, discuss like a student, do not conform easily, keep belief systems open, learn and grow, never stop. Some degree of conformity is good. We all need some sort of shape in order to be recognisable. The problem is that we all look so much the same; we all look like boxes.

Get out of the box and live.

2007-12-19T12:30:00.001+02:00

Everything must change…
If you’ve ever seen one of these intriguing looking sticks before you will know that what you are looking at is a pregnancy test.

Using one is easier than using the TV remote, which, if you haven’t made the connection yet, is the most effective form of birth control; the remote that is. Basically it (the test) works like this, piddle on the stick and wait a few minutes. Please do not try this on the TV remote.

Caryn took one of these tests last week; the result of which confirmed that we had not been watching much TV lately. One line is negative, two lines is positive. So simple, so profound; simple to take the test, profound to deal with the result, no matter what that result is. In our case, as you can see by the picture, we have two lines. By our calculations this would make Caryn around five weeks pregnant.

The picture was taken by placing the test on the book cover of Brian McLaren’s latest book, “Everything Must Change”. Don’t worry; this is not a book review. The symbol of the test inside the hand is rather what I would term a life review. Caryn and I were trying for another child. So we knew we were going to have to keep watch for change, listen to our lives, or Caryn’s body more precisely, a little more closely. The tiredness, dizzy spells (well, more than often, she is blonde after all), occasional waves of nausea, change in food preferences. But now after these signs have all been confirmed, what of to come? We have potentially been given another life to be stewards of. What a paralysing responsibility. We could quite easily become overwhelmed by the details and the minutiae of everything that we need to have in place and arrange and take care of; finances, medical aid, clothes, nutrition, folic acid and the like. Or we might spend our time worrying about what we would do if the doctor told us bad news, what choices would we take, how would we handle things?

Yet to become so wrapped up in the small things is miss the point that the hand that this little life rests in is not our hands at all, but rather the hand of God. Yes, everything must and will change, life will never be the same from this point onwards and Caryn and I can choose to become micro managers, or to stand back and let God do what he does best. Ultimate responsibility for the outcome of things is His. What is required of us at this moment in time is to unclench our hands and open them up in surrender towards Him who is life itself, life of all life, life of our lives and the life of our unborn child, and the life in whom we live and move and have our being.

What a relief.

2007-11-22T10:02:00.000+02:00

I did it my way…
Back in the days when my family used to caravan a lot (ok, that little confession wasn’t so bad) there was this band that used to play from time to time made up of guys from the caravan club (that was quite bad). The lead guitarist/ vocalist always ended the evening with the same song from Old Blue Eyes himself; “I did it my way”. It was always a rousing crescendo to an evening of slow, rural conversation, modest wit (we were caravaners after all), and determined drinking; a happy yet stupid picture.

Nonetheless old Frank, (peace be upon him), sang from the grave and got those unsteady backsides off their R49.99 plastic chairs, hands in the air, eyes brimming with sloshed pride and every voice in the house rising to the climactic affirmation in unison. Kind of makes you want to just get a glass of something, anything and join them. Scarce was there a prouder moment in the lives of us simple people than to enthrone the virtue of our own blinkered pride in such a vulnerable, public affirmation. For a moment none of us were caravaners, you would have thought every one of us was Richard Branson or Donald Trump. Self made, hard workers, nothing to apologise for, no regrets, “we stuck to our guns and we showed them”! Such is the daftness of alcohol induced self-importance.

And yet we’re all like that from time to time, every one of us, even when at heart we know we’re just poor, uncomplicated schmucks with ego’s to construct and defend. Kylie’s picture really says it all. She gets quite indignant these days when mom and dad try to feed her; pursing her lips tightly as she sits there enthroned in her high chair, shaking her head from side to side as if we didn’t get that a shut mouth means “no thanks”. She then extends her wilful paws and reaches for the spoon and container herself in an act of wilfulness that is part cute, part infuriating. The end result is food everywhere but where it was meant to go; the floor, her clothes, the wall behind her.

And when all is said and done Caryn and I sit back and laugh. Laugh because she’s so darn cute, laugh because its better than to cry in frustration, and mostly laugh because we see so much of ourselves in her and since she has inherited our genes its hardly her fault. Kylie’s lurches towards independence are a necessary part of her maturity and development. It’s a privileged god’s eye view, a mirror if you like, of ourselves as we relate to our Father. Dependence is good yet He expects us to grow up in some measure, we must all hold our own spoons eventually. Yet to forget that no matter how good we get at being ourselves we have a source of strength and beauty and provision just a call away is to put ourselves in the high chair, lips pursed and heads shaking. It is to raise our glasses like the dumber than drunk caravaners and to empathise with a dead guy that we can make it on our own.

It’s so ridiculously silly that it’s funny. Psalm 40:1-2

2007-10-05T12:26:00.001+02:00

Blue Crush…
Our family will be moving to Jeffreys Bay in January because I have accepted a call to Jeffreys Bay Baptist Church. To get some context on this see the post, “Never leave nor forsake”. The silence between that post and this was one of brooding, pregnant with hope.

I have been called in the capacity of associate pastor to grow and nurture young adults and young families in the church. JBay is a coastal town a few kilometres south of Port Elizabeth that has up until recently been a retirement haven. It has since grown in popularity due to its proximity to PE and many young people are moving there to live and commute into the city for work, a 40 minute drive. Did I mention that JBay has the world's best right hand break? If this means nothing to you (not a surfer), you're in good company.
This marks the end of an era for our family as we are both from the same church in East London. I was “born” at First City Baptist on 26 March 1995 and Caryn & Kylie were literally born at First City. All of our immediate family, support structures and good friends are in East London. Caryn has never lived away from home. The move is going to be epic; one day they’ll write a book about it, get movie rights, sell bumper stickers etc. … bring tissues.

Our recent trip to JBay saw us hitting it off immediately with a great young couple, Mark & Louise Knight; see the link to their blog on this page. So we have friends and a support base already. Many things have to fall into place between now and then but we are held in the same Hands that have always held us so we are not worried or anxious.

Thank you for interest, prayers and love during this time. Thank you too for bearing with our sometimes unsettled impatience and the associated poor attitudes; God will reward you. Thank you too for continuing to read this journal. We will carry on writing about our lives, our family and everyday life because that’s where I believe God meets with us if we have the eyes to see. So we’ll be journeying together, you and us, in the blogosphere and into the unknown. I’m glad we have each other.

And if we’re silent for a while don’t be too concerned; (just phone us) all things new come from silence because it’s the only appropriate context for the Word of God, for new creation.

“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was without form and empty, and darkness was over the surface of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the surface of the waters. And God said, "Let there be light," and there was light” (Genesis 1:1-3).

2007-10-05T12:04:00.000+02:00

Dangerous Liaisons…
When our (Caryn & I) respective X & Y chromosomes met and greeted some 23 months ago in Caryn’s “tummy” the unseen forces of Providence conspired so that Caryn’s love for junk food and my carbohydrate addiction found each other and combined.

Out of the millions of transactions playing out during that darkly secretive dance of creation this specific coming together of future behaviour was like two tectonic plates colliding, merging & being raised into a spectacular new natural wonder. What happened in the folds & creases of nature’s depths has been thrust into the open for all to see.

Kylie has been given as an inheritance the delight and curse of the ominous sweet tooth; a love affair that is tender and menacing, pitiless and kind. Here we see in all its tabloid gaudiness our precious daughter receiving her first thorn in the flesh. Kylie’s delights include bread, especially white bread rolls, biscuits, cake and yes, chocolate. Her mother and father have long since embraced the wound; befriended and made terms with enemy.
The thorn is really too painful to extricate and impossible (not to mention undesirable) to leave behind. You can take an Israelite out of Egypt but it’s much harder to remove the Egypt inside the Israelite.

Like father and mother like daughter, thank God.

2007-08-03T13:30:00.000+02:00

Then & now...
VH1 have this slot called "Then & Now" which they run every day, it's one of my favourites. They choose an artist that has been around for a while and then they first show an old music video, followed directly by a new one. One is able to pick up changes in style, growth, fashion, influences and even culture itself. It's really fun to see how much a band has changed from one era to another.

An era has passed in the Holmes household; it's Kylie's first birthday today. It would be careless not to document such a matter because time does not stand still and we can get lost if we do not pause to consider the significance of people and events in our lives.

One full year has passed and life is as different as darkness and light between then and now. Then Kylie was an immobile flopsy mopsy with a huge cry and problematic burping who we carried around like a handbag everywhere we went. She communicated mainly through grunts and crying and kept her beady dark brown eyes on us constantly, studying our facing, watching our every movement, trying to figure us out.

Now she is a laughing, screaming, dribbling, talking, fast-moving projectile of out-of-control pre-toddlerhood who weighs as much as a sack of potatoes and knows exactly what she wants and when. She has even progressed from J&J hair shampoo to Redken; Caryn is such a sucker!

But more than these terrifying characteristics she is developing into her own person, a highly sociable (if somewhat loud), always-smiling, affectionate and well humoured young lady who brings more joy to our house than chocolate. She loves her baths, her milk, her biscuits, her walks outside but most importantly she loves her Mom & Dad. The feeling is mutual. In fact, as Caryn is prone to reminding Kylie, there are three absolutes in her life that she can always count on:-

Mommy loves you, Daddy loves you & Jesus loves you; that's all you need to know for now. Happy 1st Birthday Kylie Lyn. Then was great, now is better.
Love, the Twits.

2007-08-02T12:55:00.001+02:00

Never leave nor forsake…
Sometimes life’s events have a way of conspiring together in such a way that we feel God has abandoned us, left us and has taken an early retirement package. These feelings are almost never informed by reason and yet they are capable of sucking the joy and hope from us so quickly that we start to despair of living; small things become large, previously nominal challenges become rock-solid obstacles.

Caryn and I are in a period of extended waiting. We both have expectations of God and our future which are hopefully informed by God’s own dreams for us but we have been in the “next-step” departure lounge for seven months now (maybe longer) and it is starting to get tedious. People of faith are almost never given a detailed itinerary but that does not change the fact that we are people, humans who are prone to want things like certainty, security, and stability. We want to know what the weather will be five days from now so that we can plan our lives; we take out insurance policies, savings and investments to cover us for every future eventuality. We work for Friday, for holidays, for retirement. We wake up in the morning in the hope of some future event that is more or less fixed in our minds. But hope can be eroded over time and delayed expectation can turn into heavy hopelessness.

God-informed dreams are good; even some personal dreams are good. Trouble is we can’t control God; he is untamed and wild and has his own agenda. We try desperately to make deals, pin him down and wrestle promises out of him. But God’s timing is elusive; even if we have his promises we may never get the timetable. But he never leaves us in hopelessness and despair because he knows we are prone to throwing in the towel. He sends signs of his presence, indications that he is with us and has not gone off on more important business.

This past weekend Caryn & I went off on our weekend away and Hogsback (http://www.ashfield.co.za/) was our chosen destination. God gave us two signs that he is with us, call them coincidence if you will but we call them epiphanies. As we were driving into the village, about one hundred metres from our accommodation, the rain on the mountain turned into snow. It was like crossing a line into another world; one of rain, mud and bleakness behind us, and ahead of us one of pure white, tender hope falling gently out of the clouds and onto the ground of our lodgings. Moses got a burning bush, we got snow; we would have taken our shoes off if it wasn’t so cold. The snow stayed on the ground until we left on Sunday. Secondly on Saturday we got to witness Kylie’s first steps. This is significant because Kylie now goes to crèche and consequently Caryn sees less of her everyday, a big blow to someone who believes that she is called to be a fulltime Mom and homemaker. Caryn feared that because of this she was going to miss out on her first child’s first steps. God saw to it that this didn’t happen.

These two God-moments spoke to us as clearly as a pillar of fire or cloud may have. The snow was confirmation that God’s plans for us will come to pass and will do so suddenly and unexpectedly, it will be like driving from rain into snow and the place we settle will be thick with the presence of God. The witnessing of the first steps is the confirmation of Caryn’s vocation; she will get to be around her kids and see them grow up, be there for them and see all of their precious milestones.

Hope broke through the crust of gloom this past weekend and assured us frail ones of God’s unfailing commitment to us. As it is written, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you” (Hebrews 13:5).

2007-07-20T12:34:00.000+02:00

In sickness and in health…
We cleared the TB hurdle last Friday fully expecting to enrol Kylie into her first day at crèche on Monday. So far so good.

Except that come Monday morning Kylie had a raging temperature, was listless, wouldn’t eat and was miserable. So Kylie and myself spent Monday at home and we went to the doctor in the afternoon. The doc’s conclusion, after a reasonably superficial examination, was that Kylie had “something viral”. Incredible the insight and knowledge that 7 years worth of Med School turns out. So armed with this highly specific diagnosis we purchased something from the pharmacy to help bring Kylie’s temperature under control.

On Tuesday Kylie wasn’t much better but we decided to give crèche a try. Caryn was phoned by the crèche halfway through the day to come and see to Kylie, comfort her and make sure she was okay. We eventually took her out at lunch time and have done so now for the whole week. The mysterious virus was eventually identified on Wednesday evening when Caryn spent the night with her head and tail playing music chairs with the toilet bowl. Gastric Flu! Confirmation came from Kylie’s side the next day when I had the gratification of changing multiple (overflowing) nappies with such speed it would make Muhammad Ali have looked like a Sumo Wrestler with a weakness for Kentucky Fried Chicken. Further, more personal confirmation has now arisen through the evidence of growling, gurgling cramps and dizzying nausea in me; as I type in fact.

This has all coincided with our 4th wedding anniversary, yesterday, thank you. So with Kylie miserable, Caryn washed out from the transfer of minerals out of her body and back into the circle of life (ooh, Lion King moment!) and me on my way to unknown dimensions of projectile vomiting the enduring words of our vows ring in my ears to console me.

If I was asked again today if I would take Caryn to be my wife even after all we have gone through, I would lift my head out of the bucket for a moment, smile weakly but sincerely and say with complete honesty, I do.

Love is not dependant on how we feel, what we’ve done or said, or the circumstances of life. The awe-inspiring truth of the matter is that the feelings follow the commitment. Overwhelming love beyond mere words is experienced through and in faithfulness. It is these feelings that grow imperceptibly but steadily, like a soundless tsunami gathering momentum in the background of life, fed by mundane choices towards mutual devotion. This is how I love Kylie; it is how I love my wife. This is how we must love each other as humans.

I can only love like this because this is how God loves me; “I have loved you with an everlasting love, therefore I have continued my faithfulness towards you” Jeremiah 31:3.

Happy Anniversary my love.

2007-07-12T13:51:00.000+02:00

My Girls...
These are my girls.

I love them.

That's all.

2007-07-12T13:17:00.000+02:00

Curveballs, X-Rays, Mantoux's...
We get a call on Sunday afternoon from Kylie's beloved nanny, Miriam who has just been off work for a week due to a bad case of flu. So we're expecting her to tell us that she has been booked off for a few more days but will be back at work soon, no problem, one can deal with that.

Instead she tells us that she has been diagnosed with tuberculosis and cannot come back to work for three months! Since Caryn and I do not have three months of leave between us we were quite disturbed. Who's going to look after Kylie? More importantly, does Kylie have TB?

On Monday Kylie had a Mantoux to test whether she had been infected. So glad you asked. A Mantoux is an injection of clear fluid just underneath the skin on any given forearm. The injection is so painful that Kylie had to be restrained by myself and another nurse before it could be administered. She screamed for about 10 seconds after the needle submerged beneath her skin and was given a purple lollipop to clam her up, it worked - God bless sugar! Back to the technical stuff. Should the test area become inflamed within three days, then you my friend have TB. Kylie went for her Mantoux results today, she's clear. She also had to go for chest X-rays to see if there was any scarring but the results were also negative. This notwithstanding Kylie may still have to undergo the three month oral prophylaxis (treatment) for exposure to TB. This is apparently not pleasant medicine but I suppose it's better than coughing up blood. Caryn & I also need to be tested, yay!

The big decision now is whether to send Kylie to creche or employ a temporary nanny, someone we don't know? If Kylie goes to creche then Mom loses out on her lunchtime visits, a big drawback. But the plus for creche is that Kylie gets structured learning and socialising, being a woman the socialising part should appeal to her. Perhaps the most heavy burden on our heart is Miriam, who contracted a common disease (33.3% of the world's population are carriers - it could be you) and now faces unemployment. We will support her through this as God leads, we won't just drop her. There are some weighty decisions that the Holmes family will be making with big consequences attached Please pray for us and for Miriam. We love her very much.

We lift our eyes up to the hills, where does our help come from? Our help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth (Psalm 121:1-2).

2007-07-06T08:28:00.000+02:00

Then a hero comes along…
Okay, forgive the cheesy Whitney Houston title line but this post is dedicated to some of the heroes who grace my life. Let’s start with Kylie, - surprised?

Since last week Kylie’s four top teeth have been pushing through her reluctant gums, yes, she’s teething again, aaaargh! What does this mean, how does this seemingly inane fact translate into the life of our family? Firstly, bone pushing through live flesh at the rate of millimetres a week is more than just a little uncomfortable; it makes Chinese torture look like comedy.

Secondly, and you may not know this, but when teething, infants produce very acidic stool. What’s that? Yes by all means, please finish your meal before continuing. Ready, ok, back to the drama. This pasty napalm-like mixture is so corrosive that it eats the skin in the nappy area, thighs, backside and genitals. So baby ends up with a rash from the pit of hell if she’s lucky and with broken skin and bleeding sores if she’s not. Kylie is not Lady Luck this week. Her mouth and her south are a constant aggravation, to eat is no joke, to pass a 1 or 2 is simply brutal. When either of these things happens Kylie does what we should all do when life is like a kick in the head, she screams, kicks, lashes out, writhes and expresses her distress in every way imaginable. And when all the crying and painful communication is over she is more or less back to herself, the smiles, laughs and destruction of the house are business as usual. Life goes on, no lasting damage, no baggage to carry, the toys thrown so far out of the cot they are irretrievable. She comes through because she tells us she’s in pain and comes to us for help, knowing that to go through it on her own is madness. This simple custom is humbling to be sure but definitely the way to go. But there are other heroes.

I have a friend in Durban who is almost crippled every day by a combination of obsessive compulsions and bipolar depression, quite a cocktail. Speaking of cocktail, the kaleidoscope of medicine the doctors give him are almost as bad as the illness in terms of side effects. Yet he manages to get up every morning and go to work, a very responsible, critical position within a large multinational company. How does he carry on? This legend, like Kylie, can’t keep quiet, he tells people what he’s going through, in fact, he tells everyone. He's a blogger. Nothing is too personal, everything is bared as it is, not covered up or airbrushed to make it more palatable. He‘s a hero because he humbles himself to tell others what he’s going through and he asks for help. Baggage is left in the text of the story as his life is debriefed and made sense of (even if in retrospect) through the living narrative. What’s more, others who struggle find the strength to carry on through his endurance, I know I do.

My other friend is a girl (well, more like a woman), a missionary to be exact who has had to recently return home with her husband and her daughter because of an overwhelming depression that had some potentially far reaching consequences. Before things got out of control a few weeks ago she phoned home, told a friend her story and asked for help. Her friend asked her other close friends what to do and they unanimously agreed that she should come home where help was at hand. She even bared her soul to her husband, something you may think married couples do as a matter of course, don’t be fooled, why do you think there are so many divorces? Her husband responded with grace and great love and agreed that home was the best option. She is now back with us and is getting better. I know that she’ll be fine, in fact, when the healing is done she will be a rock for others. Why is this person a hero? Because she understood that lone rangers die alone and that islands disappear under the waves without no one knowing they were ever there. So she got humble and got help, and help happened.

Heroes aren’t loners. When life hurts they say so, they don’t hide or pretend that all is well. Admitting that help is needed is harder than trying to walk alone with the pain, but only initially. No one was made to be crushed by life’s heavy cargo. The simple act of asking and telling is an invitation for help that is almost never declined, or not to my knowledge. If you are going to cry for help take a leaf out of these three books above. Make it loud; tell others exactly what it feels like to have been living in your skin. And when you thrust out your hand there will be one or more hands there to take yours and walk with you.

You’re not alone; you’re a hero waiting to happen.

2007-06-29T13:29:00.000+02:00

The Auditor…
I’m not sure if you are friends with or know any auditors. They almost always have a reputation for being analytical and nitpicky to the point of distraction, not to mention the fact that they come across as being a tad sour and or dull.

Speak to anyone you know about being audited and you will see a look of impending doom flash across their faces as they consider the fact of audit time again, that person or that team of people scrounging through the books and the business like a dog after a rabbit, poking their noses here and there and generally making everyone feel uncomfortable.

An auditor has the unfortunate but inevitable knack of asking sometimes innocent questions that come out sounding like accusations. Even a question as inoffensive as “excuse me you wouldn’t happen to know where the restroom is would you” might be perceived as an indictment of the highest order.

I’d like to introduce you to our own personal home-auditor. Kylie is simply none of the above, quite unlike the stereotypical image just portrayed. She goes about her job, not once every three years, not even once a year, but sometimes fifty times a day with a song and smile. She never asks tough questions but she is thorough. No stone is left unturned. If it’s in a dark corner, Kylie will find it, if it’s in a cupboard, it’s coming out. Every household item that opens and shuts, any moveable object is scrutinised, explored and turned inside-out.

That kitchen utensil last seen months ago will be found, last week’s pea that rolled off the dinner plate to goodness knows where will be retrieved, orally.
All fixed objects are vigorously tested for quality by a strong and capable hand, if it was about to come loose or break, Kylie will reveal this to us. There is no hiding in our house, all is known and uncovered by our joyful investigator. We didn’t realise we owned half of what we did until Kylie uncovered it.

It’s a great way to live. Open before each other, no secrets. It may be the only way.

2007-06-22T13:23:00.000+02:00

Personal hygiene and more…
Someone once said cleanliness is next to godliness and that may be true some of the time. For the times that it is true Kylie must be a very clean little girl. She delights in doing all the mundane things we do, cleaning teeth, showering (or at least standing in the shower – she prefers a bath, like her mother), using loo paper etc.

She somehow seems to find much more fun in it though and paradoxically makes a huge mess of staying clean. The toilet paper gets unravelled in 30 seconds flat, all over the bathroom. She then sits down with it and pulls it apart, piece by piece shredding it into millions of bits of confetti. She brushes her teeth (all two of them) and proceeds to clean her nose, clothes and our carpets with her toothbrush. When she baths (she has scampered into the shower once when Caryn was washing and got soaking wet, clothes and all) she splashes water everywhere. I had no idea that getting clean could be such dirty work.

Don’t get me started on feeding time, have you ever tried to feed someone who keeps trying to hit the spoon out of your hand and who gets faster and more accurate with each passing day? Pureed sweet potato, chicken, butternut, baby marrow and carrot flies off the spoon and onto the walls, couch, floor, high chair, clothes (yours and hers), hair (ditto), face and hands. Kitchen cupboards watch out! Crockery, Tupperware, pots and pans fly out of cupboards like a scene from Poltergeist when Kylie gets into the kitchen. Give Kylie two minutes in a room and take before and after photo’s. It’s like a two-minute hurricane moved through. Nappy changing, apart from the more obvious challenges involved is always harder when the backside and legs you’re trying to get clean are trying to squirm away. Let me tell you, a ten month old baby is strong, knows what it wants and will die trying, especially when it comes to nappy time. Most often what it wants is not have the nappy changed. Take the feeding time picture and substitute it with nappy changing and guess what happens to walls, carpets, clothes etc. Not for the faint hearted or weak humoured.

Caryn and I are learning to laugh at things that would have turned our hair snow white only ten months ago. One thing is for sure, when you get a child, you get a life.
Wait a minute, is that a grey hair?

2007-06-19T15:36:00.000+02:00

Upward Mobility…
Here is Kylie crawling up our perilous staircase at home. She loves to climb the stairs and giggles her way up every time. She has slipped and hit her knee, forehead, cheek and chin a number of times. She always cries when this happens (we almost have multiple strokes) but she keeps going back.

Perhaps its just the novelty of it, but when I cast my mind back to my childhood I recall many moments of fun on stairs; my sister and I skiing down the stairs whilst sitting inside my mother’s upside-down coffee table, clinging on to the table legs as if our lives depended on it. So stairs have an attraction for children, they are entry-level amusement park rides, stepping stones to Disneyworld and the greater excitement that lies there. And that’s the point isn’t it? Kylie’s regular forays to the 1st floor of our townhouse speak of the human condition of upward mobility. Surely there’s always more; more to have, more to do, more to consume, more to know, to feel, experience and so on.

For Kylie, and for all of us this is true. We never stop learning or trying to achieve new things, this is in a way is the positive side of the equation. We must learn and grow and never stop doing so. But here is the important question; to what end? Most of never question deeply the things we do, we do them on impulse and whim. Most dangerously, we do them because it’s what the rest of the sheep are doing. Western middle class culture encourages upward mobility for its own sake, for my sake, for yours. Get the new car, the overseas holiday, the MP3 player, the smoothie maker and that vacuum cleaner that uses water and doesn’t spray dust around the house, cool! Then what?

We want great things for Kylie, but our vision of great is bigger than a comfortable life filled with stuff, gadgets, thingys and whatchmacallits. We want her to be great in kindness, rich in compassion, wealthy in patience, content and patient, gentle and kind to all. Impossible, idealistic, mushy? Yes, on a human level. But not for those who live beyond themselves, who live for God and others. This kind of life may at first seem like not much of a life at all, especially when compared to how most of live. But food, shelter, transport, relationships and all these other things will follow a life lived selflessly. It’s the kind of life Caryn and I want to live, are trying to live.

These desires for more must find their rightful place within the story of what God is doing in this world, our longings must be oriented to his future. This means that what we want to must be forgotten; must in a very real sense die. Then, when we come to God without any other agenda but to allow him to shape our future, the dreams and desires will be resurrected in his image. They will be shaped as His. Then we will be able to live the eternal kind of life now. This is a path of downward mobility, down into the grave of flawed human passions, but not for long. As Tony Campolo drawing on the Easter analogy says, “It’s Friday today, but Sunday’s coming”.

“I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. The man who loves his life will lose it, while the man who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life”. John 12:24-25

2007-05-29T14:15:00.000+02:00

Road to health…
These pictures were taken one week after Kylie had her scheduled nine-month inoculation. There was just one shot this time, in the leg, unlike the previous visits to the clinic which involved multiple injections.

The South African Government issue what is known as a “Road to Health” card whenever a child is born. It is given to the new parents at the hospital at birth and contains all of the child’s vital statistics from birth to pre-adolescence. Every significant detail of the child’s health is recorded on the chart, from weight to age ratios, to doctors visits etc. Without this card your child will not be let into any school or be allowed to travel overseas. If the parents immigrate, the new country will want to see the card. One of the handiest things about the card is that it tells you as the parent exactly when your child is due for vaccinations and what type of shot is required. The vaccine injected into my child was a live measles virus. We were told that one week following the inoculation the child could develop measles-like symptoms; high temperature, spots on the skin and perhaps lose her appetite.

The fateful date, exactly a week later, coincided with our church Home Fellowship Group camp at Cefani, a few kilometres north of East London on the East Coast Resorts Road. Kylie did have a rather high temperature and may have had one or two spots that weren’t there before but on the whole she was fine. She loved being around other people and is just as much a social butterfly as her mom. What we weren’t told about the live measles virus and subsequently found out later via a professional nurse was that measles also develop inside the mouth, around the lining of the mouth, throat and then coat the tongue for good measure. We were wondering why Kylie wasn’t eating well as she usually does until a few days later when we were told about the discomfort inside the mouth. Poor darling, sharing her parent’s love for food and being unable to partake properly for a few days because it hurt too much to eat.

What gets me though is this. We knew that the inoculations were going to cause Kylie uneasiness and yet we consciously chose to let her go through the process. It’s not that we are sadistic or cruel, we just want the best for Kylie in the long run, and here’s the truism, what is best for our child over time may involve some parent-permitted hurt occasionally. We would be irresponsible exposing our flesh and blood to the full brunt of a deadly illness if we knew we could have prevented it by exposing her to just a little of it. Kylie, at her level of comprehension can’t understand that this is love. And yet this simple, almost inane procedure that millions of parents have to put their children through stands as one of life’s great lessons. We, the children of God, who most often do not see the big picture of life on earth and can barely grasp the complex workings of our own hearts and minds let alone those of our loved one’s, are also on a “Road to Health”. Whether we realise it or not we are often exposed to situations by God that have express purposes. Many of our trials are not random as we are sometimes given to understand. They are carefully controlled, planned and allowed to make us into who our Father hopes we’ll become. Difficulties brings a set of choices; get angry, depressed, bitter, and withdrawn or hope and trust (after a while, of course) that what is not seen or known at this time is in the service of massive cosmic purpose, ultimate good. The former is the hardest, most “unnatural” response, but the only one that will bring peace, strength, growth and understanding eventually.

Growing up is hard, especially when your parent is God, the “Road to Health” is a life’s journey, but it is a good life because only God can see the beginning from the end and only God is good.

2007-05-09T15:39:00.000+02:00

I gotta get out of this place…
The past week or so has been quite stressful, not just because I am busy or because people have been making my life difficult, but because of where my heart is in relation to my life. I’m not quite sure if you have ever felt the same but I’m willing to put money on the fact that you have.

Every afternoon when we get home from work Kylie hears our cars pulling into the parking area and scampers to the front door gate, where she pulls herself up and looks out between the bars to catch a glimpse of her beloved Mom & Dad. Maybe she feels like she’s been cooped up with the Nanny for the whole day and just wants to escape, maybe she is just really happy to see us and maybe she just likes licking the gate, yuk. Whatever it may be for her, Kylie’s waiting at the gate when we come home embodies my heart-state at the moment.

I finished my theological studies at the end of last year and my home church has graciously kept me on as an employee until now. They are offering me a seven to eight month post until the end of the year with added responsibility for which I am very grateful because I have had no call from any church yet. Many fellow brothers & sisters in Christ have been encouraging, telling me to just wait it out and in “God’s perfect time” (I love some cliché’s) things will fall into place. This is of course perfectly true and in some ways encouraging, except when, on some days, my attitude stinks. When I get tired of waiting, ungrateful about my job, procrastinate important tasks out of childish rebellion and generally just want to be anywhere but here. The word I’m looking for is discontent, and it is a sickness. Whenever I become like this I know I am not well and that I need help. When I am in a God-given place of safety and provision, lack nothing material, have great friends and family, am not undergoing any persecution and I can still moan and whine, then I know something is wrong, I have a problem. Someone needs to give me a kick up the jack. What I don’t need (but will crave) is sympathy, rather hit me, hard (metaphorically speaking please)!

My pastor did this for me today, for which I was grateful. I poured out my heart and he listened patiently. Then he shared from his own personal experiences and pain, telling me at the end of it all that if I am to be a shepherd then I must know what it is for others to also go through what I am going through; that pain, discomfort and the way we handle it is part of the extreme makeover of becoming like Christ. If there is no suffering, we miss out on being formed into the fullness of His image. The trick is to stop oneself from always trying to cover the pain. Go through it, with God’s help, for as long as it takes.

But damn its hard and damn I am a baby sometimes. Sometimes I just “wanna get out of this place”. At these times I need to be reminded that contentment does not depend on my circumstances or emotions and that no servant is greater than his/ her Master.

Paul wrote this from a filthy prison cell…“I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength” Philippians 4:12-13

2007-04-18T15:31:00.000+02:00

Huh…! (Part2)
In part one it was seen how it is possible to be faced with something so wonderful, so beyond our wildest expectations and understanding, that we either completely misread it or leave it.

Sometimes it will be because someone once said, or because a lot of people still say - to continue the analogy - that sugar is bad for you and can only do you harm. There is however a deep lie wedded to that mostly untrue statement. The lie is that sugar is bad for you, it is not, in its most basic form it is vital for life and cannot be done without. It gives vital energy that enables the processes of the body to function properly. It is a life-source. Most people have a correct relationship with carbohydrates and receive and give much pleasure via the association. But it can also be abused, and this turns many people away from its true purpose.

We are all guilty of abusing something in our lives, be it food, drugs, alcohol, sex, relationships, the internet, religion; every good and useful thing can become an addiction, can be mistreated and eventually starts to exert a strong hold over our lives. Most of these things and more have been given for our enjoyment and proper use. All of them bring some form of pleasure to us. The question we need to ask is, do we blindly and savagely consume these things for the sake of pleasure or do we see them in their correct context. As gifts that reflect the goodness of the Giver and point back to him. When we eat food for example are we conscious on some level that the reason it tastes good is that God wants us to know that he too is good and that the pleasure given by the food is from him, he is its true source. He is the source of all goodness and pleasure and in his very person is more treasure than you or I could ever dream of, if only we would reach out and taste.

You have made known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand. (Psalm 16:11)

In a way we all face moments like Kylie faced. God the person stands before us every day and offers us a choice to partake of all his goodness as reflected in his gifts. We can continue to use the gifts for their own sake or for our own sake but we would be irresponsible not to go to the origin, the steadfast and eternal mountain of all goodness and pleasure. In the words of C.S. Lewis who says it better than anyone ever has: …”if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires, not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased”.

Taste and see that the LORD is good (Psalm 34:8)

2007-04-11T15:49:00.000+02:00

Huh…! (Part1)
On Kylie’s 7 month “birthday” she was given a cupcake by her mother. This was an exercise in cruelty since Kylie wasn’t actually allowed to eat the cake; it was just there for celebration sake and a nice photograph. What was interesting was Kylie’s response to this delicious gift.

She didn’t have a clue. For the last seven months the only food that has passed her lips has been milk, rice cereal, butternut and carrot. Not exactly inspiring stuff but it gets the job done. Her parents have been reluctant to introduce sugar into the diet because Kylie seems to have enough energy for her needs plus another say, three hundred or so Duracell bunnies.

When Caryn presented her with the cupcake she just sat there and stared at it with the same kind of look I used to give my accounting homework. We urged her to take it, whistled, sang, clapped handies, did mini eat-a-cupcake dramatizations, and … nothing. Just a blank, blinking stare. Eventually, after what seemed like a 5 day cricket test match, she did reach out and touch the contraband. She turned it over in her fingers, squashed it, hit it once or twice and then started bringing her sugar-frosted fingers to her mouth before one of us grabbed the hand and wiped it. The fact that she was taking it to her mouth didn’t bother us so much because everything Kylie sees eventually makes its way there. It was the sugar that needed to be eradicated from her five curious digits.

But the period in-between the presentation of the gift and the experimentation is where the story is. The unknown cupcake before my daughter was filled with the potential that could change her forever (and one day will). It is the equivalent of Galileo discovering the stars, Newton discovering gravity, Edison the light bulb and the Inca’s chocolate (or was it Cadburys?)! But she will never know how good it is until she tastes it, puts it in her mouth, rolls it over her tongue, washes it with a bit of saliva and causes the release of millions of pleasure-laden simple carbohydrates that will give the same gratification it does to everyone else on earth who has experienced it.

If the cupcake just sits on the plate it is not able to transfer its potential to whom it was meant for. This is quite simply a tragedy; a waste of perfectly good sugar and a life-altering culinary experience forfeited. As parents we would be irresponsible not to expose Kylie to such delights one day; koeksisters, candy floss, caramello bears, and all the other derivatives of the sacred (C·H2O)n molecule. When we do she will then be able to decide for herself whether life is better or worse with or without sugar.

As you may guess this post comes with a parallel thought; stay tuned for the next installment.

2007-04-04T09:43:00.000+02:00

Just like this…

We recently took a trip to Johannesburg for my cousin’s wedding. We expected that Kylie would sleep on the airplane since the flight was scheduled right over her naptime; she didn’t. She loved the flight, scampering from Dad, to Mom, to Gran and back again, playing with her toys and trying to be a good conversationalist with her repertoire of goo’s and ba’s.

But when we got to JHB and were just about to land her eyelids became heavy and she finally took her nap. She slept for the next hour or so; right through the disembarkation and the all-exciting luggage carousel. There can be almost nothing more precious than watching a small baby sleep. What makes it more special is if the little one belongs to you and has just spent the last three hours exhausting your every resource. The reprieve is somewhat comparable to a weekend at a spa.

But here is something you may never have noticed unless you are a parent. The next time you see a baby sleeping in the arms of its parent spend less time gawking at the kid and more at the Mom or Dad. What you will see is the kind of contentment that is so rare it makes the face glow; perhaps the word that best describes the lit-up face is glory.

It is perhaps during these various times when the child is motionless – spent - in your arms; at peace, in trust, safe, and tenderly dependant that the parent feels most valued by the child. The sheer completeness of presence and lack of distraction affirm to the parent that the child has willingly returned to the source of it’s everything; where, for the child, every river converges and for the parent, all is possible. The transaction that takes place between lover and beloved is almost completely silent. Except for the quiet, almost inaudibly gentle whisper of the caregiver; “I love you child, more than you will ever understand. There is nothing that you can ever do to make me love you more, there is nothing you can ever do to make me love you less. You are loved – this is the beginning and the end of the story and everything in-between. Whatever happens to you, whatever decisions you make, wherever you go – even if far from me – you are loved and can return to these arms”.

This is how God, our Father, loves to be loved (Luke 10:38-42). This is how every parent feels when their children just spend time with them. No performance is necessary, no gifts need to be brought, no fancy speeches prepared; just to sit and to value the one person who will move heaven and earth for a few minutes of time together.

“Be still and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10).

2007-03-29T13:47:00.000+02:00

Outwit, outplay, outlast...
I tried so hard, perhaps too hard. Ever since Kylie was 1 day old I have repeated a mantra to her that I hoped she would catch on to as soon as she understood it. I would say to her, numerous times a day when I had her undivided attention, “Me Dada, you Kylie”. As I would say “Me Dada”, I would pat my chest so that she would make the Dada association with me. Then when I would say “You Kylie”, I would pat her chest so that she would come to know her name. This always evoked a smile, which, I interpreted as a kind of insider understanding; “Don’t worry old chap, as soon as I am capable the first word out of my mouth will be “Dada”. Caryn would just watch on in (jealous) amusement, pretending not to care that I was indoctrinating our firstborn so one-sidedly.

But I have a hunch, a guy’s sixth sense (or just plain paranoia), that when I was out of earshot Caryn would do exactly the same thing, just replacing the “Dada” with “Mama”. You may think this childish, but when it comes to household power games one must never become complacent; gain any upper hand you can and if you somehow manage to corner a small area of supremacy; protect it with your life! So our precious little pawn, caught in her parent’s cold war is growing up and learning a few tricks of her own apparently.

A couple of weeks ago she said her first word. Imagine at that moment the long anticipated convergence of all our joy, pride and secretly subversive maneuverings. “What was that she just said”? Was it “Dada”? Was it “Mama”? No; to our total disbelief she blurted “Baba”! Clearly she learned how to play the game fast. To add insult to injury she just repeated it over and over again, followed by squeaks of laughter; “Babababababa”! She knew she’d beaten the system and she was downright gloating about it. So for now the silly politics have stopped, her parents demoralized at having been outwitted by a seven month old. Kylie has the power. Now we just continue to be amazed by how fast she’s learning.

Three weeks ago she started crawling and she’s already pulling herself up and wanting to walk.
We can’t keep up with her and we are both starting to feel rather backward in comparison.

It takes me longer to learn how to cook two minute noodles.

Seven months, two twits, one survivor!

2007-03-09T13:53:00.000+02:00

Night night, sleep tight...
Kylie has this pink and white giraffe (no laughing please) that is as yet unnamed. Whenever you squeeze giraffe's tummy it starts singing "Lullaby and Goodnight" in a refined and seriously operatic female voice.

At first the lullaby was quite beautiful, but it quickly lost its appeal. Caryn is obsessed with children's toys that make noise so she compulsively keeps making this darn giraffe sing; I don't think that Kylie particulary cares either way. But I do.

After being squeezed to an exponent reaching the tenth decimal place, giraffe is still going strong, Kylie is carrying on with her own business covering household objects with gob somewhere, Caryn is still giggling in glee at the unexpected tune being sung, and I am ready to go and sit on the corner of my roof whilst contemplating how to shut down the Chinese factory that produces such weapons of terrorism.

But this all has nothing to do with what I actually wanted to say. What I wanted to say was this. I'm tired, pooped, finished, I have run my race. I wake up tired, live tired and go to sleep tired. Wierd since Kylie has been sleeping through the night for months now. Perhaps it is just an accumulation of seven months worth of missed weekend afternoon naps. But the tired stick has also hit Caryn, repeatedly. By eight 'o clock at night, once we have eaten, once all the gob has been mopped up, clothes de-stained and washed, dishes scrubbed, toys packed away, bottles sterilised, parents showered/ bathed, we both collapse ontop of the bed and can't even so much as utter "good night" to each other we are so muthered.

But its a good, satisfied, fulfilled kind of weariness that aches in our bones; a "job well done" fatigue that blesses the onset of sleep with contentment.We wake up the next day and do it all again with gratitude in our hearts to God for the reassuring rythyms of routine and the mystery and beauty of family life found even in tiredness. I just wish I knew who supplied the batteries for that infernal giraffe because we need some!

Goodnight!

2007-02-09T13:10:00.000+02:00

Let’s face it…

Can we be honest here for a moment? I am unbalanced, biased, partial, predisposed, prejudiced, one-sided and yes, I own a Thesaurus. And yes, I had to spell-check Thesaurus.

But take a look at this face will you, look at the smile? You have to be a pretty cold individual if you can look at that face without the sides of your mouth curling upward. In my warped opinion, this is the most beautiful face in all creation; you will never convince me otherwise. I do not apologise to the deluded parents of other children who think that this comment is unfair, to them I have only one thing to say, deal with it! You are welcome to your own delusions; please do not intrude upon mine.

What is it about a smile that hooks us frail fools so completely? You’re across the aisle from someone at the corner shop (or at Ikea, whatever) and they give you an unexpected smile. They may have been burping for all you know, or looking just over your shoulder at someone behind you, but before you know it a warm sensation rises in your heart and extends through your neck, into your jaw and lifts those unsuspecting chops up your ears. You have little control over this unless you are virtually comatose inside. A smile relaxes the defenses, endears us to one another, opens channels of communication and is the starting point for a conversation, a connection and even a new relationship. It’s like we’ve been hard-wired as humans to respond to a simple curve of the mouth in this way, it’s in all of us.

Scripture tells us that we are created in God’s image. Because a smile is so untaught, so instinctual and universal I wonder if smiles aren’t from God? If they are, it would mean that God smiles too, a lot. Why is it then than so many people have this picture of God as a geriatric crank? A grumpy, mean spirited Deity in a pressed, white bathrobe with his finger on the “straight to hell” button of his “destinies and fate of earth people” controller? A perpetual killjoy who makes rules that are impossible to consistently maintain, all the while waiting for someone to give him an excuse to smite them. Talk about a rigged setup. I have a feeling that this is the picture presented by 75% of religious broadcasting (very bad for your health) and perpetuated by many Christians. You know - the sourpuss at work or at the family gathering who would make a lemon wince if bitten, yuk.

The thing is that this is exactly what God is not like! If you want to know what God is like just look at Jesus; go read the gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke & John. You will find a person who is consummately passionate about people, who welcomes and engages with everyone. Jesus has time for people we would never dream of opening ourselves to. In fact, the people most likely to get a stinging rebuke from Jesus were the nose-in-the-air religious crowd. He throws parties for the outcastes, restores the brokenhearted, brings release to the tormented and even physically touches the sick (lepers) whilst healing them. Everything that is good and fair and beautiful and just in this world can be summed up in him. And here’s the kicker, we are his children too. So not only is his continual orientation towards us love, but he is also, like any other parent, absolutely smitten and biased towards us, we share the same DNA, even if ours is jaded. We are loved beyond comprehension and the predominant position of God towards us is most accurately portrayed by this photograph of my daughter. God is welcoming you into relationship with him. Smile! You are loved.

The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing" Zephaniah 3:17

2007-01-31T13:47:00.000+02:00

“This aint lipstick Sister…”
Last Sunday Kylie’s ever smug parents started introducing her to real food. We were told to start her on veggies or rice cereal because fruit may be too sweet and she may end up rejecting the more acquired taste of the common vegetable at a later stage; … sooo complex! So, with apprehension and excitement we blended some butternut mousse and sat Kylie down on the couch (that’s right, she’s sitting … proud and boastful moment #3287546) to ready herself for one of life’s many new, mindblowing experiences. Remember the first time you tasted candy floss, brussel sprouts, easter egs, pickled onions, or gin & tonic?

Interestingly enough when the spoon was brought to her mouth, she just opened up (proud and boastful moment #3287547)! How she knew how to do that is a mystery but Caryn and I attribute it to inherited intellect and our combined love for food. We dismissed the “instinct” theory in favour of the aforementioned. The radiation-orange puree in her mouth, she initially rolled it back and forth over her tongue with a look of half puzzled-half curious on her face. Ok, on her forehead; we really wish she’d stop frowning so much. When this split second moment of discernment passed, Kylie snapped forward like a Cape Cobra (more like a frog after a fly) at the spoon suspended just in front of her, catching her parents completely off guard and causing us to reload the spoon with more urgency than the Formula 1 pit team refuel Raikkonen. In short, she loved it.
She continues to enjoy her solid-food time of the day more and more, sometimes actually trying to help the spoon into her mouth with one of her own grubby paws because I think she suspects we are just too slow. Rice Cereal is just as much of a hit. We’re thinking of trying roast lamb and golden, crispy potatoes with double-toffee ice cream for dessert next week. Caryn will check with the pediatrician this week to determine if it is OK to advance to this stage, if not, we’ll still have the meal; Kylie will just have to stick with the mushy stuff for a while.

In other, less interesting news, Caryn continues reluctantly adapting to life as a working Mom (she’s the best homemaker in the world … and she knows it) and I am plodding through some unknowns at work as I try to figure out how to grow home fellowship groups at my home church, not a small nor an easy task. The future is still very much open ended, my ministerial board interview is in March and that should give some clarity (whether my theology and life is acceptable to the Baptist Union or not). Options, pointers, signs and voices at the moment seem to be narrowing towards a pastorate or an assistant pastorate, but we’ll wait and see. Work for an Aid agency is always a possibility too. Some advice from a few close friends is that I start writing. Writing articles, books, etc. This has always been a passion so those who pray for us, thank you and please don’t stop. I have always been a little slow at making decisions. I am not cautious, just thick.

Looks like Kylie’s not the only one who has many new experiences ahead.

2007-01-18T10:33:00.000+02:00

Separation Anxiety...
After five glorious months of maternity leave Caryn returned to work this week. The first day was really traumatic and it iwas so difficult to firstly leave Kylie for the day and secondly leave her in the care of another person.

What increases the feelings of separation and loss is the fact that Kylie is now active and aware, learning new stuff every day. She can maneuver herself onto her hips in a kind of push-up movement. When in this position she practices rocking her hips and pushing her body back onto her knees in order to get into the crawling position. Her lower back and tummy muscles are getting stronger every day and she will soon be crawling. In the meantime, movement consists of rolling like a barrel from one end of of our house to the other. There is almost nowhere she can't get to and to my horror this morning she found the DVD player; I almost choked on my breakfast. She reaches for everything, hair, noses, cups, dust, doorhandles, curtains and puts everything that makes its way into her hands in her mouth. So if you visit us one day please politely ignore the wet patches on the curtains, the slobber on the floor and the slippery doorknobs. My point is this, that both of her parents are now missing out on her development milestones; things that she will take for granted, things which make our hearts ache with pride and joy. I don't hesitate to say that these are amongst the most important things in life.

When Caryn left for work this morning (I leave earlier) she went in to say goodbye to a sleeping Kylie. Caryn crept up behind the bed and brushed Kylie's forehead with a kiss. At that moment Kylie's eyes opened and she looked back to see who had kissed her. It is a sensation she will be familiar with because she receives 10 000 such kisses a day. When her dark brown eyes made contact with Caryn's, Mom smiled at her and slipped away, not wanting to properly wake her.

Can you imagine what was going through Caryn's heart at that point? I try to, but I don't think I come close.

2007-01-12T14:46:00.000+02:00

New Year, New Everything ...
As you can see our little one is growing up fast. As soon as we think we have established a pattern or picked up a routine behaviour it changes, leaving us stumped, frustrated and laughing our heads off at ourselves for being such analytical wally's.

We're all growing older, growing up and changing. This blog is no exception. This post marks a change in format. From now on there will be some changes.

Past posts have been strictly devotional. While they have been immensely enjoyable to create, they are also time consuming and the structure squeezes out quite a bit of family detail. So you can expect, along with some devotional-type posts, more of the mundane happenings of our lives which will either bore you to the point of wanting to knaw at your own limbs or you may find that these are the holiest moments of all. I'll part with a quote from a favourite author, the line from which the blog url "listentoyourlife" was poached.

"Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that it is. In the boredom and pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness:Touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it. Because in the last analysis all moments are key moments and life itself is grace". Frederick Buechner

2007-01-12T14:02:00.000+02:00

Peace ...
This was Kylie's first Christmas and, at 5 months old, she probably won't remember a thing. All that she'll have to remind her is this photograph. That's OK, the only first memories I have of Christmases past come from photographs too. I have a hunch that in one of the snapshots I was riding a new orange scooter clutching a menacing looking toy AK47 in my right hand, revolutionary style. Well, look how I turned out, if ever anyone was an embarrassment to Che Guevara and his ilk, I'm it.

And yet, I'm glad that things turned out this way, after all, I got to learn of the true way to freedom, justice, hope, equality and peace. Like Che I sense that something is wrong with my world that needs to be put right. But unlike Che I see myself as part of the problem, part of the corruption and ugliness of the world. So I when I heard what Jesus was all about, and took time to listen to his wisdom and observe his way of life as recorded in the Gospels, I knew that he was unlike any other revolutionary this world has ever seen, period. Jesus convicted me of my need to be delivered from the sickness inside of me, and when I admitted that I needed him to accomplish this, he came to live in me, transforming my diseased personality into something quite extraordinary. I became new, my thoughts and habits started changing, the way I related to people had been completely overhauled, ... I became a new creation. I'm not perfect by any means, just ask my work colleagues or family, but I am being changed and renewed every moment by Jesus.

So little by little I start living like Him, and, if I get it half right, the world around me starts to become a better place. It's like the changing of seasons, gradual, natural, full of slow moving beauty that is so gentle you miss it if you're not open to seeing it. This is how the true revolutionaries bring freedom to our enslaved world. By turning the other cheek, by going the extra mile, by giving more than we take, by treating one another better than we treat ourselves etc. All of this is impossible without the One who is called "Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace" (Isaiah 9:6). We are too impatient, selfish, inwardly focused, materialistic, narcissistic, hateful, spiteful, fearful, vengeful, lazy and indifferent. We need help, we need a Saviour.

Jesus is the Saviour of the world. You will be made new if you acknowledge your need, believe that this is how he came, like a little child, and let him change you to become like him. Merry Christmas and peace to you.

2006-12-15T15:30:00.000+02:00

Happy feet...
On a very hot spring afternoon Kylie fell asleep on our bed. Her feet happened to be sticking out and for perhaps the first time we really noticed them. Before we had remarked on how large they were in proportion to the rest of her body but this was the first time we actually saw our child's feet.

This may seem a little strange to you but on this particular day, at this very moment, Caryn and I sat on the bed transfixed by a pair of infant's feet. We talked (gushed is more like it) for around 30 minutes straight about nothing else. Tiny, soft, pink, glowing feet that just happened to be attached to our own flesh and blood. Then we did a comparison. First up was me and my flat size nine's. Clean, soft (I do not like to walk barefoot) and basically unattractive. Then Caryn's high-arched, petite size fours. Grubby, calloused (Caryn loves to walk barefoot) and yet somehow lovable. I have a friend, Sammi, who takes delight in ragging me for the fact that I do not walk barefoot enough, especially on the beach. Hey, it takes me ages to clean my feet after a walk on the beach!

But it got me thinking, and forgive the generalisation. Those who worry about clean feet can potentially miss out on quite a bit in life because they tend to be, well, stuffy, ... enter me. Just think about what else such an obsessive personality can be consumed by and you'll soon realise that life tends to pass people like me bye because people like me worry too much. Those who walk barefoot appreciate the feel of the sand and grass underfoot, the pleasure of a variety of textures and sensations, the freedom of being shoeless and the associations with carefree childhood; simplicity, trust, exploration. To walk barefoot is to take a risk, or at least it is for me. One's feet could get cut by a piece of broken glass, a toe could be stubbed against a stone, dog crap is always an ever present danger. Yet I reluctantly admit that it is the bare-foot one's who really live, who change their worlds. Not because they don't fear standing in doggypoo, but because having faced up to the possibility of it, they take off their shoes anyway. Life is too short for what might have been. Besides, you never know what might happen when fear is set aside, especially when it comes to following Jesus. I'm going barefoot!

"... without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him (Hebrews 6:11).

2006-11-09T11:56:00.000+02:00

Quality time...
What can be more satisfying than being a parent? Yes, I know that Caryn and I are still young and inexperienced and that our daughter is nowhere near being consciously naughty yet but perhaps the "older- wiser" moms and dads should interject if I'm showing ignorance.

As Kylie grows up by the day we get to spend fewer moments like these together because her senses are sharpening and she is gaining muscle control, hence independence. But the times do come when she is quieter and we get to hang out under the duvet or she just perches, content as a budgie, on my shoulder. Even when she wants us predominantly for what we can give her - entertainment, stimulation, food - being a parent is sublime.

I love to speak about Kylie and our moments together and I do so at almost every opportunity. Most people, even if they are a little insincere (which I understand - its kind of like showing friends holiday photographs), seem to love listening and appear to be interested and supportive, always wishing the best for us. On the other hand (if you can believe it) I have had some parents say to me with foreboding prophetic insight, "just wait until she grows up". "You're all starry eyed now but your turn will come"! Talk about pouring cold water over our joy. Can't we enjoy this time with our daughter for what it is; a season of bonding and trust building that is sweet, warm and full of unspeakable intimacy. I have no doubt that it is not always going to be easy but for now Caryn and I try to be near Kylie and in her life as much as we possibly can, appreciating each instance of togetherness for all it's worth. We hope that this will build security and a sense that she is loveable and loveworthy at all time, not just when she deserves or has earned our love, as if this were the point. May she learn that we will treat her as we have been treated, with grace and mercy that has no end, and with the discipline necessary to form both her and us into the image of the Parent who loves us more than any other and who also loves to just hang out together more than creating new constellations.

"The LORD is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love. The LORD is good to all; he has compassion on all he has made". Psalm 145:8-9

2006-11-01T14:38:00.000+02:00

Thicker than water...
Sometimes I get quite frustrated when Caryn seems to be the only living person able to calm and pacify Kylie. There is a time of the day that is of mythical proportions amongst parents of infants. It is vaguely between 5 & 7pm – The Witching Hour! Stuart Cranna, a good friend of ours and experienced pastor told us in conversation a while ago that he makes a point of never visiting young families during this time because the balance of probabilities suggests that they will have their hands full. It is a time where there is a lot of work to be done – washing, bathing, cooking, cleaning – and on top of it all, infants are prone to bouts of profoundly mysterious grumpiness around dusk. At about this time tendrils of twilight discontent slip through the cracks of open windows and steal through the keyholes of the doors, somehow finding their way to our daughter, and gripping her with their clammy fingers they unnerve and torment her in ways that we can’t see or understand.

I would like to think that I am of some use at these times; that after a long day of mostly housebound dutifulness Caryn can sit back and let Dad save the day. Sometimes I may very well be Superman, but at these times Kylie is Kryptonite. Caryn on the other hand is able to calm her down to a subdued, reassured whimper. Superman’s pride wounded, he gets irritated. What helps is the following realisation; that the person comforting my daughter gave rise to every cell in her body for nine months and now continues to be her sole lifeline. In forty weeks Kylie was incubated in the safety of her mother’s abdomen; she went from a fertilized zygote to two cells, and then to four, and then to eyes and hands and so on. There is not one trace element in the composition of her being that is not from her mother. What is probably more amazing is that her mother didn’t even have to think about it, God was the project manager who worked 24/7 to bring it about, and still does. Just a few small examples: During Caryn’s pregnancy the amniotic fluid that was Kylie’s only known atmosphere was completely filtered and recycled every 3 hours by her placenta, the waste being passed on through mom’s kidneys. Now post-pregnancy Caryn’s breast milk contains the perfect balance of proteins, carbohydrates and fats that Kylie needs to pack on between 200 – 400 grams of weight per week; if the weather is hot – there will be more water in the milk, if it is cold, there will be less. There are potent antibodies passed through the milk that protect Kylie from infections, even her mother’s illnesses.

So this tip of the iceberg analysis of the molecular-level bond between my wife and my child puts things into perspective for Superdork. This is why Kylie is stilled when with her mother as opposed to me. She is, to put it mildly, back in familiar territory, right in the arms and embrace of her co-creator from whom she has been given and continues to receive life itself.

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. Psalm 139: 13-14

2006-10-05T11:50:00.000+02:00

New every morning...
This is the face Caryn and I wake up to every morning. Kylie doesn’t cry for us in the mornings, she shouts. Short bursts of loud, girly impatience that probably mean something along the lines of “Hey you, food and nappy people I’m here, come pronto”! Caryn and I will tiptoe into the room, opening the door carefully so as to make as little noise as possible; we like to surprise her by pretending to appear from nowhere. Sometimes the door hinge will creak and Kylie’s arms and legs will stop gesticulating as she becomes motionless, listening, her eyes frozen in the direction of the sound. Then, the Twits who are her parents float their faces over the edge of the cot and into her line of sight. Eye contact. A split second passes as her brain processes the new image and as recognition occurs her mouth breaks into a crescent of insane joy. Together with the vast smile the arms and legs start pumping like crazy and squeaks of delight spurt forth like a lab mouse on happy gas, although probably more like a Gummi Bear on Gummiberry Juice.

There is no thought of yesterdays tears and that sore head-butt that she gave herself and her mother, also the memories of the daily gas-associated discomfort have evaporated. The nasty guy who bathed her the night before has been forgiven and the blonde milkmaid who’s sense of time is African to say the least has been granted absolution. No indulgences needed to be bought, bribery was not necessary, we didn’t have to grovel to receive her favour, she just gave it. The slate was wiped clean. The night’s unconscious passing of time brought mysterious restoration.

Of course, you argue, Kylie has limited memory and you are correct. But how often does this happen to us grown-up mortals, yesterday’s arguments, disappointments, tensions and hurts seem different in the context of the new day. Some things passed away in the night and the day has brought an element of newness that previously was not there. The old that died and the new that has come is a package-deal that is not asked for; this phenomenon is given as a gift. Of course we can choose to dig the fresh graves and haul yesterday’s corpses back into our lives to be carried around in all their decay. In so doing we correspondingly reject the new and thereby live with the haunting tyranny of a virtual graveyard on our backs. Others will sense the rot and will tend to avoid us for their own health unless they are vultures.

Everyone is given this gift every day. To receive it and act differently in its light is the best way to honour the Giver. Giver? Of course, where there is a gift there must be a giver. The Person who gives the gift would understand the necessity of it. When the gift is used as intended relationships between people will shift significantly towards perfection. We will mirror more of the nature of God our creator in our human contact. So let us thank God appropriately and receive his new mercies for today. This will enable us to recover the innocence of infancy and perhaps we will become childlike enough to forgive, forget, love, restore, encourage, and smile a whole lot more often at others.

The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. Lam 3:22-23 (NRSV).

2006-09-27T14:32:00.000+02:00

Hanging in there…

As you can see, our little mite has acquired the ability to grip on various objects; hair, clothing, drawstrings, skin, and so on. Sometimes this can be painful, think of breastfeeding for example. Yes, she has nails; young-skillful-sharp talons, much like a kitten’s. The difficulty comes in trying to pry the tiny hands open in order to release the grip. Eight weeks old, no prior gym experience other than fetal somersaults, and a vice-like grasp that would put any rock climber to shame. She lets go when she wants to let go, her victim’s tortured objections aside.

Strong and fiercely tenacious. Yet this is how her parents need to be at times, particularly the times that other parents tell us about with knowing smiles and subtle warnings; “you’ll see, just wait”! No specifics, just the suggestion of a change in fortune; like the climatologist on TV who dismissively drops the phrase, “some weather is expected within a few days”. Some weather, thank you! How does one prepare for “weather”, for “just wait”? Do we need raincoats; wellies, an extra jersey perhaps?

And so as out of the blue as a downpour on a summer’s day it happens. Initially it is something quite manageable, the niggles (ask a parent what these are, also referred to as the mutters), a bit of crying, some discomfort. We know how to handle this, we’ve done it before. A rhythmic pat on the back and a dummy will sort it out in two minutes. Except that it doesn’t. The intensity increases, the sobs turn into wails which spin into screams which evolve into head-splitting cycles of weeping. The face – crimson, the eyes – scrunched, the legs – tucked up into the undercarriage, the fists – clenched until translucent, the chest – heaving like the sea, the parents – useless! No words, techniques, books, advice, experience and warnings work. Only one thing really helps; grip.

As tightly as she holds on to our extremities when she does, so do her parents when we need to hold on to her. When Kylie is inconsolable and going-off like she’s having live coals placed on the undersides of her feet what we do is hold her. We just “be-there” for her. In our arms we let her do her thing for as long as she needs to and sometimes this is much longer than you’d ever imagine. We do this because we actually don’t understand what’s eating her and we don’t have the answers. We hold, we speak words of reassurance, sometimes we sing, but mostly we’re just there for as long as it takes, holding on tightly. Eventually after an undeterminable amount of time (it feels longer than it is) the sobs quieten and her body relaxes. This is usually followed by deep sleep. The rainbow appears as unpredictably as the storm. What mattered was that there was someone there to hold, and to carry on holding for as long as it took.

We don’t know exactly how or why the weather changes in our lives, be it a grief-stricken child or some other barely tolerable occurrence, but we are told what happens when we stick with each other and with our circumstances, “… because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us” (Rom 5:3-5).

Get a grip.

2006-09-13T14:40:00.000+02:00

Muthered...
... is a peculiar South African colloquialism which means something like “drunk as a skunk” and is probably derived from the root term “motherless”. In a sentence it might read, “I got so muthered last night that I now have a huge hangover”. The term more than likely originated in Boksburg, Benoni, or some other similarly enchanting area of our nation. It could also refer to a snotklap (being hit hard, once, for any various reason) but that would be out of context for this discussion.

I would like to co-opt the term for my purposes however. Caryn and I use the phrase for Kylie’s demeanor just after she’s been fed. Precious seconds following a successful unlatching Kylie’s eyes will roll back in their sockets, she will utter a groan of sublime contentment, and as she is lowered onto her sleeping surface her arms will flail out directly behind her and there she will lie, out for the count. Drunk on mother’s Milk. Not even the rapture (if you subscribe to this particular theological curiosity – I don’t) would awaken our daughter from the effects of such indulgence. Brad Pitt in an olive leaf would not rouse the slightest bit of interest from this lady. Caryn on the other hand…

But Kylie is also muthered (in the nurturing sense) in so many other ways. Caryn took to motherhood like the proverbial ducky to water. No mutter of Kylie’s goes unnoticed; no squeak is unimportant, no nappy is too foul. When the little-one wails in the early hours of the morning Caryn simply rolls out of the bed, stumbles to the nursery half-dressed, half comatose and whilst lifting Kylie out of her cot talks to her as if they were being reunited after ten years of forced political exile. The amount of constant and unending care given by mother to daughter is astounding. Caryn is a marvel and what is more, she still manages to love and care for me. Kylie has not become the third, now favoured spouse. Instead she has become the consummate object of affection and devotion of both of her bewitched parents. Like I mentioned last week, we’re the Twits. But what I really wanted to say is that Kylie has an awesome Mom who mothers her in ways I never thought possible. No wonder she’s so content, muthered, that is.

“He who finds a wife finds what is good and receives favor from the LORD” (Proverbs 18:22).

2006-09-05T15:31:00.000+02:00

Was that a smile?
Kylie is now a few days past her one month Birthday. We took her out to dinner on Saturday evening to celebrate but she had been partying too hard (it was an important milestone and she was entitled to a little revelry) in the afternoon so she slept through her own party. Oh well, Caryn and I had a good time. We decided to go to the Spur because it caters for kids and if a child starts crying it will raise fewer eyebrows than it would at say, Grazia for example, ... snobs.

Last week what looked like a smile dawned over the surface of Kylie’s face and in one unforeseen moment her parents were transformed from dignified and responsible people into ogling idiots. It happened to me first. When I told Caryn about it she dismissed it as wind. I wanted to slap her, Caryn that is. Our midwife told us at antenatal class that if we see what looks like a smile in the child’s first few weeks that it is probably a burp; what does she know anyway! I burp plenty (ask Caryn) and unless it is a really loud one I have no accompanying impulse to smile. The corners of her mouth jumped for her Dad, it was a genuine smile and what is more it was directed at me. Caryn’s tune changed when, less than a day later she too was presented with a smile.

If Kylie had (in a miraculous demonstration of advanced child development) asked for an Aston Martin at that very moment I would have sold the house, financed the balance, washed cars at the beachfront on weekends and bought it for her. Call us The Twits but we are reduced to putty when our daughter gets a wind.

God is not all that different, “Delight yourself in the LORD and he will give you the desires of your heart” Psalm 37:4

2006-08-24T09:28:00.000+02:00

And if I were a fish in the sea...
Bathtime is Daddy's time. This is because I was the test parent during bathing lessons at the hospital and I seem to have established a pretty invincible precedent. Caryn has tried it once, ... once! It is initially terrifying and takes at least three to four attempts to settle the nerves because Kylie protests so sincerely. She generally settles down once partially submerged in the warm water but there is still a look of profound mistrust in her eyes as she senses Dad's trembling hand under her body and looks into his patronising face with that insincere smirk pasted skewly under his nose; "Until you know what this feels like you can wipe that smile off your face Dad, and by the way, the shampoo you use is cheap, I want Loreal, because I'm worth it".

"Well my love I can't argue with that, your mother also uses the Salon hair stuff so we can't have double standards so early on in the relationship now can we"? This is where it all starts guys, start saving now. A wife and daughter are high maintenance treasures :-)

I digress. Back to bathtime. This is the one uninterrupted moment I get to marvel at one of God's new, stunning designer creations for Spring. Haute couture from Heaven's house of once-off marvels. She is perfectly unique and perfectly formed. Tiny, long fingers, adorably oversized feet, akward-poultry-like legs, that shock of dark down on the head, the brand spanking new belly etc. My favourite is her mouth, every new and repeated expression is stored behind my eyes in a folder marked, "permanent". I love bathtime and, in time, so will Kylie.

I'd wiggle my tail and I'd giggle with glee, but I just thank you Father for making me me.

"For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made ... All the days planned for me were written in your book before one of them came to be" Psalm 139:13, 14 & 16

2006-08-16T11:19:00.000+02:00

Unplugged…

Another sentimental milestone was negotiated this past Saturday when Kylie’s umbilical cord dropped off. Truth be told it’s quite a relief not having to clean it anymore at every nappy change. It was gross having to wipe the length, underside and circumference of this semi-dry alien flesh stick with a cotton bud and I’m not sure if Kylie was altogether wild about the procedure either. And yet it was the means of her survival, nourishment and development for nine odd months. The cord wasn’t just important, it was critical; the ultimate representation of dependence.

Have you ever bought an “unplugged” album/ DVD and felt a little cheated? The artists are most certainly not completely unplugged because there are still wires, synthesizers, electric/ acoustic instruments, microphones, mixing desks etc. It seems that the term unplugged refers to a scaled-down reliance on sound production magic and wizardry in order to hear a truer sound; a more honest representation of the performer’s real ability’s. A little more naked and vulnerable, but also somehow more satisfying.

Although Mom and Dad will now be providing Kylie many of her most basic needs from now on, the process of weaning has already started the way of learning and becoming not-so-reliant, of starting to do things for herself. What a nerve-racking prospect for Caryn and I. Kylie, of course, has no other frame of reference and will just get on with it. I pray that as parents we balance freedom with responsibility well and learn to read and react to our daughter’s independence/ dependence cues with love and wisdom. We want her life to be true, honest and satisfying. Unplugged is good. “I will lead them beside streams of water on a level path where they will not stumble, because I am Israel's father, and Ephraim is my firstborn son” (Jer 9:31).

God is teaching us and showing us what it has been like for him to parent us.

2006-08-11T11:45:00.000+02:00

The winds of change...

Nappy changing was one of the most highly anticipated anxieties. If you can overlook the terrible pun for a minute I’ll explain. The build up to the birth of our first child was increasingly filled with a sense of foreboding responsibility, not unlike that of my marriage day. I’m after all a guy and, generally speaking, guys just “feel” responsible in these times. Some run away from it, others cautiously accept it with eyes as wide as saucepans. “Will I be a good parent, will I lose it and go loony, will baby like me, what about money, am I giving Mom enough support, will we use a day mom, a crèche or will Mom stay at home, can I handle the “nappy thing”? These questions loomed large and played themselves over and over behind my muddy brown eyes.

But the moment Kylie was unsuspectingly (from her point of view) hoisted out of Caryn’s midsection and my eyes latched onto the slimy, blue and red squirming bundle of bewildered shrieks and gurgles I knew. I knew that no fear, question or apprehension would stand between me and my willingness to love and care for my daughter. When Kylie arrived all these debilitating questions evaporated and were replaced by a crystalline sense of purpose; I am now a parent and there is nothing I will not do. Bathing and burping, nappy changing and rocking to sleep (even if these are in the midst of unending howls of protest) are a joy unsurpassed by anything previously experienced. The past pleasures of TV, book reading, running, sleep etc. have all been usurped by this helpless object of human dependence. The heart is not big enough to hold the ferociously committed love I feel towards my girl. Caryn and I concur wholeheartedly on this phenomenon. Could this be the way God feels about me, about us?

"When Israel was a child, I loved him, and out of Egypt I called my son. But the more I called Israel, the further they went from me. They sacrificed to the Baals and they burned incense to images. It was I who taught Ephraim to walk, taking them by the arms; but they did not realize it was I who healed them. I led them with cords of human kindness, with ties of love; I lifted the yoke from their neck and bent down to feed them” Hosea 11:1-4

2006-08-10T10:49:00.000+02:00

Unto them a child was born...

On 3 August 2006, at 14h41, Kylie Lyn was born to us via Caesarian section; dimensions 3.245kg's and 48cm. Kylie came out crying (of course) but when Caryn and I saw her we just burst into tears of joy ourselves, "It's a girl". Our girl, our daughter. Praise God for her safe transition into this phase of her eternal life; words are not enough. I suppose thats why there were tears, when words fail then tears seem not only appropriate but somehow also enough.

We had so many good friends come to the hospital to greet her in love and to welcome her. The staff at the hospital didn't quite know what to do with all the crowds. Thank you to all who sent messages, gifts, prayers and who came to visit.

Kylie went home from the hospital on the Sunday following her arrival and is a jewel set in our hearts and in our home. Jesus said, "Whoever welcomes one of these little children in my name welcomes me; and whoever welcomes me does not welcome me but the one who sent me" (Mk 9:37). God has come to our household anew.

2006-07-18T13:13:00.000+02:00

There lived a boy and a girl...

Well, a crafty friend finally managed to twist my arm (thanks Al) and here it is, the blog of Don & Caryn Holmes; extended family pending.

Caryn and I are just a few days away from becoming first time parents and so will begin the next major chronicle of our story together. I want to to keep our book open for community comment and editing so please feel free to join us as we journey/ journal.

So not for the first time in our lives we hear the immortal words "once upon a time" and we step into the comedy/ tragedy/ fairytale of the next moment and of this life that is part of the Life Supreme, taking you along with us.