Beautiful discontent

     

A recent visit of several weeks to South Africa has confirmed for me that it remains one of the most beautiful countries on the African continent yet possibly the most enigmatic of them all.  

      People of all races revel in the well-built highways and bridges, and admire the sunny mountains and wide soft beaches. But they cannot escape the tensions of another general election, the frustrations of bribery in many aspects of daily life, violent crime, “invaders” from across their northern borders, inadequate birth control, and the way working days are interrupted by power cuts called “load-shedding,” which come in two- or three-hour bursts sometimes several times a day.

      Yet the people you meet in gleaming new supermarkets loaded with papaya, passion fruit, and guavas, are as friendly and engaging as ever. 

      For example, despite their own scarcities, ordinary folk sprang to help neighboring Mozambiquans after the March cyclone, their strength drawn from as many as six hours of outdoor worship and prayer (regardless of inclement weather) every Sunday.

     During my reunion with friends who effortlessly glide from Shona into Zulu into English, I was inspired by many of their stories of God’s goodness overcoming a nation’s challenges.

       One of them was a thirteen year old Zimbabwean named Blessed who was excitedly looking forward to his first year of high school in Kwa-Zulu Natal, where his older brother was established. But the school said their classes were full, and stopped responding to phone-calls and text messages from Blessed’s mother.

        In May, with seven months to go before the start of the new school year, she suggested to Blessed that they pray about the situation. They began by looking back together over the many blessings their family had received over the years.

      His mother, who works with one of my daughters, told me  of Blessed’s unshakable trust in God’s care and guidance. 

      “He just loves every word of the 23rd Psalm,” she explained. “His faith is even greater than mine.” Then she added with a twinkle in her eyes, “But guess who taught him those words!” 

       As she talked with me, she leaned against a wall in the kitchen under a chalk-written Bible quote from the Apostle Paul: “Your cleansed and grateful life, not your words, will bear witness to what I have done” (Matt. 8:4, The Message).

Silently we re-read that verse. “Those words shine in my heart like the sun on that wall,” she said, touching the chalk with her fingers.

       She said that when she had given up all hope of Blessed’s getting into his brother’s school, Blessed continued to pray, insisting that his Shepherd would show him the way and find a place for him. 

      In the face of his mother’s deepening disillusionment, he prayed daily to Mwari (the Shona name for God) though he conceded that it may be wise for his mother to hold back on buying the traditional blue school uniforms for him. 

       Blessed continued to study his Bible every morning before leaving for his middle school in a local taxi that serves as a school bus of sorts, carrying 24 students on their ten kilometer (six-mile) trip through wooded hillsides glowing pink and purple with tibouchinas in full bloom.

      His mother kept texting school officials reminding them of Blessed’s burning desire to find a place in the local high school. Blessed urged his mom to persist, until one sunny summer morning they received what is called an SMS (text message) telling the family that a place had unexpectedly opened up and that the school would welcome Blessed.

      At that moment he was reminded deep inside where his name came from, and why it shone so meaningfully that day.

      Another heartening story came from a 20-something niece of mine who shared what she called the “most beautiful moment” in one of her days.

      She told me she had been standing in line at a shop called Sweets From Heaven in their local mall when a small Indian girl in princess dress moved in behind her. 

     With deep concentration and some signs of anxiety the princess was counting the coins in her pockets. As she searched and searched, her dad, in a ragged shirt and scuffed  shoes, watched from the entrance, only too aware that his daughter wouldn’t find much, and that he had no more to give.

      Eventually the little girl figured out that she had seven Rands (50 US cents) to spend, and not a cent more.

     My niece made her own purchase, scooped up her ten Rands in change, and promptly placed it in the disbelieving, shy hands of the little girl. The princess stared at the gleaming coins for a few moments, and with a cheer flung her skinny arms around my niece.

With mock secretiveness, the girl announced that it was her birthday and she was going to buy a very special treat. She picked out what she wanted, paid the cashier, using the money my niece had given her, and then danced across to her father in the doorway. 

      She stood in front of him, held up her purchase, and said, "Daddy, I want you to have this. Thank you for loving me." The two of them wrapped themselves in joyful hugs.                     

       As the three of them walked together out of that “sweet heaven,” they were in tears, and my niece learned that the birthday girl had just turned six!

      More important, perhaps, they had all got the message about the agelessness of unselfish gratitude.

     Also, that even amidst discontent, beauty lies in answered prayer.