When you write a monthly blog February is a very short month. It seems only last week that it was the 31st January, and here we are at the end of February already. The good news about this is that today is officially the last day of summer. I am tempted to do my end-of-summer happy dance but I shall desist, because once again Cowie's Hill has no water. After a happy dance a shower is a hygienic necessity, but alas! No water. We have been told that tomorrow we will have no electricity. Which would you rather do without?
For me, it is without hesitation, water. I am in the fortunate position of having a swimming pool, so flushing the toilet is not a problem. A few buckets of pool water next to the toilet, and you are sorted. Water to drink comes in bottles, or there are ice cubes to melt, so you don't have to go thirsty. I am loath to swim in the dark because water snakes, crabs, and even large spiders have been known to lurk in pools at night. Shudder!! Wet wipes and baby powder have to suffice for necessary hygiene.
Lack of electricity is another animal altogether. No morning tea or microwave oats to set you up for the day. Thank God this fodder can be substituted with water and an apple, but I am not keen. Caffeine is sadly lacking in tap or bottled water. I could stock up on Red Bull - "It gives you wiiiiiinnnnggssss," - but I prefer my caffeine in a hot beverage. No power means no lights, no kettle or microwave or telephone or iPad charger or television or hair drier or any other electrically powered necessity. No air conditioner or fan on a very hot day. No cup of tea, coffee, or cocoa on a chilly evening. The food in the fridge has to be consumed the day of the power outage, or it is lost forever, but let's not forget that the roasted butternut or broccoli and rice casserole now has to be eaten at room temperature. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!
Of course we are sometimes challenged by the loss of water and electricity at the same time. This really tests the mettle of a man. The bush types can rustle up a fire outside, or buy charcoal and light the Weber. They can win the undying admiration of their female relatives, especially their mothers (more to follow), by boiling water for tea or coffee, and concocting a hearty campfire breakfast. "Move over woman. Let MAN show you how to cook!" Whereupon mother starts to preen. "Did you see that?" Winks and nudges follow. "That's him, the handsome man in the clean shirt that I ironed for him! It is a lucky girl who will get HIM! Look how helpful he is. So talented, my boy!!"
In my first year of teaching I lived as a weekly resident in a small rural hotel. There were no en suite bathrooms. Residents had to traverse a long, dimly lit passage (hallway to Americans), to reach the communal bathroom facilities. My bedroom had a door that opened onto the passage, and a window that opened onto a verandah that ran the length of the front of the hotel. I arrived back late one Sunday evening to find that I could not access my room through the door. I had forgotten my key at home, but I had a spare key stashed inside my bedroom. This was back in the day when honesty was a more prevalent commodity than it is now. I had left my bedroom window open for fresh air. No problem, I thought. I shall go around, through the upstairs lounge, onto the verandah and climb through the window into my bedroom, retrieve the key and open the door.
Having decided on a plan of action I lost no time in trying to carry it out. The really unfortunate part of this was that there was a power outage, so I couldn't see a hand in front of me. It was an old hotel with uneven floors and creaking doors. The carpets had seen better days, and the frayed edges were guaranteed to trip an unwary person skulking through in the dark. When I finally reached what I was fairly sure was my window, I unlatched it and opened it as far as I could. My bed was pushed against the wall under the window, so getting in should have been a breeze. Thankfully I leaned in to feel for where the bed was so that I could climb through. As I leaned in and felt for the bed, my outstretched hands encountered SOMETHING, and it wasn't the bed. It was something furry lying ON the bed. My hair stood straight up on end, while my body froze half in and half out the window. I almost stopped breathing.
After a few moments I cautiously moved my hands over the furry THING. As I did so, it moved, but only a tiny bit. My backwards leap would have broken any long jump record, and mine was BACKWARDS from a standing start. With my heart in my throat I felt my way to the stairs, got down them without breaking my neck, and found the dim light of candles and the pungent smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke coming from the bar. Ignoring the "no women in the bar" rule, I burst in and told the few assembled drinkers that AN ANIMAL was upstairs on my bed. They looked at me suspiciously through the cigarette smoke and the candlelight, and wanted to know what kind of animal. Could it be a cat? Absolutely not, I declared. This creature was at least THIS BIG, and it was very solid and hairy.
Alcohol and excitement in equal measures fuelled these men to action. Within a space of ten minutes they had assembled a couple of bright flashlights, a knobkierie ( a type of club used by rural Zulus ), a hunting knife of monstrous proportions, and a gun. We cautiously made our way up the stairs, and then tiptoed towards my door. The idea was not to awaken the sleeping THING in case it tried to fight back. When one of the party tripped on the frayed rug, and uttered an expletive in Afrikaans, the thing would have to be dead not to have heard us. I have been trying to remember whether or not they broke the door down, or whether the manager had another key. He probably had a key and unlocked the door, whereupon the men got stuck in the doorway, as together they began to enter and then discretion being the better part of valour, they tried to exit. At some point a strong flashlight swept the room, once, twice, and the third time lit up the part of my bed under the open window. The place where the hairy thing had been.
Oh, the shame of it! I can still see it now. Resting upon my bed was a packed suitcase, and over the suitcase, the one I had left packed before I went home, completely forgetting that it was there, was a black mohair stole, a type of shawl to wear over an evening dress. I was due to go away for a few days soon after I got back from a weekend at home. I had the foresight to pack my bag, and thoughtfully drape the suitcase with my mohair stole so as not to forget it, and promptly forgot that I had left it on the bed. Leaning in through the window I had touched the mohair, which felt like the fur of an animal, and which had slipped, or MOVED, under my fingers. I can still feel the accusing glares from the men whose evening of convivial drinking I had interrupted. They were disappointed that there was no animal to kill. They were upset that I had got them all excited for nothing. They were scornful that I couldn't tell the difference between a suitcase covered with mohair and a dangerous animal. The story that they could relate to their friends disappeared as fast as the flashlight exposed the animal for what it really was.
It strikes me that we need the life-giving water of the word of God as well as the power of the Holy Spirit in our lives. I cannot live without the water of the word. I have no buckets of any substitute to refresh my soul. Only His word will do that. I cannot live without the power of the Spirit. Without power, there is really no life in our living. We exist. Above all else, I love to live and walk in the light. In His light I can see that the devil is one fallen angel, but HE IS GOD ALMIGHTY. I need not fear anything. Nor need you ever be afraid. When we turn on the light the shadows flee, bogeymen are revealed as nothing more than a towel on the floor, and the things that scare us lose all power to intimidate. Please don't be afraid of the thing on the bed!
God bless you. Have a marvellous March.
For me, it is without hesitation, water. I am in the fortunate position of having a swimming pool, so flushing the toilet is not a problem. A few buckets of pool water next to the toilet, and you are sorted. Water to drink comes in bottles, or there are ice cubes to melt, so you don't have to go thirsty. I am loath to swim in the dark because water snakes, crabs, and even large spiders have been known to lurk in pools at night. Shudder!! Wet wipes and baby powder have to suffice for necessary hygiene.
Lack of electricity is another animal altogether. No morning tea or microwave oats to set you up for the day. Thank God this fodder can be substituted with water and an apple, but I am not keen. Caffeine is sadly lacking in tap or bottled water. I could stock up on Red Bull - "It gives you wiiiiiinnnnggssss," - but I prefer my caffeine in a hot beverage. No power means no lights, no kettle or microwave or telephone or iPad charger or television or hair drier or any other electrically powered necessity. No air conditioner or fan on a very hot day. No cup of tea, coffee, or cocoa on a chilly evening. The food in the fridge has to be consumed the day of the power outage, or it is lost forever, but let's not forget that the roasted butternut or broccoli and rice casserole now has to be eaten at room temperature. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!
Of course we are sometimes challenged by the loss of water and electricity at the same time. This really tests the mettle of a man. The bush types can rustle up a fire outside, or buy charcoal and light the Weber. They can win the undying admiration of their female relatives, especially their mothers (more to follow), by boiling water for tea or coffee, and concocting a hearty campfire breakfast. "Move over woman. Let MAN show you how to cook!" Whereupon mother starts to preen. "Did you see that?" Winks and nudges follow. "That's him, the handsome man in the clean shirt that I ironed for him! It is a lucky girl who will get HIM! Look how helpful he is. So talented, my boy!!"
In my first year of teaching I lived as a weekly resident in a small rural hotel. There were no en suite bathrooms. Residents had to traverse a long, dimly lit passage (hallway to Americans), to reach the communal bathroom facilities. My bedroom had a door that opened onto the passage, and a window that opened onto a verandah that ran the length of the front of the hotel. I arrived back late one Sunday evening to find that I could not access my room through the door. I had forgotten my key at home, but I had a spare key stashed inside my bedroom. This was back in the day when honesty was a more prevalent commodity than it is now. I had left my bedroom window open for fresh air. No problem, I thought. I shall go around, through the upstairs lounge, onto the verandah and climb through the window into my bedroom, retrieve the key and open the door.
Having decided on a plan of action I lost no time in trying to carry it out. The really unfortunate part of this was that there was a power outage, so I couldn't see a hand in front of me. It was an old hotel with uneven floors and creaking doors. The carpets had seen better days, and the frayed edges were guaranteed to trip an unwary person skulking through in the dark. When I finally reached what I was fairly sure was my window, I unlatched it and opened it as far as I could. My bed was pushed against the wall under the window, so getting in should have been a breeze. Thankfully I leaned in to feel for where the bed was so that I could climb through. As I leaned in and felt for the bed, my outstretched hands encountered SOMETHING, and it wasn't the bed. It was something furry lying ON the bed. My hair stood straight up on end, while my body froze half in and half out the window. I almost stopped breathing.
After a few moments I cautiously moved my hands over the furry THING. As I did so, it moved, but only a tiny bit. My backwards leap would have broken any long jump record, and mine was BACKWARDS from a standing start. With my heart in my throat I felt my way to the stairs, got down them without breaking my neck, and found the dim light of candles and the pungent smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke coming from the bar. Ignoring the "no women in the bar" rule, I burst in and told the few assembled drinkers that AN ANIMAL was upstairs on my bed. They looked at me suspiciously through the cigarette smoke and the candlelight, and wanted to know what kind of animal. Could it be a cat? Absolutely not, I declared. This creature was at least THIS BIG, and it was very solid and hairy.
Alcohol and excitement in equal measures fuelled these men to action. Within a space of ten minutes they had assembled a couple of bright flashlights, a knobkierie ( a type of club used by rural Zulus ), a hunting knife of monstrous proportions, and a gun. We cautiously made our way up the stairs, and then tiptoed towards my door. The idea was not to awaken the sleeping THING in case it tried to fight back. When one of the party tripped on the frayed rug, and uttered an expletive in Afrikaans, the thing would have to be dead not to have heard us. I have been trying to remember whether or not they broke the door down, or whether the manager had another key. He probably had a key and unlocked the door, whereupon the men got stuck in the doorway, as together they began to enter and then discretion being the better part of valour, they tried to exit. At some point a strong flashlight swept the room, once, twice, and the third time lit up the part of my bed under the open window. The place where the hairy thing had been.
Oh, the shame of it! I can still see it now. Resting upon my bed was a packed suitcase, and over the suitcase, the one I had left packed before I went home, completely forgetting that it was there, was a black mohair stole, a type of shawl to wear over an evening dress. I was due to go away for a few days soon after I got back from a weekend at home. I had the foresight to pack my bag, and thoughtfully drape the suitcase with my mohair stole so as not to forget it, and promptly forgot that I had left it on the bed. Leaning in through the window I had touched the mohair, which felt like the fur of an animal, and which had slipped, or MOVED, under my fingers. I can still feel the accusing glares from the men whose evening of convivial drinking I had interrupted. They were disappointed that there was no animal to kill. They were upset that I had got them all excited for nothing. They were scornful that I couldn't tell the difference between a suitcase covered with mohair and a dangerous animal. The story that they could relate to their friends disappeared as fast as the flashlight exposed the animal for what it really was.
It strikes me that we need the life-giving water of the word of God as well as the power of the Holy Spirit in our lives. I cannot live without the water of the word. I have no buckets of any substitute to refresh my soul. Only His word will do that. I cannot live without the power of the Spirit. Without power, there is really no life in our living. We exist. Above all else, I love to live and walk in the light. In His light I can see that the devil is one fallen angel, but HE IS GOD ALMIGHTY. I need not fear anything. Nor need you ever be afraid. When we turn on the light the shadows flee, bogeymen are revealed as nothing more than a towel on the floor, and the things that scare us lose all power to intimidate. Please don't be afraid of the thing on the bed!
God bless you. Have a marvellous March.
Lovey
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