During the prayers of the day, there was one less “amen”.
~ Phindiwe Nkosi
This book is written in a barren period of loss with an attempt to move forward towards substance.
Fear manifested itself as a physical presence that seemed to dominate the public sphere. Time almost stopped. Even without confirmation I could sense that something had gone terribly wrong.
I realized that whilst crying over the loss, the living did not seem adequate because they were not my loved one. The room full of strangers hurt me profusely. Even as I saw thousands of young people; I felt incomplete and more saddened because the one I wanted to see was buried.
The heart aches in brokenness as daylight awakens the pain of knowing.
Only Jesus can complete.
Like my loved one, I am convinced that we all have critical conditions. Battles that we undertake behind the hospitals, in lonely alleys, secret locations and sometimes public places that are out of reach to those who seem to care.
This book attempts to record a journey to restoration that applies to ordinary people like you and I. It is a shot towards healing. A step headed for a new consciousness. It emerges from a moment in time where all seems lost.
I do not claim to be a healer: only God is the Healer.
Instead of hating, my heart cries mercy! Mercy on me! Mercy on me! Mercy on me!
I could smell the food fill up my hunger before the order was even placed.
We are designed to dance. To use our bodies as weapons of grace, beauty and intrigue. We are designed to stretch until we master growth. To replace old dead cells and be physically renewed each moment. So challenges don’t destroy us, they just should make us dance more swiftly and passionately. For when we dance we please God. Especially when we dance in brokenness.
I found that when it hurt, sometimes the most effective response was to feel the pain rather than wish it away or pretend it was not there.
Instead of hating, my heart cries mercy! Mercy on me! Mercy on me! Mercy on me! It calls out to love in an attempt to save myself. I don’t want to be one of those people who live their lives with boils, septic wounds and broken bones bleeding inside.
Lately I find myself staring at people’s faces... I find myself frantically searching through the crowds for one face. I don’t find that face, I cry inside. Weeping for the identity I know no more.
I don’t know what more to say... I did not follow up in the days to come. I did not, I did, I should, I could... Just like that, I let that entire ordeal go.
