Christ is the bread, awaiting
hunger.
St. Augustine
Matilda took her
father through to the retirement village in Wakkerstroom today. Within a few
weeks we’ll be moving as well, so we’ll be close by, living on the farm a little
out of town. We know that the retirement facilities and care are very good, but
on a personal level we really want him to be happy there.
This past
weekend we moved his furniture into his new room and furnished it with his
favourite chairs, new curtains and linen and put up the family photos he loves.
With us doing that, Matilda’s sister Marinetha looked after him and my father
here on the farm at Rietfontein. A real logistical exercise to have our hands
free and them taken care of.
Earlier this
afternoon Matilda sent me a picture of him lying on his bed in the sun in his
new room, listening to his favourite music and singing along. It is still early
days, but he seems to like his new surroundings. To us it is such a relief.
This was the
first phase of a huge task that we have to accomplish before the end of this
year. All our stuff, the woodworking and engineering workshops and Matilda’s
pottery studio have to be moved as well. And we have to find a flat for my dad
in that same Dana retirement village and move him into that with hopefully the
same positive outcome as in the case of oupa Frans.
Some might say
we are giving too big a step; it is too much of a chance we take. In all
honesty, there are days when we feel that way too. When the road ahead seems
too daunting, our financial resources too limited, the challenges too many and
our abilities and strength too little.
But there is
something else. I don’t want to call it faith for it somehow places the focus
too much on us. It is something much bigger than us. It is not so much a
driving force as a calling force. That same living, loving force that infuses
all of life. The Force who loves to see us taking chances living. Sometimes we
are scared, but we are alive scared, shouting at the top of our voices as we
swing far and wide over the water.
We would so
love, in the steps of the loving Force, to see people being fully alive,
discovering what has always been inside them, exploring their endless
possibilities and gifts. We would love to see that in our fathers, our family
members and friends, in the people who cross our path in wonderful ways. We
want to create a most beautiful space to help them in whatever way we can to
come alive.
Do you know how beautiful you are?
I think not, my dear.
For as you talk of God,
I see great parades with wildly colorful bands
Streaming from your mind and heart,
Carrying wonderful and secret messages
To every corner of this world.
I see saints bowing in the mountains
Hundreds of miles away
To the wonder of sounds
That break into light
From your most common words.
Speak to me of your mother,
Your cousins and your friends.
Tell me of squirrels and birds you know.
Awaken your legion of nightingales—
Let them soar wild and free in the sky.
And begin to sing to God.
Let’s all begin to sing to God!
Do you know how beautiful you are?
I think not, my dear,
Yet Hafiz
Could set you upon a Stage
And worship you forever!
Hafiz
If we have to
take chances in the pursuit of that desire of ours that Hafiz has described so
delicately, so be it.
Besides oupa Frans’
furniture that we moved to his room over the weekend, we also took a few of our
belongings to drop off at our new home afterwards. At this stage the electricity
connection has not been turned on at the farm, so we arrived in pitch darkness,
driving through mist as thick as milk. While Matilda was busy lighting some
candles inside, I went to open a water supply valve outside. I stood for a
while in the dark and total silence at the corner of the old house. As soon as
I moved the clear hoo! hoo! sound of an owl sitting in the high blue gum trees
a little distance away, came through the mist. I stopped, stood still for a
while and as I started to move, the hoo! hoo! sounded again.
At that moment,
with that sound coming out of the mist, a deep peace came over me. I just knew
that we’ve been acknowledged. As if to say: “I see you’ve arrived. Let us
begin!”
George
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