The Restory Retreat Centre

Photo taken here at Barrowfield by Marinetha Naude “How are things going on earth?” Leo, an elderly angel, asks God. God smiles and fondly thinks back on the seven days of creation. A difficult, but fascinating task. “Now that you ask, I think I must go and have a look.” And God comes to earth on a sunny September day. The birds are chirping, a little stream is running downhill to a small village. In the fields, women are working who sings cheerfully. Songs about the harvest, about love, songs about wine. And God thinks: This must be Tuscany. And looks satisfied across the landscape. Walks along the road, down to the village. In the middle of the small town square, stands a peculiar building. A dome of bricks with a tower and on top of the tower a golden cross. God walks up the gigantic stairs in front of the peculiar building and comes into a cold, draughty space with, on its walls, all these remarkable figures, mourning women with floating little hoops above their heads, an awful...

Painting by Johan Angus I can’t remember exactly how he was born. He arrived years ago like dew in the night – one day Roy was there. I do recall that it was during one of the most difficult and confusing periods of my life. Since then he stayed. He might be silent for weeks, but never do I have the feeling that he is far off. He is ever present in the wings. The origin of his name is a mystery too. It was not as if I decided to call him that. I met him as Roy. The same goes for his appearance. He is slender, with thin, flat hair. In his thirties, usually wearing a golf shirt and a pair of overall trousers. Mostly he sits. Not as if he’s lazy, more as if he is waiting and content in the knowledge that what needs to be done is being done. We meet each other in my journal. As I’ve said, he might be quiet for weeks and then, on any particular morning, he’ll be there on the page. On such an occasion my journal entry takes the form of a conversation: Roy: I s...

Christmas before last,  I asked George to write me a Christmas story. He obliged with the beautiful  story below. It forms part one of the complete story, as you’ll see, because as I started to comment on it, a strangely wonderful thing happened: my comment  turned into a sequel!                                                                                                                                                                                                         ...