October 2014

The smile

16:03 15 October in Weeskinders

I was moody that day, and too irritated to ask myself why. Constantly biting back the sharp things my mind produced, begging to be flung at everybody who crossed my path.

I attended all my meetings, won every argument, and quickly lost what was left of myself. By lunchtime even my shadow was long gone. It’s science you know? They leave with the light. Some things are wonderfuly predictable that way.

My anger marched ahead like a forcefield. Demanding to be known, to be felt. Gripping its jaws around every inch of calm or kindness, craving the rip. The scream.

The wake of my resistance set the pace. Drumming out an angry rhythm, and I was determined to follow. Giving myself willingly. Wildly. Screaming at every inch of every thing. Even outraged at the audacity of the air that would dare to touch me without granted permission.

I arched my back, threw my head, and hurled my rage towards the sky. Begging the world for battle!

And that was the moment when, by some miracle, I noticed Him.
Smiling at me. Of all things.


Showing me kindness. Loving on me. Beaming the warmth of His eyes across my every inch. Unaffected by my… well, by me. Living beyond the reach of change. Even mine.

In the days there after I would encounter His smile just as I did in the days before,but the specific shade of THAT smile has been warming my heart and cooling my fear ever since.

You see – He is unafraid. Even of us.


11:36 08 October in Rym
1 Comment

‘n Stilte
‘n droogte
‘n skeur:
skrikwekkend middeldeur

‘n Skreeu
‘n skrik
‘n val:
verpletterende knal

‘n Bang
‘n pleit
‘n smeek:
die lewensglans ontbreek

om die lekplek toe te knyp

lig sy voete los sy kop

‘n Pomp
‘n Steek
‘n Sny
en toe glip sy gees verby.


09:12 04 October in Rym

Daar’s ‘n son wat aanhou
om ons lewenskring te voed
met sy ligbad
en sy vasvat
en sy geel genade gloed

daar’s ‘n son wat aanhou
om die nag se steel te stop
met vlamkoors in sy are
en ‘n fakkel op sy kop

en ons ou aarde
draai om en om
ons klein blou

en die son
hang hoog
in die hemelboog:
die vuurvaste strateeg.