What is it about things that sneak up on us that render us so helpless but relieved at the same time? Like a car accident; one minute all safe and oblivious, the next praising God for our safety? I had a realization; my part in the story is not over yet. By that I don’t mean a Kanye West moment of invincibility but one of a secret assurance, “Not yet.” I’m one of those people that ideally would have God do everything. Maybe it’s a secret laziness, like being the first one as a child to jump up when your parents need something done. At my house we had a code, ok, maybe not so secret, of who got to do what was asked. We shouted out a number from 1 to about 5 and whoever shouted out the last number got to do the task. The older siblings got, the cleverer they became; all of a sudden zero came into the equation, and I wonder what happened to negative numbers! I think my mom liked it, she and my dad would ring a bell (don’t ask me where they learnt this habit) whenever a cup of tea or coffee was craved.
Ok, enough of childhood reminiscing now, let’s get to the almost grown up stuff. A break-up is one of those things that at times sneak up on you. Call it naiveté or a conscious decision to weather all storms, but those bastards are sneaky. It’s ironic that the label bastard came up; fatherless emotions. But do emotions really need two people to exist? I wish they did because at least there would be someone to blame. I’m just kidding, we’re all participants in a story, like it or not. It’s like attracting dysfunctional partners, call me Dr Phil. This week I discovered that I may actually be as dysfunctional as those I accuse and also heard that we’re all sick to varying degrees. Let’s not get into that for the sake of keeping the peace and ones, excuse the irony, sanity.
Back to the accident; when the side of my face hit the hand grabbing thinga-majig behind the seat in front of me in a quantum, sadly, my life did not flash in front of me. Instead the crunch of metal on metal felt like a science field trip experiment; but instead of classmates I had complete strangers beside me. I wonder what happened to the coloured guy sitting next to me; one minute he was there, the next it was just three of us with our index fingers pointed upwards in the cold Jan Smuts air signalling for Bree. Right now I have a companionable bottle of Shiraz next to me and an unending prayer of gratitude; half of me wants to break down in shock and the other is just so grateful that the tears hang in limbo, waiting to be claimed. Honestly, I think a good cry would solve everything. Thank goodness Kari Jobe is doing the crying for me, I don’t think I’d keep up. Plus the smell of frying onions and Raja in the kitchen only serve as the needed reminder of having an appetite.
Yes, where was I about things that sneak up on us like exam prayers of doing better next time in a room of hopefuls or even better, being what our parents expect us to be? I haven’t somewhat given up on that one, there’s something about people; two or one, sometimes none, expecting you to be better than they were that is the match light to paraffin or wait, another Portuguese roll to Nandos chicken served hot after an over indulgent night or isonka sombako dunked in ulusu at umcimbi.
Let me not take up too much white space waiting to be seduced with white ink and say what’s on my mind. Thank you Jesus I’m alive, by the way Microsoft Word did not automatically correct the small letters 'j' in Jesus when I typed it, just a red a red zigzag line under the name. What's the point to having a word processing programe if it doesn't recognize name? As I was saying, things that sneak up on us are a reminder of the fragility of the things we perceive to be our treasure. I’d like to say, “Store your treasures in heaven” but I’ve never been there. What I can say is that life is a testimony of purpose. I’m still waiting to find mine as that of the confidence of a motivational speaker during a conference but I unwittingly know it’s there like a lie in a line pleading for forgiveness.
I’m happy and grateful to be alive but so many of us take life to be like opening a “lucky packet”; you don’t know what you’re going to get but you’re happy if it’s better than the greenish-gray of a toy soldier that your friend got a second ago. I wish miracles were set in very apparent contrast to our everyday existence, in that way there would be assured comfort to pain, disappointment, hurt and could-have-beens. I pray God sneaks up behind me with an AK 47 (that’s the only gun variety I know besides a Baby Brown) and blows my brains out, he’s been doing it for so long that I’ve gotten so used to it and take it as a must like a sugar daddy or momma spending cash. That’s nice until you’re faced with a boep full of disappointment and waning youth.
Yes yes, there’s something about things that sneak up on us that render us so helpless but relieved at the same time.
Oh gosh, I’ve blabbered on and on, it’s time for closing comments; “Stay real, don’t do drugs.” I wish. The only realness in this room is that I’ve got fingers to press on black and white key squares and little purple secrets of making a whole lot of money even though my majors belongs in the lower echelons of reality in a salary increase. I hold onto the promise of prosperity and goodness that come from God’s own lips, I wonder how God’s lips look mara. In my head he’s always wearing a huge grin and side-burns and ever charismatic. Let me not start on God’s persona, my inbox would perhaps be full of conservative’s takes on seriousness. If I can laugh and crack jokes, surely he can too.
No comments:
Post a Comment