'Soshari'

I was privileged enough to to able to go a boarding secondary/high school where liberties were given with regards to afternoon extracurricular activities. In terms of these activities, a weekly quota needed to be met in addition to few fixed commitments depending on the time of the year. However, given that this was achieved, the remaining time available could be spent as the individual(s) wanted, within reason. In my particular year group, from the shared spare time between different individuals in the different boarding houses, 'Soshari' emerged, and in fact I think its safe to say that it became somewhat of a culture for us.

Let me take a step back and try to explain what 'Soshari' actually was. Put simply, it was a varied group of young men playing football/soccer together almost daily, rain or shine, having a common interest and finding shared safety in that. It was a way of escaping the boarding houses, not only because it wasn't fun hanging around there, but also because the alternative of playing football with friends was a far more appealing one. The number of people who attended always varied, and there existed an assorted skill set within the group as I suppose would be expected. I was not one of the regulars, I did attend occasionally though and always enjoyed bonding with my peers when I did. However, I remember often finding it difficult to play with my friends, as accepting as they were. A lot of them were really gifted, they could weave the ball between their legs at a stand still and many of them while in motion too; I was and still am simple, incapable of such fluidity! They made the game artistic and beautiful almost dancing as they played; I was and still am awkward, always fighting to keep in control of my extremities. They were fit and strong, I was weak. They knew the game, I was learning. They were committed, I was always only passing through. Having said that, when you played you belonged, regardless of ability and despite sometimes being in the bottom pick when it came to team drafting! Because I belonged, when I could overcome my personal pride, I went and played and often enjoyed it.

I have never been a good footballer or soccer-player, and I think at the age of 23 its high time I accept that I never will be! Hopefully I will get better so that if I ever have to play with my own children, I won't embarrass them!!

I thought about soshari for the first time in a while yesterday, when for the first time in years I played social football/soccer, this time with some men from church. I only knew two of the 22 that were present and I can happily say that I never felt unwelcome. It did however leave me feeling nostalgic, hence the tone of the post.

I am reminiscing, so there are no personal learnings in here for me to share, as I have done in the past. The two things I would say are this: Pride that hinders, as a result of one not being the best (which by many definitions is what pride is) should be at least challenged, and at best eliminated. The second is that we need to understand and sometimes painfully accept our limitations; its good to dream and to dream big, I am an advocate of this, submitting all such dreams to God, but I think it would be a waste in my case for example, if I was holding out for a career in football! Men are not born with equal gifts, passions, abilities or identical callings. Some sing, some teach and some dance etc of which even in these there are stark and fundamental differences such as style, subject, genre etc. I suppose the idea is to do what God calls you to do. Figuring this out, or hearing the call isn't always simple. Indeed I am still waiting. In addition, in the event that I had been dreaming about being a footballer, while I was waiting to hear otherwise this knowledge doesn't make me not being good at football/soccer any easier to accept, but it gives reason to keep on searching, and earnestly too. I am on a tangent and touching on a subject that I intend to share on soon. Please be aware that that many dreams that seem impossible aren't necessary against calling, for truly if God wanted me to be a footballer, and I was listening to Him, I would become a footballer.

Will I play again? I hope so! I am not after all trying to change or make my life with it, I am just hoping to have a good time and hopefully learn a thing or two.

I hope one day also to play Soshari with my friends again as men, hoping that as before and experienced yesterday there will be no bias and no inequality. Just old friends remembering what brought them together initially, enjoying every moment of it and appreciating what keeps them together still.

Father and Daughter - Hand in Hand

I remember seeing once, a father walking with his daughter. It was a beautiful picture. She was small, no older than three years old. He was a young father, no older than 30. He was tall and protective, towering over his little princess. They were walking 'hand in hand', well at least as close to hand in hand as was possible. The little girl had to stretch every part of her body to reach, and the father hunched over to ease her effort. The point of contact looked strong, and it seemed nothing would separate them, not easily anyway.

As they walked she skipped, and smiled. She was happy, she knew she was safe. He (the dad) looked at her and smiled in kind, he was proud! They talked between them, or so it seemed, but I was too far to be able to make any sense of it. Unexpectedly, the little girl dropped the balloon she had been holding in her free hand and it rolled very gently, almost in slow-motion, to the centre of the road that they and I were walking along. She quickly followed it, leaving her dad without notice. At that very moment a Range Rover reversed out of its parked position. It all happened very fast, but it seemed to last a lifetime. Imagine what it felt like for the father, who had had her in his hand only a moment before. Without a second thought, he followed, yelling and screaming. Which caring father wouldn't?

The ridiculously large car (for the size of the road), screeched to a stop. I stood still and watched as this drama unfolded in front of me. I was surprised the driver had noticed the little girl, or maybe the yells of the father had gotten his attention. The father picked her up in his arms, ran her back to the sidewalk and put her down. He shouted at her, still I watched. He looked angry and was shaking, seemed scared and was crying, nonetheless he shouted at her. She started crying too. Everything else around them and indeed me was still. The car drove off, he held her. He picked her up in his arms and held her more. I want to believe that in that moment, he whispered to her that he loved her, and cautioned her never to scare him like that again, but that is speculation. When I realized that I had planted myself in all the commotion and drama, I pepped myself up and carried on my way, passing them by.

As I walked to my destination that day, I thought (as I still often do) about what I had witnessed and realized the severity of what I could have seen, had things been a little different. What if the driver hadnt been vigilant, or even if the father hadn't been there? or quick to respond? The outcome as a result of alterations to the variables would have been very different and very tragic. Imagine it was your daughter or son, or perhaps brother or sister, who you have responsibility for; whose life is almost literally in your hand? What would go through your head at that moment?

Initially, I was confused that the fathers first response after bringing his daughter to safety had been to shout at her. But I came to understand or rather I concluded that at that time, she had to know the consequences of what she had done, or the potential consequences at the very least. If that message got to her any later, the intensity and dangers of her 'carelessness' would not have been fully received. The punishment and scolding, needed to be instant, an immediate consequence of her actions, not a later result. Perhaps, in addition a serious conversation would be had later where more instruction and understanding would be given. Hugging and holding her, sealed the deal, he loved his daughter as any father would, and realized how close he had come to losing her. The punishment/scolding much like the holding, was born in love. The two have a special relationship, working hand in hand in the parent soul.

I wonder if this can be compared to how God treats us when we do wrong.



(Image taken from http://www.flickr.com/photos/40151217@N00/87533535/)

Life lessons

I will use a quote by Mairead Maguire, the former Nobel prize winner to open. 'We frail humans are at one time capable of the greatest good and, at the same time, capable of the greatest evil. Change will only come about when each of us takes up the daily struggle ourselves to be more forgiving, compassionate, loving, and above all, joyful in the knowledge that by some miracle of grace, we can change as those around us can change too.'

Some weeks ago I started taking swimming lessons with a buddy of mine and that is the inspiration behind this post. What I need you to not misunderstand is that I can 'swim', unfortunately not very well! I have no enduring technique and cannot tread water, which unless I were always asked to swim short distances of 15 metres or less, in addition to all swimming waters being no deeper than 1.7 metres, improving and learning would not be necessary.

What I found funny about the lessons is the link between the practical component and the theory behind it. If you sat me down and asked me how one swims, and not only that but how one swims well and effectively, I would most certainly be able to give you a detailed and accurate account. In fact I am confident that I could give details that would include elements of the physics behind the process and the biology that makes it possible! The practical component is where I fall short and discrepancies become self evident. If asked to put the aforementioned theoretical knowledge to practise, I would be found wanting. Whilst I have the theory 'down pat', I cant seem to transfer this soft knowledge into the equivalent and useful physical output that is swimming well!

This got me thinking, as some random things often do, about many aspects of life and generally being. (In the next section 'I' was initially 'We', but that was changed to avoid blindly casting the blanket of generalization and to avoid transferring what could potentially be my own musings onto other people, though I am sure we are all in the same boat). I have, and to a limited extent know the theory behind having an admirable life, being a charitable man, being a blameless son, being an irreproachable husband, being an exemplary Christian to name a few examples; however daily when it comes to the practice of it all I fall short. Much like my dilemma with swimming, where I know what I should be doing and indeed what I often want to be doing, I find that I am just not doing it, and when I try I don't get it quite right. The reasons for this and for my poor swimming I suppose can be traced; as far back as the garden of Eden perhaps or when I was still only a little boy, when I unwittingly dove into the big boy pool, banged my head, inhaled water in shock and never wanted to enter a pool again, respectively off course!

Whilst the reasons, as many as they are, may be fully valid and understandable, we and indeed I must not let them be a source of justification for our shortcomings. Justifying will make them acceptable, and once this becomes the welcomed status quo, much will be lost including perhaps an understanding and appreciation of grace - not that it could ever be fully understood anyway.

I will close as I opened, using the words of men before me, and those more experienced in life than I am. Harry Ironside a Canadian pastor (in the USA) said, 'Grace is the opposite of merit. Grace is not only undeserved favour, but it is favour shown to the one who has deserved the very opposite.'

Sinclair Ferguson a Scottish minister said more potently that, 'The spiritual life is lived between two polarities: our sin and God's grace. The discovery of the former brings us to seek the latter; the work of the latter illuminates the depths of the former and causes us to seek yet more grace. The heart-conviction of sin is the way that grace prepares the heart for more grace.'

My Story - My Enemy

I caught a glimpse of you this week: I have never known such fear. How could it and why did it have to be you?

When I have seen you in the past, you have smiled at me, greeted me, even embraced me. You have been to me as a loving child would be to a devoted father or a loyal wife to an honourable husband. When I have fallen you have been there to help pick me up, and have supported me through some dark days, often reminding me of who I would and could be. In the cold you have kept me warm, and in uncertain times kept me hoping. When I was tired you kept me going and when I have been lost, you have provided me direction. You 'understand' me.

My love for you and my pride have blinded and deafened me, keeping me from learning the truth, hiding me from grace.

I am angry with myself, for letting you in, and for sharing my life with you. I am frustrated with myself for refusing to see and denying the truth. A part of me wishes I was still oblivious to your true colours; remembering the simplicity of ignorance and the sense of comfort (though now I know it to be false) that loving you brings.

How could it be you? If I keep companion with you, you will lead me to an inevitable death. But how do I let you go? How do I move on? How could it be that you are me?


“The face of the enemy frightens me only when I see how much it resembles me”




(Image courtesy of Marilyn Ferdinand)

My Journey Home

I was there at 0955 for my 1005 coach; for a change I was early. I had planned my morning well, and had walked to the coach stop with direction and purpose. I was looking forward to going home after a long week away.

I had been accompanied to the coach stop by some new friends who I had met over the course of the week, and when my coach was due to arrive they carried on their way leaving me with half a dozen other people who I presumed were waiting for the same service. I didn't mind waiting on my own, I knew it wouldn't be a long wait, and in addition it was an unusually lovely day - it was nice to be outside. The sun was out for a change, the sky was blue and the occasional breezes were warm! Like the porridge in Goldilocks and the three bears, the weather was neither too hot, nor too cold, it was just right: a good start to the day!

The scheduled time for the bus to arrive and depart came and went rather swiftly. It was soon 1020 and there was no sign of it. Questions were asked to which no satisfying answers were given. I waited along with the other prospective passengers, I had no choice!

Before long, at about 1030, the sky started to grey and the sun took cover behind the gathering clouds. It wasn't cold but the feel of the day had shifted. The weather was no longer bright and joyful, the wait no longer easy and light. The air was suddenly saturated with concerns and worries in addition to the overhanging reality of being out of control and helpless to the situation as it presented itself. Time passed and still I waited.

At about 1045 a coach arrived. The relief between the gathered group was almost audible! Smiles started to appear, and bodies quickly straightened up. As the coach drew to a halt in front of us, it became clear that it wasn't the one I was waiting for, and I noticed a few others shared my fate. Bodies returned to prior positions, smiles disappeared, frustration surfaced and the small sense of hope that had been conceived was lost. Our number grew smaller as those whose service it was smiled as they boarded, and smiled still as they rode away.

At 1055 the warm breeze became a noticeable cold wind. The sun was nowhere to be seen or felt, and we were still waiting. It was here that I realized that it wasnt just 'I' who was going through this, but 'we'. We were bonded by a common circumstance. Whilst it may have impacted the rest of our days differently, our situations were at that point the same; it had become cold, the heavens were threatening rain and the coach was creeping on being an hour late - we all felt affected by these different elements; and had no control over them at all.

1105 came and went. The coach was nowhere to be seen. At about 1110, a coach turned the corner and headed our way. It wasn't my coach or that of some of my other companions. Our number grew smaller, and at this point only a handful of people remained. We looked at each other, smiled and shook our heads. As yet another coach drew up, hope was long lost, and there was no shift in body language within the group. We stared the coach down until it came to a stop and waited for more bad news. The driver stepped out, looked at his register, looked at the group in front of him and called out the destination. We looked at each other briefly, smiled, picked up our bags and headed home.

This got me thinking a bit while I was on my way home cruising down the motorway. We waited because we knew a coach would come for us, we had no control over when or how, but we knew it would. The weather had changed, and I am sure if any of us had had any say in the matter we would have kept it the way we found it when we first arrived, potentially making the wait a little bit more bearable or friendly, still we waited. The day had been planned, but the plan had changed with respect to time; we made it to our respective destinations albeit late, but we got there.
For me, I waited because I needed to go home, I didn't have any other place I needed to be or indeed wanted to be, so things worked out. In a situation where I was going somewhere just for the fun if of it, it is very plausible that I could throw in the towel and opt out of the journey for all the hassle it was causing. My question is this: how do I or we, know which journeys in life to take, embark on and indeed invest in and which are worth waiting out? Which are worth braving the weather for? even before considering that, how does one figure out which journey will best lead them Home or where they need to be? And following that determination, working out the best mode of getting there.

I have recently graduated, and all the dreams of what I would do in my life seem all so hard if not impossible to figure out. Is it worth me waiting and working them out or should I shift or maybe even change focus completely? I know I am not in control and when it comes to how life plays out, this affects more than the weather - and is not always easy to take. I am at a crossroads of crossroads.

After sharing these thoughts with a dear friend an interesting point/comment was raised and made; However frustrating it may be to not be in control, the one thing we have been given choice over is how we react. Where one passenger may have gotten annoyed, another may have spiralled into a sort of depression abandoning hope for the remaining plans of the day. Others could have welcomed the break taking it as an opportunity to catch up on reading or even sleep. I am learning that life doesn't stop because plans have changed; whether through choice or circumstance. It goes on, and our individual responses to the voluntary or involuntary changes affect and have a bearing on its progression.