Ever since I can remember, we were in church. It seemed like daily ! Sunday School, then morning service, then prayer meetings, then choir practice, revival services and so on. How I used to sometimes hate it. But looking back now; I KNOW that without that solid foundation, I wouldnt be here today to tell my story. Anyways, I especially remember when I was taken out of church most Sundays, like some of my other cousins and peers for playing around and getting caught for maybe laughing at someone who was talking in tounqes or something like that... Man, you would be hauled out of service and everyone would hear you getting a hiding outside on the church steps. LMK ! But I came to love the Lord and at an early age, I dedicated my life to Him. And soon after, I decided to make that my lifes calling. I was so dedicated to following in His footsteps and to become the Salt of the earth and the Light of the World. But this love for Christ and my yearning to lead others to him, would later in my young life lead to disastrous consequences. And that one event in particular, would alter the direction of my life completely and decisively... One fateful night, something happened that made me lose ALL faith in Him and the Church ! In short; my believe today is that any religious organization that excludes others and somehow view themselves as special or more deserving of Gods favor, is divisive. And the God I serve, is inclusive. Whether you are Muslim, Hindu, Jewish or whatever, God loves us all. The sun shines on us all and anything that divides us is not from God ! And oh, how I miss those days of having lunch after church services at Mammas house... Boy could my grandma cook. Probably because she had perfected cooking and cleaning when she worked as a cleaning lady for other white families in the Cape Town area. I used to pray fervently for church to get done, cause I knew the feast that awaited us in that little house in Nooitgedacht where we would all gather after service. We would enjoy leg of roast lamb, roasted chicken and potatoes, butternut squash, beetroot, tastic rice, cooked - just right and fluffy... Man, oh man ! And how can I forget the home made Ginger Beer that was made by my cousins Mary Jane, Rita and Naomi.. Those were such joyous times. My whole family used to come to Mamma Cedras house. Friends too and sometimes even perfect strangers. And tough and stern as she was, she never turned away anyone that needed a warm plate of food. Then after the feast, we would all gather around the piano and my Uncle Soppie and sometimes my cousin Howard would play those old church choruses that I still hold dear to my heart today... Now I must say this... Ive dined in probably some of the most exclusive restaurants in the world and I have feasted by invitation in the presence of Princesses in Thailand and Hong Kong, but I would give ANYTHING to be back in that humble counsel house near Bishop Lavis, surrounded by my family and friends just ONE more time... Who knows, my wish may come true... Youll just have to read on further I suppose......... an excerpt from the pages of Kaapse Klonkie, (A Coloured Boys Story).
Posted on: Mon, 02 Dec 2013 16:19:01 +0000
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