Texture#6 Poverty

If there is a sight that instantly conjures the thought 'poverty' in my mind it is this sight. Corrugated iron sheets bent round each other, wrapping their dented and busted 2mm thick hands around a single room, squeezing the life out. They are painted happy colours but the corners peel back where rust sets in, decay eats at the edges of the flimsy walls, dispelling the skin deep veneer. This house is broken, these walls are failing, sagging with age, succumbing to the will of time.

The hot air inside is thick, close and heavy with the smell of old cooking. Holes in the ceiling let through pin beams of light that reveal the dust that sticks to the single bare incandescent bulb, the only source of light, that leaves corners darkened in a permanent vignette, no one sees what hides in the darkness of those corners.

Each shack stands alone, though there are thousands upon thousands each has its own story, its own prisoners. The walls remember different pains the bulbs highlight different atrocities and the memories change them. They cannot hide it, try as they might, the scars of history bleed through from the background if only we take the time to look closely enough to see.

Peeling paint and crumbling mortar, time pushes through the cracks. That which was once strong becomes enfeebled, brittle and bent. This wall remembers that it was once dust and tries to resist its inevitable return but time heads no one. Neglect hangs heavy on its face, each layer is laid bare and its history is an open book to those who care to see. It's former days of strength are all but forgotten a shadow blown away by the winds of time.

But this house is not left to its own end. It does not belong to itself for it was purchased at a price higher than its own value. One stronger and wiser than it is at work within, he is creating a masterpiece, breaking off the old and dilapidated and replacing it with the new. He has a vision that looks beyond the possible and deeper than the skin.

He cries:

 'O house of Israel, can I not do with you as this potter has done? declares the Lord. Behold, like the clay in the potter's hand, so are you in my hand, O house of Israel.'

the response:

"Let me hear joy and gladness;

let the bones that you have broken rejoice."

Title font: 'Sketch Gothic'

Pretoria #2

I am convinced that it was nothing short of a God send when just as I was leaving the coffee house (the face of our ministry in Pretoria)  that I saw Tony hobbling though the gate with one of my fellow trainees under his shoulder helping him along. It made my week. He had somehow made it! It took me around 30 minutes to walk the distance from where I first met him to get back to the coffee house which is several blocks (I walk quite fast) so it is quite the miracle that he even managed to make it. I greeted him and showed him to a seat - I managed to get a new testament into his hand before I had to leave, his reaction was priceless-

'Glorious God hallelujah!'  

I was very frustrated to only have been able to give him a new testament, this guy knows a chunk of it already and he would actually be able to make use of a full bible.

The following morning I came prepared - I would not have to experience the frustration of wanting to give a whole bible but not have one on me - so as I approached the coffee house again the following morning I was elated to see that Tony had stayed under the stoep that night - I woke him up with a complete bible in my hand. I don't think he has had such an awakening in a long time. He was on the brink of tears - 'It's my food! - My daily bread!' Tony has stuck around at the coffee house since then and I have had the opportunity to begin building a friendship. It will not be fun to leave this city though I know he will be just fine.

In other news on Saturday we hosted a sports day for 30 shelter kids who have been taken off the street - it was good to forge relationships and display love to those who rarely experience it.

We visited a Creche, a prison, a brothel (the girls only), a hospice and walked the streets, telling whoever will listen that there is a hope that they are missing out on.

Creche ministry = clowns ( I personally find them terrifying)

 It has been a pretty intense week topped off by an experience evening on Friday - we had R5 (about 50p) to spend on food for the evening - it was chicken feet time ...

We went to bed on a full stomach (you can eat cheap if you know where to look) and a thin piece of cardboard under the stars. It was an interesting experience to lie on the pavement in a sleeping bag, though on reflection I think the hardest part of being homeless is the loneliness - I was surrounded by my friends and could happily sleep like that for some time but I think it would be a different story entirely if I were by myself. Maybe you should befriend the next homeless person you meet - they are notoriously unreliable, hard to love and most likely will betray you in a heartbeat because that is all they have experienced from other people, but you could change that ... today.

I got the opportunity to preach to the guys before we fed them

Title font 'Louis Ann'