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| Pappa en Ikke |
I never had little or young girl dreams of being a princess, or being someone's bride in a wispy white gown, with a hazy veil flowing from a fake tiara. I guess this could have been due to my "practical" upbringing, where there was not much space for fairy tales. But it was not devoid of childhood magic nonetheless. That type of romance just did not seem realistic and I must admit it still doesn't. To me "romance" meant someone taking pains to give of themselves to touch my heart in a unique way.
I did however dream of an old stone farmhouse, with a deep cool veranda and an endless horizon. With this house came a sensitive man who loved decent books and music, wore corduroys and loved animals - even if they shed on the couch or the back seat of his car, or dug up garden exotics. He would be oblivious to the make of car he drives, although a British racing green Morris or Kharman Ghia would have fitted the picture splendidly.
Apart from my maternal grandfather, the men (males) of my childhood did not make a deep impression on me. My father was a wonderful provider, but he was often distant and frowning. Busy in a man's world with the mysterious things that fathers do to keep the family fed and secure. But the times when he did allow me close to him, are like treasures in a small tin box that I hide under the bed and take out to relish once in a while. The garage/workshop was his sanctuary and the smell of wood shavings and varnish still hold a deep nostalgia for me. My mother would send me down there with cups of coffee, a dash of milk, no sugar. And this was how a "lastige laatlammetjie" gained access to that wonderful world, where sweet-smelling dust made patterns in the filtered sun and words were superfluous.
There was a tall uncle with an easy laugh, twinkling blue eyes and a nonchalant flick of blond hair, which I often felt like tousling, but never dared to. Another uncle had a nasty habit of giving me a lick when I was asked to greet him with a kiss. My best friend's father was a jolly man with an uneven swaying gait and a wayward eye. But there were periods when he was morose and broody and we knew without warning to tip-toe around their messy old house and give him a wide berth. I later realised that these were the times when he'd seen the bottom of another bottle and there was no more.
The neighbours had a five-year old adopted son from an abusive background. He boldly announced his intentions to marry me soon after we met. I was about nine at the time and the thought sent shivers down my spine. As part of his "games", I was often held up with a pellet gun or an arsenal of stones, even a kitchen knife once. This was sadly the only way he knew to demand my loyalty. With threats of violence. He had the vocabulary of a drunken sailor, and would aim his most seasoned language at us from a perch on the fence, when we had visitors over for a "braai". I often wonder what happened to him. Does he have a family? Did he find peace? I do hope so.
Brothers had over-confident, loud friends with too much hair under their armpits and noisy spiked soccer shoes and pungent socks, which my mom resented.
I did make an exception for my own brothers, opposing in character as the Rock of Gibraltar and the Cape of Storms. They had about them an irresistible air of excitement, (bordering on danger at times), which the girls that I knew somehow sadly lacked. They had freedom, and although tinged by a touch of madness, it did not depend on the right person to ask them out or the consent of stern parents for most everything they did. I happily washed their motorbikes for 20 cents, and there were few thrills which equaled a "spin" down de Beer Avenue, a wide leafy road with few stops and many curves.
In retrospect I do see that I had a rather unbalanced view of the male species. They did matter somehow, but I was not sure exactly how. There were still some tough lessons to learn before I thought I knew what characteristics a "good man" should have. And even then, those criteria were based on the delusion that such a human being actually existed...
(I have a hunch that this may perhaps be one of the reasons why God chose to give us two boy-children. I watch their unique characters develop with fascination. They are are warm, noisy, sweet, mischievous, naturally curious and inventive. The love they give is often still so pure and extravagant that it makes my heart expand to bursting point. All things made new, one twirl at a time...)
BECOMING A WIFE
The wise woman builds her house, but with her own hands a foolish one tears it down. (Proverbs 14:1)
I had hoped for a situation where I could enter into a second marriage with a “whole” man. Not someone with baggage (as I myself obviously still had). Someone to look up to, to trust, who would stand up to my willfulness and tendency to be controlling.
A man who was trying to find his way through the painful process of divorce did not fit the criteria. But as G. K. Chesterton rightly said: “There is a road from the eye to the heart that does not go through the intellect”. And the Lord himself had after all whispered in my ear to “trust Him”.
It was an apprehensive courting at first, the memory of failure, separation and rejection still so close and real. We just relished being together, with not much thought for the future as yet.
There is something true in what people say about the bitterness of disappointment, (especially when you realise your own role in bringing it about). It makes the sweetness of grace, of second chances, so much richer, not something to be grasped. It grounds you, and you are less likely to take grace for granted.
Our time of courting was sweet, and the past was put to rest while we were together. Text messages were still a novelty, and for us took the place of the scented love letters of yore. I recall walking straight into a mannequin in the middle of Woolworths reading one of these, not in the least unnerved by the stares. Who cared, I was His “principessa” and not even my absentminded clumsiness could dampen the joy and thrill of it.
Some time before we were engaged to be married, we attended a work function together. Work functions being as they mostly are – events which you attend apprehensively and often not very enthusiastically – this one was no exception. We “worked the floor” nodding politely and making small talk relating to work issues or other “safe” topics. At one point we became separated, and a while later as we met up to move to our appointed seats, a young man with lively dark eyes and dreadlocks draped over his well-cut jacket approached us. He seemed to know my husband (who was at this stage still the “suiter”). In a slightly affected Jamaican accent he asked: “Is this your wooman?” ”Uhm yes ...” my husband answered, caught a bit off guard. “Aah, I can see that” he said. “You moove together.” I loved that. We were synchronised – and it showed. Looking back I like to think that he could see something of what God had intended for us to be – why He brought us together.
My husband recently wrote in my birthday card: Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like the shifting shadows. (James 1:17). And I realised – what we have is one of those...
Nothing can take that away – we made/make mistakes, but our love was (and still is) real and the bond sacred. The Father of light’s grace has removed the dulled lens of regrets and replaced it by all that was so precious, topped with the hope of a future with Him. Jesus was there through it all, watching us, sometimes smiling, and sometimes with deep hurt in His eyes.
It was wonderful to discover all the different facets of this new love. It was so different from what I had experienced before, so willing to give as well as to receive. It was a healing balm to be with someone who wanted and received my love and gave his, generously.
Being “betrothed” or engaged brought gravity to our relationship. The ring on my finger felt like a seal on our bond. There is nothing in the bible that commands us to wear a ring once we are engaged to be married, and often far too much value and status is attached to this little band. Mine is a simple antique gold circlet, engraved with a woven pattern, and it had been selected with care. I had no starry eyed ideas of being a catalogue bride. It was the second time round for both of us. This was a sobering and humbling thought.
So many generations of women (and men) have carried on the traditions and expectations of a wedding, that we don’t question it at all. Couples look toward an ideal, encouraged and fed by a whole “wedding industry”. This industry has become quite “recession-proof” even though more than 50% of marriages end up in divorce.
The biblical view of marriage contrasts so starkly with the world view, that we should question our own traditions, but we don’t. God does not want to rob us from the joy of getting or being married. He just has a far greater role for man and woman to play in the sacred bond of a marriage relationship. A purpose and responsibility that is much “grander” than our limited ideals.
There are a few verses in the bible that have completely changed my view of marriage, and therefore also of the way we enter into it. Strangely enough we hear these words read out at most wedding ceremonies, but their meaning is shut out by spiritual deaf- and blindness. And I guess most couples are so stressed and nervous about remembering their vows etc., that they don’t really hear or remember what was said anyway.
I looked at Matthew 19:4-6, which says: “He who created them (man and woman) from the beginning, made them male and female and said, ‘for this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh”. This is not so easy to fully understand. A bit of a mystery?
But then my husband pointed me to Ephesians 5:31, where the same words are repeated, except that Paul follows it in verse 32 by saying: “This mystery is great; but I am speaking with reference to Christ and the church”.…
This is where we get a glimpse into the “grandness” of it all. God created man and woman to be joined together, to become one, to reflect the relationship between Christ (the husband) and the bride (the church). This initially made my mind reel. Are we, fallible and untrustworthy, truly capable to show the world what the wonderful mystery of marriage between man and woman - and more importantly, our relationship with Jesus - is all about?
In our own strength we are not. It is easy to think that the marriage “institution” is becoming redundant in a time when marriage is no longer truly honoured, and the joining of man and woman has been cheapened - resulting in so much brokenness. But with Jesus at the heart of the sacred joining of man and wife, it can once again become a vessel through which His love for His bride, His church, can be reflected into the world. It overcomes everything, never stops loving, never stops forgiving but is ever renewed and made stronger with each step closer to the heart of God.
Our wedding day was a gift. Even though the wedding itself was relatively small and simple, we also fell into some of the traps of trying to create a perfect day. For ourselves and the people who would share this day with us. But as Jesus’ love covers a multitude of sins and mistakes, it was a still a blessed and beautiful day. We entered a cool garden with all those that we loved, were joined as man and wife before God, and celebrated our union in our own unique way. It was not perfect, but it was deeply special.
Later that afternoon, just after dusk, the twilight darkened and fat, cool drops started falling. I watched it drip from the rose posies and smartly dressed tables from the safety of an African "boma". Someone dashed out into the rain and did a crazy jig. It was infectious. Inhibitions were let down. We kicked off our shoes and ran into the downpour. How we danced and laughed, my antique silk Kashmiri skirt swirling and heavy with moisture around my legs. I felt a blessed relief. The anticipation and anxiety of the day was over. I was my prince's wife. I carried his surname, his love and a hope and trust that this time it would all be "right"...
There was a tall uncle with an easy laugh, twinkling blue eyes and a nonchalant flick of blond hair, which I often felt like tousling, but never dared to. Another uncle had a nasty habit of giving me a lick when I was asked to greet him with a kiss. My best friend's father was a jolly man with an uneven swaying gait and a wayward eye. But there were periods when he was morose and broody and we knew without warning to tip-toe around their messy old house and give him a wide berth. I later realised that these were the times when he'd seen the bottom of another bottle and there was no more.
The neighbours had a five-year old adopted son from an abusive background. He boldly announced his intentions to marry me soon after we met. I was about nine at the time and the thought sent shivers down my spine. As part of his "games", I was often held up with a pellet gun or an arsenal of stones, even a kitchen knife once. This was sadly the only way he knew to demand my loyalty. With threats of violence. He had the vocabulary of a drunken sailor, and would aim his most seasoned language at us from a perch on the fence, when we had visitors over for a "braai". I often wonder what happened to him. Does he have a family? Did he find peace? I do hope so.
Brothers had over-confident, loud friends with too much hair under their armpits and noisy spiked soccer shoes and pungent socks, which my mom resented.
I did make an exception for my own brothers, opposing in character as the Rock of Gibraltar and the Cape of Storms. They had about them an irresistible air of excitement, (bordering on danger at times), which the girls that I knew somehow sadly lacked. They had freedom, and although tinged by a touch of madness, it did not depend on the right person to ask them out or the consent of stern parents for most everything they did. I happily washed their motorbikes for 20 cents, and there were few thrills which equaled a "spin" down de Beer Avenue, a wide leafy road with few stops and many curves.
In retrospect I do see that I had a rather unbalanced view of the male species. They did matter somehow, but I was not sure exactly how. There were still some tough lessons to learn before I thought I knew what characteristics a "good man" should have. And even then, those criteria were based on the delusion that such a human being actually existed...
(I have a hunch that this may perhaps be one of the reasons why God chose to give us two boy-children. I watch their unique characters develop with fascination. They are are warm, noisy, sweet, mischievous, naturally curious and inventive. The love they give is often still so pure and extravagant that it makes my heart expand to bursting point. All things made new, one twirl at a time...)
The wise woman builds her house, but with her own hands a foolish one tears it down. (Proverbs 14:1)
I had hoped for a situation where I could enter into a second marriage with a “whole” man. Not someone with baggage (as I myself obviously still had). Someone to look up to, to trust, who would stand up to my willfulness and tendency to be controlling.
A man who was trying to find his way through the painful process of divorce did not fit the criteria. But as G. K. Chesterton rightly said: “There is a road from the eye to the heart that does not go through the intellect”. And the Lord himself had after all whispered in my ear to “trust Him”.
It was an apprehensive courting at first, the memory of failure, separation and rejection still so close and real. We just relished being together, with not much thought for the future as yet.
There is something true in what people say about the bitterness of disappointment, (especially when you realise your own role in bringing it about). It makes the sweetness of grace, of second chances, so much richer, not something to be grasped. It grounds you, and you are less likely to take grace for granted.
Our time of courting was sweet, and the past was put to rest while we were together. Text messages were still a novelty, and for us took the place of the scented love letters of yore. I recall walking straight into a mannequin in the middle of Woolworths reading one of these, not in the least unnerved by the stares. Who cared, I was His “principessa” and not even my absentminded clumsiness could dampen the joy and thrill of it.
Some time before we were engaged to be married, we attended a work function together. Work functions being as they mostly are – events which you attend apprehensively and often not very enthusiastically – this one was no exception. We “worked the floor” nodding politely and making small talk relating to work issues or other “safe” topics. At one point we became separated, and a while later as we met up to move to our appointed seats, a young man with lively dark eyes and dreadlocks draped over his well-cut jacket approached us. He seemed to know my husband (who was at this stage still the “suiter”). In a slightly affected Jamaican accent he asked: “Is this your wooman?” ”Uhm yes ...” my husband answered, caught a bit off guard. “Aah, I can see that” he said. “You moove together.” I loved that. We were synchronised – and it showed. Looking back I like to think that he could see something of what God had intended for us to be – why He brought us together.
My husband recently wrote in my birthday card: Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like the shifting shadows. (James 1:17). And I realised – what we have is one of those...
Nothing can take that away – we made/make mistakes, but our love was (and still is) real and the bond sacred. The Father of light’s grace has removed the dulled lens of regrets and replaced it by all that was so precious, topped with the hope of a future with Him. Jesus was there through it all, watching us, sometimes smiling, and sometimes with deep hurt in His eyes.
It was wonderful to discover all the different facets of this new love. It was so different from what I had experienced before, so willing to give as well as to receive. It was a healing balm to be with someone who wanted and received my love and gave his, generously.
Being “betrothed” or engaged brought gravity to our relationship. The ring on my finger felt like a seal on our bond. There is nothing in the bible that commands us to wear a ring once we are engaged to be married, and often far too much value and status is attached to this little band. Mine is a simple antique gold circlet, engraved with a woven pattern, and it had been selected with care. I had no starry eyed ideas of being a catalogue bride. It was the second time round for both of us. This was a sobering and humbling thought.
So many generations of women (and men) have carried on the traditions and expectations of a wedding, that we don’t question it at all. Couples look toward an ideal, encouraged and fed by a whole “wedding industry”. This industry has become quite “recession-proof” even though more than 50% of marriages end up in divorce.
The biblical view of marriage contrasts so starkly with the world view, that we should question our own traditions, but we don’t. God does not want to rob us from the joy of getting or being married. He just has a far greater role for man and woman to play in the sacred bond of a marriage relationship. A purpose and responsibility that is much “grander” than our limited ideals.
I looked at Matthew 19:4-6, which says: “He who created them (man and woman) from the beginning, made them male and female and said, ‘for this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh”. This is not so easy to fully understand. A bit of a mystery?
But then my husband pointed me to Ephesians 5:31, where the same words are repeated, except that Paul follows it in verse 32 by saying: “This mystery is great; but I am speaking with reference to Christ and the church”.…
This is where we get a glimpse into the “grandness” of it all. God created man and woman to be joined together, to become one, to reflect the relationship between Christ (the husband) and the bride (the church). This initially made my mind reel. Are we, fallible and untrustworthy, truly capable to show the world what the wonderful mystery of marriage between man and woman - and more importantly, our relationship with Jesus - is all about?
In our own strength we are not. It is easy to think that the marriage “institution” is becoming redundant in a time when marriage is no longer truly honoured, and the joining of man and woman has been cheapened - resulting in so much brokenness. But with Jesus at the heart of the sacred joining of man and wife, it can once again become a vessel through which His love for His bride, His church, can be reflected into the world. It overcomes everything, never stops loving, never stops forgiving but is ever renewed and made stronger with each step closer to the heart of God.
Our wedding day was a gift. Even though the wedding itself was relatively small and simple, we also fell into some of the traps of trying to create a perfect day. For ourselves and the people who would share this day with us. But as Jesus’ love covers a multitude of sins and mistakes, it was a still a blessed and beautiful day. We entered a cool garden with all those that we loved, were joined as man and wife before God, and celebrated our union in our own unique way. It was not perfect, but it was deeply special.
Later that afternoon, just after dusk, the twilight darkened and fat, cool drops started falling. I watched it drip from the rose posies and smartly dressed tables from the safety of an African "boma". Someone dashed out into the rain and did a crazy jig. It was infectious. Inhibitions were let down. We kicked off our shoes and ran into the downpour. How we danced and laughed, my antique silk Kashmiri skirt swirling and heavy with moisture around my legs. I felt a blessed relief. The anticipation and anxiety of the day was over. I was my prince's wife. I carried his surname, his love and a hope and trust that this time it would all be "right"...
