Going Through a Difficult and/or Traumatic Time?

Going through a difficult and/or traumatic time can completely scramble your thinking capacity and
ability to make sense of everything that is happening.

Allowing yourself to be thrown in to this roller coaster of though and emotion does not help to resolve the challenges that you are experiencing, and it becomes more challenging if you are responsible for the well-being of other, while can barely stand up straight yourself.

Guiding people through such a period can be complicated, especially when such a person is close to you.  How do you then generate some kind of rationality in a situation that is completely void of anything rational – this is what I suggest:

First you must write.  Journaling is significantly important.  Writing stuff down forces you to work from a maddening 30 000 plus thoughts a day that is racing through your brain, not allowing you any clear though or action, to writing at a pace of 50 odd words per minute.  It forces you to make sense of what is happening by forcing all these thoughts through a funnel – to a sentence that (sort off) make sense.

Next step is to determine which of these thoughts need some kind of action – getting through difficult time requires you to make decisions and act, otherwise you will sink into the well of desolation.  Use the Wheel of Life to structure these thoughts and then prioritise.  Identify what needs to be attended to first – and start by taking small steps.

Use a problem-solving method to get to appropriate solutions.  Write the process down.  Give every problem a name, gather information, analyse the problem, identify criteria that you will use to evaluate options, know what you want to achieve, identify options, evaluate and decide, implement and make corrective actions as you go along. 

Schedule your day, week, month, year – create structure and some kind of certainty.  Schedule every aspect of your Wheel of Life into your diary – what you schedule become an objective.  If you don’t see it, it will not be done.  Start small, but start.

Celebrate every positive result and achievement, so that you can build your confidence in rebuilding your life.  Be brave – fight for yourself.  Show up!

Remember – you cannot give what you don’t have!

What is more important – to increase your positive thoughts or the decease your negative thinking?

 Here are some interesting points:

To minimise negative thinking is more important than to increase positive thinking.

Negative thinking shows up as negative self-talk.

We are not aware of 70% of our negative thinking.  Unperceived.

Negative thinking shows up in our speech as complaining, criticising, concern about stuff outside of your control, commiserating and catastrophising.

We must learn to cut out the negative thinking so that we can become more confident in ourselves. How do we fight back against negative self-talk?  We must catch it (become aware of the negative self-talk), we must check it against reality (create doubt) and change it to positive (reframe it to e.g. I am not ….).

Complaining must become solution-focused dialogue

Criticising must become constructive feedback.

Concern must become constructive caution.

Commiserating must become empathetic engagement.

Catastrophising must become proportional perspective, with the focus on actionable steps.

Self-imposed change is therefore required.   Have a brilliant and constantly improving 2025!

“If you must doubt something, doubt your limits.” Price Pritchett

Based on the work of Price Pritchett & Arley Hoskin.

You Cannot Outsource Life!

 As a coach – I realised the following over the past few years.

Where people are at a specific period of their lives, normally is the result of their habits.

Most people know what they don’t want – but have a very limited idea of what they want and where they want to go, and survival thinking (fight, flight or freeze) makes it almost impossible to engage in future thinking.

When prompted, they want vague things (e.g., freedom, peace, riches, happiness) – no time were invested in defining what and how they would like their lives to be, or what they would like to achieve.  Very much learned helplessness.

And then, when pushed, many shrink from taking the responsibility to take action, to implement necessary actions, to face their fears, to suffer the hardship – which is mostly required to change life’s direction.  The life most of us want lies on the other side of our fears, and the success that we crave lies on the other side of the work that we avoid.

The reality is that you cannot outsource your happiness, your growth, your health, your relationships.  Growing is your responsibility.  Growing requires change.  Change involves pain.

Own your life!  Make your own difference.

Opgee en Oorgee - 2025

 

Opgee en Oorgee - 2025

Vir baie jare het ek padwedlope gedoen, selfs aan ‘n maraton of twee deelgeneem, en wanneer jy hardloop kan jy nie met verdeelde gedagtes (two minds) oefen of deelneem nie.  Wat padwedlope my geleer het is dat jy net so toegewyd moet oefen en werk as wat jy aan jou geloof toegewyd is – sonder absolute toewyding is daar ruimte vir twyfel.  Twyfel in jou vermoë om die afstand af te lê, twyfel of jy moet aanhou, oor begin of opgee, of twyfel in jou geloof aan God.

Dit het my ook geleer dat ongeag hoe fiks jy is, hoe hard jy werk of hoe hard jy oefen – dit nie altyd goed gaan nie.  Elke wedloop is nie maklik nie.  Elke opdraande het ‘n afdraande waarna jy reikhalsend uitsien, net om desperaat die volgende opdraande in die oë te kyk – maar wanneer jy teenwoordig is (present), wanneer jy is waar jou voete is, dan raak die op- en afdraandes ‘n simfonie van beweging, van ritmiese voetval, sweet afvee, water drink, gesprek met mede-atlete en self, ‘n verby skuiwende landskap, en een van verwondering vir die gemak van beweging van sommige teenoor die loop-en-val van ander.

Wanneer jy by die einde kom, met of sonder gemak, die eindstreep oorsteek en nieteenstaande jou konstante belofte aan jouself om dit nooit weer te doen nie – kyk jy tog of die dalk jou persoonlike beste is, net om dan op jou volgende wedloop te besluit.

Dit hang af van hoe jy daarna kyk – maar in padwedlope, fietsrenne en baie soortgelyke sporte is almal wenners.  Wanneer jy oor die eindstreep gaan en jy ontvang jou medalje – is jy ‘n wenner.  Jy verloor slegs wanneer jy nie die eindstreep bereik nie, wanneer jy opgee – en tog moet jy soms opgee met dit waarmee jy besig is, want “hardloop” is dalk nie vir jou nie.  Ook so in die lewe. 

Maar ons gee nie oor nie – want daar is altyd iets anders waarin jy kan presteer.  En dalk is presteer nie om op die podium te wees nie, of jou persoonlike beste te verbeter nie.  Presteer is baie keer net om op die baan te wees, om net klaar te maak – papnat gesweet en met ‘n (moedige) glimlag.  Soos die man in die arena. 

Die ou wat wen is die swetende, blasende, moeë persoon op die baan – anders as die verloorder wat kommentaar lewer op die paviljoen.

Vrede en Voorspoed vir julle almal!

Johan Coetzee. 24/12/2024

(‘n Aanhaling uit my nuwe boek – Opgee se Gat.  In proses vir 2025)

The Butter Knife Principle

 
We all have the luxury of owning several knives, to the extend that we do not think about the process of making a knife.  When we need a knife, we go to a store and buy, mass-produced, all shapes and sizes, for all kinds of purposes – without paying attention.

Knife making, however, is an age old “science” where a bladesmith spends numerous hours going through a very specific process, shaping a piece of metal to become a very specific tool – designed for a very specific purpose.

The challenge is to know what you want, patiently work the metal until you have created the specific blade you want.  How do you go about this?

You must choose the correct quality of steel for the blade and an appropriate material for the handle (such as wood, bone, or synthetic materials).

The knife must be designed – a sketch that includes the shape of the blade and the handle must be made.  Each design and shape have a specific purpose.

The steel must be prepared so that a blade can be shaped – this can be an elaborate process of cutting, hammering, grinding and straightening, until you have something you can shape into a blade.

Then you spend hours shaping the blade by removing excess material by grinding and sanding.

Once you are satisfied with the shape of the blade the process of heat treating and quenching in oil or water to harden the steel for strength and durability.  Then tempering follows to reduce brittleness while maintaining hardness.  If you don’t get this right, you have a useless piece of metal.

Now the finishing of the blade follows, sanding and polishing to smooth out any rough areas and give it a finished look.  But the end is not in sight yet, for final assembly the handle must be cut, shaped and attached to the blade – drilling holes for rivets and using epoxy to secure the handle may be required.

Only now the blade can be sharpened, or not, once again using specialised tool.

Only now you have a knife that may be used for the purpose it has been designed for.  Some for general use, some for a very specific purpose – like a butter knife.

A butter knife is not designed to cut, cleave, debone, fillet, fight or anything else – it is beautifully shaped to do one thing, spread butter.

Life has the same impact on us.  We are all shaped by the master bladesmith – we only participate, there is a design for each of us, we all have a purpose (without purpose we are at a loss), we are shaped to serve this purpose by countless hours learning, experiencing, pressure, achieving and failing, tempered and finished to be useful for God and humanity.

Some of us are generalists, ready to fix and attend to any and everything, and then there are some who are shaped and formed to be unique – to have a specific purpose.  Even in being a generalist, we are all unique, made for that purpose.  The biggest mistake we can make is to compare ourselves to others.

If you’re butter knife, be the best butter knife that you can be, and own it.  Fulfilling your purpose is where being content lies.

Dr CJH (Johan) Coetzee.

15/12/2024

Wanneer is Genoeg. Aftrede is nie vir Sissies nie.

Wat doen jy wanneer jou aftree planne nie werk nie?

Aftrede gaan nie net oor geld nie.

 

Herwin jou Lewensdoel - Purpose

 

Oom Piet se Identiteit

Fokus op wat jy kan Beheer - Aftrede se Gat

"Information Please" - "How do I spell fix?".

 When James was quite young, his father had one of the first telephones in our neighbourhood. He

remembers the polished, old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. He was too little to reach the telephone but used to listen with fascination when his mother talked to  it.

James tells:

Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anyone's number and the correct time.

My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbour. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy.

I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlour and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlour and held it to my ear. "Information, please" I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.

A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.

"Information."

"I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.

"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.

"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.

"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.

"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."

"Can you open the icebox?" she asked.

I said I could.

"Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice.

After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my geography, and she
told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math.

She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.

Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called,

Information Please," and told her the sad story. She listened, and then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"

She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "James, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in."

Somehow I felt better.

Another day I was on the telephone, "Information Please."

"Information," said in the now familiar voice. "How do I spell fix?" I asked.

All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. "Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home and I somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me.

Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.

A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about a half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please."

Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well.

"Information."

I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"

There was a long pause. Then came the soft-spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."

I laughed, "So it's really you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"

''I wonder," she said, ''if you know how much your call meant to me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls."

I told her how often I had thought of her over the years, and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.

"Please do", she said. "Just ask for Sally."

Three months later I was back in Seattle.  A different voice answered, "Information." I asked for Sally.

"Are you a friend?" she said.

"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said. "Sally had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."

Before I could hang up, she said, "Wait a minute, did you say your name was James?"

"Yes." I answered.

"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called.

Let me read it to you."

The note said, "Tell him there are other worlds to sing in.

He'll know what I mean."

I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.

Never underestimate the impression you may make on others.

Whose life have you touched today?

(Not my story, but important enough to share!)

Blumfelde en die Kerssangdiens

 Verlede –

Blumfelde.  Namibia. 1970’s.  Kerssangdienste was iets anders – veral as jy terugkyk.

Ons het daar naby geboer, met Karakul skape, en bokke.  My pa het in die koor gesing, iets wat hy kon doen.  Musiekmaak was hy goed mee.

Desember in die Kalahari is nie ‘n grap nie, veral nie in die sinkgebou op Blumfelde waar die Kerssangdiens elke jaar gehou was nie.  Die sinkgebou waarvan die hele kante op en oopgeslaan het – om lug deur te laat. Asof dit sou gehelp het.

Almal was daar, netjies aangetrek – ek vermoed die mans het pakke aangehad, en ek kan nie onthou of die tannies hoede gedra het nie.  Al wat ek kan onthou is dat ons moes stil sit, en dat dit warm was.  Dat niemand omgeval het van hitte-uitputting nie, gaan my verstand te bowe.  Op almal se voorkoppe kon jy sweetdruppels sien, wat blink paadjies maak het teen die slape en agter in die nek af, net om tussen die kraag en die nek te verdwyn. Warm. Taai.  Maar jy het nie geroer nie.

Onder die bome het Ford en Chev bakkies gestaan, uit die son uit – want die son sal jou voorruit laat kraak.  So entjie van die sinkgebou af was twee put toilette, langs mekaar, gereed om enigiemand in sy (uiterste) nood by te staan - snakkend na jou asem.  Hulle was meeste van die tyd in die skaduwee, net bo waar die sand begin afsak het na die rivier toe – die Olifantsrivier, wat altyd droog was.  Sonder Olifante.

Dan was daar tafels met vliegnette op.  Wittes, netjies omgeborduur – om die vlieë weg te hou.  Onder die nette was daar drinkgoed en eetgoed, flesse met koffie en hertzoggies en broodjies.  Dit is heel moontlik waar ek met Marmite en fyn biltong deurmekaar geraak het – op ‘n broodjie met botter wat geblink het van die son.

Iewers daar naby was daar altyd Poue wat “help” geroep het - terwyl almal gesing, gebid, sweet afgevee en gesels het - gesels oor die weer en weiding en familie.  Die bakkies het vuurplakke opgehad, en water – net vir ingeval.  Dit was warm en die veld droog, en amper Kersfees.  En net sodra dit draaglik begin raak het, is die saal se sink kante laat sak, geslot, en dan is almal in die bakkies, huis toe.

Hede –

Ek wonder of die saal op Blumfelde nog bestaan?  Dalk het dit ‘n stoor geword, vervang deur ‘n baksteengebou, met ‘n groot lugversorger – want ”niemand kan dit in hierdie hitte hou nie”.  Opgerig met skenkings van die boere.

Ek wonder of daar nog bakkies onder die bome staan, Hilux’e en Cruisers dalk, met ‘n Isuzu hier en daar – en dalk ‘n Land Rover, net om my gelukkig te hou.  Die nuwe gebou het dalk nou ‘n kombuis met ‘n yskas, sodat botterbroodjies nie meer blink nie.  Ek dink nie die put toilette sal nog diens doen nie – en is daar nog Poue wat “help” skree?

Ek kan nie regtig geskenke onthou nie – geskenke was daar wel, maar nie in oormaat nie.  Ek onthou egter my Chopper fiets, 1973, perserige kleur, met 'n "shifter". 

Vandag –

Gistermiddag was hier ‘n vrou wat stikwerk verkoop – plekmatjies en strykplankoortreksels, netjies gewerk en plat gestryk.  Hoeveel daarvan kan jy koop.  Vanoggend is hier ‘n man met besems by die hek – ek gaar al op.  Drie dae terug was Johannes hier – hy maak bymekaar vir ‘n kinderhuis, iewers.  By elke kruising staan iemand met ‘n bordjie – “God Bless”.  Die petroljoggies begin al glimlag as ek by die vulstasie inry – hulle weet Kersfees beteken worsbroodjies, ‘n tradisie wat ons lank gelede begin het.  

Ek wonder of kinders nog gewone trapfietse kry vir Kersfees, of moet dit nou ‘n “full suspension” hê?  Of dalk met ‘n battery – om te help met die trap?  Ek weet nie.

Black Friday is nog aan die gang, en dis nou ‘n week lank.  Almal soek goeters en dinge.

Almal pleit Kersfees.  En hou sang dienste.  Ons kerk is nie meer vol nie.

Dalk moet ons net vra vir vrede en reën – dis eintlik al wat ons nodig het. En Liefde! Vir ons en ons naaste – baie daarvan. En werk, ja, en werk ook.  

Dan sal “skenk ons ‘n helder somer Kersfees” dalk sin maak – selfs in Blumfelde se sinkgebou.

Of hoe?

MooiLoop!

Die Reis Herberg

 

Meeste van ons het al gereis.  Iewers heen, vir plesier of plig.

Vir sommige van ons is die reis moeilik en uitputted - ons moet anderkant kom sodat ons kan rus.  Vir sommige is die tyd gespandeer op die roete 'n verkwikking, 'n leermeester, 'n versterking, 'n stille verwysig van 'n skepping waarvan ons eintlik niks verstaan nie.  Reis leer jou van ander plekke, ander mense en hulle dinge, hulle swaarkry en geluk, hulle drome en verwagtinge, ander paaie met nuwe gesigte, ander stories, ander huise se reuke en spoke.

Om te reis toets  jou voorbereiding, jou vaardighede, jou humorsin, jou verhoudinge - iewers kry almal 'n pap band, wonder jy of jy op die regte pad is, lag iemand vir jou en jy vir hulle, frustreer jou reisgenoot jou. Orals.

As die dag verdaag moet jy rus. Daarvoor sleep sommige van ons 'n kaserne saam - 'n gehuggie op wiele, met mure en 'n dak van seil of iets meer solied.  Ander wil tussen vier mure slaap, in 'n herberg of iets - want moeder het moeg geword het vir die gehuggie op wiele.

Herberge in die vreemde is misleidend - advertensies lieg soms. Groen grasperke was afgeneem voor die droogte. Wit linne en gepofte kussings het hulle reinheid verloor. Die swembad het sy sprankel verloor. Tog is daar die juweel herberge wat min mense van weet, wat wegkruip op die laaste bladsy van die soektog, of totdat 'n medereisiger jou daarvan vertel.

Dan is daar verwagting - daardie lysie van kriteria waaraan die herberg vir die lang termyn of sommer net oorslaap, moet voldoen. Daardie blokkies moet een-vir-een afgemerk word, anders is iemand ongemaklik, en dit wil ons tog nie hê nie. Ruim kamers, skoon linne, 'n koffie stasie, self catering of 'n aansit ontbyt, veilige parkering vir jou gewillige ryperd, regte ligging, stilte, naby besienswaardigehede, gesellige luim, uitsig, prys, vriendelike personeel, goeie kos - want ons betaal mos.

En dan, nadat ons die betaling gedoen en ons moeë lywe ingeteken, al die tasse ingedra en die ryperd veilig op stal gesit is - dan duik die eerste kinkel op; hierdie herberg is nie soos ons ons voorgestel het nie.  Die moeilikheid is dat herberge se ware kleure eers na vore kom nadat jy ingetrek het, wanneer jy vir die sleutel teken, wanneer die personeel se skof verby en hulle huistoe is. Wanneer jy en jou reismaat al is wat oor is.  Dis wanneer 'n herberg hemel of nagmerrie word.

Ongeag wat almal sê en die deeglikheid van jou voorbereiding - kort voor lank dop die verf af, lek die dak, drup 'n kraan, raak die swembad groen, tel die paving op, is daar onkruid op die grasperk, kraak die bed, raak die wasgoed vuil, en is jou reisgenoot dik vir jou en jy vir hom/haar - en dis wanneer die herberg sy gekoesterde gevoel verloor, wanneer jy agterkom dat die boksies wat jy afgemerk het, 'n klug was. 

Dis nie hoe ek gedink het dit gaan wees nie.

Dis nie waarvoor ek "op-gesign" het nie.

Dis wanneer keuses gemaak moet word - herstel of verkoop.

Ons lewensreis is baie dieselfde - as kinders het ons nie baie te sê oor die reis, die bestemming of die herberg nie. Gou-gou raak ons egter verantwoordelik vir ons eie avonture, eie heil, eie roetes, eie bestemmings, ons eie keuse van herberg.

Jou lewensmaat is jou herberg - self uitgekies met 'n belofte dat dit vir ewig sal wees. Tot die dood ons skei. Langtermyn. Dit maak ons beide herbergier en inwoner. Ons sal herberge wees vir mekaar, apart maar saam, waar ons mekaar sal koester en toelaat om te groei. Vir altyd.

En tog, soms, is ons keuses nie so vars nie en na afloop van tyd begin die eens perfekte herberg sy krake wys. Soos die euforie vervaag sien ons die werklike prentjie - soms is dit nog steeds die moeite werd en soms, soms word verwagtinge nie ge-eer nie.  Soms raak instandhouding meer 'n herbou.  Die prys moet bereken word - tyd vir keuses.

Op 'n gewone reis is dit maklik om van herberg te verwissel, of om net vir die aand vas te byt - op jou lewensreis is dit ietwat moeiliker.  Geen herberg is volmaak nie, al voel dit in die begin so - daar is altyd iets wat skort, wat nie aan die aanvanklike verwagtinge voldoen nie.  Dis daardie deel wat jou oë laat dwaal, wat jou laat sug - hoekom sal jy wat jy het by 'n ander herberg gaan soek?  Dink mooi, waag jy wat jy het vir dit wat jy dink jy dalk gaan kry?

Gly jy of investeer jy? Beide kos jou iets – tyd, energie, geld, lewenskwaliteit, satisfaksie, verwyte, hartseer, moeite .... Om te bly het twee keuses - om vas te byt en aan te gaan, of om skouer aan die wiel te sit en die herberg te herstel na sy verwagte glorie.

Jou herberg is jou verantwoordelikheid, niemand kan namens jou jou herberg instand hou en verbeter nie. Jou herberg was jou keuse.  En hoe ouer die herberg, hoe meer (gereeld) is instandhouding nodig. Hoe beter jou instandhouding is, hoe minder is die kans vir groot skade.

En selfs met goeie instandhouding, kom daar soms skade.

Maar dis jou herberg - jou reis, jou keuse!

'n Vriend word Begrawe

Vandag is 'n vriend begrawe. Johann met 2 n'e. 68 Jaar oud. Gesond. Onverwags. Daar was nog baie planne.

Om die diens by te woon moet jou naam op 'n lys wees, nie meer as 50 nie. Met afstand tussen die wat saam swaarkry. Gryskoppe sit almal in 'n ry.

Ek sien 'n man wat onbedaarlik huil. Cecilia is sterk en die dogter se oë blink - "Dis so onwerklik" sê sy. Die dominee preek uit Genesis 5 .... 'n man wat naby aan God geleef vir 300 jaar, en toe is hy nie meer daar nie. Johann het ook so geleef. En hy is ook nou nie meer met ons nie.  Huldeblyk word gedoen en dankie word gesê. 'n Seder het geval.

Ek dink aan die tyd toe my pa oorlede is. Die diens is verby, ons groet en beloftes word gemaak. "Sterkte" klink skielik baie hol.  Die tyd stap aan en die lewe se moeilikheid roep.

In die kar maal die diens deur my kop, en skielik wonder ek - "as dit my beurt is, watter foto gaan op my brief gesit word."

MooiLoop Johann, sien jou weer iewers in die toekoms.

'n COVID Psalm

As ek 'n Psalm sou skryf.

Soos Dawid.

Sou my Psalm ook 'n nommer kry - en in die Groot Boek opgeneem word?

Sou my Psalm borrel van vreugde en lesers opbeur?

Of sou my Psalm hartseer wees? Vir God en mens vertel van my seer, van my eie moegheid, van my afgestompte opgekropte gevoelens, my behoeftes - van my vrese?

Sou die woorde van my Psalm die seer in mense se oë kon beskryf, eens trotse mense nou platgeslaan?

Wat van my woede wanneer mense (met werk) kla - terwyl daar genoeg is. 

Sou my Psalm iets kon sê oor selfgeregtigde mense, entitled mislike mense - wat ander  niks gun nie? Mense wat soos witgepleisterde grafte die Christelike waardes van liefde, versorging, gasvryheid, mededeelsaamheid verlê het. Kerk mense.

Sal my pen die prentjie kan skilder van die jong man wat werk soek by my hek, die help asseblief op plakkate, die CVs op facebook. Sou ek kon raakskryf van die straatverkoper, die besemverkoper - die man by my hek wat vir hulp vra, hy het sy werk verloor. Hy bly net straatop. In ons middelklasbuurt.

Sou ek ook soos Dawid op God kom skree - hoe lank nog. 

Here. Hoor U my dan nie. Ons nie. Waarom antwoord U ons nie - of hoor ons maar net nie?

Waar is die wysheid waarvoor ons bid, wat ons soek, Here, in hierdie moeilike en deurmekaar tyd. Wysheid, soos Salomo s'n. En kalmte.

Hoeveel keer sal ek "hoekom" sê? Vra?

As ek 'n Psalm kon skryf, sou ek God daar vind?

Sou dit begin as 'n klaaglied en eindig in 'n jubellied?

As ek 'n Psalm sou skryf, sou God ook daar wees?

'n Psalm.

Healthy Habits to Live By

Habit 1:  Live in the present moment.  We need to be present for the miracles of life. “Every morning we are born again.  What we do today is what matters most.” (Buddha)

Habit 2:  Simplify life.  Outer de-cluttering.  Keep material possessions to a minimum and only hold what you really need.  A simplified life is more enjoyable and less complicated. Own only what you need.

Habit 3:  Inner de-cluttering.  Take care of others. Make room for others and dump selfish habits.

Habit 4:  Meditate. “The earthly obscures the heavenly.  Human voices drown out the voice of God.  Only in solitude can you begin to sift away the chaff and come at last to the golden grains of truth.  Silence will speak more to you in a day than the world of voices can teach you in a lifetime.  Find solitude – and having discovered her riches, bind her to your heart.” (Frances J. Roberts)

Habit 5:  Follow the wise. Look around, there are always insightful people to learn from, especially older people.  Develop a passion for learning.

Habit 6:  Listen mindfully and without judgment.  Take in everything that someone is saying without evaluating it. This leads to mutual respect, understanding and a chance for progress in conversation.

Habit 7:  Accept that change is a law of the universe. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like (lao Tzu). The moment is all that exists.

Habit 8:  Focus on one thing.  Whatever is happening in your present moment, give it your full attention.  You will experience more peace and calmness as a result.  Don’t confuse activity (or multi-tasking) with productivity.  Give it everything you've got.

Habit 9:  Let go of what you can't control.  Letting go gives you freedom, which is important for happiness.

Habit 10:  Strive to keep balance.  Living in the extremes of life challenges balance.

Habit 11:  Have a sense of purpose.  “He who has a why to live for can endure almost any how.” (Nietzsche) Purpose give you the “why”.

Habit 12: Pray for wisdom.  Wisdom is the power to see the truth without having to fit it into any mold.  Wisdom- Knowing that there is always more than what we see and know in this moment.

You can unlearn habits and learn new habits!  If you want to.

(Some sources – Come Away my Beloved, Frances J. Roberts; Hackspirit.com; ideapod.com; Chabad.org)

Oom Johny en die KWV Kwota

1975, Desember. Ek is 'n laaitie in Standerd 5 - Kalkrand Laerskool, 29 kinders groot.

Ons boer Botswana se kant toe, net anderkant Hoachanans. Rooi Kalahari duine plaas, met Karakoel skaap en Boerbokke.

Dinge kners - die pelspryse is nie wat dit moet wees nie, die reën ook nie.  Vakansie hou was 'n vreemde konsep - in effek, ek het eers gehoor jy gaan weg tydens skoolvakansies toe ek klaar was met skool.

Hierdie jaar is dit egter anders - Oom Coenraad van die buurplaas het ons genooi om saam met hulle Swakop toe te gaan, visvang, vroeg in Desember. Ons bly in die Munisipale A-raam huisies.  Opsigself was dit 'n vreemde ervaring, 5 uur in die oggende op om iewers heen te ry en vis te vang, dan laat namiddag terug om die vis skoon te maak en dan te vries vir die lang pad terug. Ek vermoed dis waar ek my knou gekry het, ek hou vandag nog nie van viswerk nie - o ja, en toe kry ek nog "arc eyes" van die son op die see. Nie geweet dis hoe 'n mens vakansie hou nie.

Die pad terug was lank, 400 km Windhoek toe, 200 km Kalkrand toe, dan oos, verby Hoachanas, laai af by Oom Coeraad, en dan die laaste paar myl plaas toe. In 'n Series 3 Land Rover.

Ek dink nie ek was al ooit in my lewe so bly om die laaste duin se kruin oor te steek nie, dan regs op die tweespoorpad wat al langs die duin, rooi rooi kronkel, tot by die opstal. Die ou opstal wat my pa besig was om reg te maak, groot stoep en dak oor die sitkamer - eintlik was dit 'n buitepos waarvan my pa al die geboue aanmekaar gelas het met steen en sement, en 'n enorme dak reg bo-oor.

By die hek, voor die opstal, het 'n Kameeldoring en Witgatboom gestaan waaronder die ou Breakneck generator/sweismasjien op 'n sleepwa gestaan het - koelte. Wat ek wel baie goed kan onthou is dat die Perdebye besonders lief was vir die Witgatboom, en minder lief vir diegene wat daar geroer het.

Maar daar is fout - daar staan 'n vreemde motor en nog 'n kontrapsie op ons erf? Versigtig ry ons nader, en my pa doen navraag. Groot was sy verbasing toe hy sien dis Oom Johny - al die pad van Gordonsbaai af. Oom Johny en Tannie Maude, met hulle Valiant bakkie en karavaan. My eerste kennismaking met 'n karavaan, 'n vreemde kontrapsie waarbinne jy kan bly en dit agter jou motor aansleep.

(Foto geleen)

Ek is nie seker wat die konneksie tussen Oom Johny en my pa was nie, en of hy geweet het hulle kom kuier, is ek nie seker van nie. Hulle staan al 'n week daar, die Valiant bakkie onder die Witgatboom en die karavaan in die namiddag skaduwee, langsaan. Vir die ablusie behoeftes het hulle toegang 

deur een van die vensters op die stoep gekry, en so hulle gang gegaan - 5 dae al.

Ons pak af. My ma kyk my pa vreemd aan; waar slaap die mense - in die karavaan sê Oom Johnny. Ons kinders skarrel heen en weer om alles te dra en uit te pak.

Oom Johny roep my pa - hy het vir hom darem 'n bietjie wyn saamgebring, vir die verblyf, hy het mos 'n KWV kwota. Dis reg so, reken my pa. Die laaibak van die Valiant is soos die weduwee se kruik - boks na boks kom te voorskyn onder die seiltjie uit. Na 'n menigte bokse, wyer as wat ek kan lê en hoër as wat ek kan staan, keer my pa – “oom hoef nie al jou wyn vir my te gee nie.” Oom Johny kyk hom geskok aan, “nee man, moenie bekommer nie - ek het nog my eie ook, dis in die karavaan.”  Oom Johny en Tannie Maude is net na Kersfees daar weg, suid, Gordonsbaai toe.

Nuwejaar - my pa besluit om die boere rondom ons te nooi vir vieringe, ons het mos oom Johnny se KWV kwota, voldoende. Braai gaan ons braai, en wyn gaan daar gedrink word.  Die genooides daag op, wyn word oopgemaak en ek braai skaaptjops en wors - op hardekool kole met 'n toeklaprooster. Ma het die slaai aanmekaargeslaan, gaste het bykosse gebring, pap en sous word gemaak - die tafel kreun van doodgewone Kalahari gasvryheid. Die gees is goed.

My ma herwaardeer die gebruik van haar beste eetgerei - dit word verander na papierborde in gevlegde grasmandjies. 

Daar word geeët en gekuier, een van die ooms het sy kierrie verloor - die kwota wyn het sy pyn weggeneem. Ek kyk grootoog na die aapstreke van groot mense op wyn.

“Kom help opruim”, kommandeer ma, geen argument nie. Ek stop by oom Dieter, tel die papierbord op - net die rand van die bord is oor, die binnekant van die bord is saam met die vleis, pap en sous opge-eet!

Verbaas sê oom Dieter; "my herre Rinatjie, g'n wonder die vleis was so taai nie."

Die wyn het sy werk gedoen.  KWV verrig wonderwerke!

Vandag verstaan ek!

MooiLoop

(Nota: Vandag se fotos is geleen ter illustrasie)

Listen with your Eyes.

We don't listen, we hear - and then we continue on our way, not understanding the fuss.
To listen is a gift, to not listen is to squander the opportunity of learning.
To sincerely listen to another, is the highest form of respect.  To listen with everything you have leads to understanding beyond the words said.

A little girl came home from school with a drawing she'd made in class.  She danced into the kitchen, where her mother was preparing dinner.

"Mom, guess what?" she squealed, waving the drawing.

Her mother never looked up.

"What?" she said, tending to the pots.

"Guess what?" the child repeated, waving the drawing.

"What?" the mother said, tending to the plates.

"Mom, you're not listening."

"Sweetie, yes I am."

"Mom", the child said, "you're not listening with your eyes."

(From Have a Little Faith. From a Sermon by the Reb, 1958. Mitch Albom.)