Failure Isn't Final. Harold Mawela

THE PRINCIPLE BEFORE THE POSSESSION Scripture: “The hand of the diligent shall bear rule: but the slothful shall be under tribute.” (Proverbs 12:24) Beloved in Akasia, in Pretoria, and across this bruised and beautiful land of South Africa— Let me tell you a story. A story from my own life, from the dust and determination of this township we call home. Years ago, when I was still finding my feet in ministry, I met a young man in Soshanguve. Brilliant mind. Golden tongue. He could quote Scripture like a Pharisee and pray like a prophet. But every time I visited him, he was sitting on the same broken chair, under the same leaking roof, waiting for the same “break” that never came. He had a vision to start a media ministry—podcasts, YouTube, the whole package. But when I asked him, “What have you done today toward that vision?” he looked at me and said, “I’m waiting on the Lord, bra.” I smiled. Then I opened my Bible to Proverbs 12:24. Possession Is Not the Presence of a Product—It Is the...

The Crucible of Your Calling Scripture: “But he knows the way that I take; when he has tested me, I shall come forth as gold.” (Job 23:10) A Prelude from Akasia I am writing to you from my veranda in Akasia, Pretoria. The winter chill is beginning to whisper across the Highveld, and as I sit here with my coffee now lukewarm, because I have been staring at the horizon for too long I hear the familiar hum of a taxi struggling up the hill. It coughs, sputters, and for a moment, I think it has died. But the driver does not give up. He revs again. The engine screams. And slowly, painfully, the vehicle conquers the incline. I smiled. Because that taxi is a sermon. My brother, my sister, you feel like that taxi, don’t you? You feel the weight of the passengers—responsibilities, debts, disappointments pressing down on your chassis. You hear the engine knocking. The world looks at you and says, “You are breaking down.” But God looks at you and says, “You are breaking through.” The Geography of ...

MY NEIGHBOUR’S HANDS & MY OWN I am writing to you from my stoep in Akasia, where the Jacarandas are not blooming—the water crisis has seen to that. The other morning, I watched my neighbour, a young man named Thabo, a graduate in logistics, walk to the taxi rank at 5 a.m. He holds a degree that cost his widowed mother her retirement. He will sit at a call centre for R3,800 a month―because for three years he has applied to hundreds of jobs, and this is the one that answered. And I have asked myself: Is Thabo diligent? By every measure of human effort, yes. Then I hear our President address the nation. Finance Minister Godongwana announces a budget of R292.8 billion for social grants, reaching more than 26 million beneficiaries. And I nod with gratitude, for the vulnerable must eat. But then I open the Mail & Guardian. On Workers’ Day 2026, the headline cuts deeper than a panga: “Workers’ Day is hollow when millions lack jobs”. The official unemployment rate stands at 31.4 per ce...

The Rudder of Your Response By Harold Mawela A Memorable Morning on the R21 I recall a bitter morning in May 2023. I was driving along the R21 from Pretoria toward the OR Tambo Airport, the dawn still fighting its way through the smog of industrial Ekurhuleni. My car—a second-hand 2016 Toyota Corolla I had named "Grace"—began to stutter and choke. The service engine light flashed like an accusation. There I was, stranded on the shoulder between the Boschkop and R25 off-ramps, watching taxis laden with commuters honk past without mercy. My smartphone battery was at 7 percent. My meeting with a publisher in Sandton was slipping away. I sat there feeling the full weight of South African frustration: the Eskom load-shedding hanging over my head like a sword, the fuel price at R25 per litre making a tow truck feel like a luxury cruise, the crime statistics that made me glance nervously into my rearview mirror. "God," I muttered, "why do You allow these inconvenience...

The Remote You Refuse to Release A Devotional by Harold Mawela Scripture: "Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." (Matthew 6:34) My neighbour in Akasia, Mr. Dlamini, has three television remotes on his coffee table. But he only needs one. The other two control decoders he cancelled months ago. When I asked him why he keeps them, he laughed and said, "Sho, Harald, what if I need them again? What if the new service fails?" What if. What if. What if. Two dead remotes. Useless. But he refuses to release them. I walked back to my gate that afternoon, and the Holy Spirit hit me like a taxi on the R80 freeway—not to harm me, but to wake me up. Harold, you do the same thing every morning. You hold remotes to days that no longer exist and days that have not yet breathed. You press buttons on tomorrow's problems and wonder why today feels stuck. The Anatomy of a Ghost War Let me define my terms with the ...

Hospital of the Broken: Why Your Wound Is Your Welcome Pass I know loneliness. Not the quiet kind you choose on a retreat—but the raw, bleeding kind. In 2019, before I found my feet in Akasia, I sat in my cramped rented room in Soshanguve for three straight months. A church splitting had left me—left us—gutted. I trusted that deacon. I poured into that ministry. And when the elders turned on each other over—what else?—money from the building fund, they turned on me too. I became the collateral damage of a holy war I never signed up for. So I pulled back. And my silence felt safe. My prayer couch became my confessor. My Bible became my only brother. I told myself: No more hypocrites. No more politics. Just me and God, right? Wrong. By month two, I found myself watching scandalous late-night television and justifying it. By month three, I had stopped praying aloud. My theology remained correct—but my heart had grown cold. I was like a kettle kept off the fire: still full of water, but un...