From my veranda in Akasia, Pretoria, looking out, I often think about leopards. Not the actual spotted felines, though we do have our fair share of wildlife wandering near the outskirts, but the metaphorical ones – the anxieties, uncertainties, and outright fears that stalk us all. These are the leopards that keep us awake at night, their shadows stretching long across the plains of our tomorrows.
The weight of the future, the relentless pressure of choices, the gnawing fear of the unknown – these are the silent predators lurking in the undergrowth of our minds. They whisper doubts, sow seeds of insecurity, and paint vivid nightmares on the canvas of our imaginations. And yet, within this landscape of anxiety, within this wilderness of worry, lies a profound and enduring truth: a truth that transcends the mundane, the practical, and the everyday – a truth that speaks to the very heart of our being as Christians. This truth, this unshakeable cornerstone of our faith, is the profound, transformative power of trust in God.
The Bible, you see, is not merely a collection of historical accounts and ethical pronouncements. It's a rich tapestry woven with threads of human experience, a mirror reflecting the struggles, the triumphs, and the profound yearnings of the human heart. And within its pages, we find echoes of our own inner struggles, our own encounters with the lurking leopards of the future. It doesn't shy away from the grit and the grime of life, and it certainly doesn't sugarcoat the existence of metaphorical leopards. Instead, it embraces the messiness, the imperfection, and the inherent vulnerability of the human condition. But it also offers a potent antidote: trust.
Not blind faith, mind you – that's a recipe for disaster, like driving your bakkie into a thunderstorm without headlights. Rather, it’s a courageous, considered trust in a God who, frankly, has a better GPS than any app on my phone. A trust that acknowledges our limitations, our inherent fragility, and our constant need for guidance. This isn’t a naive relinquishment of responsibility, but a profound recognition of the divine hand at work in our lives.
Proverbs 3:5-6 is my go-to verse. "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding..." It's a challenge, isn’t it? We’re so used to being in control, to meticulously plotting our futures like seasoned chess players, that surrendering that control feels like a terrifying leap into the void. It's like handing over the steering wheel of your life to someone else, someone you trust implicitly, even though they might take some winding, unexpected roads.
But what if those unexpected roads lead to the most breathtaking vistas? What if the "prickly bushes" – our mistakes, our poor choices – are actually part of the landscape, shaping the contours of a bigger, more beautiful picture than we could ever have imagined? God’s plan, I believe, isn't a rigid itinerary. It’s a living, breathing tapestry, woven with threads of joy and sorrow, triumph and failure, all expertly crafted by a Master Weaver who sees the whole design, even when we can only see a few tangled strands.
This tapestry of life is not a static entity. It's a dynamic process, a continuous unfolding of events, choices, and experiences. This is where the theology of trust becomes so vitally important. It's not about a simplistic acceptance of everything that happens, but about a profound understanding that even the seemingly harsh elements of life – the setbacks, the disappointments, the challenges – contribute to the overall beauty and complexity of the narrative.
This is where the confrontational bit comes in. We South Africans are a resilient people, but our strength often comes from a stubborn independence, a deep-seated reluctance to ask for help. We'd rather build our own kraals, our own meticulously crafted defences against the leopards, than admit that we need a Shepherd. But true freedom, I've come to learn, lies in letting go of that control, in acknowledging our vulnerability, and humbly accepting His guidance. This is the cornerstone of true spiritual liberation.
It's a journey of surrender, not a passive acceptance of fate. It's about aligning our will with His, about recognizing that His path, though often winding and sometimes shrouded in mystery, leads us to a place of profound peace and ultimate fulfillment.
It's not easy. The leopards will still roar. Illness, financial hardship, loss – these things are real, painful realities. But even in the darkness, the Lion of Judah is with us. His presence isn't a magic eraser, obliterating all hardship. It's a constant companion, a steadfast presence that transforms fear into faith, anxiety into hope. It’s a reminder that we are not alone in the face of life's storms.
So, let's leave the building of our own flimsy kraals to the jackals. Let’s instead walk hand-in-hand with the Shepherd, trusting that even amidst the metaphorical leopards, His path will lead us to a place beyond our wildest dreams. The jacarandas are blooming, the sun is shining, and the Lion’s roar is a symphony of love and grace. And that, my friends, is a truth worth embracing. A truth worth fighting for. A truth that, when understood and lived, will transform our lives, not just in this world, but in the kingdom that awaits.
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