The sun beats down on the Pretoria sky, a relentless heat that mirrors the intensity of my own inner struggle. Here I am, sitting in my Akasia home, a self-proclaimed intellectual, a man who likes to think he understands things. I've read theological texts, debated doctrines, even taught Sunday school. Yet, the more I learn, the more I realize how little I truly understand about God. It’s like that ant trying to dissect a cellphone, except my "cellphone" is the entire universe, and my tiny ant-like mind is struggling to make sense of it all.
This realization hit me hard a few years ago, during a particularly difficult time. My business was struggling, my marriage was strained, and I felt utterly lost. I clung to familiar theological concepts, hoping they’d provide answers, a life raft in a storm. But the answers didn't come easily. The familiar doctrines felt like flimsy life vests in a churning ocean of doubt.
One scorching afternoon, sitting under the shade of a large kiaat tree in my garden – a tree far older and wiser than me – the frustration welled up. I shouted at God, demanding answers, accusing Him of abandoning me. The silence that followed was deafening. But as the sun slowly dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and gold, a quiet peace descended.
It wasn't a sudden, dramatic revelation, not a booming voice from the heavens. Instead, it was a slow, gentle dawning of understanding. The answers didn't appear, neatly packaged and labeled, but something far more profound took their place: a deep trust in a love that transcends my comprehension. It was accepting the mystery, surrendering to the vastness of God's being.
My faith became less about meticulously understanding every doctrine and more about the journey of believing. The leap of faith, the deep dive into the ocean of the unknown, is what strengthens our faith. This journey, this constant wrestling with doubt and faith, is the real miracle; it's where we find God's love amidst the unknown.
The kiaat tree in my garden stands tall, a silent witness to my struggles and my growth. It doesn't need to explain its existence; it simply *is*. And in a similar way, my faith doesn't need to perfectly explain God's ways; it simply needs to trust in His immeasurable grace and enduring love. That's the lesson that the kiaat tree in my garden, and even my own struggles, have taught me. And that's the truth that I'm embracing here in Akasia, Pretoria.
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