I live in Akasia, Tshwane—a place where jacaranda blossoms carpet the streets in purple each spring, and the hum of generators during load-shedding has become our national anthem. Last week, as I sat in darkness (again), scrolling past headlines about Eskom’s latest collapse and a youth unemployment rate soaring at 45%, my phone buzzed. A friend sent a meme: *“South Africa: Where waiting is a spiritual discipline.”* I laughed, then paused. Isn’t that the truth?
We’re a nation perpetually on standby. We queue for grants, for visas, for hope. Even our rugby-loving hearts still clench every time the Springboks teeter on the edge of a comeback. Yet here’s the paradox Isaiah whispers: *“Those who trust… will soar on wings like eagles.”* Not vultures circling decay, but eagles riding thermals—eyes locked on horizons unseen.
**Personal Story: The Runway Epiphany**
Two months ago, I boarded a flight from OR Tambo to Cape Town. We taxied for 45 minutes, the pilot’s voice taut: *“Air traffic congestion. Please remain seated.”* Frustration thickened the cabin. But then I glanced out the window. Dozens of planes idled like metal birds, each nose pointed skyward, lights blinking in syncopated rhythm. A thought struck me: *What if this delay isn’t chaos, but choreography?*
Later, researching, I learned something profound. Air traffic controllers see patterns passengers can’t. They stagger ascents to prevent turbulence, align paths to avoid collisions. Our pilot wasn’t passive—he was *partnering* with a higher authority. Sound familiar?
**Theology of the Tarmac**
Modern Christianity often sells trust as a passive shrug—“Let go, let God.” But Isaiah’s eagles *actively* mount updrafts. Similarly, biblical waiting isn’t lethargy; it’s *vigilant collaboration*. Consider Christ’s parable of the ten virgins (Matthew 25:1-13). The wise didn’t just wait—they trimmed wicks and carried extra oil. Preparation amid uncertainty.
Here’s where South Africa’s grit meets grace. In Diepsloot, women run soup kitchens while politicians dither. In Khayelitsha, artists paint murals on shacks, declaring, *“Beautiful things grow here.”* This is worship as throttle—not denial of darkness, but defiance through light.
**Confronting Our Idols of Immediacy**
We’re addicted to speed. From instant coffee to TikTok salvation—*“Pray this prayer, get your blessing NOW!”* Yet Scripture subverts this. Joseph’s 13-year prison syllabus. Moses’ 40-year desert MBA. Even Jesus’ first miracle at Cana required servants to *fill jars* before water became wine (John 2:1-11). The miracle began with obedient labor.
Modern SA mirrors this. Look at the “Zuma protests”—impatient fury burning infrastructure, only to deepen poverty. Contrast this with the 2023 Electricity Amendment Bill protests: citizens channeling frustration into policy advocacy. One is arson; the other is alchemy.
**Sacred Strategies for Grounded Seasons**
1. **Worship Audaciously**
Last month, I attended a *load-shedding hymn night* in Soshanguve. No mics, no lights—just voices harmonizing *“Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika”* by cellphone glow. A taxi driver beside me muttered, *“This beats Eskom’s darkness any day.”* Exactly. Singing recalibrates our spiritual GPS.
2. **Serve While Stationary**
My neighbor, Auntie Dineo, lost her job in 2020. Instead of despairing, she turned her matchbox yard into a veggie garden. Now, she feeds four families weekly. *“When God parks you,”* she jokes, *“plant something.”*
3. **Journal Fuel**
I keep a “Ebenezer notebook”—named after Samuel’s stone of remembrance (1 Samuel 7:12). Each entry logs God’s past faithfulness: the scholarship that came through, the cancer remission, the day our Bafana Bafana actually won. Re-reading it during blackouts sparks hope.
**The Runway and the Cross**
Theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote from a Nazi prison: *“Waiting is an art our impatient age has forgotten.”* His cell had no view, yet he saw eternity. Similarly, Christ’s crucifixion was the ultimate “delay”—three days of cosmic silence. But resurrection required that pause.
So, Akasia friends, let’s reframe our queues. The DMV line? A prayer walk. Load-shedding? Candlelit communion. Even the potholes on Solomon Mahlangu Drive remind us: *rough terrain cultivates resilient tires—and souls.*
**Final Call: Clearance for Takeoff**
This morning, I read about SA’s new digital nomad visa—a bid to attract talent fleeing first-world burnout. Irony? The world is discovering what we’ve always known: Waiting isn’t wasted if it wings us toward wisdom.
So rev your engines, South Africa. Our runway may be littered with potholes, but the Controller hasn’t forgotten our flight plan. Trust the process. Trim your wicks. And when clearance comes—*ayeye!*—we’ll ascend like a nation of eagles, leaving exhaustion in our jetstream.
**Amen?**
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