There’s a rhythm to life here in Akasia, Tshwane. You learn to dance between power cuts and potholes. Just last week, I stood in my kitchen, coffee half-brewed, when Eskom’s *load-shedding* plunged us into stage 6 darkness. My toddler giggled, thinking I’d invented a new game of flashlight tag. But as I fumbled for candles, I felt the Holy Spirit whisper: *“What if the blackouts *outside* are a mirror of the outages *inside*?”*
South Africa knows darkness. We’re a nation wrestling with rolling blackouts, water shortages, and the ghost of corruption that still haunts our corridors of power. But friends, let me tell you—the greatest crisis isn’t on our grids. It’s in our souls.
**The Circuit Breaker of Repentance**
Last month, I met a young man in Soshanguve whose home had been without electricity for 83 days. “I’ve memorized the smell of paraffin,” he joked, but his eyes betrayed the weight of constant survival. As we prayed together, it struck me: *Aren’t we all living like this?* Running spiritual generators on the fumes of old grace, forgetting we’re wired for direct connection to Divine Voltage.
The ancient Chronicler wrote, “If my people, called by my name, will humble themselves…” (2 Chron 7:14). Notice he didn’t say *“If the government…”* or *“If the corrupt officials…”*. Revival starts when *we*—the candle-holders in Eskom’s shadow—take responsibility. I’ve started mapping my prayer walks along Pretoria’s broken pavements. Every crack becomes an altar: *“Lord, where have *I* contributed to the fractures?”*
**Water Tanks and Living Water**
They’re drilling new boreholes in Hammanskraal now after the cholera outbreak. But what about the thirst no municipal project can quench? I’ve been studying Kierkegaard—that Danish firebrand who said truth isn’t a checklist but a *person*. He’d fit right into our Mamelodi taxi ranks, shouting: *“You want living water? Stop repairing broken cisterns!”* (Jeremiah 2:13).
Last Tuesday, I confronted my own desert. Caught in a WhatsApp spat about politics, I realized my keyboard-warrior rage was just another form of idolatry—worshipping the “I’m right” idol. Repentance came messy, in voice notes choked with “sorrys.” But here’s the miracle: My friend’s forgiveness felt like the first rains after drought.
**The Algorithm of Heaven**
Our kids are digital natives, fluent in TikTok and AI. But let me tell you about an ancient algorithm: *“Submit to God, resist the devil—he’ll flee”* (James 4:7). Modernize it: When you hit *CTRL+ALT+DEL* on secret sins, heaven reboots your system.
Take the recent #EndGBV protests. Brave women marching with portraits of lost sisters. But what if we men joined them not just in the streets but on our knees? I did this—stood at the Union Buildings gates, not with a poster, but a prayer: *“Break the *Baal* spirits behind every abuser.”*
**Practical Mysticism**
Revival isn’t all smoke machines and tears. It’s my neighbor Boitumelo sharing her generator during blackouts. It’s the Coloured granny in Eersterust who told me, “Child, carry repentance like a Spar bag—always have it with you.”
This morning, I walked past the abandoned mine dumps near Cullinan. Their scarred beauty reminded me of Luther’s *simul justus et peccator*—saint and sinner, always both. So here’s my challenge:
1. **Audit Your Spiritual Eskom**
Where are you overloading circuits with bitterness? Schedule a “maintenance shutdown” in prayer.
2. **Become a Grace Plumber**
Fix one relational leak this week. Call that estranged cousin. Bless the rude cashier.
3. **Join the Cloud (of Witnesses)**
Hebrews 12:1 isn’t metaphor. When I forgave my father’s absence last Heritage Day, I felt ancestors of faith cheering—Sarah’s laughter, Rahab’s boldness, my own gogo’s hymns.
**Prayer**
Father of Light,
We’re tired of load-shedding souls.
Forgive us for outsourcing blame while hoarding secret sins.
Reconnect us to Your grid.
Make Pretoria’s streets echo with Isaiah 58:12—
“Repairers of broken walls.”
Let revival start in our homes, our WhatsApp groups, our taxi queues.
Until South Africa doesn’t just *have* power but *is* Power—
Your Kingdom’s substation.
In Jesus’ name,
Kgotso.
**Final Thought**
Next time the lights go out, don’t just curse Eskom. Check your heart’s meter. Then strike a match of repentance—and watch how one small flame can send shadows scrambling. After all, didn’t Jesus promise we’re *light*? Even on stage 6, a single bulb guides feet home. Be that bulb.
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