Skip to main content

**Patience Outlasts Demonic Sieges**  


I’m sitting in my Akasia living room, the hum of silence louder than Eskom’s load-shedding schedule. The lights flicker—Stage 6 again—and my WiFi gasps its last breath. My laptop screen dies mid-sentence, and I’m left in a darkness so thick it feels like a metaphor. James 1:4 tugs at my spirit: *“Let patience perfect its work.”* Patience? In Pretoria’s pavements pulsing with potholes and protests? Yet here I am, learning that spiritual stamina isn’t forged in fluorescent light but in the flicker of candlelit surrender.  

**Societal Snapshot: Elections, Eskom, and Endurance**  

South Africa’s 2024 elections loom like a storm cloud over a braai. Everyone’s impatient—coalitions crumble, hashtags trend, and tempers flare. We want solutions *now*, like ordering a UberEats democracy. Yet haste birthed our post-1994 pitfalls; shortcuts left cracks in our constitutional foundation. Meanwhile, Eskom’s eternal “delays” mirror a deeper truth: God’s timing isn’t a denial but a divine debugging. The lights *will* return. The marula tree doesn’t fruit in a day; its roots dig deep, surviving droughts and deluges. So must we.  

**Biblical Blueprint: Job, Paul, and the Persistent Widow**  

Consider Job, the patron saint of *“This Can’t Be Life.”* He lost livestock, lineage, and luxury yet declared, *“Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him”* (Job 13:15). His patience wasn’t passivity—it was protest against despair. Paul’s “thorn” (2 Cor. 12:7-10) teaches us that weakness is where grace gyms its muscles. And Jesus’ parable of the persistent widow (Luke 18:1-8)? She’s the OG activist, badgering a corrupt judge until justice rolled down. Patience isn’t passive; it’s persistent.  

**Philosophical Pulse: The Theology of the Wait**  

In a world addicted to instant gratification—rapid retweets, same-day deliveries—waiting is resistance. Patience is power, a spiritual caffeine for the soul. Yet we’re like toddlers tapping feet for a candy eschatology. But God’s delays are divine drills, excavating character from chaos. When the Springboks clinched the 2023 World Cup, it wasn’t just muscle—it was mental grit. Siya Kolisi’s tears mirrored a nation’s tenacity; our struggles, like scrums, demand collective endurance.  

**Confronting Complacency: The Call to Sacred Stubbornness**  

Akasia’s streets, pockmarked with potholes, preach a parable: quick fixes crumble, but steadfastness stabilizes. Our impatience fuels xenophobic flare-ups and service delivery riots. Yet what if we saw waiting as worship? Every blackout, a chance to kindle faith; every protest, a prayer for justice. The early church didn’t hashtag #Resurrection—they *lived* it, turning tombs into triumphs.  

**Conclusion: Marula Roots and Resilient Hope**  

Behind my house, a marula tree stands—gnarled, unglamorous, unbothered. Birds feast on its fruit; kids climb its branches. Its secret? Roots reaching deep into ancient aquifers. We’re called to marula faith: unshaken by surface storms. Hell’s deadlines expire; divine timing endures. So, let’s plant patience. Let’s outlast load-shedding, out-pray pessimism, and out-love lethargy. As Tshwane’s taxi horns blare and sirens wail, we’ll whisper James 1:4—not as defeatists, but as warriors wearing patience like armor.  

**Prayer:**  

Father of Fortitude, in this land of load-shedding and longing, teach us to trust Your tempo. When elections erupt and Eskom fails, fix our eyes on the Marula Maker. Make our patience a protest, our waiting a weapon. Shorten hell’s deadlines with our perseverance. Amen.  

This piece weaves personal grit with societal struggle, grounding theology in Tshwane’s texture. It’s a call to marula-root faith—deep, defiant, and divinely timed.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

**Restoring Relationships**

Last Tuesday, during Eskom’s Stage 6 load-shedding, I sat in my dimly lit Akasia living room, staring at a WhatsApp message from my cousin Thabo. Our once-close bond had fractured over a political debate—ANC vs. EFF—that spiraled into personal jabs. His text read: *“You’ve become a coconut, bra. Black on the outside, white-washed inside.”* My reply? A venomous *“At least I’m not a populist clown.”* Pride, that sly serpent, had coiled around our tongues.   But as the generator hummed and my coffee cooled, Colossians 3:13 flickered in my mind like a candle in the dark: *“Forgive as the Lord forgave you.”* Unconditional. No asterisks. No “but he started it.” Just grace.   **II. The Theology of Broken Pipes**   South Africa knows fractures. Our Vaal River, choked by sewage and neglect, mirrors relational toxicity—grievances left to fester. Yet, Christ’s forgiveness isn’t a passive drip; it’s a flash flood. To “bear with one another” (Colossians 3:13) is to choo...
Post a Comment
Read more

**Cultivating Patience**

 ## The Divine Delay: When God Hits Pause on Your Breakthrough (From My Akasia Veranda) Brothers, sisters, let me tell you, this Highveld sun beating down on my veranda in Akasia isn’t just baking the pavement. It’s baking my *impatience*. You know the feeling? You’ve prayed, you’ve declared, you’ve stomped the devil’s head (in the spirit, naturally!), yet that breakthrough? It feels like waiting for a Gautrain on a public holiday schedule – promised, but mysteriously absent. Psalm 27:14 shouts: *"Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage!"* But waiting? In *this* economy? With Eskom plunging us into darkness and the price of a loaf of bread climbing faster than Table Mountain? It feels less like divine strategy and more like celestial sabotage. I get it. Just last week, stuck in the eternal queue at the Spar parking lot (seems half of Tshwane had the same pap-and-chops craving), watching my dashboard clock tick towards yet another loadshedding slot, my ow...
Post a Comment
Read more

**Rejecting Shame Through Identity in Christ**

  I live in Akasia, Tshwane, where the jacarandas paint Pretoria’s streets with purple hope each spring. From my modest home, I watch the city hum—buses rattling down Paul Kruger Street, hawkers calling out at the Wonderpark Mall, and the chatter of students spilling from TUT’s gates. Life here is vibrant, yet beneath the surface, many of us carry an unseen weight: shame. It’s a thief that whispers lies about our worth, chaining us to past mistakes or societal labels. As a Christian writer, I’ve wrestled with this shadow myself, and I’ve learned that only one truth can break its grip—our identity in Christ. Let me take you on a journey through my own story, weaving it with the tapestry of South African life and the radiant promise of Scripture, to confront shame and embrace who we are in Him. ### A Personal Tale of Shame’s Grip A few years ago, I stood at a crossroads. I’d just lost a job I loved—a writing gig at a local magazine in Pretoria. The editor said my work was “too confro...
Post a Comment
Read more