The Chronicles of Load-Shedding . Harold Mawela

 From Broken Vessels to Living Springs: When God Writes Your Testimony in the Scars of Your Soul My friends, gather close. Let me tell you a story that begins not on a mountaintop, but in a dark valley. It was during one of our infamous bouts of load-shedding. The lights in my Akasia home had just cut, plunging my study into a silence so thick I could feel the weight of my own thoughts. I was preparing a message on God’s faithfulness, but my heart felt like a deserted stadium—echoing with past disappointments. A particular wound, one I’d neatly bandaged with busyness and theological jargon, began to throb anew. It was an old hurt, born from a ministry dream that seemed to die in the dust, a betrayal that left a scar on my trust. In that darkness, the enemy’s whisper was clear: “That pain is your shame. Bury it. Hide it. A man of God should be strong, not scarred.” And for years, I had tried. But in the flicker of my paraffin lamp, the truth of God’s Word pierced deeper than the lie...

My friend, let me speak to you from my home here in Akasia, where the winter dust settles on the jacarandas and the sounds of our neighbourhood are a constant rhythm of life. I want to talk about a shadow that I, too, have felt—the paralyzing fear of the future that paints pictures of lack and failure. It shouts that the unknown is a threat. But you and I must quiet that voice with a greater truth. A Story from Our Soil Just last week, I sat in a coffee shop, scrolling through news on my phone. I read about the recent G20 summit right here in Johannesburg, and the subsequent diplomatic row with the United States . The headlines spoke of exclusion, of punitive measures, of nations turning away from one another. A younger version of me would have felt a familiar anxiety stir—a fear that the ground beneath our feet, both as a nation and as individuals, is shifting and unstable. Will the economy falter? Will opportunities dry up? Will we be left behind? This anxiety is not so different fro...

 My friend, it is a joy to gather with you in this way. Here in Akasia, with the Pretoria sun warming the earth, let's talk about a truth that has burned in my own heart: your present struggle is not a sign of God's abandonment; it is evidence of His profound trust in you. The Crucible of the Karoo: A Personal Story of Friction Just last week, I found myself at Comic Con Africa right here in Johannesburg, a vibrant tapestry of our nation's diversity . I saw a young man, Nkosinathi, who called the event a "safe space" where South Africans of all races and classes could forget their social issues and have fun together . His words struck me. He was describing a glimpse of the unity we all crave, a temporary sanctuary from the friction of our national life. This friction is all too real. We feel it in the alarming reports of violence against women and the heartbreaking stories of children still learning in schools with pit latrines . We feel it in the political scapeg...

My friend, let me tell you about the day the lights went out—not just the load-shedding that plunges our Akasia home into darkness, but the lights of my own plans. I had a good job, a clear path. Then, the corporate "restructuring" came like a sudden Highveld storm, and the door I was headed for slammed shut. I stood there, in the silent house, the only light coming from my phone's screen, staring at the termination email. My heart pounded on that closed door. I mourned. I felt a familiar South African despair—the kind that whispers that opportunities are scarce, that a closed door is a final sentence. But God was about to show me that my fixation on the closed door was a form of spiritual blindness. My eyes were so full of the darkness of that shut entrance that I could not see the new, divine detour He had already illuminated. This is not just positive thinking; it is a deep, biblical, and philosophical truth about the nature of God's providence. The Tyranny of the ...

Daily Grace in a Bulk Download World: A South African’s Journey There’s a particular kind of light over Akasia in the late afternoon. The sun, weary from its work, paints the Moot with a golden brush, and the dust from the untarred roads hangs in the air like a million tiny stars. It was on such an afternoon, sitting on my porch and watching a neighbour’s donkey cart rumble past a brand-new BMW, that the modern paradox of our faith struck me with full force. We live in a world of instant downloads—from gigabytes of data in a blink to next-day delivery for our every whim—yet the God of the universe, the one who spoke galaxies into being, chooses to dispense His grace like the daily manna He provided in the desert: enough for today, and no more. This truth, I’ve found, is both the anchor for our souls and the stone on which our modern, impatient spirituality stumbles. We want the ten-year plan, the bulk blessing, the once-off salvation experience that includes a pre-written, trouble-free...

Tending the Soil of the Soul: A Gardener's Defense Against the Weeds of Worry Here in Akasia, the summer sun bakes the earth to a brittle terracotta, and I have learned that a garden demands more than hope—it requires fierce vigilance. Just this morning, with my hands buried in the soil, pulling out the stubborn umtakane weeds that choke my tomatoes, a profound truth settled in my spirit. The same battle I fight in my garden is the very one raging in our minds. You cannot expect to harvest peace if you are constantly planting seeds of worry, fear, and doubt. Your mind is not a passive patch of ground; it is a garden entrusted to you, and you are called to be its gardener. The African Garden of the Mind: More Than Positive Thinking In our South African context, where the pressures of load-shedding, unemployment, and social friction breed anxiety, a shallow message of "just think positive" is as helpful as a sprinkler in a hurricane. The world preaches a gospel of positive ...

 My friend, let me speak to you from my heart and from the pages of my own life here in Akasia. That phantom of the "right time" is a lie I have known too well. The Field of Unreadiness I look out my window and see the dust dancing in the afternoon sun. It reminds me of a field on the outskirts of our community—a piece of land I felt God had placed on my heart for a youth outreach. But in my mind, it was a field of "not yet." The ground was too hard, the budget too small, my schedule too full. I was waiting for the heavens to open and a divine blueprint to descend, complete with a guaranteed budget and a committee of angels to handle the logistics. I was, as the philosophers might say, conflating a necessary condition with a sufficient one. I thought I needed everything to be sufficiently perfect, when all God required was my necessary obedience. This is not a new struggle. Look at the Moses at the burning bush, arguing with the Great I AM about his own inadequacy ....

My friend, it is a truth we too often forget: we are not soldiers fighting for victory, but children standing on ground already conquered by our King. That cry from the cross, "It is finished," was not a whisper of defeat, but the universe-altering shout of a champion . Your calling is not to achieve what Christ has already accomplished, but to enforce this glorious reality in every corner of your life. 🛣️ A Walk in Akasia: The Battle in the Mundane Just the other day, I was walking the dusty streets of Akasia as the familiar frustration of loadshedding set in. The hum of generators filled the air, a modern South African soundtrack to our daily struggles. I felt a familiar anxiety creep in—worries about providing, about safety, about an uncertain future. It was in that moment the Holy Spirit whispered, "You are acting like a victim trying to survive a siege, when you are, in fact, a viceroy appointed to administer a conquered kingdom." I was like the Israelites aft...

The Sermon of Your Silence: When Actions Preach Louder Than Words The Unspoken Sermon The elderly woman in Mamelodi sits on an upturned crate, her gnarled hands shelling peas into a plastic bowl. She has never stood behind a pulpit or written a theological treatise. Yet, every morning at dawn, she places a second crate outside her door for the young man from down the dirt road who lost his parents to the great sickness. She never speaks of this. But when he passes, he does not see a old woman shelling peas—he sees a living parable of God's persistent care, a tangible expression that he has not been forgotten by heaven or earth. This is the sermon that needs no microphone. This past week, as our nation grappled with the sobering reports of nearly 1,000 women raped and 137 murdered in a single quarter , and as our political discourse often echoes with division, a profound question has haunted my quiet moments: If my life were stripped of all religious jargon, all Christian clichés, a...

My dear brothers and sisters in Christ, let me speak to you from my home here in Akasia, in the northern stretches of this city of Tshwane, a place built on old agricultural holdings, now buzzing with life . I want to talk about a poison many of us drink, a prison many of us inhabit. I want to talk about the costly, liberating war of forgiveness. The Prison We Inhabit Just the other day, I was driving through the rolling hills of Amandasig, with the Magaliesberg standing firm in the distance . Yet, the beauty outside my window was a stark contrast to the turmoil I felt inside. I was wrestling with a deep hurt, a wound inflicted by someone I trusted. The familiar, bitter taste of resentment was on my tongue. I was, as the saying goes, drinking a poison, hoping the other person would die . My soul felt like that mini-bus taxi I read about, the one that tragically plunged down an embankment in KwaZulu-Natal . My thoughts were crashing, my peace was shattered. I had become the prisoner, lo...

The Teaspoon and the Ocean: A South African Lesson in Sacred Obedience Here in Akasia, the summer sun bakes the earth to a brittle terracotta. From my window, I watch a neighbour trying to water his vast garden with a single, leaking hose. He runs frantically from one wilting petunia to the next, a picture of frantic exhaustion. It’s a futile fight against the immense need. And I see myself in him. I see all of us in him. How often have you stood before the ocean of problems in your life, in our nation, and felt the crushing weight of your own teaspoon? The need is too vast. The waves of crisis—load-shedding that plunges our homes into darkness, the relentless news of gender-based violence that shatters our communities, the deep poverty that leaves 23 percent of our children in severe food poverty —these are not mere puddles. They are a roaring sea. And the Lord whispers to my spirit, “Harold, you are trying to drain the ocean with a teaspoon.” The Tyranny of the Telescope We operate i...

  The Unseen Altar: Where God Forges Spiritual Depth in an Age of Instant Glory The Night the Lights Went Out The familiar, dreaded silence fell first. The hum of the refrigerator ceased mid-cycle. The bright screen of my phone, filled with the curated highlights of a dozen ministries, went black. Load-shedding had come to Akasia again. In the sudden, thick darkness, I fumbled for a candle. As the small flame took hold, it didn't just illuminate the room; it illuminated a truth. We spend so much energy trying to stay visible in the grid, terrified of the dark, when God so often uses the dark to show us the only light that truly matters. This is the tension we modern South Africans, and indeed all modern believers, must navigate. We live in a world that screams, "Your value is your visibility!" Social media metrics, church attendance numbers, and public influence are the new currencies of success. Yet, into this noise, the quiet, unwavering voice of Scripture speaks a coun...

My friend, if you have ever scrolled through your social media feed and felt a pang of inadequacy, as if your entire life is a behind-the-scenes blooper reel compared to everyone else’s award-winning highlight film, then this word is for you. I write to you from my own context, here in Akasia, where the vibrant, sometimes chaotic, rhythm of South African life provides the backdrop for my own walk of faith. 📜 The Ancient Race in a Modern World The Apostle Paul, a man who knew a thing or two about hardship, once used an image his readers would instantly understand: “Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize” (1 Corinthians 9:24). In our modern South African context, we have twisted this. We think the prize is for the one with the most Instagrammable victory, the fastest start, or the loudest cheer squad. We have forgotten that the race is not against the person in the lane beside us; it is against the lies of t...