My knuckles were white on the steering wheel. The digital clock glowed 11:37 PM. Before me, the N1 highway, usually a throbbing artery of light and life, was swallowed by a profound blackness. Load-shedding had not just dimmed the lights; it had erased the world. Beyond the frail, flickering reach of my headlights was a void. I knew the road was there—I could feel its rumble—but I couldn’t see fifty meters ahead. My destination, my home in Akasia, felt a million miles away. Every muscle was tense, my mind racing with fears of potholes the size of craters, of stray cattle, of other vehicles piloted by equally terrified drivers. I was, for all practical purposes, lost in the familiar.
And in that claustrophobic cockpit of anxiety, the still, small voice of the Spirit whispered a truth that cut through the panic: You are not lost; you are being led.
Friends, how many of us are driving through a load-shedded season of life? The economic potholes are deep, the social fabric feels frayed, and the future—a road we thought we knew—is shrouded in an unnerving fog. We white-knuckle our way through, trusting only in the pitifully short beam of our own understanding. We want the full GPS trajectory, complete with estimated time of arrival and warnings for every possible hazard. We crave control. But faith, my brothers and sisters, is not a detailed map; it is a relationship with the ultimate Guide.
The Heresy of "Destination Addiction"
We live in a culture, even within some corners of the church, afflicted by what I call "Destination Addiction." We are seduced by the lie that we will only arrive, only be happy, only find peace when—when the economy recovers, when the right party is in power, when we get that promotion, when our children straighten out. This is a theological error of monumental proportions! It places our hope and our sense of direction in the temporary, the shifting, the utterly unpredictable.
It is a form of practical atheism, where we sing "He Leadeth Me" on Sunday but live as frantic cartographers on Monday, trying to chart our own course through a fallen world. We have forgotten the words of the wisest man, King Solomon: "Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight" (Proverbs 3:5-6). Notice the sequence? Trust first, submit in all your ways, then the straightening comes. Not the other way around.
Let me be logically precise for a moment. Let's construct a simple syllogism:
· Major Premise: God is both omniscient (all-knowing) and omnibenevolent (all-good). (Psalm 147:5, 1 John 4:8)
· Minor Premise: You, as a child of God, are in a situation where you cannot see the way forward.
· Conclusion: Therefore, you are in the care of a Guide who knows the way perfectly and whose intentions for you are exclusively good.
A common objection arises: "But Harold, what about the potholes? What about the pain, the job losses, the suffering? That doesn't feel good!" This is a fair cry from the heart. But it fails to distinguish between the immediate circumstances of the journey and the final destination of the Guide. The Cross of Jesus Christ is the ultimate demolition of this objection. Was the Cross "good" in the moment? It was agony, shame, and death. Yet, it was the greatest act of divine goodness and redemption in history. Our Guide knows that the path to resurrection life often goes through a graveyard.
The Discipline of the Next Kilometer
So what is our job in the fog? It is the discipline of the next kilometer. You don't navigate from Pretoria to Cape Town by staring at a dot on the map of the Karoo; you drive to the next visible road sign, you make it to the next fuel station. Faith operates in the same way.
God’s manna in the wilderness was given day by day, not in a bulk delivery for the entire forty years (Exodus 16:4). His instruction to the Israelites crossing the Jordan was not to wait for the river to be dammed, but to "stand in the river" while it was still in flood (Joshua 3:13). Your act of faith today is to take the next step of obedience that is clearly illuminated, even if it's just a small one. Forgive that person. Make that difficult phone call. Serve in that small, unseen ministry. Be faithful with the one kilometer of light you have.
As I drove on through the darkness that night, I stopped straining to see the distant horizon. I focused on the patch of road directly in front of me, the one my headlights could actually handle. I relaxed my grip. I turned on some worship music. I began to trust the road, and more importantly, the One who had built it. And you know what? I got home. Not as quickly as I would have in the daylight, but I arrived, safe and sound, with a lesson etched into my spirit.
The path may be unfamiliar. The fog of our current South African reality—be it political uncertainty or personal struggle—may be thick. But you are not lost. You are being led by the ultimate Guide. He knows every twist, every turn, every dead end. Your job is not to see the entire journey, but to take the next step in faith. Trust that the One who called you is faithful, and He will most certainly lead you home.
So, my fellow traveller, keep walking. Your Akasia is assured.
https://open.spotify.com/episode/5LypmIEOtAfvAYKvrnbKsR?si=WziELFf9Rjy8serv-z2Xew
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