The Blueprint in the Mind
Scripture: "Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind." (Romans 12:2)
I. The Architect's Secret
Let me tell you about a Thursday morning last month—the kind of Highveld morning where Pretoria's jacarandas throw purple shadows across Lynnwood Road and the smell of kota from the spaza shop drifts through my Akasia study window. I sat there, coffee going cold, staring at a WhatsApp message that stopped me cold.
It was from my neighbour, Mr. Dlamini—retired principal, pillar of the community, a man who'd spent forty years building schools and shaping young minds. His son had just been arrested for tender fraud. Forty million rand. Municipal contracts. A house in Waterkloof now under threat of forfeiture.
"Pastor," he wrote, "I don't recognise the boy I raised. Where did we go wrong?"
And sitting there in the morning light, with the sound of taxis hooting on Brits Road, the answer came to me as clear as a Psalm: You cannot build what you have not first conceived.
Mr. Dlamini's son hadn't suddenly woken up corrupt. He'd been building from a faulty blueprint for years—one drawn not by godly wisdom, but by the intoxicating architecture of Sandton's glass towers and the whispered promise that "everyone does it."
Beloved, every visible structure of your life begins as an invisible thought—a ghost walking the corridors of your consciousness. The question is not whether you build, but whose blueprint you follow.
II. The Cracked Foundations We Build Upon
I drive through Tshwane most days—from the dusty streets of Soshanguve where Gogo Ndlovu still brews umqombothi and prays with a fervour that could raise the dead, to the gated estates of Die Wilgers where executives sip cappuccinos and discuss offshore investments. And everywhere I go, I see the same tragedy: magnificent lives built on cracked foundations.
Consider July 2024. While politicians crafted elegant theories on inequality, burning malls smouldered in Katlehong and Vosloorus. Human wisdom's bankruptcy shouted from our streets! And yet, we continue building from the same blueprints:
· The blueprint of parental expectation—"My son must be a doctor, my daughter a lawyer"—as if the living God stopped issuing callings in AD 70.
· The blueprint of social comparison—her house in Mooikloof, his car from BMW Midrand, their children in private schools—while your own soul withers like a Karoo vygie in drought.
· The blueprint of political loyalty—ANC, DA, EFF—as if any earthly party could usher in the Kingdom that outlasts load-shedding and election cycles.
I know these blueprints intimately. I inherited most of them myself.
III. My Own Faulty Construction
Let me take you back. Years ago, when I first moved to Akasia—back when this area was still considered "far north" and neighbours greeted you with "Dumela, ntate" instead of a curt nod—I had my own blueprint disaster.
I'd just started ministry. Young, eager, full of fire. And I desperately wanted to be someone. You understand? Not someone in God's eyes—I'd made peace with that—but someone in their eyes. The pastors with big churches. The authors with book launches at Exclusive Books. The conference speakers whose names appeared on posters plastered across taxi ranks.
So I built. I built programmes. I built visibility. I built a social media presence that would make influencers jealous. I preached hard, prayed loud, and networked relentlessly.
And one evening, sitting alone in my study—the same study where I'm writing these words now—I heard the Lord ask me a question that shattered every brick I'd laid:
"Harold, whose name are you building?"
I looked at my plans. My strategies. My five-year ministry projection with its beautiful spreadsheets and growth curves. And I realised with a horror that made my stomach drop: I'd been building from the blueprint of the world, dressed up in Christian language.
The architect never blames the bricks. But I had become both architect and brick—and I was building a tower of Babel, not the Kingdom of God.
IV. The Original Blueprint
Here's what the Lord taught me in that season—and what I need you to hear today:
"For we are God's handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do." (Ephesians 2:10)
The Greek word is poiema—poem, masterpiece, work of art. You are not an accident of evolution or a random assembly of stardust. You are a poiema, and the Poet who composed you did so with intentionality before the foundation of the world.
Think about that. Before Eskom was a glint in anyone's eye. Before the first load-shedding schedule was drafted. Before Marikana, before 1994, before Verwoerd, before Shaka—God had already drawn the blueprint of your life.
The Psalmist caught this vision:
"Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be." (Psalm 139:16)
Not suggested. Not recommended. Ordained. Written. Blueprinted.
So here's the question that should haunt you until you answer it: Are you constructing from your God-given vision, or are you merely renting space in a house designed by your parents' fears and your neighbours' opinions?
V. The Great Exchange: Renewal as Demolition and Reconstruction
Romans 12:2 doesn't offer a gentle renovation. Look at the language:
"Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind."
· Conform (syschematizesthe)—to assume the outward form, to be pressed into a mould like a clay brick in a wooden frame.
· Transformed (metamorphousthe)—the same word used for Jesus's transfiguration! A radical change from within.
· Renewing (anakainosei)—making new in a fundamental sense, not just patching cracks.
This isn't about slapping a fresh coat of paint on a crumbling foundation. This is demolition and reconstruction. This is the wrecking ball of the Spirit smashing every faulty blueprint you've inherited, every lie you've believed, every worldly pattern you've absorbed like a sponge absorbs dirty water.
Let me give you a practical example.
Last year, I sat with a young entrepreneur from Soshanguve—brilliant woman, built a catering business from nothing, now feeding corporate clients in Pretoria's CBD. But she was exhausted. Working eighteen-hour days. Missing her children's school events. Her marriage fraying like a worn-out doek.
"Ntate Mawela," she said, "I don't understand. I'm living the dream—my own business, my own money, my own success. Why do I feel so empty?"
We opened her blueprint together. What did she believe about success? "Work harder than everyone else. Never say no to an opportunity. Rest is for the weak. Prove yourself every day."
Where did these beliefs come from? Her father, who worked three jobs and died of a heart attack at fifty-two. Her mother, who whispered "make sure you never depend on a man" every time she tucked her daughter into bed. The business magazines that celebrate burnout as sacrifice.
Not one of these blueprints came from God.
So we did what I'm asking you to do today: we held each belief up to the light of Scripture. We compared the foundation to the Cornerstone. And we demolished everything that didn't match the original design.
You will never possess what you are unwilling to pursue. But you will never find what you are unwilling to question.
VI. The Logic of the Kingdom: A Syllogism for the Soul
Let me get precise with you—because the enemy doesn't just attack your emotions; he attacks your thinking. Paul makes this clear in 2 Corinthians 10:5: "We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ."
So let's demolish some arguments together. Here's a logical structure that has transformed my own thinking—and I pray it transforms yours:
Premise 1: All human reasoning and construction depend on first principles—foundational assumptions about reality, truth, morality, and purpose that cannot be proven by reason alone but must be taken as given.
Premise 2: The secular world offers no adequate foundation for these first principles. If we are merely accidental arrangements of matter in a purposeless universe, then why should we trust our reasoning? Why should we pursue goodness? Why should we build anything at all?
Premise 3: The Christian Scriptures declare that Jesus Christ is the Logos—the divine Reason, the eternal Logic, the foundational Principle through whom all things were made (John 1:1-3). And in Him, "all things hold together" (Colossians 1:17).
Conclusion: Therefore, to build anything lasting—marriage, career, ministry, character—on any foundation other than Christ is to build on sand. The logic is inescapable. The evidence is overwhelming. And the stakes are eternal.
A common objection rises: "But what about people who build successful lives without God? What about atheist millionaires, secular humanists who do good works, non-believers who raise wonderful families?"
Here's the response: they are building on stolen land. Every good thing they construct—every act of love, every moral choice, every beautiful creation—borrows from the blueprint they deny. They are like a man who lives in a house he insists no one designed, using electricity he claims no one generated, breathing air he refuses to acknowledge was created. The very rationality they use to argue against God is borrowed from the Logos they reject.
The architect never blames the bricks. But the bricks cannot build themselves.
VII. The African Context: Building on Ancestral Land
Let me speak to my South African family particularly—because our context adds layers to this conversation that our Western brothers and sisters may not fully grasp.
We are a nation of builders. Look at the spaza shops that spring up in every township—testimony to entrepreneurial resilience. Look at the stokvels that pool resources and lift entire communities. Look at the ubuntu philosophy that declares "umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu"—a person is a person through other people.
These are beautiful blueprints, rooted in African soil. But they are not sufficient.
I've watched too many brilliant young people build magnificent lives on the foundation of ancestral veneration—consulting izangoma for business decisions, performing rituals to appease the departed, seeking guidance from spirits rather than the Spirit. And I've watched those same lives crumble when the ancestors fell silent, when the rituals failed, when the economy shifted and the spirits offered no provision.
The Scripture declares unequivocally: "There is one God and one mediator between God and mankind, the man Christ Jesus" (1 Timothy 2:5). Not ancestors. Not spirits. Not the wisdom of the elders, however honoured. Jesus Christ alone.
I say this not as a Western import—as if the gospel were a colonial imposition! I say this as a Motswana son of Africa, born in Limpopo, raised in the townships, schooled in the realities of our spiritual world. I know the power of the ancestors. I've seen the fear they inspire. And I declare with all the authority of Scripture and the confidence of personal experience: Jesus is greater.
When the amaZulu convert in KwaMashu learns to build her family on Christ rather than the amadlozi, she's not abandoning her African identity—she's fulfilling it. When the Venda businessman in Thohoyandou stops consulting diviners and starts seeking the Holy Spirit's guidance, he's not becoming less African—he's becoming more of what God intended Africans to be: worshippers of the King of kings, builders on the unshakeable foundation.
True liberation is found only in submitting to the Original Architect.
VIII. Load-Shedding and the Light That Never Fails
You'll forgive me if I use a metaphor we all understand. It's another evening in Akasia. Stage 4 load-shedding has just begun. The neighbourhood dims, generators cough to life, and those without backup power sit in darkness.
I think about this when I consider the blueprints we follow. The world's blueprints are connected to a grid that keeps failing. One economic crisis—bam!—the lights go out. One health scare—skrrr!—the generator sputters. One relationship failure—pop!—and you're sitting in darkness wondering where the power went.
But the blueprint drawn by God doesn't depend on Eskom. It doesn't rely on the grid. It's powered by the One who said "Let there be light" and light exploded into existence. It's illuminated by the Lamb who is the lamp of the New Jerusalem (Revelation 21:23).
I have a friend in Diepsloot—small shack, tin roof, dirt floor—who prays with such authority that I've seen demons flee and miracles manifest. When load-shedding hits his neighbourhood, he doesn't even notice. Why? Because the light inside him never dims. His blueprint wasn't drawn by the world. His foundation was laid by the Architect who specialises in building cathedrals out of shacks.
What you do daily determines what you become permanently. If you daily renew your mind in the Word, daily consult the Original Blueprint, daily submit your building plans to the Master Architect—then when the storms come (and they will come), your house will stand.
IX. The Cost of Building Right
Let me be honest with you—because Harold Mawela doesn't do false comfort. Building according to God's blueprint will cost you.
It will cost you the approval of people who want you to build what they want. When Daniel refused to eat the king's food (Daniel 1), he risked his position, his favour, possibly his life. When Esther approached the king unsummoned (Esther 4), she risked execution. When Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego refused the golden image (Daniel 3), they risked the furnace.
You will never become rich in the things of God until you hate the poverty of the world's approval.
It will cost you the comfort of following the crowd. There's a reason Jesus said "small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it" (Matthew 7:14). Most people are building from the world's blueprint—and the world's blueprint leads to destruction.
It will cost you time. Renewing your mind doesn't happen in a five-minute quiet time while you're scrolling Instagram. It happens in the long hours of study, the wrestling with Scripture, the painful confrontation with your own faulty thinking. It happens when you sit in the darkness and let God rewire your neural pathways until His thoughts become your thoughts.
But here's what I've learned in thirty years of following Jesus: the cost of building wrong is infinitely higher than the cost of building right.
I've sat with too many dying men to be impressed by worldly success. I've watched too many funerals of "successful" people to envy their achievements. When Mr. Dlamini's son sits in a holding cell in Pretoria Central, he's not comforted by his Waterkloof house or his luxury cars. He's comforted by nothing—because he built on sand.
God loves you because of who you are, but He blesses you because of what you do with what He's given you. And He's given you a mind capable of receiving His blueprint. What will you build?
X. The Prayer of the Renewed Mind
Before I close, let me pray for you—because this isn't just information; it's invitation.
Father of Lights,
You spoke and galaxies leapt from Your lips. You designed and DNA danced to Your tune. You blueprinted and the foundations of the earth were laid.
I confess that I've been building from the wrong plans. I've constructed my life according to my parents' expectations, my neighbours' opinions, my culture's demands. I've borrowed blueprints from Sandton and Soshanguve, from social media and salary slips, from fear and from pride.
Today, I surrender every faulty foundation. I repent of every worldly pattern. I renounce every lie I've believed about who I'm supposed to be and what I'm supposed to build.
Renew my mind, O God. Transform me from the inside out. Show me the blueprint You drew before the foundation of the world—the unique design, the specific calling, the glorious purpose You crafted for me alone.
Give me courage to build according to Your will, not the world's noise. Give me wisdom to recognise Your voice above the clamour. Give me strength to keep building when others mock, when the materials seem scarce, when the foundation feels shaky.
Make me like Daniel: unshakeable in Babylon, fluent in truth, dangerous to darkness. Make me like Esther: positioned for such a time as this. Make me like Jesus: the Author and Perfecter of faith, the Architect who became the Brick, the Designer who became the Building.
I am both architect and brick, Lord. Design me accordingly. Build me according to Your plan. And let my life be a house that honours the Builder, a temple that hosts the Spirit, a dwelling place for Your glory.
In the mighty name of Jesus Christ, my Foundation and my Cornerstone,
*Amen. *
XI. The Invitation: Design Accordingly
So here's where I leave you—sitting perhaps in your own Akasia home, or a flat in Hillbrow, or a shack in Khayelitsha, or a house in Durban North. The jacarandas are blooming or bare, the taxis are hooting or silent, the load-shedding schedule is active or dormant.
But none of that matters as much as this:
You are both the architect and the brick. Design accordingly.
The Architect never blames the bricks for the building's failure. He holds the architect responsible. And you, beloved, are the architect of your life—not in ultimate sovereignty (God holds that), but in daily obedience. You choose whose blueprints to follow. You decide what to build. You determine the foundation.
Choose wisely. Build carefully. And remember:
"Unless the Lord builds the house, the builders labour in vain." (Psalm 127:1)
From my study in Akasia, Tshwane—where the Highveld sun paints golden shadows and the Spirit still whispers truth to those who will listen.
Harold Mawela
https://podcasts.apple.com/gh/podcast/the-blueprint-in-the-mind/id1506692775?i=1000749929363
Comments
Post a Comment