Title: The Arithmetic of Ashes: Understanding the Mathematics of Divine Restoration
By Harold Mawela, Akasia, Pretoria
I was sitting on my veranda in Akasia last Thursday, watching the afternoon light set the jacaranda trees ablaze with purple fire, when my neighbour Mr. Dlamini called over the fence. "Harold," he said, his voice carrying that weight a man carries when life has deducted more than he deposited, "I've just done the sums. Twenty-three years at that company. Twenty-three years of loyalty, of working Sundays, of missing my children's school concerts. And for what? A retrenchment letter and a box of my belongings."
He tapped his temple. "Those years. Gone. Eaten."
I walked over, leaned on the fence between our properties—that thin wire that separates one man's struggle from another's—and I said, "Bafana, you're using the wrong mathematics. You're using human arithmetic. But God? God does the mathematics of restoration."
The Context of Our Cracking
Let us define our terms clearly, my friend. Restoration is not merely recovery. Recovery gives you back what you had. Restoration gives you back what you lost plus the interest of heaven. It is not the mending of a garment; it is the weaving of a new one that makes the old look like poverty.
South Africa understands loss. We understand years that the locust has eaten. We understand the arithmetic of disappointment.
Last week, President Ramaphosa stood in Parliament for SONA 2026 and spoke of "four consecutive quarters of positive GDP growth" . He spoke of inflation at its lowest in twenty years. He spoke of the rand strengthening. And I sat there, like millions of my compatriots, nodding but also thinking: The macroeconomic headlines have not yet arrived at my kitchen table . The lived experience—the community protesting for water, the entrepreneur battling red tape, the family fearing for their safety at night—has not yet matched the statistics .
This is the tension we live in: the promise of restoration and the present reality of lack. The already and the not-yet. The harvest that is prophesied and the field that still looks barren.
I thought of the locusts—arbeh, yeleq, hasil, gazam—those four waves of destruction that Joel describes . In the ancient world, a locust swarm of 300 by 100 miles could consume 100,000 tons of crops in a single day . Imagine that. Imagine watching your labour, your sweat, your seed—everything you planted—disappear into the mandibles of a million insects. Imagine standing in your field and hearing nothing but the clicking and crunching of your future being eaten.
That is what loss feels like. It feels like watching your years being consumed by something you cannot stop.
The Promise That Defies Physics
But here is where the Scripture interrupts our despair: "I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten" (Joel 2:25) .
Let us sit with the absurdity of that promise. Years. Not crops. Not money. Not possessions. Years. Time. The one commodity that physics insists is linear, irreversible, non-renewable. You cannot get back yesterday. You cannot unsay the word. You cannot unlive the season. Time, we are told, is the river that only flows one direction.
And yet God says: I will restore the years.
This is not the language of compensation; it is the language of creation. God is not saying, "I will give you something else to make up for it." He is saying, "I will give you back the time itself—compressed, multiplied, redeemed."
Imagine, if you will, a farmer whose fields have been stripped. He has nothing. No seed for next season, no grain for bread, no hope for the future. And then God speaks, and the farmer wakes to find that his barns are full, his fields are green, and the harvest he lost has been replaced by a harvest he never planted.
This is the mathematics of heaven. This is divine restoration.
A Story from My Own Akasia
I must tell you something personal. In 2019, I found myself in a season I thought would never end. I had invested everything—emotionally, spiritually, financially—into a ministry project that I was certain was from God. I had the prophecies. I had the confirmations. I had the dreams at night and the verses in the morning. Everything pointed to yes.
And then it collapsed.
Not slowly. Not gracefully. It collapsed like a building in a explosion—sudden, complete, and devastating. There were accusations. There were misunderstandings. There were people I loved who walked away and never looked back. I sat in this very house in Akasia, staring at the walls, and I calculated the cost. Four years. Four years of my life. Four years of labour. Four years of believing. Gone. Eaten.
I remember walking to the dam at the end of our street—you know the one, where the children fish with makeshift rods and the teenagers sit after school. I stood there watching the water, and I said aloud, "Lord, what was the point of those four years? What was the point of all that believing if it was going to end in nothing?"
I didn't hear an audible voice. But I felt something settle in my spirit. A question: Harold, were those years wasted because the outcome was not what you expected? Or was I doing something in you that you could not see?
I didn't have an answer then. But I held onto Joel 2:25 like a drowning man holds onto a piece of wreckage. You will restore. You said You will restore. I don't know how. I don't know when. But You will restore.
The Four Waves of the Locust
Joel names four locusts: the gazam (gnawing locust), the arbeh (swarming locust), the yeleq (lapping locust), and the hasil (consuming locust) . Biblical scholars suggest these may represent either four species or four stages of locust development . But spiritually, I want to suggest they represent four kinds of loss we experience:
First, the gnawing locust. This is the slow, persistent erosion. The marriage that doesn't suddenly fail but slowly dies. The health that doesn't collapse but gradually declines. The joy that doesn't vanish but quietly leaks away. This locust doesn't attack in a dramatic swarm; it gnaws at the edges until one day you realise there's nothing left.
Second, the swarming locust. This is the sudden disaster. The retrenchment letter. The medical diagnosis. The phone call at 2 a.m. The betrayal that comes without warning. This locust descends in a moment and devours in hours what took years to build.
Third, the lapping locust. This is the loss of sustenance. The lapping locust doesn't just destroy the crop; it contaminates what remains. It is the loss that leaves you with bitterness. It is the disappointment that makes you distrust God. It is the wound that infects the rest of your life.
Fourth, the consuming locust. This is total devastation. This is Job losing everything—children, wealth, health, reputation. This is the loss that leaves nothing standing. This is the field so stripped that even the weeds won't grow.
Which locust has eaten your years, my friend? Which wave of destruction has left you standing in an empty field?
The God Who Redeems Time
Now, let us address a crucial question: To whom is this promise given?
Joel 2:25 does not float in the air as a generic blessing for everyone. It is given in response to prayer. Look at Joel 2:17: "Spare Your people, O Lord, and make not Your heritage a reproach." . The people repented. They gathered. They wept. They cried out. And God answered .
This promise is for those who:
· Feel their need for mercy . Not those who feel entitled to restoration, but those who know they don't deserve it.
· Want God's name to be honoured . Not those who want their reputation restored, but those who care about God's reputation.
· Are willing to wait . Not those who demand immediate results, but those who trust God's timing.
This is crucial, because we live in a culture that demands instant gratification. We want the harvest without the waiting. We want the restoration without the repentance. We want the years back without the humility.
But God's mathematics does not work that way.
How Does God Restore Years?
This is the question that kept me awake many nights in Akasia. How does God restore time? How does He give back what is irreversibly gone?
Let me suggest four ways:
First, God restores years by deepening your communion with Christ . Joel 2:27 says, "You shall know that I am in the midst of Israel, and that I am the Lord your God." The people who endured the locusts came out with a knowledge of God they never had before. The years of suffering became the years of intimacy. The loss became the classroom where they learned the voice of the Teacher.
I can testify to this. Those four years I thought were wasted? I would not trade the intimacy with God I gained in that season for anything the world could offer. I learned to worship when I had nothing. I learned to trust when I couldn't see. I learned that God is enough—not just in theory, but in the gut-wrenching, tear-stained, 3 a.m. reality of my life.
Second, God restores years by compressing harvests. I have seen this repeatedly in Scripture and in life. What should have taken ten years happens in two. What should have required decades of labour manifests in a season. God does not give back the clock; He gives back the fruit of the clock. He makes the latter harvest greater than the former. He causes the threshing floor to be full of grain and the vats to overflow with wine .
Third, God restores years by redeeming the pain. Every tear you shed becomes seed. Every sleepless night becomes intercession. Every disappointment becomes a platform for compassion. The years the locust ate are not erased; they are transformed. They become the raw material for your ministry to others who are walking through the same valley.
I think of the Swenkas—those Zulu men who, during apartheid, transformed fashion into an expression of dignity and creative resistance . They worked in harsh conditions, separated from their families, with limited economic freedom. But on Saturday nights, they dressed in sharp suits, polished their shoes, and performed with choreographed elegance . They took the years the locust ate—the years of oppression, of separation, of hardship—and turned them into art. They refused to let the locusts have the final word.
That is what restoration looks like. It is not the removal of the memory; it is the redemption of the memory.
Fourth, God restores years by giving you an eternal perspective. Paul wrote, "This light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison" (2 Corinthians 4:17). The years the locust ate are not missing from eternity. They are stored up. They are accounted for. They are part of the weight of glory you will carry forever.
This is the mathematics of heaven: your losses become your assets. Your pain becomes your portfolio. Your suffering becomes your treasure.
Confronting the Objection
I anticipate an objection. Someone is reading this and thinking, "But Pastor Harold, you don't understand my situation. I've lost too much. It's been too long. The damage is irreversible."
Let me answer you with both honesty and hope.
First, honesty: It is true that some losses are not reversed in this life. Joel's original audience received agricultural restoration, but not everyone in history has received physical healing or financial recovery. Stephen was stoned. Paul was beheaded. John was exiled. Job got his children back, but he never forgot the ones he lost. The resurrection of the body is still future .
But second, hope: The promise of Joel 2:25 is anchored in the ultimate restoration—the resurrection of Jesus Christ . The empty tomb is God's definitive statement that He can reverse even death. If God can raise Jesus from the dead, He can restore your years. If God can conquer the grave, He can conquer your loss. The resurrection is not just a doctrine; it is the prototype of your restoration .
Paul Tripp said it well: "The God of grace loves to write straight with crooked lines. He loves to take messes and turn them into messages, take tests and turn them into testimonies, take trials and turn them into triumphs, take misery and turn it into ministry."
Your crooked line is not the end of the story. The Author of redemption is still writing.
A Practical Word for Your Situation
Let me bring this home to where you live—whether you're in Akasia like me, or Soweto, or Durban, or Cape Town.
First, stop calculating by human arithmetic. You keep looking at what you lost and concluding that the equation is unbalanced. But you're using the wrong mathematics. God's restoration doesn't add up by your numbers. Stop counting the years and start trusting the Restorer.
Second, repent of the bitterness. This is hard, I know. But unforgiveness is the fence that keeps you in the field of loss. Forgive the people who contributed to your loss. Forgive yourself for the mistakes you made. Forgive God for the timing you don't understand. Bitterness will keep you in the locust years long after God has declared the season of restoration.
Third, prepare your barns for a harvest you didn't plant. Faith is acting like the restoration is coming before you see it. Clear out the debris. Get your heart ready. Make room for the blessing. If you keep staring at the empty field, you'll miss the green shoots when they appear.
Fourth, worship while you wait. I've written about this before—worship is warfare . When you praise God in the middle of your loss, you shift the atmosphere. You declare that God is bigger than your circumstances. You align yourself with heaven's reality. Worship doesn't change God; it changes you. It opens your hands to receive what He is doing.
Last month, during load-shedding, I stood on my balcony and watched the darkness settle over Akasia. For a moment, the weight of everything—the national challenges, the personal disappointments, the prayers still unanswered—pressed down on me. And then I heard it. Mama Ndlovu, two doors down, singing "Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika" into the darkness . And then another voice. And another. By the time the power returned, the whole street had been singing.
That is what we do. We sing in the darkness because we believe the light is coming.
The Call: Receive Your Sevenfold Redemption
So here is my question to you, my friend from Akasia, from Mamelodi, from Soshanguve, from wherever you are reading this: Will you receive your restoration?
Not just believe in it intellectually. Not just hope for it vaguely. But receive it. Open your hands. Lift your head. Look up from the empty field and see the harvest that God is bringing.
The Scripture declares unequivocally: "I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten." .
Not "maybe." Not "perhaps." Not "if you're good enough." I WILL.
That is a divine declaration. That is a royal decree. That is the word of the King over your life.
The locusts came. Yes. The years were eaten. Yes. The loss was real. Yes.
But God is greater than the locusts. God is greater than the years. God is greater than the loss.
Your season of restoration has dawned. The mathematics of heaven is working on your behalf. The years are being redeemed. The harvest is coming. The joy is being multiplied. The hope is being resurrected.
Let us pray:
Father, I stand in the gap for every person reading these words. You see the fields of their lives—some stripped bare, some barely recovering, some showing the first green shoots of hope. I declare over them: RESTORATION. Not just recovery, but restoration. Not just compensation, but multiplication. Not just survival, but abundance.
Restore the years, Lord. Restore the joy. Restore the peace. Restore the hope. Restore the relationships. Restore the health. Restore the finances. Restore the dreams.
And in the restoring, let Your name be glorified. Let the nations see that You are the God who redeems, the God who restores, the God who makes all things new.
We receive Your sevenfold redemption today. In the mighty name of Jesus Christ. Amen.
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