THE PULSE OF THE PRESENT
Why Your Today Is Too Precious to Waste on Yesterday’s Echo
Scripture: “This is the day the Lord has made; We will rejoice and be glad in it.” (Psalm 118:24)
I. The Crash That Taught Me the Value of Vibration
I remember the morning like it was this morning. It was a Tuesday unremarkable, ordinary, the kind of day you forget before it ends. I was driving down the N1 towards Pretoria CBD, the Jacaranda blooms painting the road purple, when my phone buzzed with a news alert. “Unemployment surges to 32.7% in first quarter of 2026.” I sighed. Another statistic. Another headline. Another reminder that the patient is still bleeding.
But before I could swipe the notification away, the car in front of me slammed its brakes. I swerved. The taxi beside me one of those overloaded, exhaust-spewing warriors of the road—honked with the fury of a wounded buffalo. For three terrifying seconds, I felt the pulse of the present like I had never felt it before. The thumping of my heart. The grip of my hands on the steering wheel. The sudden, screaming awareness that I was alive.
In that moment, I understood something that all the theology books in all the seminaries in all of Gauteng could not teach me: The dead would trade everything for the problems you curse.
Waking up tired? A grave has no tiredness—only silence. Bills stacking higher than the Voortrekker Monument? A corpse has no wallet. Disappointed by a friend? The ashes feel no betrayal. This is not cruelty; this is clarity. Every breath you just took is a secret treasure you did not earn and cannot repay.
Let me say it again: The dead would trade everything for the problems you curse.
II. The Two False Pulses: Nostalgia and Fear
South Africa, I love you, but you are addicted to two false pulses. You are either grieving the past or dreading the future, and in doing so, you are missing the only moment God ever promised you: now.
Imagine, if you will, a man standing at a taxi rank in Soweto. His phone is open to a Facebook memory from 2014 back when the economy was kinder, when the lights stayed on longer, when his hairline was stronger. He scrolls and sighs. Meanwhile, behind him, a youth with a hoodie and a hustle is trying to sell him an airtime voucher. He doesn’t see her. She is standing right there, in the pulse of the present, and he is too busy worshipping a ghost.
Nostalgia is a dangerous seductress. She whispers, “Remember when things were better?” But she never whispers the rest of the story: the apartheid scars that were still bleeding, the inequality that was already metastasizing, the seeds of today’s storms that were already being sown. Nostalgia is a cemetery visit dressed up as a vacation. You were not meant to live there.
And then there is fear. The other false pulse. You listen to the news xenophobic tensions simmering, taxi violence torching nine minibuses in Nyanga, a global energy crisis threatening our recovery and you clutch your chest and whisper, “What will become of us?”
Let me be direct with you, because I love you enough to be direct: Fear is the atheism of the present moment. When you fear tomorrow, you are functionally denying that the God who made today has already gone ahead of you into tomorrow. You are behaving as if you are an orphan, not a child of the King.
The Scripture declares unequivocally: “This is the day the Lord has made.” Not yesterday. Not tomorrow. This day.
III. Define Your Terms: What Is the “Present” Really?
Let us anchor our minds before we engage our hearts. When the psalmist says, “This is the day,” what is the nature of this “day”? Is it merely a 24-hour cycle of sunrise and sunset? No. The Hebrew word for “day” here yom carries a deeper freight. It refers not just to chronological time, but to divinely appointed opportunity. It is the same word used in Genesis when God said, “Let there be light.” It is a creative, charged, consequential moment.
Thus, the present is not neutral. The present is pregnant with potential. Every inconvenience you face is not a punishment; it is a sparring partner sent to build your spiritual muscle.
· Thank the taxi that cut you off for teaching you patience.
· Thank the rude clerk at Shoprite for teaching you self-control.
· Thank the unexpected bill for forcing you to trust the Provider, not the provision.
This is not toxic positivity. This is theological warfare. You see, the enemy of your soul wants you to treat your problems as obstacles. God wants you to treat them as equipment.
Let me give you a syllogism to tattoo on your brain:
· Premise One: Every circumstance of my life has passed through the sovereign filter of God’s love (Romans 8:28).
· Premise Two: God’s love is not passive; it is actively working for my ultimate good (Jeremiah 29:11).
· Premise Three: Therefore, nothing in my present moment is accidental; everything is tactical.
· Conclusion: The only question I must answer is not “Why is this happening?” but “What is this training me for?”
Do you see the shift? The victim asks, “Why me?” The victor asks, “What now?”
IV. The Crowning Paradox: Rejoicing as Resistance
Now we come to the hardest part of the verse. The psalmist does not say, “I will rejoice and be glad when my problems disappear.” He says, “We will rejoice and be glad in it.” In the traffic. In the debt. In the betrayal. In the load-shedding. In the 32.7% unemployment. In it.
I can almost hear you object: “Harold, that’s impossible. How can I rejoice when my marriage is crumbling? How can I be glad when my bank account is empty? How can I sing when the country is burning?”
Let me answer with the fire of the Spirit: Rejoicing is not a response to your circumstances; it is a rebellion against them.
When you rejoice in the midst of the storm, you are not pretending the storm isn’t there. You are declaring that the One who calms the storm is more present than the storm itself. You are looking at the waves and saying, “You are not the final word. Jesus is.”
This is the secret that the martyrs knew. This is the power that sustained Paul and Silas in a Philippian jail at midnight—their feet in stocks, their backs bleeding, their future uncertain. And what did they do? They sang. They rejoiced. And the earth shook.
Imagine a world where every South African Christian woke up tomorrow and treated each inconvenience as a sparring partner. Imagine the taxi violence confronted, not with more violence, but with supernatural patience. Imagine the xenophobic rhetoric answered, not with retaliation, but with radical hospitality. Imagine the unemployment statistics met, not with despair, but with entrepreneurial faith. That world is not a fantasy. It is a foreshadow of the Kingdom.
V. A Personal Confession from Akasia
Let me be transparent with you. I am not writing this from a mountain top. I am writing this from my study in Akasia, Ext 12, where the winter air bites through my jacket and the noise of a nearby tavern sometimes keeps me awake. Last week, I received a call that made my stomach drop. A ministry partnership I had been praying over for 18 months—the one I was sure was God’s will—fell apart in a single conversation. The person on the other end of the line used words like “restructuring” and “budget cuts,” but what I heard was “rejection.”
I hung up. I sat in the dark. The pulse of the present felt like a hammer.
And then, in that silence, the Holy Spirit whispered: “Harold, are you going to worship the partnership or the Provider?”
I laughed. It was a painful laugh, the kind that comes from a cracked rib. I realized that I had made an idol out of a plan. I had been so focused on the what that I had forgotten the Who. And in that moment, I repented. Not of wanting good things, but of wanting them more than I wanted the Giver of good things.
I got up. I made myself a cup of rooibos tea. I opened my Bible to Psalm 118. And I read those words again: “This is the day the Lord has made.”
Not the day I wanted. Not the day I planned. This day.
VI. The Call to Action: Feel the Pulse
So here is my charge to you, my beloved South African brother and sister:
1. Stop checking the rearview mirror. The only thing nostalgia produces is neck cramps. Your yesterday expired at midnight. Let it go. Bury it. Dance on its grave if you must. But do not build a house there.
2. Stop mortgaging the future with your worry. Jesus was clear: “Sufficient for the day is its own trouble” (Matthew 6:34). When you worry about tomorrow, you are not being responsible; you are being rebellious. You are acting as if God’s mercy runs out at midnight. It doesn’t. His mercies are new every morning.
3. Start treating each inconvenience as a sparring partner. The traffic is your patience coach. The rude clerk is your self-control coach. The unexpected bill is your faith coach. Stop cursing your coaches. Start learning from them.
4. Start rejoicing as an act of war. When the enemy whispers despair, open your mouth and praise. Not because you feel like it, but because your feelings are not your commander. Your feelings are followers. And you are the general.
VII. The Final Paradox
Let me close with a paradox that will either set you free or offend you deeply:
Jesus Christ did not die to give you a comfortable life. He died to give you a conquering life.
Comfort is not the goal of the Gospel. Conquest is. And conquest does not happen in the absence of enemies; it happens in the presence of enemies who are being systematically defeated by the power of the risen Christ.
You are alive. That is enough. That is more than enough. That is the pulse of the present.
Prayer
Lord, let my gratitude silence my grief. Teach me to treasure the breath You borrowed me. I confess that I have spent too many days mourning what was and fearing what may be. Today, I choose to rejoice not because my circumstances are good, but because You are good. I treat my inconveniences as sparring partners. I treat my obstacles as equipment. I treat my present moment as holy ground. In Jesus’ mighty, matchless, conquering name, Amen.
Reflection Question for the Week:
What inconvenience are you currently cursing that you should be thanking? Identify it. Name it. And tomorrow morning, when it shows up again, greet it with the words: “Welcome, sparring partner. What are you here to teach me?”
· From my study in Akasia, Pretoria where the Jacarandas are blooming, the power is on (for now), and the pulse of the present is beating with resurrection rhythm.
https://open.spotify.com/episode/538YzwoCfnZUq4m6ZDmODT?si=EkZGg8etTDuO0GKU6X7TPw
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