tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38400221974904492462024-03-13T19:52:50.354+02:00Apostle's NotebookAndréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.comBlogger98125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-43825396699977655792013-01-01T09:46:00.002+02:002013-01-01T09:46:56.289+02:00Going into the New Year<br />
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When I watched how the world celebrated the New Year in
all the big cities of the world I realised the best they can do is to have a
countdown and a fireworks display! We had an amazing time in God's presence!
The church was chock-a-block and the people were in tune with what the Holy
Spirit wanted to do. Chantal led us in awesome worship and then Nola released a
new hymn that led us to new heights in worship - you could hear the 10 000
voice Angel Choir sing along with us! We had some testimonies of God's mighty
works in our midst and then I preached on 'The Peerless Man' (He had no peers
to be compared with!) We ministered to people when they realised Jesus came to
deal with our wrong being rather than our wrong doing, and afterwards we
ministered to people for divine healing by the laying on of hands. It all went
very quickly because the members of the body of Christ worked together in
tandem and no one looked for the superstar among us with all the gifts of the
Spirit! No one fell asleep. It was too exciting and too liberating. Just before
midnight the meeting was over so we had about ten minutes to do 3 Blues
numbers! A young man from Pretoria that repairs pipe organs came up to me
afterwards and said, 'how do you do that? How do you play the blues?' I said,
'it is easy!' then he said, 'I'm going to try that!’ The joy of being in the
Lord's presence as the old year faded and the New Year dawned, was amazing. No
one wanted to leave. People lingered around for a long time. It was awesome. No
fireworks display, no countdown, but what a way to end the year and start the
New Year! Money cannot buy the privilege of being part of the body of Christ
especially when the year ends and the new one begins! We give all the glory to
God. Oh yes, and we also gave our offering: it was the last offering we could
sow in 2012 to invest in 2013! I was so exhilarated by the service that I could
not go to sleep immediately. Nola made me another Mexican Taco (leftovers from
dinner) and we had a midnight feast. Hilton Skyped his new friend in Caracas,
Venezuela. 2013 had begun!</div>
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Andréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-38888867035740629292012-12-27T17:11:00.002+02:002012-12-27T17:11:45.078+02:00Parting is such sweet sorrow<br />
Something I have always observed in places of travel is the high level of emotion on display. Whether it is a trains station in Europe, a dock in New York or an airport in Cape Town, people openly let go of their feelings and have no shame to show it. The moment is too big. The moment is too real. The moment is too unbearable. There are releases of great joy and abundance of happiness as people rush to embrace after long absences and glorious reunions; there are neck hugging moments of tear filled farewells that touches the hardest heart; there are moments of tip-toe waving and blowing kisses and there are sad shouldered turn arounds with cheeks dripping with moisture of tears.<br />
When will I see them again?<br />
The long wait is the thing that gnaws at the heart.<br />
I remember distinctly when my parents said goodbye to me at Jan Smuts Airport, (it has changed name twice since then and probably will change again, so for those who do not know where that is, it is Johannesburg International Airport, now also known as O.R. Tambo International airport) when I left South Africa to go and study the Bible in the desert of Arizona in Miracle Valley Bible College, how they smiled through the tears and said: 'if we never see you again, we give you to the work of the Lord, son!' Their words echoed in my mind for hours afterwards and I also shed some tears.<br />
Many years later I found a video film in Milnerton Public Library, entitled, 'The Black Robe'. It told the tale of the Jesuit priests who gave up their lives to reach the north Canadian Indians in a snow covered environment. When one of the young priests greeted his mother, he said, 'you will never see me again.' She knew and she shed a tear and took one last look at her son. Then she turned and walked away. He gave his life to reach those heathen Indian tribes and died there. The medicine man told the Indian chief: 'he steals the souls of our people by making that sign of a cross on their foreheads.' The chief had him murdered. That movie made me cry. I could never watch it again, but it keeps on returning in my sub-conscious mind.<br />
The plane is made in the shape of a cross: the body with the two outstretched wings...if seen from the tail camera it resembles a cross. I once heard the words inside of me: 'planes have become your cross,' while watching the plane on the small video screen in the economy section.<br />
When I was young I heard a voice say to me: 'I've counted your travels' (In Afrikaans: 'Ek het jou omswerwinge getel.' I cried because I never bothered to count my travels to other lands at that stage. So I retraced my steps and counted 26 journeys. Since then I have had 246 International flights (not counting the inland flights in all the countries I have been to, like Australia, South Africa, South America, America, India, Europe, UK, China.) Flying has become a part of my cross, yes.<br />
So when I go to an airport and experience the overwhelming emotions of people who might not travel as often as I do, it still touches me, after all this time, especially if I know them.<br />
We said goodbye to our daughter Yve who married Don, an American. There was much tears, although we were also filled with joy for their future. The admixture of joy and sorrow is strange, but true, especially at an airport, or at a harbour, or on the platform of a railway station.<br />
Parting is such sweet sorrow - Shakespeare.Andréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-84243684846343911552012-08-29T10:34:00.002+01:002012-08-29T10:41:30.138+01:00Original Genius<br />
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<span lang="EN-ZA">Graham Bernard Shaw wrote about original
genius and said there are those who contribute to the life force and they are
normally original thinkers. Japan tends to copy America in everything. It's
quite sad because America just about destroyed that nation with the A-bomb and
now they bow to them in copying them in everything. It was something I observed
while in Japan. In life too there are people who copy what original genius
create. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-ZA">Luke, one of our church musicians, remarked yesterday: 'the reason I do not like most Christian music
is because they always try to copy what is in the world already and they do
such a bad job of it!' </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-ZA">When the Beatles emerged, suddenly there was a host of
other boy bands: The Animals, The Troggs, The Small Faces...everyone suddenly
grew their hair to hang on their foreheads and every band had three guitar
players and a drummer.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-ZA">Pioneers pay a price of being rejected
and despised at first but later on they are emulated for the very thing they
have been rejected for. Moses for instance: Acts 7 they say that the Jews
rejected Moses as their leader but the same Moses led them out by the hand of
the Angel that appeared to him in the burning bush. They said, 'who made you a
judge over us?' That same Moses became their judge in the wilderness. What
people accuse you of can become your epithet. The Jews said Jesus is not our
king, and they got Pilate to crucify Him, but Pilate wrote in three world
languages: The King of the Jews! And hung it on the cross above Jesus' head.
The accusation became his title.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-ZA">They used to mock me as a little boy and
call me 'apostolie!' from across the street and at school the teachers called
me 'Pastoortjie'. Little did they know they were announcing my mission and
ministry in life, simultaneously? It was hard being mocked and despised because
I was Pentecostal, but I am what I am today because of the persecution I have
received.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-ZA">If the devils knew what was happening
when Jesus was crucified they would have prevented the crucifixion. When they
rejoiced that Jesus died, they were sealing their own defeat forever!</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-ZA">Think about this principle and it will
bless you too - for all of us have some area where we have been rejected and
despised, but God is our redeemer, He redeems these areas and turns our
negatives into positives.</span></div>
Andréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-79312925849134160172012-08-10T15:31:00.002+01:002012-08-10T15:31:50.305+01:00Do what you canOne of the most amazing statements Jesus ever made was when he released a woman from the opinion of other people. It happened when he was having a meal with some religious scholars. She came in and broke an alabaster box full of spikenard, a very expensive perfume that was normally a savings account towards a wedding, and poured it over Jesus' feet and dried his feet with her hair.
Can you imagine the mess of the broken vessel, the running oil and the oily hair? And not to mention the smell in the air: the food smells and the strong perfume mixed.
Judas Iscariot the treasurer of Jesus' party was offended.
'She could have sold the perfume and given it to the poor!' he reprimanded.
The religious scholars were alarmed that Jesus did not know what kind of woman that was. She was a street lady, but Jesus did a lot for her when he cast 7 demons out of her and set her free. She wanted to return the favor.
Can you see her standing in the entrance, hesitant, not sure if she is doing the right thing: she is giving up her savings for her future marriage to spill it on a man that helped her. How will he react? Will he be upset? Will he accept her offering? It took so many years to gather the spikenard... and now it will all be gone in a few seconds!
But then she took the courage of her conviction, burst forward and broke the alabaster box and scooped up the flowing perfume and washed Jesus feet with it. Then she dried it with her hair... for at least she will have the perfume that she washed the Master's feet with in her hair for a while. She will treasure it as long as it lasts.
When everyone scolded her and told Jesus he had to stop her, Jesus came up in her defense: 'Leave her alone - she did what she could! Since I came in here you did not offer Me any water to wash My feet, but she washed it for me! And what she did will always be remembered as a memorial to her, because she anointed Me for my burial.' He was speaking prophetically and most of them did not understand that He was referring to His crucifixion.
She did what she could - that is really all the Master asks of us. Sometimes we feel that we never do enough, sometimes we overdo it - but as long as we do what we can, the Master is satisfied and He will come to our defense.
It takes such a strain off us when we know we can simply do what we can and then it will be sufficient. It breaks the yoke of other people's expectations and cracks the burden of their opinions about us.
The Master is happy if we do what we can for Him and for others. It is so simple it is staggering!Andréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-40079881788294751442012-05-26T09:11:00.002+01:002012-05-26T09:11:53.350+01:00Along the WayAlong the Way
Along the way I saw a little boy play Bull-Fight with a long horn African cow. He used a sheet of white plastic for a cloth which he dangled in front of the cow. He stared at the cow and challenged it to charge at him. The cow paid no attention to him, even as he stepped closer and closer!
I saw the many roadside stalls along the way selling just about everything you can think of, from raw meat hanging on hooks in the sun, to manikins nailed to wooden crosses to display clothes!
I saw a traffic officer clad in white trying to direct the traffic but no one paid attention to him. He blew his football referee’s whistle in vain. The drone of traffic noises overpowered him.
I saw a vendor leading four goats on four strings, but one of the goats kept on lying down in the tall grass to rest!
I saw a huge crane sitting on a steeple like a weather horn waiting for the wind to blow.
I saw a deserted mission church in the jungle.
I saw school children walk along the road in the villages balancing their books on their heads.
I saw people walking on railway tracks because the railroad system is non-existent in Uganda.Andréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-22444209753177178102012-05-05T09:42:00.001+01:002012-05-05T09:42:52.633+01:00Unsung HeroesMartin Luther made a sudden vow to become a monk when a lightning bolt killed his mate next to him when they were on their way home from a drinking binge. Well, so the story goes!<br />Think about that...without that event Luther would never have gone into a monastery and the Reformation that changed the world would never have taken place and the bible would not have been translated into German! Wow!<br />But we do not know anything about the friend who literally gave his life to spark off the desire in Luther, or the fear, really, to dedicate the rest of his life to God!<br />Sometimes a friend's death is the thing that changes someone's life!<br />Well, Jesus's death changed millions of lives...When you realise He died for your own sins (that you should go to hell for) you suddenly feel like dedicating your life to God as well, maybe even become a reformer, like Luther!<br />It is often the unsung heroes that never get a mention in history that sparked off the bravery and dedication of the known heroes. Who will remember them? Who will reward them?<br />Barrabas was a murderer and a thief and he got set free instead of Jesus on the day of the Passover Feast. Jesus died in his place and he was allowed to go free! Imagine his surprise when the Roman prison warden came to tell him, 'You are free to go!' When he was told an unsung hero would die in his place he must have been flabberghasted! Imagine the scene...why would a stranger die in my place? Who is this man?<br />I wonder if he stayed to watch the crucifixion of his substitute? I wonder if he watched them kill the person that should have been him? Or did he just vanish into the milling crowd?<br />Who could bear to watch the torture of someone on a cross? Who could stand the torment and the pain? Only Jesus' mother and the beloved disciple John had the guts to stay close to the cross. All the other disciples fled away - even big mouth Peter! ('If all forsake you, I never will!) Big deal! Yet Peter preached on the day of Pentecost and 3000 got saved and baptised! Peter raised Dorcas from the dead! Peter's shadow healed people in the street! Peter sat with the leaders...yet when it counted he wasn't there.<br />In Charles Dicken's novel, A Tale of Two Cities, Charles Darnay and his friend exchange clothes in a prison and the one dies instead of the other with the following words on his lips as he steps to the scaffolding of the French guillotine: 'It's a far, far better way to go...' so that his friend could be united to the woman he loved. What an amazing climax to a love story!<br />There is no greater life than a friend giving his life for his friends!<br />But often that moment comes unexpectedly, unplanned, uncalculated...who is ever ready for such a sacrifice?<br />But those men and women who died in the great wars of the world, who gave their lives so that we could carry on with life, who died so that we could be free from world domination by insane dictators...all we have for them are some statues, a flame somewhere, 'for the unknown soldier'...<br />In Christianity there are scores of martyrs, unknown to us, who died so that we could have the Word of God and experience salvation through Jesus Christ. Today coptic Christians in Muslim countries are still being executed for their faith...<br />Communism in both Russia and China destroyed the lives of multiple thousands of believers and we have no clue who they were. But they are the unsung heroes of our faith!<br />I have often watched cricket when someone scores a century and I've seen how others honour him as a great batsman, but his partner at the other end who kept on encouraging him, and kept on giving him the bowling, and kept on supporting him is often the unsung hero of the game. Its great to see a teacher go up to the unsung hero and say, 'you did your job well!' to a schoolboy who did his utmost to keep the partnership going. <br />When will our eyes open to see all the unsung heroes around us? The mother that kept on praying for her son until he turned to Christ; the mother that worked hard to pay the school fees of her daughter; the father who accumulated wealth for his children and grandchildren to enjoy; the old lady in church who gave her car to help with the purchasing of the church property; the boy who gave up his scholarship to obey the call of God in the ministry; the missionary who sold all he possessed to support his family on the mission field...<br />Have a look around you and see all the unsung heroes in your life and begin to thank them in whatever way possible, for you never know when you might be called upon to become an unsung hero as well!<br />It's a far, far better way to go...the way of love's ultimate sacrifice.
Michael Caine once starred in a War Movie entitled, 'Too Late the Hero', which is also one of my favorite movies. Caine plays the part of a soldier that just wants to survive the jungle war, but in the end he gives his life to save a friend. He played the anti-hero perfectly and eventually became the hero.Andréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-53182617234503728652012-05-05T09:39:00.000+01:002012-05-05T09:39:57.286+01:00Potatoes Sunny Side Up?And so I was asked: 'What can I get you for breakfast? Boiled Potatoes, sunny side up?'
<br />For a moment I was baffled. My mind raced to try to imagine what this dish looked like. Then i put two and two together and realized breakfast normally included the question about fried eggs, sunny side up? So it had nothing to do with eggs at all, it simply meant, the best we can offer. So I obliged and said, 'ok, let me have it!'I literally got small boiled potatoes for breakfast in my plate. I have never eaten potatoes for breakfast anywhere else except in Kiev, in the Ukraine, where I ate nothing but potatoes for a whole weak until I went with the lady of the house to buy some withered vegetables and a bit of meat in a shanty shop location two hour bus ride away from their community apartment.
<br />But I was in a little village somewhere in Nigeria and in a hotel and the young man was put in charge of training the hotel staff. He was ambitious, energetic and high spirited and put his best foot forward all the time to impress the foreigner, but they did not have everything in place yet, not the right equipment nor the right products for meals. For instance they do not have Coca Cola in the bar. Only Sprite. They only serve from the bottles that are open - otherwise you have to purchase the whole bottle.
<br />They are making great improvements all the time. They are training the staff - and the young man, whose name was Paul, was in charge of all the training, which happened openly. He corrected staff members on the spot and reprimanded them in front of the guests and also met with them every morning after prayer and worship, to give them instructions. He warned the older men not to be offended by his youth but to learn from him. He was giving them a three week window to improve before he would recruit other staff.
<br />He felt obliged to look after me and ordered my meal, then sat with me at the table watching me eat it, all the time asking if I enjoyed it. It felt very uncomfortable being watched with every mouth full. If he had to go and attend to something he would asked to be excused and then rushed back to take up his position where he could watch every movement I made from the plate to my mouth.
<br />When I went for a swim the pool man walked up and down the pool like an Olympic Coach. I felt hard pressed to swim faster with each stroke. Even if I felt like quitting after so many lengths I felt guilty and kept on turning and swimming to the other end.
<br />I gave one of my blues CD's to Paul and to some of the other senior members. When I went to the pool bar they played my CD over the extremely loud sound system that was supported with speakers stacked up to the sky on both sides of the pool. I heard my voice being boomed out to the whole neighborhood. They particularly liked the slow songs such as 'Come sit by me' and 'Memory be kind'. It set quite a drastic contrast to their up tempo African rhythms that was all about dancing and not about melody.
<br />In church I observed how they dance and being a trained actor, simply imitated them to their great delight! Legs bent, buttocks stuck far out, arms dangling in front as if you are playing a bush drum and head forward looking down at your feet, you cut your steps to the left and the right and move forward and backwards shaking the hands at intervals or clapping them once or twice. You let out a yell of excitement now and again, 'Jeyh!' and then throw yourself into interpreting the rhythm in a dance.
<br />I preached in an unfinished church building in Umuahia in Abia State. The pastor received me well and so did the people. When I ministered on the I AM Principle the penny dropped after an hour and a half of preaching and suddenly people lay prostrate on the dirty worn out cement floor and started weeping quietly. You could hear them repeat the gist of my sermon, 'God wants me to be myself!' It was a revelation to them. They had been trying so hard to live up to all the demands of religion that the burden became to heavy to bear. The simply message I brought cleared up all the jet and flotsam of years of religious bondage and they were allowed to go free! There was a long silence after I preached where people just lay on the ground and some wept quietly - very unusual for Nigeria. The pastor eventually took the mike but said, 'I don't know what to say...' He dismissed the people but no one wanted to leave. It was a moment of divine glory and we all wanted to linger a little longer.
<br />They invited me back for their annual conference.
<br />On the Sunday morning a visitor stepped forward and offered to pay for thAndréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-72834426787490261582012-05-05T09:31:00.002+01:002012-05-05T09:33:57.536+01:00the Beatles 50 years laterThe Beatles 50 Years Later
Newsweek released a special collector’s edition celebrating the 50 years since the Beatles were launched in 1962. In that same amazing year Dylan, The Beach boys and The Rolling Stones also surfaced onto the music scene. But in the words of the late Steve Jobs, who introduced Beatle music to i-Tunes, ‘anyone could imitate The Rolling Stones, but no one could be Dylan or The Beatles.’
What caught my attention in one of the many articles in the special edition was a paragraph about John Lennon’s evaluation of his own guitar playing: ‘I am embarrassed at my guitar technique…but I know how to drive a band.’
When Lennon met McCartney the former could only play banjo chords on the first four strings on his guitar.
Lennon and McCartney became the most prolific tune factory the world has ever known. They had 27 hits that lasted 100 weeks on the No. 1 spot on the hit parade. They have sold over 600 million albums and 1.8 million on i-Tunes.
They introduced the stadium performance as an event to the crowds and headed the other bands in selling their wares and merchandise in shops all over the world. Their name became an adjective in the modern English language: e.g. Beatle mania.
Lennon’s statement about his guitar playing is so painfully honest – just like his music. He was not ashamed to write about his mother or about his helplessness in life.
There is a pic of him and Paul sitting at a grand piano, composing a song. Paul is at the bass end and John working out the tune. It is the tunefulness of the Beatle’s songs that remains with us today. Anyone can whistle, sing or play their songs because they have memorable tunes. The spark between Lennon and McCartney produced unforgettable tunes that the world is still singing and playing today. Every time you hear a Beatle song you know it is a Beatle song. It does not matter who is performing it – because you know the tune and the style of the Beatles. They transformed music and began to sing about things street people encounter in life, meter maids, lonely people and paperback writer.
Ask anyone today, what is your favourite Beatle song and they will tell you without hesitation. This is 50 years after they were launched!
Yes, Lennon and Harrison are no longer with us, but McCartney and Ringo are still around.
The media quoted Lennon as saying, ‘we are more important than Jesus Christ!’ but that is not the truth of the matter. He explained later that he was misquoted (typical of the media moguls to seek sensation and misquote a pop star to sell a newspaper!). What he actually said was, ‘the way people treat us you would say that we are more important than Jesus Christ!’ It was not an anti-Christ statement as the media made it out to be.
But here is a simple guy with loads of talent from Liverpool, embarrassed about his guitar playing but churning out one after the other memorable tune to fill the world with beautiful music. He was willing to give it a go in spite of his guitar technique.
The fab four complemented each other perfectly: John the driving force and tune giver of the group, McCartney adding the chords and rhythm, George letting his guitar gently weep and Ringo providing the simply beat behind the music. When they split up it was no longer the same. The one lacked what the other possessed.
The genius of the Beatles lay in the fact that each one contributed something valuable to the group. It was not one superstar doing it all and the other riding on his success. It was a real team effort.
There is much we can learn from them. If any group can rely on each other’s strengths, they can achieve much. It is okay that Lennon’s guitar playing was not brilliant, because he was the rhythm guitarist. He left the deft technique of guitar playing to George, the lead guitarist.
Steve Jobs observed how they operated in the studio: ‘they kept refining and refining their music; they kept on going and going.’ Their striving for perfection produced unforgettable music. They would not settle for less. There is a lesson in that as well.
At the turn of the century they brought out a compilation of their greatest hits and it went straight to No. 1 spot again, starting off a spate of other bands following in their wake with their compilation albums.
Somehow they pioneered so many different directions in their burst of creativity that they are the most unforgettable pop band ever. You cannot ignore something that stood the test of time!
Here comes the sun…Strawberry Fields Forever…Yesterday…While my guitar gently weeps…The long and winding road…I wanna hold your hand…Let it be…Eleanor Rigby…Get Back…and many more. Which is your favourite tune?Andréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-77809117308539109032012-04-02T10:36:00.001+01:002012-04-03T10:26:20.301+01:00Flowers in Hanoi<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5mvKq8XjmmaRB2NJ6gQxwPuUltxZT4NZ9WpuBKBkmCVL8gKJmTLHF0rEJUAUItbcuiLlhoSNDKC0k4ljI4gSwdPiR6x3loBl64z66EjikUfrHfm5bRMsFgo1rcQdkNC0CoP7B9JPNK68/s1600/Asia+2012+106.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5mvKq8XjmmaRB2NJ6gQxwPuUltxZT4NZ9WpuBKBkmCVL8gKJmTLHF0rEJUAUItbcuiLlhoSNDKC0k4ljI4gSwdPiR6x3loBl64z66EjikUfrHfm5bRMsFgo1rcQdkNC0CoP7B9JPNK68/s320/Asia+2012+106.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5727103116887614674" /></a><br /><br /><br />Flowers in Hanoi<br />Something noticeable in Hanoi city is the number of flower sellers and flower boutiques with exotic flowers. Vendors with cone shaped bamboo hats walk around with bamboo sticks over their shoulders carrying flowers on either side of the scales.<br />When I entered my room in Rising Dragon Hotel my bed was strewn with red rose petals and leaves.<br />‘It’s for you, the flowers,’ Sinh the receptionist informed me. I wanted give her the usual tip you give a bell-boy but she refused: ‘just enjoy your stay in our hotel,’ she asked.<br />The Vietnamese do not harass you in the streets; they don’t beg and do not demand that you buy their wares, no tries to sell you any phone cards or medicine. You can go for a walk without being disturbed or aggravated by street urchins.<br />I stumbled upon a hidden church in an alley one night. I did not understand a word and they did not understand me, but when they lifted their hands in praise I did the same.<br />Take a walk with me in Hoan Kiem Lake District of Hanoi and you’ll get an idea of how life is lived in that ancient part of the city.<br />Most café’s have kindergarten plastic chairs and tables, because people are small and used to squatting. Europeans and especially large Americans look uncomfortable on those baby chairs sipping their chosen beverage! They have the odd café where you get really good Arabic coffee, thick and black and very tasty with a strong aroma that you breathe in.<br />Five middle aged ladies discus some issues around two tables pushed together. At another table a family relaxes and talks. Some young men sip their beers and tea and make passes at the waitress.<br />On my way to the café I passed a funeral parlour. Wreathes of fake flowers and silk banners cover the caskets. There is a queue outside on the pavement where people line up to order a casket and design the banners. The coffins are piled up inside the gate. <br />Cremation is the normal way of disposing of the dead. The coffins are obviously removed when the cadaver is cremated. It is just there for the show.<br />Today the bearers look like a scene from the Boxer revolution: they are dressed in black karate suits with white sashes around their head. White is a sign of mourning in the east – the west just does the opposite.<br />There are sad faces all around and even some tears.<br />Life’s activities continue next door to the funeral parlour. There is a nail bar where toe nails are clipped and painted on the pavement, a hairdressing saloon, a woman sitting in front of her little store, with a fluffy white dog on her lap; a laundry service, a liquor store and a dressmaker surround the parlour almost as if to say death is part of life.<br />Although there are zebra crossings in the streets, no one pays attention to them. Pedestrians have to zig-zag their way through the oncoming traffic comprising mostly of motor bikes and scooters and the odd taxi. It’s risky business crossing a street!<br />The Vietnamese love tine canary like birds. There are cages hanging in front of most shops. The vendors even walk through the café with a cage or two trying to sell the birds to the customers.<br />Some alleys become parking lots for motor bikes and scooters. They are neatly parked and there is an official that has to be paid to look after the bikes.<br />Electric cables hang low over the streets like black spaghetti.<br />Children are hardly seen during the day. They go to school. At night they come out to play on the sidewalks. The grownups squat on flattened card board boxes and cook their meals on the sidewalks as well. The apartments are too small to house any visitors so the social life is spent on the sidewalk in the warm and sultry evening.<br />Most people wear jeans and T-shirts. Only vendors wear the traditional garments that hang loose like oversized pyjamas. Businessmen wear suits with open neck white dress shirts. Women pay a lot of attention to their foot wear. They wear neat, colourful shoes, even while driving their scooters. Foreigners wear slops and sandals. Only the poor wear sandals in Hanoi – they cannot afford shoes.<br />An elderly man with broken teeth and dirty feet in worn out sandals entertains a baby by prancing around and singing childish ditties. They baby and the mother pay little attention to him. Funny how a baby brings out the child in all of us!<br />Women walk arm-in-arm, three-by-three, talking incessantly about feminine interests.<br />A little boy picks lice from his father’s hair while the father sips his coffee. You often see women picking lice from each other’s hair as well. It is not uncommon for them to eat the lice as a form of protein.<br />An old lady that runs a tiny shop limps on bandaged foot and treats customers with rudeness, sometimes waving them away and shouting at them. She has no intent to impress anyone.<br />Old people stare at you as a foreigner with intense curiosity and when you look back they share a shy toothless smile with you.<br />Policemen dressed in khaki-green uniforms eye you with suspicion, fruit sellers guard their fruit with patience, bikers wait on street corners looking for a signal for you to ask for a lift and then charge you $5 wherever you want to go.<br />Xin Choa is hello in Vietnamese. Tam biet is goodbye. Cam un is thank you and xin moi is please. <br />The buildings are old and dilapidated and there are flags everywhere, the red national flag with the yellow star flaps from balconies and in front of shops wherever you go.<br />There are Buddhist shrines in every house, every shop, every restaurant and hotel, even in the middle of the rice fields en route to the airport. The signs above shops and buildings are all in Vietnamese, you do not understand a thing. <br />The music in shops or restaurants is Vietnamese; it is foreign to the Western ear. Even when string orchestras perform they pluck and stroke the strings with a different attack than musicians from abroad.<br />The main industries are all Japanese or Korean, even the banks are from those two colossal Eastern giants. The Vietnamese Dong is about 200 to the American Dollar.<br />In restaurants you won’t understand the menu unless they show the pictures of the meals. To purchase anything in shops you have to communicate with hand signals to know how much to pay for an article.<br />It’s so easy to get totally lost in the maze of streets and alleyways in Hanoi so it is good to keep a card with the hotel name and address handy when you need to wave a biker taxi down.<br />Tam biet, Vietnam!Andréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-32819647987994917632012-02-09T22:46:00.002+02:002012-02-09T22:48:56.669+02:00He holds my hand<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ufPoocTDk59Lr9KCoARxuUqZ2tVSsOIxNf4Rj_5r7wJfoNM_QBDtV8nYSRheWkPT3qHJhbGaJcu-TKxpvfae_wp1j8jnVvVnWLmF9tv2nBDLV7PKnf8qnJTGdqamwqdkVvA9pPpmy7M/s1600/Don%2527t+let+go.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 248px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ufPoocTDk59Lr9KCoARxuUqZ2tVSsOIxNf4Rj_5r7wJfoNM_QBDtV8nYSRheWkPT3qHJhbGaJcu-TKxpvfae_wp1j8jnVvVnWLmF9tv2nBDLV7PKnf8qnJTGdqamwqdkVvA9pPpmy7M/s320/Don%2527t+let+go.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707240642209950722" /></a><br /><br />He holds my hand<br />As I travel all around the world<br />I know He holds my hand<br />As I wonder ‘bout things I don’t understand<br />I know He holds my hand<br /><br />Chorus: And He never lets go, He never lets go<br /> He never lets go of my hand<br /><br />As I learn all the lessons in my life<br />I know He holds my hand<br />As I cope with success and with strife<br />I know He holds my hand<br /><br />Bridge: And when I fear, He is always near<br /> When I call He’s always there<br /> When I cry He dries all my tears<br /> When I pray He always hears<br /><br />I don’t know just what the future holds<br />But I know He holds my hand<br />I know He holds the future in His hands<br />And I know He holds my hand<br /><br />Andre Pelser 4th February 2012Andréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-5211679041830843942012-02-09T22:45:00.001+02:002012-02-09T22:50:31.107+02:00Jesus in the window<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXaBsUzOPkRDcfarsw31V-hTae1Bz6olnN6gTyT-02u_0SQCa0O6f0R9BO6FIkjFTUiVx-wJndon3eQAFodLVkP3EU9HAZpU1nrjbZBIkErQxg8NMJtkbZTwKaeko8pLgF8Xsiww_AVV4/s1600/Jesus+in+the+window1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXaBsUzOPkRDcfarsw31V-hTae1Bz6olnN6gTyT-02u_0SQCa0O6f0R9BO6FIkjFTUiVx-wJndon3eQAFodLVkP3EU9HAZpU1nrjbZBIkErQxg8NMJtkbZTwKaeko8pLgF8Xsiww_AVV4/s320/Jesus+in+the+window1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707241133641718818" /></a><br /><br /><br />Jesus in the window<br />I saw Jesus in the window<br />I didn’t realise<br />When I stopped the driver<br />Was surprised<br /><br />It was raining in Uganda<br />Making clay of all the sand <br />And we struggled to turn the car around<br />We drove with expectation<br />Past the jungle vegetation<br />Till we came to the place <br />Where I saw<br /><br />Jesus in the window<br />As real as posters can be<br />Jesus in the window<br />Just staring at me<br /><br />Take a picture I demanded<br />As I stood there with arms folded<br />I knew I’d never get this chance again<br />I was happy on the inside<br />So didn’t mind the all the rain<br />And that picture stayed with me<br />Wherever I’d goAndréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-17104066851219160292012-02-09T17:59:00.004+02:002012-02-09T18:03:03.317+02:00Buzz Aldrin<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicTpDCd_W91_3KtNsmCh0gWhhlTo53Aks-J-wlJlc3uzN8hwcUd8xeiQoM3qeIfJPBi451BTbV4TIsDa8TwFmKHQwBbqqrV_wxCDTh4ZZEHeG6qLWI0IEsyPLTfwuhA6ggERSDzAoYJN8/s1600/220px-Aldrin.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 220px; height: 277px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicTpDCd_W91_3KtNsmCh0gWhhlTo53Aks-J-wlJlc3uzN8hwcUd8xeiQoM3qeIfJPBi451BTbV4TIsDa8TwFmKHQwBbqqrV_wxCDTh4ZZEHeG6qLWI0IEsyPLTfwuhA6ggERSDzAoYJN8/s320/220px-Aldrin.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707166314287239634" /></a><br /><br />Buzz Aldrin (born Edwin Eugene Aldrin, Jr., January 20, 1930) is an American mechanical engineer, retired United States Air Force pilot and astronaut who was the Lunar Module pilot on Apollo 11, the first manned lunar landing in history. On July 20, 1969, he was the second human being to set foot on the Moon, following mission commander Neil Armstrong.<br /><br />I met Buzz Aldrin when I had to accompany Marli Kelly on the piano at an open air meeting in Johannesburg. He was the guest speaker. His wife and daughter travelled with him. I happened to sit next to Buzz on stage.<br />I saw his special built up shoes.<br /><br />‘Why those?’ I enquired.<br /><br />‘All of us who went to the moon came back different. We are not made to live on the moon. The arches of my feet sunk. I have to wear special built up shoes all the time,’ he explained.<br /><br />In his testimony he said that he went to the moon an agnostic and returned a Christian!<br /><br />‘When you see how beautiful God made the earth, you just cannot help but believe there must be a creator!’<br /><br />It was a great privilege to meet the famous astronaut. To my amazement he was chosen as the cartoon character Buzz Lightyear. Buzz has tremendous insight into so many things and on his websites one can gather incredible knowledge. But the personal knowledge I gleaned from him is probably the most important: Jesus Christ died to save our sins and God raised Him from the dead so that we can live forever!<br /><br />Science is proving the Bible correct, day by day! Scientists are turning to Christ more and more.The Truth shall prevail.<br /><br />Well, luckily all of us do not have to take a trip to the moon to find out if the Gospel of Jesus Christ is true or not. The blessed Holy Spirit will convict us of sin, righteousness and judgement. He will make Jesus real to us and convince us of the truth of His sacrifice for our sins. He will provide us with the gift of faith to believe the Gospel message.<br /> <br />For with the heart we believe that God raised Jesus from the dead and this makes us right with God, and with the mouth we confess that Jesus is Lord unto salvation. (Romans 10:8-10)Andréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-60245896214969357372011-11-14T16:04:00.001+02:002011-11-14T16:06:01.540+02:00Death in VeniceDeath in Venice<br />The beautifully made Visconti film starring Dirk Bogarde left an indelible impression on my young mind when I first saw it. Based on the Thomas Mann novel (‘Der Todd in Venedig’ 1912) and supported by the other-worldly music score of Gustav Mahler’ Adagietto, 4th movement of Mahler’s 5th symphony, haunting my memory all these years. <br />It is unforgettable for three reasons: 1. everyone wants to go to Venice sooner or later in their lives. 2. Death is a certainty everyone has to face. 3. The irony of dying in such an exquisite place which we all know but hate to admit is busy ‘dying’ by sinking deeper and deeper into the water. <br />Gustav von Aschenbach is a writer who has received nobility bestowed upon him because of his artistic achievements. But he has developed writer’s block and has no inspiration left. He decides to go on holiday. He spots an old man who has his hair dyed red and his face painted who tries to be jolly with a few young people hanging around him. Aschenbach is disgusted. <br />He arrives in Venice and books into a hotel in where he notices an aristocratic Polish family at a table in the dining hall. The youth, Tadzio, in a sailor suit, is a perfect picture of health and youth, like a Greek god. Somehow the image of youth inspires, uplifts and eventually obsesses him.<br />As he wanders through the streets of Venice he sees municipal workers putting up notices about an outbreak of cholera and warning people to avoid eating shell fish. But he is caught in his obsession of his muse and decides to face the danger by staying on in Venice.<br />When Aschenbach realises how his appearance has changed he goes to the barbershop where he is advised to have his hair coloured and his face painted to look better. He allows it and looks worse – just like the old man he noticed on the boat.<br />Although he never speaks to the youth he does follow him around to the disturbance of the Tadzio’s family. <br />One day the Polish prepares to leave. Aschenbach walks out to the beach to sit on a deck chair. Tadzio and another young boy have an argument and Tadzio gets beaten, easily.<br />When Aschenbach wants to get up to comfort the youth, he falls of the chair and dies of Cholera. His body is discovered a few minutes later.<br />Aschenbach means ash brook, ashes strewn in a river…Venice is a city built on rivers and canals. What an ironic place to die…<br /><br />It is a simple story. There is beauty and heart break, joy and sadness, bitterness and sweet, glorious and gory all mixed in one recipe that produces a masterpiece.<br />There are a lot of allusions to Greek mythology and Freudian philosophy and you can read all sorts of other influences and references into it, but the simple beauty and the stark reality of an artist spending his last few days in a place of beauty, finding the beauty of youth to admire again and then submitting to the encroaching disease, almost by will. It is like he said; this is where I hope to end it all. What a beautiful place to die, Venice. In the Greek sense of literature it is a kind of tragedy: a hero chooses the path that leads to his demise even though the audience knows he could decide to avoid it.<br /><br />It is not the kind of movie you want to see again and again, but once you have seen it you see it again – inside. It is unavoidable. All of us want to see Venice. All of us will die. And all of us know Venice too is dying…Andréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-76876720164734275802011-09-05T18:31:00.002+02:002011-09-05T18:44:45.736+02:00Seeking ApprovalSeeking approval is something that drives most of our personal achievements.
<br />When Hilton was three years old he got his first short armed wet suit, a yellow one, and his first body board. We treasure a picture where he is in the surf on his board. At the age of five I helped him to catch waves on an old surf board. In no time he was able to stand. We used to play together in the surf for hours. We even played dodgem cars with the boards! We would both take the same wave and then bash against each other. I felt like a little boy again.
<br />I
<br />Nola and I also spent many hours on the beach watching him surf. When he took an exciting wave and made it all the way he would turn to us and throw his hands up in the air to receive our applause or approval. We would give thumbs up and clap our hands to show him we enjoyed it as much as he did. Hilton could swim before he could walk! He loves the cold Atlantic ocean.
<br />But the day came that Hilton no longer looked back for our approval. He just concentrated on surfing. It felt strange, kind of lonely on the beach, still anticipating his longing for approval, but staying empty handed as it were. I no longer participated in the joy of catching a good wave. He had friends in the water who celebrated a 360 or a sharp cut back or bottom turn or arial above the crest of the wave.
<br />Eventually he surfed so long that we no longer waited for him. We would drop him off at the chosen surf spot and go home. Then we would fetch him later either at the beach or at a friends place. And then he started flying to competitions and going with the provincial team to compete.
<br />There is a lesson in here somewhere.
<br />We all look for approval in every area of life. But there should come a time when we no longer look for approval. We have an inner confidence that we are doing it right and we can only improve what we are doing now.
<br />Now all that matters is how the judges at surfing competitions approve of his surfing. Our approval is no longer required. He has transcended Mommy and Daddy's approval. And yet we try to be there for him at all times, encouraging and helping him to think with the right humility and inner confidence about his chosen career. (He is a Junior Pro now!)
<br />Paul wrote to Timothy: study to show yourself approved unto God being a workman who rightly divides the word of truth, not having to be ashamed.
<br />When God approves of what we do we don't look back anymore - only forward and keep improving what we are doing. We no longer live for approval, we live to do what we know we can do and what we are called to do.
<br />We no longer seek the approval of men, but we have found a higher honor: the approval of God. When we have God's favor on our lives it changes everything!
<br />Andréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-59687464374021754022011-08-27T16:31:00.000+01:002012-05-05T09:47:32.554+01:00Dim-Sum Please!Dimsum Please!
<br />Just before I left on my 4th mission to Uganda, Yve, my daughter promised to get us some Dim-Sum for a family meal. She described it being dipped into Soya sauce and my mouth watered.
<br />After a while in Ugande I ate enough Tilapia fish, Kasava, Matoke, Pocho, sweat potato and red beans. My taste buds were longing for something else. Kasava is a white root plant turned into a porridge. Matoke is plantain mash, is a banana like plant that has a wild taste. Posho is actually maize meal that is ground and cooked.
<br />I needed to eat something I can recognize.
<br />The first advertisement I noticed was a Chinese restaurant on one of the seven hills of Kampala, called Fang Fang. It conjured up images of ‘Tiger, Tiger shining in the night’.
<br />But it was a simple outside restaurant – the night air in Kampala is so refreshing and cool, even after a long, hot day. There were colourful bulbs hanging on strings. A wedding reception was being held so there was lots of human traffic between the reception area and the bathrooms on the other side of the open grass square.
<br />The light above my table was so dim, that I could hardly read the small print menu.
<br />‘Bring me some light, please!’ I asked
<br />After a long wait the waiter brought a lamp which hardly made any difference at all. So I closed the menu and decided to go with my memory.
<br />‘I would like some Dim-Sum, please.’
<br />The African waiter was confounded. He kept asking me to repeat my order.
<br />Then he called a chinese waitress. Now, I thought, we are getting somewhere.
<br />I repeated my order. She smiled politely and said they don’t have it.
<br />‘What’s the matter with this restaurant?’ I demanded to know.
<br />‘This is Chinese restaurant,’ she reminded me.
<br /> How inconsiderate of me.
<br />‘We have dumplings: chicken, beef or pork.’ She explained.
<br />I felt somewhat embarrassed and ordered the dumplings which were too large to eat with the elegant chopsticks. The Chinese tea washed the food away.
<br />But I left not really satisfied that I got what I was looking for. On the other hand I was no longer sure if Di-Sum was a Chinese or a Japanese speciality.
<br />How often do we have wrong expectations in life that lead to disappointment. How often do restaurant waiters not know what is on the menu?
<br />When Yve was a little girl she ordered a Tucan milkshake that they couldn’t make. It upset her.
<br />‘I want a tucan milkshake!’ She insisted. But what she meant was ‘pecan nut flavour.’ A tucan is a colourful tropical bird with a long beak!
<br />When I returned from Uganda, Nola surprised me. When I fetched Hilton at Melkbos after a surf, she had warmed up the Dim-Sum that Yve bought in a proper Japanese bamboo container and the Soya Sauce was waiting next to it. Dim-Sum is small enough to gather with the chopsticks which is part of the playful enjoyment of eating eastern dishes.
<br />I didn’t tell them about my Chinese Restaurant experience. They would laugh at me and I did not feel like being laughed at after just returning home. But a few days later we had a good laugh about it.
<br />When you can laught about something, you are over it!
<br />Andréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-74632425720251024342011-06-07T13:58:00.003+01:002011-06-24T17:47:01.031+01:00'Talkin' to the Angels'Boxing is probably one of the most brutal sports ever invented, yet it remains fascinating to watch as two men dish out severe punishment to win a crown, a medal, a belt, and obviously some money!<br />There are some fights that stand out in one's memory, but the rest of them fade away. Ray Leonard once had several fights against a Mexican, Roberto Duran, that were rivetting rivalry from start to finish.<br />The Rocky Marciano tapes still tell a story and then of course there is Cassius Clay that turned to Mohammed Ali in the ring and mesmerized not only his opponents for a few decades but also entrigued millions of fans and boxing critics with his predictions and big-mouthed psychology: 'I am the greatest!'<br />He actually changed the style of boxing by leaning back on the ropes and allowing his opponent to give the best shot he had. Once he weathered the barrage of blows he would unleash his twisted short right jab which he maintained, 'would knock anyone of you out!'It would happen so fast that the normal camera speed would miss it!<br />'Dance like a butterfly; sting like a bee!' he would chant.<br />After winning the world title back against Frazier in the Thriller in Manila as the bout was advertised, he said it was the closest he came to death. They fought in 120 degree heat under a low tin roof. Frazier's eyes were so badly cut and damaged that he could not see anymore but kept on fighting.<br />At the age of 35 Ali fought Ernie Shavers and Sylvester Stallone was at the ringside. Although Ali prophesied: 'this will be no contest', Shavers hit him so hard that Ali went down. But he got up so fast, faster than most boxers would and carried on with the fight.<br />'He went on automatic pilot,' Stallone explains, 'he went beyond the borders of pain into another dimension. It is something divine. It's hard to explain.'<br />After the fight Ali told Stallone, 'I was talkin' to the Angels tonight!'<br />The next fighter beat him. It was Leon Sphynx. But Ali fought him again and regained his title as The Heavyweigth Champion of the World'. He regained his title for a record 3 times winning 36 fights in his career.<br />Amazing record.<br />But it is that line that Stallone quoted in 'Ali's Best 12 Rounds' that stayed with me for days: 'I was talkin' to the Angels tonight.'<br />There is something naive and childlike and yet something so profound in that statement that it lingers longer than any other statement Ali ever made.Andréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-92119262189960883662011-04-19T08:06:00.001+01:002012-05-05T10:01:03.648+01:00Buzz LightyearBuzz Lightyear is named after Buzz Aldrin, a member of the first astronaut team to set foot on the moon. I met him when I was a young man. He came to Johannesburg to speak at a few conferences and open air meetings. Mali Kelly asked me to accompany her on the piano as she sang at one of his open air meetings. I happened to sit next to him and his wife. They had their daughter with them.
I saw his special built up shoes and asked him about it.
'men were not made to walk on the moon,' he told me. All three astronauts were affected physically in some way or another. The trip into space affected his instep on both feet and the sunken instep has to be supported by special built up shoes.
He told me what the trip did to his faith. He said the beauty of the blue planet earth convinced him that there has to be a creator. Only the fool in his heart says there is no God. (Psalm 14:1)
Buzz Lightyear in the Toy Story cartoon always says, 'to infinity and beyond!' to acclaim the possibility of reaching the impossible. It is inspiring.
Meeting Buzz Aldrin was inspiring. I will never forget that day.
But inspired me the most was not his trip to the moon, but his strong, simple faith in an Invisible God, whom he worshipped and served. Science and Technology had to bow before the Creator in the end.
I feel so sorry for the great intellects in the world who deny the existence of deity. They harm not only themselves but also millions who follow in their wake.
To believe that there is a God takes faith. Faith is the substance of the things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. By faith we believe the worlds were created. By faith we receive a good report. We are called to walk by faith and not by sight. Seeing is not believing. We believe first so that the eyes of our understanding may be enlightened.
We cannot all go to the moon before we believe there is a God. We can simply believe it right there where we are. Nature proves it! But most of all the Gospel of Jesus Christ is the key to believing in God: for God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. (John 3:16)
May my chance meeting of Buzz Aldrin inspire others to believe in the existence of a Living God. Those who come to Him must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him, for without faith it is impossible to please God. (Hebrews 11:6)Andréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-20431329820222990702011-04-18T11:25:00.002+01:002011-04-18T11:42:41.710+01:00Flamingo's at the beachFlamingo's are normally found in marshes or large lakes. Flamingo Vlei is named after the flocks of birds that frequent our fresh water lake near Tableview, Cape Town. But the other day, my wife, Nola, went for a walk on Sunset Beach, where our home is, and saw flamingo's on the beach! She rushed home to fetch the camera to capture this unusual sight.<br />Like ballerinas they moved effortlessly in the shallow water, above their own rosy reflections, and seemed undisturbed by the clicking camera, till she came to close and then they scooped up and flew away into the baby blue sky. What a sight. We have it on our desktop as a picture now.<br />Can you imagine the beauty? It is serene, pastel coloured and unique.<br />Were they fishing? Or were they catching snails or mussels? But there they were, in all their glory, parading on the beach - just of us!<br />These moments of awe are the spice of life. These unexpected moments of beauty created just for those who are fortunate enough to be at the right place at the right time.<br />I have a little picture which I treasure. I used to keep in on my desk for several years during extreme hardship in the ministry as a missionary.<br />It is a picture of Hilton and a little girl when both were about 3 years old. We took them to the Oceanarium at the Waterfront. At the entrance we stopped at a huge cylindrical glass container that stretched all the way up to the ceiling. The glass container was filled with colourful fish swimming in clear water.<br />The container had a ledge all around it and because the kids were small we picked them up and allowed them to stand on the ledge. Both of them threw their little heads backwards, and stretched their necks to look at all the exquisite fish. They stood like that for a long time. We snapped a photo for keepsake.<br />Life is full of awe. As a child one discovers the awe that life presents.<br />I kept that picture on my desk to remind me never to loose the awe of life. Life's troubles and complications can tie one's mind up with the intricacies of life, and it is easy to loose the 'awe' of life.<br />But the soul of man needs to experience awesome moments from time to time to revive the weary soul. Without it life is a grind and it grinds one to the bone.<br />That is one of the many reasons why we live at Sunset Beach: every day we see the most awesome sunset! Sometimes we simply stop what we are doing and go to the beach below to watch the setting sun, dipping into the watery horizon and shooting its last rays up into the sky behind the drifting clouds with a promise that it will be there again tomorrow, and the day after, and the next day...<br />Nola is fond of such moments. We often enjoy them together. We taught our children to enjoy them. God gave it to us for free. It costs you nothing.<br />May this computerized cell-phone mad generation never loose the awe of life, the beauty of nature, the simple joys that God has given to all mankind, to enjoy and to relish in the absolute genius of creation.<br />What a joy it is to be alive!<br />What a peace it brings to see the flamingo's on the beach.<br />What a moment. What a treasure.<br />It makes one rich. May the image remain indelibly imprinted on our memories.<br />May there be many more such awesome moments of beauty.<br />Let us remind each other how awesom life is - in spite of what we have to endure.<br />The glory always outweighs the suffering.<br />Never loose the awe of life. Remain childlike in enjoying this life. We only have one.Andréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-48378033287102127562011-02-21T22:01:00.000+02:002011-02-21T22:02:40.260+02:00Departure Lounge in LomeDeparture Lounge in Lome<br />Sitting in a hot and humid departure lounge in Lome, Togo, waiting for several hours before embarking on Ethiopian Airlines flight to Douala, Cameroon, I wipe away sweat from my forehead with the palm of my hand and rub it onto my chino jeans ala African style.<br />A cloth is useless and a tissue just gets shredded by my three and a half day stubble. The hand method is the best. The cloth gets drenched with two or three wipes and then it wets your trouser pocket. The hand is designed not to absorb moisture and therefore ideal for conveying sweat from the head to the jeans. Normal trousers can’t do the trick because it cannot absorb moisture. Jeans, either chino or blue jeans, are the working man’s trousers – they are made to sweat in!<br />There are two stand up air conditioners in the lounge where you can find temporary relief from the sweltering conditions. You need to plant yourself selfishly in front of the air con for a minute or two to get the maximum benefit.<br />The transit hall was full of people and so is the departure lounge. All flights use the same halls.<br />Gnassangbe Eyadema International Airport is unusually busy today because some flights have been delayed.<br />An Indian lady takes out a wad of money to pay for a drink.<br />I go to the toilet. The floor is messy. Can’t they aim?<br />Back in the lounge I drop down on the hard metal seats where you sit till your bum is numb.<br />Some passengers are called to board another flight. But as soon as they leave more people pour into the lounge. The distant drone of an propeller driven air craft sweeps into the open door at Gate 2.<br />The constant bell ringing before announcements makes me think of the Parisians police sirens that wakes one up at night.<br />I am the only person sporting a T-shirt. Most men have the American or English style collared button-down shirt.<br />Sweat is running off everyone’s faces now. The lounge could soon turn into a sauna!<br />No one enters the Sale Koromsa Ist Class lounge – and no one exits either.<br />I desperately need to cool down, but there are four people ahead of me at the air con. Their conversations seem to be important enough to keep them standing in front of the air con for several minutes. This leaves me gasping for breath like a Koi fish out of the water.<br />As I look out of the window I see the jet planes standing silently with open doors and bellies awaiting the next belly full of humans.<br />Ah, the air con is available! My kingdom for an air con! While I am cooling down others are already lining up. The next one is a nun with white head gear and white robe. When it is her turn she turns her back on the pleasure the air con provides and faces the crowd, the sweating crowd. Her look is stern; she does not want to betray the fact that she is enjoying the cool air.<br />A lady is pushed in the door on a wheel chair. Her legs reveal the terrible disease called elephantiasis. It is a crippling and painful disease, rampant in Africa. But no one pays any attention to her at all. They are used to it.<br />The announcer drops a bomb-shell: the flight from Adis Abiba to Abidjan is delayed due to operation crisis. It will now only arrive in Togo 2 hours later. ‘The company apologizes for this inconvenience.’<br />But no one responds to the announcement at all. There is no surprise, no anger, and no disappointment. If this was a departure lounge in the UK, USA, Australia or South Africa there would have been gasps of emotional responses and even rude remarks about the incompetence of the airlines. But not in Africa: Africa can wait; Africa can wait a long time because they have learned patience, like the patient earth waits for the rain in the right season.<br />A baby finally gives up all hope of ever reaching its home and lets rip with a high sounding shrill yell that pierces the drone of voices in the lounge. Nothing the mother can do can pacify the babe. The passengers in the lounge pay no attention to the baby crisis. It is normal for a baby to cry in Africa.<br />A bald shaven East European businessman enters the hall and looks around for a seat. There is none. He is so overdressed in his three piece suit, rimless spectacles, black leather attaché case and computer bag that he literally sticks out like a sore thumb. This is Africa, man!<br />Due to my concentration to scribble my observances into my little note book I had completely forgotten about the man sitting next to me. When I turn to him he is fast asleep, mouth wide open. Then I suddenly notice how many people are asleep in the lounge! No wonder no one responded to the announcement!<br />A very large businessman steps out of the first class lounge with his baggage.<br />Kids run up and down the aisles to entertain themselves. No one reprimands them. <br />There’s Douala’s call to board now! We converge on the ground staff desk to have our tickets ripped. I spot a white haired priest hunchbacked from too many devotions. He looks lifeless. Where there’s a nun, there’s a priest! Priestly rituals have a way of gnawing away at the soul until it slowly dies and gives up the struggle to try to enjoy life. Life becomes a dull routine. Man’s traditions make void the power of God, the Bible tells us.<br />A hooked nose Frenchman, smartly dressed in a white full length shirt revealing a pansy flowered coloured pattern on the inside of the collar, sleeves rolled back to reveal a blue leather strapped expensive name brand watch and stepping out in charcoal suede long pointed shoes pushes in front of me. I let him.<br />‘Merci,’ he says embarrassingly.<br />When we have to alight from the bus on the tarmac in front of the plane, I happened to be in front of old Frenchie. He lets me go ahead of him. I smile. He smiles and wants to talk but I just don’t have the energy to practice my French after sitting in the hot lounge for several hours.<br />All I really want to do is get on that plane and fly into the blue sky.Andréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-5419305886941873772011-01-24T08:52:00.003+02:002011-01-24T09:11:09.477+02:00I walked on mass graves in KigaliI walked on mass graves in Kigali - and I cried. Two million people brutally murdered in three years in Rwanda. What for? Because of class distinction - between the rich and the poor. If you owned ten cows you became a Tutsi and if you had less you were considered a Hutu. The Hutu's exiled the Tutsis and many of them joined rebel forces to get back into their country. And then the genocide began...and the United Nations and the rest of the International Community would not believe the reports about the atrocities until it was too late. Koffi Anan's repentance as General Secretary of the UN came when the war was over: 'I should have done something about Rwanda ten years ago.'<br />The hills of Kigali are covered in houses, nice looking houses, and the roads in are in good condition. The taxi driver said to me,'do you like our city? Look how clean it is!'<br />But the red colour in the dark faces of the people in Rwanda reminds you of the slaughterhouse that Rwanda once was. The people are still weary of trusting anyone too quickly.<br />Yet Rwanda is one of the most fruitful and fertile lands in East Africa and could become the bread basked of Africa.<br />The Virungu volcanoes are still active and erupt every few years causing much damage and even deaths. Rain forests harbour 150 000 gorillas that Diane Fossey described in her books until she exposed the poachers and was murdered by them.<br />I walked in silence on the mass graves and shed tears for a nation that went through ethnic cleansing of atrocious proportions...and I was reminded of Hitler, Stalin, Yomo Kenyatta, Idi Amin and all the other dictators who brainwashed people into accepting their evil causes as if it were natural.<br />Then I remembered the words of Jesus: 'The thief comes not but to steal, kill and destroy; but I have come that you might have life and have it more abundantly.' The Good News of the Gospel of Jesus Christ is the only hope for the world today, and yet the modern society speaks of the 'post-christian-era' as if Christianity is outdated! What a lie from the pit of hell! The Gospel is just as relevant today as it has always been! It is fresh - like the dew on Mt. Hermon!<br />The Prophet cried out: 'Who will hear our report? And to whom will the arm of the Lord be revealed?'<br />That is the cry in my heart today, as missionary, perhaps one of the least, but at least I keep going to other lands to preach the Gospel of the Kingdom of Christ. We can do all the humanitarian work that we wish, but unless people have a change in heart the atrocities of genocide and the killing of wars will continue.<br />There can be no peace without the Prince of Peace, Jesus Christ the Lord of lords and the King of Kings. At His Name every knee shall bow and every tongue confess that He is Lord.<br />There is no other way!Andréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-47532786446556055802011-01-11T21:50:00.004+02:002011-02-25T23:04:50.622+02:00The Quiller MemorandumWednesday's Child, the theme song of The Quiller Memorandum, a thriller starring George Segal and Senta Berger in the 1966's, is an exquisitely beautiful, sad tune. The opening line being, Wednesday's Child is a child of woe... Max von Sydow with his eerie, mysterious, oblong face and some other great actors like Alec Guinnes also play their roles in memorable performances, but it is the theme music that I remember the most, more than the names of the actors or the titles of the cast.<br />What makes one remember something for so long? What makes something find a lodging space in your memory bank for 50 years? Goodness gracious, already that long? And still the haunting tone of that melody seems to ruffle my feathers every time I hear it played or play it on the piano late at night when everyone's gone to bed.<br />When a violin plays the tune it tends to tug at one's heart strings even more...<br />I don't want to dwell on the performance, just the memory, the Quiller Memory, the face of George Segal, tilting his head to pay attention to what someone has to say. He also played in The St. Valentine's Day Massacre. I remember how he cheerfully greeted his mother on that fatefull day before he got massacred with his other mobster friends in a garage on the 14th of February. Although George Segal is known as a comedy actor as well, it is that serious face, that wry smile and the frowning and questioning eyes that seem to be imprinted indelibly on my mind. But more than my memory of his spy role in Quiller Memorandum, I wonder about the beauty of that tune...it calms the soul and stirs the spirit and carries one away to another world of beauty and peace and joy...there must be a heaven after all if there is such heavenly music!<br />Beethoven confessed that he heard music from another realm, from the centre of the Universe somewhere...perhaps we can hear it too... if we listen!<br />Funny thing, strange and eerie just as the John Barry score of The Quiller Memorandum, he sadly passed away in January on the 30th at the age of 77. Hans Zimmer who won an Oscar for the score for Inception (De Capprio starred and Ridley Scott directed)wrote an article for Time's Milestones on p.13 of the February 14 issue, 2011 in which he describes how he too remembers The Quiller Memorandum score. 'Sometimes the reason we have such deep and lasting emotional connections to movies is the music and everything that made the mood of those movies...' He was a Yorkshire man and even in his brightest work, you could always see the moors and the fog, even his cheeky stuff had an underlying darkness.<br />John Barry also wrote the scores for Zulu (which launched a young Michael Caine), Born Free, Out of Africa, Dances with Wolves, On Her Majesty's Secret Service (Bond), and Hammet. What he had learned from Barry is that mood is good, according to Zimmer.<br />Amazing that the Quiller tune drifted passed me at that time, so strongly that I could not ignore it, I had to write about it and remember it. And like Zimmer I cannot recall all the details of the Quiller Story, but the tune stayed in my memory bank. And it was in the same month that the composer passed away. Are we all in touch with the Infinite? Do we feel what is to come before it does? When will we wake up to this reality?<br />Astonishing...but true.Andréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-37638440413163015922010-12-31T20:24:00.002+02:002010-12-31T20:43:56.370+02:00Sadness and LaughterThe first time my grandmother took me to a circus was in Leeuwdoringstad, a small country town in the Western Transvaal, near Klerksdorp and Makwassie. She told me how much I would enjoy it. <br />The two of us went into the tent, and the smell of the animals and the dust made me wonder if I should be there at all. I was only 4 years old. <br />Then the circus master announced the first event and the band played out loud with trumpets and drum rolls and smashing cymbals as the lions came into the cage. The whip cracked and it frightened me.<br />The people woed and aahd and applauded and I sat rivetted next to my grandma. Then it was the horses with plumes on their heads like ladies in the Pentecostal church choirs that I was used to on Sundays.<br />And then they sent in the clowns to keep our attention as they changed the scenery and the set.<br />They had painted faces that looked sad. Their mouths were too large and sagging and their eyes drooped downwards. Their hats were too small and their trousers and boots were too big. Both of them had large red leather gloves on. Inside the gloves were crackers. When they slapped each other through the face the crackers went off. It shocked me and scared me and I started crying. It was too much for a little boy.<br />'Let's go home Ouma,' I pleaded, 'I don't like all this fighting!'<br />Ouma oblidged. It was the last time she ever asked me to go to the circus.<br />I thought about this moment and thought about watching Cirque du Soleil in Disneyland with my friend Brian and his wife.<br />The absolute artistry and agility of the performers astounded me and the timing of every moment to the music was mind boggling. The trampoline act took my breath away. I hurt my back on a trampoline when I was 14 and suffered back trouble for many years until the Lord healed me completely. I tried to do a backward somersault without any coaching. Dangerous. <br />But today I thought of that first visit to the circus and today is the last day of the year. Tomorrow will be the start of another year, a new year, a brand new year.<br />And I thought of the sad looking clowns.<br />Clowns make people laught, don't they? Why are their faces always sad?<br />Charlie Chaplin,Peter Sellers and all the other comedy stars, Gene Wilder, they all have a note of sadness to their lives. It is almost an integral part of a clown's armoury: his own sadness.<br />There is sadness in most lives, but the antedote is comedy and laughter. Thank God for someone who can make you laugh. Laughter is like good medicine. A merry heart has a continual feast.<br />Patch Adams made the terminally ill patients laugh in the hospital and got banned as a medical practitioner, but he did more good than the medical profession realised.<br />I once prayed for a lady called Priscilla who suffered from asthma attacks since she was a little girl. When I finished blowing into her mouth she was at first upset and then realised that she normally pumps air into her mouth with the asthma pump and then she started laughing until we all laughed with her. Dr. Sachs, a doctor in our church in Milnerton, came forward and explained how laughter is used for chronic asthmatic patients to bring relief.<br />So at the end of the year, let us lay aside the weight of sadness we might have experienced and let us remember the moments of sunshine and laughter. Let our spirits be revived and perked up again, because the Joy of the Lord is our strength, after all.Andréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-3740701200175202072010-12-24T10:46:00.000+02:002010-12-24T10:48:01.563+02:00Walking on WaterWhile Jesus was busy praying in the fourth watch, early in the morning He saw the disciples in the storm and went to them walking on water. It is not humanly possible to walk on water. I once met a man on a plane who was an engineer that designed film stunts for his son who was a Hollywood stunt man. He was drawing a picture of a car bursting through the glass of a third storey in a building. The car travelled at a certain speed and carried on going horizontally to the ground for a while before nose diving. When I showed interest he explained to me that the speed of the vehicle breaks the force of gravity just like an aeroplane takes off, but when the car looses speed it begins to go down. So he positioned the cushions to catch the falling car quite a distance from the edge of the building. Then I realised that Jesus must have walked very fast to get to the disciples in the storm. The lake is 12 miles long and they were in the middle, which means they were about 6 miles from Jesus. He came to them suddenly. They thought it was a ghost and did not recognise Him. The solutions to our problems often come in a form we do not recognise because we are so full of fear. When we break our fears, we can believe! Then the very things that want to swallow us up and destroy us, have to serve us to get to the other side to reach our destination!<br />When the disciples willingly received Him into the boat they were at the other side of the lake, immediately! This miracle of transportation is often overlooked when we read the Bible. It was a supernatural event. The same speed and force with which Jesus approached them in the boat transported them to the other side.<br />Isaiah 1:19: if you are willing and obedient you will eat the good of the land. How long does it take to become willing? It only takes a moment. How long does it take to become obedient? It only takes another moment. Our stubbornness and disobedience is like idolatry and witchcraft that prevents us from ‘eating the good of the land’. Why don’t we repent of it and become willing and obedient to do the will of the Father in Heaven?Andréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-67969788464614216452010-12-10T09:17:00.002+02:002010-12-10T09:36:13.818+02:00It is DecemberIt is December. December in Cape Town is quite unlike December in any other place. It is summer and sometimes you have hot, sultry summer days, but mostly you have the Cape Doctor, the South Easter, sandblasting your legs and face with the coarse sea sand making it quite uncomfortable to stay on the beach for too long. Even the dainty little shelter canvasses they sell at all the out-and-about stores cannot withstand one gust of the South Easter. Beach umbrellas are the first to go rolling like tumble weed in the desert of Arizona.<br />But kitewurfers and windsurfers from Italy and France love the wind, of course. They cavort effortlessly above the waves and do stints in the air above the wreck at Dolphin Beach. When they hit a surfer or body boarder they refer to it as a blimp in the road. I've been hit by a windsurfer, once, on my back. The fin gaffed into my back and left a painful afterglow which lasted for weeks. <br />But today is one of those other kind of days...yesterday too, it started off with mist rolling in from the icy Atlantic on shore and it covers Milnerton first. The mist sneaks into the house like an old house friend and you smell the sea in your lounge. That is one reason why I live here: I love that smell, and I love the mists. Normally it turns out to be a warm day, a windless day if there is early morning mist. But you never can tell with Cape weather: like Sting sings: four seasons in a day!<br />And then of course one hears the blast of the fog horns from the ships lingering in the bay. Their souns is particularly eerie at night, of course. Like a foreign language being spoken by some prehistoric monsters calling out to each other without knowning where the other one is located.<br />A fog horn says so many things: hey, I'm over here! Hey, where are you? Mind you don't bump into me unnecessarily! Give me a wide berth! Let's play! Do you like my sound? Is anyone else out there? <br />Imagine a mist horn symphony!<br />But it also says, I'm alone out here...it has an attractive, lonesome, scary sound to it, and yet it is merely a mechanical device used to warn other ships of one's whereabouts.<br />But I love the sound of the fog horn...I lay awake at night to listen to it. It is so different from the hooter of a train or a car. It has depth to it. It is deep calling unto deep. Somewhere deep inside we respond to it without words and reply, i am here, it is ok.<br />The voice of God deep inside us is often like the old fog horn. It is comforting yet alarming; unexpected and yet desired; vitally necessary and still surprising; deep and yet so clear. It speaks to us when we most need it. It warns when temptation comes. It encourages when energy is low. It heals when there is hurt. It inspires when life overwhelms us.<br />Ah, the voice of God in the mists of the spirit realm! How we need it! How we long for it! How we ache without it.<br />May this December not merely be a time to remember, but may we hear the fog horn of the voice of God speaking to us in so many ways that we will enter the New Year with renewed energy, faith and hope. And the greatest of all is love...agape divine love, unconditional love, love so great that pen and poet cannot describe it. For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son that whoever believes in him should not perish but have ever lasting life. Hear that fog horn sound in your own spirit and pass it on to someone else in the mists of time.<br />It is December...Andréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3840022197490449246.post-44495931779548042242010-10-16T05:14:00.000+02:002010-10-16T05:15:41.471+02:00Star-crossed LoversStar-crossed lovers<br />I remember when I saw Franco Zeffirelli’s film about Romeo & Juliet. Leonard Whiting starred as Romeo and Olivia Hussy shone as Juliet. There was the grand opening sequence with the commanding voice of Verona’s Prince that boomed out the ‘On pain of death’ speech, if any of the Capulets or Montagues would ever be caught fighting in the streets again. <br />‘Two households both alike in dignity, in fair Verona, where we lay our scene, from ancient grudge break to new mutiny, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean from forth the fatal loins of these two foe, a pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life, whose misadverntur’d piteous overthrows, do with their death bury their parents’ strife’.<br />I remember Michael York’s resonant metallic voice as Tybalt the nephew of Juliet’s mother, and the energetic, almost bouncy performance of David McEnery as Mercutio whose revelling and bogus bravery brings Romeo into a skirmish with Tybalt.<br />The many unforgettable scenes, the masked ball, when Romeo finally spots his love and the beautiful love-sick song accompanied with a lute: ‘caper, o caper play me a song’ the theme song of Romeo & Juliet, that became a hit at that time; the balcony scene, ‘O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?’ and the morning after when Romeo awakes, ‘T’is the Lark!’<br />The escape of Romeo and the intervention of Friar Lawrence trying his best to convene between the two lovers, but then the messenger misses Romeo, passing each other like ships in the night; and the tragic tomb scene, where Juliet awaits her Romeo, but he mistakenly assumes she is dead and not sleeping, and then the catastrophe…the romantic suicide, as predicted in the prologue right at the beginning, almost unavoidably poignant.<br />Images float through my head and tunes grow in volume as I reminisce. Then I remember the school play I wrote at Milnerton High incorporating all my cricket and soccer buddies into the play allowing Jerome and Dagmar to play the lead roles.<br />But I, being a bit of a clown, turned the tragedy into a comedy, with apologies to William Shakespeare, of course.<br />My ‘star-crossed’ lovers just couldn’t die! I turned their names to Romea and Julio, just to avoid confusion! When Romea arrives at the tomb and sees Juliet lying there, he drinks the last drops of the ‘poison’ she drank and dies. Then she wakes up and says:<br />‘T’was but a sleeping tablet!’ <br />But, alas, she observes her Romea lying motionless by her side and takes his dagger and commits suicide. Then he wakes up and realises it was just a sleeping potion. But when he spots Juliet lying there with a dagger in her hand, he takes a pistol and shoots himself. She wakes up and says:<br />‘T’was but a switch-blade!’ But perceives the gun and is beyond her until our hero wakes up again and announces:<br />‘T’was but a blank!’<br />And in the end I had them both live happily ever after! The audience experienced much laughter and the newspaper reviews by Geoffrey Tansley of The Cape Times praised the ‘youthful’ and ‘original’ production sky high.<br />But I often wonder what happened to Leonard Whiting…he disappeared out of the movie business after that role. Olivia Hussey went on to play Mary, the Mother of Jesus, in Zefferelli’s, Jesus of Nazareth that starred the great British actor Robert Powell with his beautifully elocution-perfect voice and sad blue eyes (memorable especially on the cross with blood trickling down).<br />I think Leonard Whiting played his role too perfect and no-one could ever imagine him playing anything else than Romeo. So even if one saw him in another movie one would still think of him as Romeo. It’s a bit like Clint Eastwood, as the man with no name, in his Spaghetti Westerns. But he found a way to survive fame and became Dirty Harry and played many other roles until he discovered his penchant for directing films for which he eventually won an Oscar.<br />But Leonard Whiting became a shooting star…I think he made one more movie and disappeared off the scene. And yet, he was perfectly cast, his passion, his facial expressions, his stunning hair that looked gorgeous even when he sweated in the fighting sequences. And his athleticism and his voice: he became the legendary figure of Romeo – he wasn’t acting.<br />And then I think of a score of other actors and actresses that came and went…Christopher Jones who starred opposite Yvette Mimieux the French actress, Peter McEnnery (the more handsome brother of David who played Mercutio) who starred opposite the illustrious Catherine Deneuve (I still remember the rugby practice in France so well)…and many others.<br />Were they only star-crossed actors?<br />Then I think of sport stars who have come and gone – without much fame or fortune on their side…and preachers…and musicians…and just people I knew…<br />Here and there some survived. Star- crossed?<br />Peter Sellers believed he had to marry someone with the initials B.E. because his stars foretold him so. He married Brit Ekland. His marriages never succeeded. In the end he left nothing to Michael his son, but gave his entire estate to his last wife before he died.<br />I met Michael – when they shot the interview with him at Lords. I was sitting in the exact spot where Peter Sellers, who lived opposite the revered home of cricket. Apparently he came for a meal and sat in that seat every Thursday. And it was a Thursday that I was there (in the off-season) and listen to this: I ordered Bangers & Mash, the meal Peter Sellers used to order! How strange a co-incidence is that? <br />The TV crew actually asked me to move to another seat so that Michael could sit there where his father sat for the interview! (We watched it on TV many years later in South Africa and I shouted: I sat in that seat!)<br />What attracts two people: their stars? Or is it certain chemistry between them? Why are parents never satisfied with their children’s choices of marriage partners? Why do parents give their children so much grief? Why, o why, o why? What should be the most memorable day of their married life, the actually wedding day, often turns out into a nightmare that they want to forget!<br />Is every couple star-crossed?<br />I think it is much simpler than that – there is something supernatural behind the scenes that direct the pathways of people. It is the unseen hand of God. And it is hard to discern in the natural. But if there is a bit of faith the size of a mustard seed, it could grow into a great tree where the birds of the air could come and make their nests. Their marriage could become a blessing to many.Andréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02211992312600883485noreply@blogger.com0