Though all in Zulu, my companion
interpreted songs I didn't understand. They are simple, descriptive
songs—of heaven opening wide to welcome the person. The
songs are sometimes accompanied by hand and body movements—looking
around for the person only to find they are already gone, then
pushing them on their way to their heavenly home.
What touched me most were the testimonies. One man spoke of a
gathering only days before in which the pastor teased and honored
his wife in his speech and through loving physical actions. In
such a patriarchal society this is unusual and very special. A
pastor spoke of Mncwabe's lack of jealousy and of his work to
bring the different pastors and churches together in unity. Another
spoke of his great care for people, his joyful, fun ways of greeting
them—as hanging out of a taxi window calling to a friend
as he passed his home. I remembered how welcoming and hospitable
he had been to me and felt honored to have met such a man—to
be part of this assembly sharing their love and respect for him.
And I was humbled to hear of the lives he had touched, this man
who lived in such simple surroundings, surrounded by the poor
and struggling, bringing joy, laughter and peace. Like Jesus.
My only real sadness was that not a single white pastor, farmer,
or person from the community was there. I asked a wise Zulu friend
from my church “Why? Are we still so very far apart?”
His reply: “I'm afraid, particularly in rural (farming)
areas like this, the legacy of apartheid will only pass with the
next generation.” How very sad to miss out on the richness
of this culture because of fears and ingrained attitudes. How
tragic that we let color and history keep us apart even at times
like these. What a loss, with so many wonderful things to be shared
amongst us.
A much closer loss was that of my dear cousin, Dorothy, from brain
cancer. Fortunately I was able to spend some time with her and
her husband Hans in August, a time to be cherished until we meet
again, when she promised to “show us the ropes”! What
I'll remember most are the hours we've spent sharing stories in
their home in England over tea, coffee, or a meal, her quick wit,
and those occasional bursts of laughter with the passing of a
mildly wicked thought! My recent visit allowed some special last
times together—laying on her bed as she rested, chatting
and sharing those last important words one often doesn't have
the opportunity to say. “I'll really miss you. But we'll
see each other again in the winking of an eye.” And finally,
with a last hug before my leaving, “I love you dearly.”
I find God's graciousness over and over in the people I meet
and in those I am blessed to know. Pastor Mncwabe, Dorothy, and
countless others add such richness to my life and teach me so
much through their living and often through their dying. As Christians,
the gift of knowing we will meet again—that's God's promise
in Jesus Christ—brings peace and joy that can't easily be
described, even in the midst of loss. But I do know it's true—because
our Lord has told us so and He hasn't lied to me yet!
With blessings and love,
Cindy
The 2003 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p.
51
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