Dear Dad

There's something about the world you paint with your words that brings an indescribable peace into our lives. There could be hurricanes, earthquakes and tsunamis all happening at the same time and just a word of assurance from you would strangely fade it all.
You have the extraordinary ability to summon courage from depths within us when we forget we have any.
From the very beginning; you have believed in 'beyond average' ; inspiring us to keep reaching for the very best.

Thank you for your strength.
Your hard work.
 Your words... every uplifting text; every moment of laughter, every shot in the arm, all of it; even those 4-page letters from back then😁. 
Thank you for your great, sacrificial love; an uncontestable standard for true fatherhood. It all means much more than a blog post can convey. God chose you for us and mummy; and we will eternally be grateful.

Happy birthday Daddy!!
❤❤❤

Don't skip Saturday!!!

I saw this post by Max Lucado and I loved it so much I had to archive and share :

"Jesus is silent on Saturday.  The women have anointed his body and placed it in Joseph’s tomb.  The cadaver of Christ is as mute as the stone which guards it.  He spoke much on Friday. He will liberate the slaves of death on Sunday.  But on Saturday, Jesus is silent.
So is God.  He made himself heard on Friday.  He tore the curtains of the temple, opened the graves of the dead, rocked the earth, blocked the sun of the sky, and sacrificed the Son of Heaven.  Earth heard much of God on Friday.
Nothing on Saturday.  Jesus is silent.  God is silent.  Saturday is silent.
Easter weekend discussions tend to skip Saturday.  Friday and Sunday get the press.  The crucifixion and resurrection command our thoughts.  But don’t ignore Saturday.  You have them, too.
Silent Saturdays.  The day between the struggle and the solution; the question and the answer; the offered prayer and the answer thereof.
Saturday’s silence torments us.  Is God angry?  Did I disappoint him? God knows Jesus is in the tomb, why doesn’t He do something?  Or, in your case God knows your career is in the tank, your finances are in the pit, your marriage is in a mess. Why doesn’t He act?  What are you supposed to do until He does?
You do what Jesus did.  Lie still.  Stay silent.  Trust God.  Jesus died with this conviction: “You will not abandon me to the grave, nor will you let your Holy One see decay” (Acts 2:27 NIV).
Jesus knew God would not leave him alone in the grave.  You need to know, God will not leave you alone with your struggles.  His silence is not his absence, inactivity is never apathy.  Saturdays have their purpose. They let us feel the full force of God’s strength. Had God raised Jesus fifteen minutes after the death of His son, would we have appreciated the act? Were He to solve your problems the second they appear, would you appreciate His strength?
For His reasons, God inserts a Saturday between our Fridays and Sundays.  If today is one for you, be patient.  As one who endured the silent Saturday wrote:  “Be patient, brethren, until the coming of the Lord” (James 5:7 NKJV)."

Me : THIS IS TOO GOOD!!
God is not a man! I've also always wondered why the Resurrection was not a very public, like boom, in-your-face you religious Jews and cruel Roman soldiers and everyone else who didn't believe, I'm alive, kinda way. Why didn't Jesus appear to all the doubters; maybe in the sky in a glorified, magnified image so all could see He really was alive and had all the power in the universe?
He's always proven that His power is still powerful even in obscurity. As subtle as the sun rises in the morning and its light covers the earth, the glory of the Lord is revealed. Even when all seems silent, He's working.

All we have to do is believe.

Faith is more powerful than sight.

The bloody sandals

My friends and I had been drinking beer the morning of that day. Drinking was like a ritual before we go do our job. We were somewhat prestigious, in our intimidating red and brown Roman soldier uniforms.

My wife was particularly miserable when I left the house just after sunrise. She even hadn't baked the bread I ate for breakfast every other day.
 She had seen Him, you know; this Nazarene who claimed to be the Messiah and spoke against Rome. She said she saw Him touch a man with deep, heavily-stenched, fly-infested leprosy wounds and restore his skin to that of a baby. She said He showed everyone great love.
We laughed about it, my friends and I. Simeon even joked about how he hoped we would crucify all that love to a tree that day.

Later that afternoon; a huge crowd had gathered at Pontius Pilate's place, for the judgement of the Nazarene. He stood queitly, like a lamb.
Then Pilate brought out one of the worst criminals we had imprisoned, Barrabus. Even in chains that bastard spat out so much venom, flashing his grotesque, crooked smile.
We were surprised however, to hear the crowd shouting that he should be released instead of the Nazarene, in spite of all the horrible crimes they knew he had done.
And yet the Nazarene never showed an inch of loath towards him.

Where were all the thousands He had allegedly fed with two fish and five loaves though?

Pilate then ordered that we whip Him in front of the crowd as a form of punishment.
The worst of the whips had been selected.
From the very first lash, the iron hooks at the end of the leather whip tore through His back, cutting His flesh. And yet we didn't stop. Cracking His ribs, scratching His lungs, splashing His blood...

His blood splashed onto my left sandal.

I watched my friends stretch their elbows in exhaustion, afterwards, as they laughed about how weak He had been for someone claiming to be a King; and yet I could not get over the fact that his blood was on my feet. And that after all the torture, He had looked at us like... like He knew us.

When He was dragged away to be crucified;  He was cursed, spat on, forced to carry a painfully heavy cross with a body already so broken.

I looked up at his bruised, bleeding body on the cross, suspended on nails and I could not imagine how excruciating the pain must have been. I turned my gaze down to my sandal, to His blood, on my dirty sandal. This was no ordinary blood.
Fear gripped me as the heavens closed and darkness covered the earth. The ground shook violently. We had never seen this before. Clearly, this man on the cross was not just another man.

When I got back home; earlier than usual, my mind still couldn't comprehend exactly what had happened, but I was sure, we all were, that something of unfathomable magnitude had happened that day.
My devastated wife fell to the ground when she saw the blood on my feet.

"His blood," she said amidst tears, "His blood washes away all the sin of the world."

I sobbed silently.

Three days later; the news of his body's disappearance spred throughout the country.

All Roman soldiers were ordered to search for the body and bring it back. But I wouldn't. I vowed to myself that these same feet on which holy blood had splashed, would never again go on unholy missions.
The One the world thought was dead; is Alive!

" It’s in Christ that we find out who we are and what we are living for. Long before we first heard of Christ and got our hopes up, He had His eye on us, had designs on us for glorious living, part of the overall purpose He is working out in everything and everyone."
(http://bible.com/97/eph.1.11-12.msg)

My random 24

I picked out just 24 moments from a large pile of memories because today happens to be my 24th birthday🎉🎊.
I can only choose the moments my brain's memory storage allows me to access and i think that's from around 4-5 years old.
Okay, so, first will be the day i went for the last vaccination injection at our local clinic with my friends. I have no idea why it stands out but for some reason it was fun getting pricked together and then talking about it all the way home😁.
On second place is the day i lost one shaking tooth to a stalk of sugar cane. I must've just removed the tooth, rinsed up and kept chewing with the remaining few, like a bawse. Those that were there might disagree but that's okay.
I'll skip to preschool graduation for the third. I had a full-permed head, with a red '2-piece' outfit and I remember standing in my long gown, holding the graduation certificate and a gift box of toys and feeling like i'd made it in life. 🎓🎀. Lil' one sure had no idea what was in store for her.
My first day of grade one deserves a spot. This time with a fully-chopped, almost bald head and a light-green new uniform for Chamarare primary school, i was ecstatic. There was just something cool about wearing a uniform for the first time😆. Many years later i'd be so eager to get rid of it.
The first assembly that day will be the 5th moment. We stood in lines in front of our classes facing the flag pole. I was very excited. The idea of having my lil' hands beaten (or the classic hitting of finger tips with a duster) for misspelling 'dangerous' had not occured to me yet.
Cleaning up those hands after eating one too many mulberries is definitely memorable coz that was sort of an emergency. Showing up at home with hands that look like they had been dipped in purple paint all day could owe you a beating. And water wouldnt help remove the stains😭; we had to rub them off with green, unripe mulberries. (Look at us being scientifically-inclined at such a young age😎)
When i was in grade 2; i was one lil' titan man. I prayed in church in front of hundreds of people while standing on a bench; recited full Bible stories and verses and was confident enough to sing without worrying about pitch transitions.
I'm also going to insert here the time my friends and I cut out a white cloth and made our own bandanas those days when they were reigning😁. We'd just watched the last episode of Taina where 3LW sang 'no more' and we felt so fly imitating the moves with the crayon-coloured 'bandanas' on our heads. (Awesome childhood friends i had)
On number 9 will be the day i failed a Shona exam for misspelling 'hanzvadzi'. Mxm. I can't be blamed really.
Ten. In 3rd grade, we did a Sunday School drama in church where i gave an Oscar winning performance, singing a song crying real tears. I should totally seek out my long lost acting talent.
The slightly scary moment i'm about to write will take the eleventh spot. One sunny afternoon as i was washing dishes after lunch; i suddenly lifted up my head to meet a long snake glued to the window right in front of me. Yup. It was outside though. Snakes were not rare at all; we basicaĺly co-habited😆. I screamed all the way back to the sitting room where the rest of my family was.
5th grade began the adventures of 'boarding school at nine years old' (dramatic music). The details are on my other blogpost with that title. (#12)
Number thirteen will be the day i perfomed 'Mari ndiyo musimboti' by Mai Charamba in front of the class, using cut out pieces of paper as money and staging up a performance so impressive i won the lil' talent contest we were having there.
I'll give the next 3 spots to boarding school moments ranging from singing while beating trunks in our dorms; having mummy visit with my then newly-born baby brother and all the whooping my teachers gave me through the years.
Number seventeen, the school trip to Victoria Falls. It was soo much fun. When we got back, (#18) we had to write about what we saw and my essay won (kid's been writing for a while😉). It's still mysterious to me what I did with the prize money though. I'd be a lil' consoled if i at least bought 'milko' chocolate with some of it but there's no trace of it in my memory right now😞.
Oh my last day at Gokomere CPS when we got our grade 7 results and i found out i had 4 units will be my nineteenth. Now i was sure i had legitly made it in life.
Number 20 and 21 will be  given to adjusting to high school life and disliking the first two terms. Blaa. I just remembered history class learning about homo sapiens and Ramapithecus? 😁. That's the only subject i had very close to a 100% at the end of the year.  Clearly evolution stories and this story-lover got along very well.
 Twenty two; (Angelic opera) is the day i got born again at 14. Beautiful beautiful day it was, my goodness. There are some details on the kind of experiences that followed in 'Fun in the furnace.' I started seeing life in a whole new way man.
23 & 24 are just two numbers which wouldn't do justice to the inumerable moments in-between that I'm truly grateful for. I have cried, both ugly and silent, and laughed at myself and talked to myself and walked through the whole alphabet of crazy and learned to look at myself through my own eyes. But above all, I have never been without the presence of the Almighty and that. makes. every. moment. worthwhile 🙌.

I would like to hear about you guys' outstanding childhood memories as well. Be free to share them.

A letter to mum

The same hands holding me in this picture have solved the most complex mathematical and life problems. They have have nurtured pilots, engineers, doctors, computer scientists and all sorts of geniuses. They have defied the odds.

You didn't have to give us a million dollars for us to appreciate you mum; you've given us the greatest gift of all - love.

Love is you holding us when we're miserable; guiding us when we're misdirected and whooping us when we've misbehaved.

Love is you giving yourself less so we could have more.

Love is you working hard to make others'  dreams come true.

Love is the way you love us.

Love is you and dad.

If ever you want to look at life and wonder where the trophies of all your strivings are; look at us, mum. 

We know what determination looks like; never giving up.

We know what it means to set our minds on something and go get it.

We know what it means to defy the odds, coz you've done it.
We are who we are because you've given us the opportunity to be.

Thank you.

God chose the very best for us.

Happy Birthday Mummy!!

We love you more than words can say.

Yours gratefully,

Your children.

Pelagia Majoni ; scientist on the rise...

It is commonly said that there are three kinds of people in this world ; those that make things happen, those that watch things happen and those that have no idea what goes on.
This post is about one of those accomplishing great things and she's only 18!
Here's Pelagia Majoni's story in her own words...

"I am amazed at the inexplicable way I have changed. From being a hopeless poor girl to being this person whose life inspires thousands.
During the era of economic hardship we would sleep on an empty stomach, in a roofless plastic house. I would walk for two hours to get to school only to be kicked out for late fees payment. I got used to it but l knew this was a passing season.
My family situation has made me realize that there are some things which you cannot change but for those things that you can change, give them your best shot. I decided to live my life like someone whose future was predictably bright treating problems as opportunities to do great. I am often surrounded by sickness, energy shortages, yet these things inspire me to think about what I can do to contribute to a better world. I often think about solutions grounded in science, research and innovation.
When l was fifteen, I participated in a national climate change essay competition because I wanted to know about global warming and ozone depletion. In my essay l suggested that growing potatoes in buckets saves space and provides a sink for the excess carbon dioxide in the atmosphere as potatoes photosynthesize. I was surprised when my essay came out second nationally, because everyone had told me I was wasting my time as students from well-resourced schools often won such prizes.
 Winning a national competition motivated me to continue looking at other challenges in the energy sector. I started working on a cheap sustainable source of electricity. I came across a section in a German potato magazine which stated “in 1917 Henry Ford tried to make a car run using potatoes but was unsuccessful.” This stirred up my curiosity. Whilst researching about potato power I carried out hundreds of unsuccessful experiments, trying to generate energy from potatoes. After fourteen months, I finally came up with a thirty day life span battery from decayed potatoes.  After excelling in seven national Science fairs I presented my battery at Eskom International Science Fair in South Africa and I won a silver medal. Then, I became the first Zimbabwean to participate and win an award at Intel International Science Fair (ISEF) and to have an asteroid named after her by Massachusetts Institute of Technology.  I received a second category award.

I never imagined that one day the girl who used to sleep in a plastic house, with no electricity would one day be searchable on Google.
What matters to me most are not the prizes but the knowledge and experience I have gained from participating in several competitions. The countless failures did not deter me from trying one more time. Despite missing over sixty lessons visiting the research facilities I always came out with the great end of term results in my stream because I worked extra hard.
My love for Science keeps growing, and if given an opportunity, I will demonstrate that even African girls can have their names in the Science halls of fame. Currently l am working on putting the potato battery into practical use in my community. My next research is centered on preventing nuclear explosions using basic Physics principles.
In as much as l love Science, I also host motivational sessions where I counsel and inspire my fellow students. I was elected to serve as an honorable junior Councillor for the country’s capital city because of my zeal to serve the less privileged children in my community.  I also have leadership positions in the Science and Debate clubs. As the prefect in charge of all the clubs at school I emphasize on commitment, hard work and teamwork.

I’m inspired by my mother and my family and my community. They work really hard.  I want to one day help my community. Steve Jobs, Marie Curie and Benjamin Franklin are my role models. I also look up to Albert Einstein."

" Where do you see yourself in 10 years?"

"I see myself having finished my master’s degree and now doing full time research work.
I will be a very successful Scientist making world changing discoveries.
I also see myself with more money and bringing my dreams of making sure that there won’t be any street kids in Zimbabwe. I will have built many great homes even for old people.
I want to change my country for the better.

I believe that the sky is just the beginning."

👏👏👏
May you continue to bless the world, Pelagia, with the limitless greatness that's within you.  Thank you for inspiring other African children to join you from the sidelines to the very front lines of ground-breaking history-making.
The future belongs to those who believe and work towards the fulfillment of their dreams!

January 1st, 2018

Strength.

           Courage.

                     Faith.

                             Joy.

I've heard that time was established so we could live life in doses. Growth and progress can be assessed with each period.

If accomplishing your goals through each year is like climbing a mountain,
on December 31st ; whether you'll be standing at the top, the bottom, or midway; how will you view your journey?

Success may be defined as giving your best to whatever assignment is placed on the plate in front of you. If you can define your effort as the best, then you're successful.

"Nothing is as big as it is, it's only as big as you think it is."

Mountains appear huge from the ground, but if you were to view them from up high, they're just like a dent on the ground. It's all about perspective.

Maybe your own mountain is not yet directly in front you, and needs you to be patient. Well, the Bible does say those that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall 'mount up on wings' like eagles. So, you may make it to the top faster than those mounting up on legs, patient one.

Surrounded by the mist of clouds, I sat on Mount Ai-Petri, in Yalta, and the feeling of joy for having made it there was greater than the exhaustion.

Whether you'll be using your faith to climb mountains in 2018, or to move them, enjoy the process.  The view at the top will be worth it.
May slippery stones and snares be removed out of your way. But if it so happens that you come across them, may you always find the strength to get back up and keep moving😊.

No more plastics 3

"Baa, baa black sheep, have you any wool? Yes sir, yes sir three bags full!" the tiny voices of joyful 4-year-olds filled the air.

"One for the master, one for the dame!" One voice sang ahead of the rest, disrupting the song.
"No,Rea, it's one for the master, one for madam. And you're singing faster than the rest of us. Slow down."

"One for madam?!" Four-year old Rea laughed. "It's one for the dame!"

Then the teacher intervened, "Rea, Joel, stop! Let's start the song again from the top everyone...1, 2, sing!"

Being kids was...effortless. Minds just flew on the wings of happiness and freedom and not a single worry lasted more than 3 minutes. Rea could not remember too many details from back then but she knew there had been much more light.
There was one day in 3rd grade, that'd stay engraved on the kids' cerebrums for a while; the first day Sister Benedicta became their teacher. She was a 34-year-old nun, very graceful and warm. And she brought sweets and neon-green rosaries on her first day, as gifts for the kids. She taught them new games and songs and made learning such a great joy.
Rea was convinced she wanted to spend her entire life being taught by Sister Benedicta. However, she wouldn't have known that in November of that same year, her life would make a drastic turn.

At 25 years old, she sat on the staircase of a solitary building somewhere in the outskirts of the city, and still struggled to keep her tears contained upon the memory of one dreaded day.

She could still hear Joel's voice from the restaurant asking, "what happened to you?"

Well, the answer to that could've filled hundreds of pages, in very small font. But the trigger to it all, she knew. She came back from school on one November afternoon, those many years ago, from another exciting class with Sister Benedicta. There was no electricity at home. She was hungry and alone; her mother had probably gone to get her baby-sister vaccinated at the nearby clinic like she said she would, and her father was still at work.  So, Rea used the gas stove to boil an egg, and when she switched it off afterwards, she didn't turn the knob tight enough;
permitting small amounts of the gas to escape. When her parents came back home, electricity had been switched back on and her mum made dinner for the family on the electric stove. Then, when the whole neighbourhood was asleep, during the late hours of the night, Rea awoke to a house ablaze. She remembered running to her parents room and banging the door locked from the inside. How the fire started, well she didn't know; her father might, or might not have been smoking close to the gas tank that night. It remained sort of a mystery really.

The loud engine of a heavy truck startled her out of her thoughts. She stood up from the stairs and wiped her face. Her past had been like a purulent, painful wound covered by a thin scar tissue she was too scared to peel off. However, on that day, she had a different perspective of it all. When she fell on her knees in church, she had allowed the Holy Spirit to peel off the scar for her; and the wound was clean and dry.

'See,' she heard a voice say in her mind, 'you are a new creation now. Allow the light that surrounds you to shine within.'
....

Joel walked into the living room of his home, looking distraught. He tossed the car keys on the coffee table, threw himself on the sofa and started scrolling through different TV channels.

"Oh, you're back already? I thought you'd take a while," his mother, Pastor Maria said as she jotted down stuff in her notebook. And when she got no response, she said, "Did you get her the stuff she needed?"

"We only had lunch, and she left."

"What happened? You look sad." She said, coming to sit on a sofa opposite his.

"I know that girl, mum, from the time I lived in Gata. She was one of my childhood friends. But she had not recognised me, so when i told her i knew her she...just left."

"Oh. She told me she had a very difficult past but didn't give me the details; and she kept saying everything was her fault. Do you know what really happened?"
 He shook his head. That's what he had been trying to figure out the whole time.

"What are we going to do about this, Joel? We could turn away, or we could be a reminder to her that God massively loves her. Come on, get up. Do you have an idea where we could find her?"

He thought for a while and then told her about Mr. T.

....

Rea was still on those stairs when Joel and his mum arrived. She silently shook her head, amused by their persistence.

Pastor Maria got out of the car and went to sit next to her. She told her she was going to do everything in her power to help her not be homeless again. And gave Rea some scriptures, assurring her that there really is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.

Joel stood by the car, watching, and praying in his heart.

"You didn't have to punish yourself for whatever happened in your past, my child," Pastor Maria said.

Rea broke down, and narrated what happenned on the horrifying night of the fire, amidst tears. "I had dreams to be working in a nice office by this point of my life! I wanted to be successful! My dreams were burnt to ashes with the rest of my family that day. Do you know how it is to have your childhood dreams crushed just like that?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

Rea looked up at Pastor Maria.

"I wanted to be a pilot. But when I got gang-raped by strangers, in the street, at 14 and remained pregnant with a baby whose father I didn't know, all I wanted was to disappear."

A streak of disbelief flicked on Rea's face.

Then her gaze turned to Joel. It dawned on her that she had never known his parents while they were growing up. He lived with his grandparents, his mother's parents. Pastor Maria only took him when he was around 15, when she finally found her own healing and wholeness, in God. Joel still didn't know the man whose DNA he carried.

"Do you remember," he said, approaching the two women, "Do you remember when Sister Benedicta brought a bird with two broken wings to class?"

Rea nodded.

"She asked us if we thought there was still life in it and we all said yes. She asked again if we still think so even though it had lost its ability to fly. Birds are meant to fly arent they?"

She remembered the bird, not it's story.

"You know," Joel proceeded, " I never forgot because that day, I realised that's the most important thing; life within. Life's not over Rea, dreams are not over, as long as we're still here."

 "And the great thing about this life in us, is it's given by a limitless God." said Pastor Maria with a smile. "You may not get all answers to your questions, but be assured, His love does endure forever."

Rea inhaled deeply. And then she abruptly lit up;

"I just remembered something about that bird!" she said, almost hysterically. "Its wings healed with time, and it got back its ability to fly!"

For the first time in a long time, she could 'see' a bright future.
Her eyes met Joel's.  He realised that veil was gone. And now there was just light.
Light powered by life within.


THE END.

                 Image from cleargreen.com

No more plastics 2

"So, why did you let yourself go?"

"What ?"

"Why 'd you let yourself go?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't look like someone who should be living on the streets."

"Who does?"

"You're smart, pretty, kind...yet you've let yourself beg for a living. Why?"

Rea dropped the burger she was holding back into its box and stared into the distance.

"What makes you think I let myself go?" She asked Joel. He was sitting across from her in the restaurant, barely eating his own food. "What if this is the actual me?"

"This?" He scoffed, pointing up and down at her rags.

"You're looking at the wrong me. That's the problem. I'm referring to the me that doesn't conform to what society calls normal. The me that doesn't have to prove anything to anyone."

He chuckled and looked around, as if to see if anyone else had heard her. Many people had been occassionally shooting glances at them all afternoon. It was an interesting sight ; a meticulously dressed gentleman sitting with a...uhm, a woman who looks like a walking trash can.

"What happened to you?"

She shook her head and looked away.

 Her eyes caught sight of an old man sitting on the pavement across the street. He was paralysed from the waist down and could barely distinguish between a tree and a person.

"That's Mr T. We call him Mr T, I don't know his full name. He is smarter than a lot of proffessors," she said, as if she hadn't heard his question.

Joel turned and looked at the 70-something old man, seemingly enjoying singing while waving a small wooden plate.

"Mr T was a builder back in the day, but everything turned around for him the day he fell off a roof, breaking his spine. The young wife he could no longer take care of left him for someone else. Well, at least that's what I've heard. I never got to ask him coz everytime I was around him he was always so positive and so hopeful that I just couldn't bring up a gloomy topic. He encouraged me to leave the streets...told me there was a whole better life waiting for me out there. I went for two straight days with nothing to eat at some point and he gave me all the money he'd earned that week. Every single coin. I refused to take it but he was not gonna have that. It was $7.53 and it was all he had. He gave it all." A tear trickled down her right cheek. She quickly rubbed it off. "People like him; sir, they didn't let themselves go."

He gasped deeply. She was shutting him out. Whenever he tried looking into her eyes she'd blink the gaze away and just...shut him out.

"Why do you care so much, anyway?" She asked him, offhandedly. "And don't tell me it's because you go to church, coz 90% of the people that've passed me by in the street do too."

"Somebody has to care."

She laughed. It was so loud it made heads turn. Those that'd labelled her as mentally-disturbed upon initially seeing her had their judgements confirmed.

"I don't think what I said was that funny."

"Wasn't funny at all. I'm laughing coz if I hadn't experienced what I did at church today,  that statement would've made me walk away from here right now. Everyone that was supposed to 'care' left me when I needed them the most. And all those years I spent searching, wondering, dying...sleeping on hard concrete underneath a cardbox, still nobody 'cared'. A few have attempted to, but they ended up leaving as well. So, I'm sorry, but I don't need you to care because you feel somebody has to, okay?"

Joel clenched his jaw and then leaned forward towards her.
"Rea, I know you."

"Excuse me?"

" You are Rea Mashanya from Gata, i know you. We practically grew up together; went to creche, grade 1, 2 and 3 together. Remember?"

Her eyes widened in a blend of surprise and shock, transfixed on him. She didn't blink this time. And he caught a glimpse of the thick veil that covered the window to her soul.

Joel had seen Rea two weeks back, outside a bakery on the outskirts of the city. He was about to walk on by when his attention was drawn to a peculiar rosary she had hung around her neck. It was a unique kind; with  neon-green coloured beads and a yellow thread. He had continued to walk on, but the image of the homeless lady with the rosary resembling the ones he and his classmates had received as gifts in grade 3, stayed on his mind. And so when he saw her again that day, in church, he knew he couldn't just walk on this time.
It was as if one ventricle of his heart stopped contracting the moment he got close enough to recognise she was the girl that used to draw butterflies on his face with mulberry-stained hands.

"You...you know me?"

"Yeah, and your family. You lived two houses away from us."

She looked down and buried her face into her hands. Her mind could not believe she had been sitting across from her long-lost childhood friend the whole time. Joel Mataga? As in muddy-face Joel?

"Look, Rea," he said, removing her hands from her face. "I've not just been looking at you all afternoon, I've been looking for you. Where is the real you?"

"You know a 5-year old, Joel. Not a 25-year old."

"What happened to you? Please, tell me what happened."

She got up from her seat, her eyes beginning to swell up.

"Thank you for the meal."

She took the food she hadn't eaten and walked out before he could say anything. He watched her through the window, give the food to Mr T across the street and then she strode away; disappearing at a corner.

....

No more plastics

The first time she walked into the building, she felt an aura she couldn't quite understand. There was a stillness and a chaos, almost in harmony and she took a seat on the very last row of the dark auditorium. There were about three rows between her and the rest of the congregation sitting ahead, attentively listening to the preacher.

Heaven knows if the lady at the door had not flashed a friendly smile and ushered her in, she'd have turned right back and walked away. But her warmness had lightened up Rea's heart. For a moment she forgot how repulsive she'd become to the public...how her hideous clothes and bare, cracked feet earned her hateful stares.
A groan, a very familiar groan, arose from the depths of her tummy and she immediately covered it as if to minimize its noise.
Just as she adjusted herself to sit comfortably in the solitary row, she heard a soft, yet deep voice singing in the most captivating way,
"Your grace has found me just as I am, empty-handed, but alive in your hands..."

Before Rea could comprehend what was happening, the  auditorium was filled with a gripping atmosphere. It wasn't the song, or the singer,but the power of the One addressed, that gripped her heart the most. She didn't know when and how the dark place where she sat, suddenly seemed soo flourescently bright that she shielded her eyes with her hands.

She felt a peace, one that transcends all understanding, overwhelm her, and almost instinctively, Rea knew she was in the presence of the Most High.
She fell to her knees and earnestly prayed, with each word peeling off every cell of the dead skin that was stuck to hers.  This was a girl who'd felt herself lose her identity the first moment she sat by the store's pavement with an outstretched arm, begging passer-bys for coins, afraid she could starve to death if she doesn't. Another part of it was lost when she was imprisoned for two days, for allegedly stealing a wealthy woman's ring. It had fell into the gutter next to where she sat when the lady tripped and fell because she was giving Rea a disgusted look instead of watching where she was going. And scrapes of what remained of her identity had been lost when she had been diagnosed with a 'mental illness' the day after that.

"I know!" she found herself shouting. "I know I am a child of God!" Her soul, once clogged-up with all sorts of gloom, felt refreshingly clean, and a huge smile beamed on Rea's face.

"Sister," a voice startled her up and she slowly opened her eyes. Her expression immediately turned to surprise when she realised the auditorium was then almost empty. The service had finished and people had left, and she had not been a single bit aware.

She looked up at the guy who'd called her.

"I'm sorry but we'll soon have to close the doors," he said, with an expressionless face.

She thought he was kidding, but this was the wrongest time to kid because he'd just interrupted what she could reckon had been the most delightful time of her life.

"The service is over," he said, adjusting the guitar case over his shoulder.

" It's okay Mark, leave her. Let her have as much time with the Lord as she desires," another voice said, approaching.

"Dude, we'd have to pay for the extra time she stays in here, we can't..."

"Mark, don't worry about that. Go home."

Rea recognised the second guy as the one who'd been up on stage leading that worship song.

"Are you okay?" he asked her when Mark had left.

She turned her gaze away and nodded. Then she rose to her feet, and gasped deeply, preparing to leave.

"You don't have to go if you still want to pray sister... what's your name?"

"Rea."

"You can stay and pray, sister Rea, it's alright."

She kept looking down, fidgeting with her dirty hands. What amazed her, though, was the fact that she would previously have felt as if there was a bold 'retard' tatooed across her forehead; but in that moment, she saw herself from the inside out.

He didn't seem repelled by her, not a bit. When he realised she was transfixed on the spot, he told her he'd be back, and then he scurried away and returned with the pastor;  Pastor Maria.

She had a lovely, motherly warmth to her and she embraced Rea without hesitating.
Silent tears ran down Rea's cheeks. For the first time, she felt accepted, and worthy. Worthy to belong.

After what seemed to be an hour inside the auditorium, Rea and the lady pastor stepped out. This was a very different Rea, a whole new creation.

"Joel!" Pastor Maria called out to that worship leader who was still outside, wiping some dust off his car.

"I have to rush off to the conference at Greenfields now, would you kindly direct Rea to my shop at the mall, I need her to pick out some clothes there."

"I can go with her, mum, I'm not doing anything right now."

"Great. Here you go, you may as well grab a few more things she might need. I'll cover up the rest when I get back," she said, handing him her bank card.

"Alright. Thanks mum." He turned to Rea. "Shall we?"

She was still in awe of every detail of this day, that when he opened the door of the car to usher her in, she couldn't stop the tear that escaped from her right eye.

Taking one step into that building earlier that day had been the first step to a staircase ascending heavenwards. A step into an adventure she had never imagined.

Sometimes just one step in the right direction makes a huge impact
...

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