Heart matters
-
Faith over Fear: The size of a mustard seed
Guest post – Fear is a powerful thing – but so is faith. And if I have to choose a stronger force, I would say faith is the strongest every time.
Fear lies to us in our weakest, most vulnerable moments. It tells us we will never be able to do this. We will never get through to the other side. We will never be loved or accepted for who we are. We will never succeed at x, y or z. Fear picks up apart, piece by piece. It rears its ugly head in the worst moments, when you are already clutching onto your last straw.
But if you know God’s love and goodness and the power that a sincere, imperfect but entirely pure faith in Him brings – then you will know that faith can move mountains. Perhaps not the literal kind – but the kind that crush lives, that shatter dreams or that squash every last bit of strength out of you as a person.
Because, you see, faith is the soft voice that gently reminds you, even if and when fear takes ahold, that somehow, you will be okay. You have got this. You are not alone. Even at your most broken, you have enough inside of you to see you through. God is with you.
But often, when fear takes ahold of us with its iron grasp, like a snare biting into your flesh, faith seems an impossible ask even for the strongest or staunchest of faith.
I have never been a good example of a Christian. I know I am horribly flawed and I have hurt myself and others more often than I should – often enough to not be worthy of a love He gives.
But I also know, that in spite of my shortcomings as both a person and a Christian, I have incredible bounds of faith. Not the bold, ‘I got this’ kind of faith that some people exude – but the quiet, fierce and determined kind that refuses to give up, even when my heart and spirit have reached their most fragile state.
It is faith like a mustard seed. The kind that gets me through even the worst calamities – but which I know that, without this simple faith, I would be truly lost. I would be utterly hopeless. Maybe I would not even still be here.
My first few years as an adult have pushed me to my breaking point more than a few times – but never more so than in 2018 when my life, quite literally, fell apart.
I have, by no stretch of the imagination, had an easy life. In 25 years, I have had more thrown my way than some people endure in a lifetime. And I am painstakingly aware of this, just as I am aware of how I dismiss big things because, even if they are serious, I have been through worse. It’s a simple, unrefuted fact.
But as with anyone, there are standout moments of fear and confusion that are more poignant or unbearable than others. And this particular example is one that feels like that. It feels heavy. It feels, when I look back on it now, like another lifetime ago.
I can’t tell you how I got through that time of my life to be here today – but I can tell you that faith in God and myself, as well as trusting a few select and inherently good and kind people, got me to this point.
If you dumped me back there now, I know I would be wiser – but I would be no better prepared to handle it than I was back then. Because we cannot prepare – even in retrospect – for our worst personal battles.
To put it into context, I had moved (twice in less than a year) to a new part of Cape Town. I had changed jobs – but not just changed jobs, I had changed career paths and industries. I felt wholly unequipped in my new role and totally unprepared to be patient and see the fruit that my own efforts and determination would yield. I was racked with trauma from a past abuse but carefully shoving it down and pretending it never happened. I was in a new, tender relationship with someone I loved very much but who I was, at that current point of my life, totally incapable of being able to support and love in a way I should have.
To put it simply, I was treading water every day – and floundering by nightfall.
My faith in myself and my God-given abilities, which has always been shaky but consistent at best, became nonexistent. Fear beckoned to me daily, with exaggerated enthusiasm, “You can’t do this. Look, look – you aren’t worthy of happiness or love. You don’t deserve this new job or role. You aren’t good enough. You won’t learn fast enough. You will get laid off. You aren’t the perfect girlfriend – why are you such a bad girlfriend and worker? Why are you tired and anxious all the time? Why aren’t you getting all this right? Why, why, why?”
For a few months, fear was the only constant. I knew nothing else. Internally, I questioned myself – but outwardly, I cried and despaired every single night.
And then, as so often happens in life, when it rains, it pours… My mum’s health (which has been increasingly bad ever since I was 12) deteriorated. I wasn’t sure she would pull through this time – but fear tightened its grip around my heart all the more. My own health started spluttering, my anxiety spiralled… And eventually, I sank.
My relationship ended. I had to move out. I had no car so I had to find a new way to get to and from work. I had very few friends I knew well on this side of the city. I was scared and alone and every day, I found a new way to fall apart as a human. I broke multiple times a day, in multiple, pitiful ways.
Fear took ahold. And I didn’t know how to fight it.
But one thing I did find, like a blind man searching for something in an impossibly black and bumpy night, was my faith. It didn’t come back to me with trumpets and angels singing… But like every other time when my life has been at its hardest or its worst, it settled on me and gave me quiet strength.
It became the prayers I beseechingly uttered to God, as I fumbled over words and tears and feelings.
It became the force that propelled me to get through each day – to simply exist at the barest minimum human capacity – and show a brave, put together face (like some carefully drawn on mask) so that you might never know how broken I was inside.
It became my war cry, the thing that pushed me to get up in the morning when depression settled on me like a thick, impenetrable cloud.
It encouraged me to trust, not just God and myself, but others, too. To show them the thing I feared most: my own fragile, broken humanness.
The first time I did it, I thought the person would run screaming from the room. Repulsed by the sight of my tears or the signs of me visibly breaking in a way that only a heartbroken, lost soul can break. But then, the funniest thing happened: no one ran. No one judged me or told me to pull myself together. Instead, they stayed. They comforted. They encouraged. They believed.
And in time, that small faith – that dared me to let people in and stop facing the brokenness alone – led to a stronger, more tangible faith. The kind that brought new strength reserves and vulnerable trust with it. The kind that gave me the courage to leave my home and start anew – as a new version of myself.
It pushed me to conquer my fear of being, travelling and living alone. Of living alone, above all, with myself. Of being broken and yet still having to throw myself into work before that went south too…
It made me grow, as it stripped away every last trace of the old, scared and needy Tamlyn. Before, gradually, it moulded me into someone else entirely.
I stopped letting myself and others tell me what to do. I stopped listening when fear (or doubt) told me I can’t do it. I stopped absorbing the words that had been ingrained in my heart since I was a child: you are not good enough.
I stopped being afraid of love and vulnerability and human connections. I stopped entertaining people who only knew how to cause destruction and emotional pain; I stopped putting up with things period, like I had no other option in life.
But most of all, I stopped giving into fear and all its many emotional embodiments.
Instead, I felt the fear, felt it like crazy… But I did it anyway. Why? Because my faith in God had proven once again that, even at my worst, most broken self – I would be okay. My faith in Him would overcome every fear. I would heal. I would grow. I would survive.
And I did. Yes, it is still a daily fight – keeping that fear at bay, silencing those doubts – but I am better equipped to handle it now. I have risen from the ashes – and my faith in Him has made me a stronger and more beautiful version of myself than I ever thought possible.
So when fear surrounds you – remember that you have a force inside of you that is stronger than anything… And that sometimes, even the simplest, most minute faith like a mustard seed, is enough. You got this.
***
For the purpose of this story, I would like to remind the reader of Matthew 17:20 – one of my favourite verses – which says:“So Jesus said to them, “Because of your unbelief; for assuredly, I say to you, if you have faith as a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you.”
AuthorThis guest post is part of my Faith over Fear series. The author, Tamlyn Ryan, blogs over at Tamlyn Amber Wanderlust, where she chats about travel and lifestyle related topics. You can check her out on social media: Facebook, Instagram -
Faith over Fear: The back up plan
Guest post – Fear is my middle name. We are well acquainted. So are many people living in this country. Fear follows you when you leave your house at night. Fear breathes down your neck when you see protests flash on the T.V. screen. Fear drives people onto one-way flights. But in my case, the state of this country does not inject fear into my veins. Sure, it’s not pleasant. Sure, I’m sometimes scared. But my fear is driven by something deeper. It’s fuelled by a frightening uncertainty and, frankly, a lack of trust.
Allow me to put you in the picture. I’ve dreamed of being a stay-at-home mom all my life. It was never “not an option” for me. Ever.
After my first year of teaching, I was ready to give up and, due to a number of circumstances, I left my job. Then I assumed God would give me something else. Which He did. It was only a term. But it was something. I fully expected Him to give me another job but I sat on the first day of the second term at home and unemployed. Yet, before the end of the week, I had another short-term job lined up. And so each month went. Just when we were running low on cash, I got a phone call or someone would leave an envelope in my husband’s pigeon hole or on my dad’s desk containing some life-saving notes. And that’s how we coped that year on “one salary”. Purely by God’s grace.
Fast forward a few years. I had a good job that paid a pretty good salary. And, I was happy. All except for one thing. I desperately wanted to start a family. But the more we reviewed our financial state, the more we realised that it was going to be hard to live off one salary. Because, technically we hadn’t done it before. It had been supplemented by the goodwill of other people. I’ll never forget someone saying that if you wait to have enough money, you’ll never have kids – you’ll never have enough money to have kids.
I had to convince my husband. He, despite being the one to generally trust the Lord, was the one holding back. I, on the other hand, was ready to jump forward in faith with both feet!Around the same time, we started baby talk, there was talk about our inheriting a decent sum of money. But that’s all it was and, in fact, it seemed too good to be true.
On the last day of October, we sat in the kitchen after church and I brought up the baby debate again. My husband told me that he wanted to wait another 6 months until we knew if we were going to inherit this money or not. He must have mentioned something about trusting God for the right time. I looked him in the eye and responded simply,
“When you have the money in your hand, it’s no longer trusting God.”
And, after he paused for a few moments, he looked at me without another argument and said,
“Okay.”
A month later, I was pregnant. Two months later I resigned.
It was quite a scary moment to be asked the school principal whether I was sure I wanted to resign. I was sure! But now my salary had an end date and I couldn’t change my mind if things became turbulent and we needed an income. I wouldn’t be able to wake up and decide that thank you very much but I’d like my job back please. A week later, I tapped out the resignation letter and handed it in as a mere formality. My teaching days were now numbered and the countdown began.
We were two months away from due date and I was lounging, if one can, in a chair with the other staff at work. A message came through and I glanced at it half-heartedly. Then, as fast as a pregnant woman can, I sat bolt upright and studied the massive amount that had just been transferred into my husband’s bank account. I honestly thought I would never see the day that we inherited money like this, nor did I think God would provide in this way for us. It seemed too good to be true!
The house we had built and now struggled to afford became affordable. And we were able to pay for much more. If that wasn’t “enough”, my provident fund paid out a nice sum too when I left work a month later. We decided to use it as my “salary” until it was no more. To make things even sweeter, I unexpectedly managed to score UIF even though I had resigned! For the next year, finances were secure. In twelve months, I fully expected to have something on the go.
Man, were we so thankful that the Lord provided so abundantly. At the beginning of June, only a month away from our baby arriving, we hadn’t known how we would cover our costs. By the end of June, we had an impressive figure in our bank account and enough money over and above that for day-to-day living. I worked out that we would manage until February just fine using my provident fund.
We didn’t expect the Lord to answer our prayers with such an incredible amount and with no work on our part. Sure, we had to be careful. And yes, there were times when the amount looked so spectacular that we thought it would be just fine to splash out.
In the January of the following year, I decided to start up a small home industry project and make gluten free goodies. I thought I’d hit the jackpot when small shops, with very little effort on my part, agreed to stock my goods. God had come through yet again! I made sure I’d set this up before money ran out. And although I seriously disliked the rigmarole of keeping everything separate and free of cross-contamination, I had an extra income.
But as the last of the money dwindled and the reality of tedious baking hours between chasing a crawling tot around sobered me up, I realised that we would not make ends meet on a meagre few hundred rand extra each month. And I couldn’t increase my baking hours. Reality began to set in again.
We began to pray more earnestly.
As God often does, He came through at the eleventh hour. Tax season, baby! We got a tax rebate. It would tide us over for another few months. Just when that was about to run out, it was December again and my husband got his bonus. Again, the Lord had come through.
There were often times when our faith wobbled and wavered. It was scary. But we always had enough. There were some weeks when I wondered how we would buy milk the next week. But God came through, time and time again!
January 2019 saw me heavily pregnant again and finances low. We couldn’t afford one child never mind two but Baby 2 was about to make an appearance. Praise God February would bring in another tax rebate and help us over the next few months. My gluten free goodies were no longer a possibility now with two “tinies” and only one me. It was way too time consuming.
I silently hoped that someone would throw us a second baby shower and ease the pocket of nappy expenditure. A few weeks before, God heard my silent wish and my husband’s work spoilt us. And just when I had made peace with the fact that my friends probably didn’t plan on one, I was surprised with one less than 24 hours before the birth. (Many were none the wiser about the scheduled caesar date.) I could breathe a little easier knowing we had a decent stock of the essentials and wouldn’t need to find money to diaper our baby.
I started a blog, hoping to soon earn money from it. But, it proved harder than I thought; in fact, just about impossible.But yet again, as He had done before, God prompted people to gift us with the odd bag of groceries or an envelope.
But yet again, money vanished. So far, we had managed to steer clear of our savings account. Based on our current track record, I assumed God would continue to protect our savings. But, here we were and I assumed wrong. We began to dip into savings. And soon, savings were looking sad. And suddenly panic that had consumed me many years ago began to rear its ugly head. I had no idea how we were going to manage. Reserves depleted and way past Plan C, we had no idea how we were going to keep on. It was a scary place to be.
There have been several moments in my life when I’ve thought we couldn’t trust God any more than we were with our finances. There have been many times when I’ve felt a deep-rooted fear. Fear in the face of uncertainty. Fear because there was no assurance of an income. Fear driving decisions we made instead of trusting God. There have been other times when I’ve felt complete peace, complete trust and have been completely at rest. But then, we are always pushed a touch further.
When is it really trust? Are we really trusting God if we have a back-up plan in case He doesn’t come through? I think you know the answer as well as I do. God had brought us to a place where we had nowhere else to turn but to Him. There were no more back up plans, no more secure pockets of cash. We now had two choices – trust Him and believe that He would provide or try and make a plan for ourselves. My husband often prayed that I would trust God more. Now I was having to put my faith into practice – I had nothing left and control was now beyond me. God had brought me to the end of myself and had made me solely reliant on Him. The real test now lay before us.
The lyrics of Oh my Soul sang softly in my head,
Oh, my soul
Oh, how you worry
Oh, how you’re weary, from fearing you lost control
This was the one thing, you didn’t see coming
And no one would blame you, though
If you cried in private
If you tried to hide it away, so no one knows
No one will see, if you stop believingIt was true. I didn’t see God bringing us to this. But maybe, just maybe I was exactly in the place He wanted me.
Oh, my soul
You are not alone
There’s a place where fear has to face the God you know
One more day, He will make a way
Let Him show you how, you can lay this down
‘Cause you’re not aloneAll He wanted me to do was to put one foot in front of the other. He was holding out His hand to me (I always think of Aladdin when I hear this) and asking me,
Do you trust me?
Lyrics of What if I Gave Everything ring true…
So why am I still standing here?
Why am I still holding back from You?
You’ve given me a faith that can move a mountain
But I’m still playing in the sand
Building little kingdoms that’ll never stand
I hear You call me out into deeper waters
But I settle on the shallow endI’m so tired of standing here
What if I gave everything to You?And when I reluctantly put my hand in His and I couldn’t see through the fog of impossibility, He was walking the uncertain road ahead of me and willing me to put one foot in front of the other on the sure ground He had already walked on – He was busy making my path straight. I might hear scary things along the way – not the sound of wolves howling in the valley of the shadow of death but the subtle doubting questions of distrusting sceptics. I may wander off the path thinking I know better from time to time. But when I slip, He will be holding me. When I doubt, I will feel the reassurance of His presence one step ahead of me as He guides me with His right hand.
All I need to do is put my hand in His, have faith and not fear and just…trust!
AuthorThis guest post is part of my Faith over Fear series. The author, Kate Botha, blogs over at Wearing All My Hats where she chats about the crazy, messiness of life and how to find balance. You can check her out on social media: Facebook, Instagram -
Faith over Fear: The law of attraction
For a long time I would send myself into a crazy anxiety attack, as I lay in bed at night thinking that every single sound I hear is out to get me and my family.
Did I hear someone at the door? What if a gang of tsotsi’s are breaking in, what happens to my kids?! Am I smelling smoke? What do I do if there’s a fire?! Did I switch off all the plugs in the kitchen? What would my family do if there’s an explosion?! Is the baby breathing? Did I just hear Jonah choke on something? Is someone at the window?
… and the beat goes on…Guys, I literally lay in bed for hours obsessing over the safety and well being of my family, feeling completely inadequate and helpless as I consider all the dangers of this world.
It was only after fervent prayer and repentance (because, hello, fear is the opposite of faith) that I soon realised that my fears were eating me up inside. Fear had me offering up my peace on a platter, and all I was left with was angst and incoherent thoughts. Fear had me one-up.
I then read a scripture in Job 3:25 that says: “For the thing which I greatly feared is come upon me, and that which I was afraid of is come unto me.”
It reminded me about the law of attraction. I mean, we all know the sayings “what you put into the universe will come back to you” etc, but here in the Bible, it basically confirms that the things Job feared were attracted to him.
I had to take a step back to reassess what I was fixing my thoughts on. I mean, if words have the power to create, then how much power lies in the stuff that we think? And if we believe that thinking good thoughts will yield good results… then what happens when my thoughts are fear-filled and negative?Now, I’m not saying that we should live in fear because we are afraid that our fears are going to come on us. (My goodness, mental asylum, anyone?) But, what the Bible was trying to teach us is that fixing your mind on what is good and noble and pure yields way better results than obsessing over what is bad and evil. Fear cannot be your comfort zone.
I literally had to take my thoughts captive and cancel fear and every negative emotion, with the realisation that it is NOT my portion and it was NOT going to be my go-to response anymore!
I mean, I’m not saying that we musn’t be wise and aware and alert. BUT allowing fear to control the way I feel, and letting it manipulate me in such a way that I can’t even sleep at night, is the opposite of living in faith.These days I say a prayer whenever I feel the all too familiar blanket of fear grip me. I pray that God will protect my family and I. I plea the blood of Jesus over all of us, and come against attacks, assaults and accidents. I pray for a hedge of protection around my children – their bodies AND their minds. I ask God for peace, wisdom and clarity to help me make the best decisions for us, according to His will. And I declare that God is bigger than all things.
Because, at the end of the day, the only surety I have is that He’s got my back. And that’s enough to make me sleep soundly at night.
The world is unprincipled. It’s dog-eat-dog out there! The world doesn’t fight fair. But we don’t live or fight our battles that way—never have and never will. The tools of our trade aren’t for marketing or manipulation, but they are for demolishing that entire massively corrupt culture. We use our powerful God-tools for smashing warped philosophies, tearing down barriers erected against the truth of God, fitting every loose thought and emotion and impulse into the structure of life shaped by Christ. Our tools are ready at hand for clearing the ground of every obstruction and building lives of obedience into maturity. 2 Cor 10:3-6 (Msg)
-
An ode to the end of maternity leave (it’s also a celebration)
The other day, my friend Ella remarked that it’s especially hard to blog when you’re going through stuff. Because, quite simply, you’re not always lus to air out your issues on your social platforms, man. I mean, I’m totally not one of those aunties, in the hood, who skels in the street.
But, also, some of us aren’t that good at faking the happy. Like, if I’m upset, I’d rather talk about it. In a super descriptive blog post. Like a normal person. (hahaha)
This is a huge problem when you’re all about promoting “being the light” and all that jazz. I mean, it’s hard to be positive/happy/not a turd when you’re saying exactly how you feel and how you feel is miserable.
Anyways, I found myself in this very spot during my maternity leave. Man, friends, it wasn’t so lekker. My body was broken (like, in literal pain every single day).
Needless to say, I didn’t feel like being the light. I was in a bad head space. And then, to add insult to injury, someone’s voodoo ensured that my maternity leave falls over the school holidays. So I basically spent what was meant to be a relaxing holiday, uhh, not relaxing and alone at home with 3 small children (and pain, don’t forget the pain) for 6 long weeks. It was the opposite of fun.
Friends, I know I don’t need to tell you that I love my kids. I love the buggers… yep, they are beautiful and a blessing and the fruit of my loins and all of that… but I was exhausted and mizzy.
I tried to chat about it on the blog a couple of times but it felt like I was complaining (I was though). And I didn’t want to be that blogger, you know?
But, now that I’m on the other side of the storm, I can safely and securely say that: GUYS, MATERNITY LEAVE WITH KIDS EN TOW IS ROUGH! Do not try this at home! I repeat, do not try this!
I found myself resenting the very concept of motherhood and giving birth and maternity leave and husbands who get to go to work. When people would mention how lucky I was to be home with my kids, I wanted to, you know, roundhouse kick them in the face. (But ever so gently, so that I don’t come across as too aggressive.)I found myself waking up at 6am each morning and wishing that everyone else could remain asleep until, like, 6pm that evening. I didn’t want to have to deal with anyone’s anything for another second. The burden and sacrifice of parenthood kinda hit me in the nuts. (If I had nuts.)
Returning to work has been the biggest blessing, you guys. For starters, I actually enjoy seeing my kids now because I had the chance to miss them while I sit alone at my desk, sipping on hot coffee and thinking thoughts that don’t involve which boob needs to be emptied next. And also, I kinda am excited to wake up at 6am because my day has purpose now.
With that said, your day could totally have purpose if you’re a stay at home mom. But maybe I wasn’t designed for that purpose. You know? And I’m okay with that.
Anyways, I guess I came here to say a bunch of random, cliche-sounding ish that you would hear in an episode of Dr Phil and Oprah. Random, cliche-sounding TRUTHS, I’ve learnt. Stuff like:
This too shall pass (just like gas, and your youth, nothing stays forever)
Joy comes in the morning (in my case, it was the morning when my maternity leave ended)
Kids grow up so fast (but painfully slow, when you’re at home with them every single day)
Love on your family as much as possible (even when they annoy you)
Look both ways before you cross the road (seemed fitting, but also, it’s a metaphor… ooh deeeep…)
If you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all (words have power, yo)
Live your truth (because it’s super tiring putting on a mask and we’re already drained as it is folks)
When all else fails, pray.
-
It’s 2020 and I still don’t have visible abs
So it’s the start of a new year and the end of my maternity leave and I’m outchere SO ready for this new season! I love this place!
“And what place is that, my dear?” I hear you ask. (Okay, I didn’t really hear you ask, that was just me talking to myself).
Well, this “place” I am referring to is the mental head space one finds oneself in, at the start of a new year. You know what I’m talking about… the feeling of being absolutely ready (read: desperate) for positive change. It is very closely followed by the feeling that things are going to be kwaai overnight.
Lies, I tell you.
So as much as I am ready for new things… better things… I am trying to remind myself that my Baywatch beach babe abdominal muscles probably won’t surface by next week. The job of my dreams isn’t going to chase me down, like, tomorrow. I won’t suddenly wake up all financially stable. My marriage won’t all of a sudden be #relationshipgoals.
These are things that I need to work hard for. You know, the metaphorical “pedal to the metal” and what not.
Fortunately for me (but maybe not for my husband… another story, another day) I thrive on lists, spreadsheets and “making a plan”. So I’ve decided to break down my 2020 goals into bite sized chunks.
I find that monthly goals are a lot more achievable anyways. A wise man (who now again?) once said that Rome wasn’t built in a day. Well, I concur.
I am looking forward to posting a bunch of quality blog posts this year. I’d like to chat about stuff that we, as mothers, deal with on a daily basis. I mean, more than just showing you guys which products to throw your money at. It has always been my heart to tackle REAL issues. And even though I don’t have all the answers (no, seriously, I don’t) it feels good to air my own feelings out on this here blog, while giving a voice to someone who may be going through the same things or who may have the same questions. So that’s my blog mission for 2020.
Anyways, that’s enough chit chat from me… what’s happening on your side? I’m okay. Well, besides for giving myself this pep talk and trying not to eat carbs.
Hope 2020 has been good to you thus far!
-
Faith over Fear: Trusting God for sight
Guest post – From as far back as I can remember, I have struggled with my vision. I started wearing spectacles at the age of six and I remember the very first day I proudly brought my new apple-shaped glasses home. I stepped out of the car with a ginormous leap onto the pavement and a smile stretched from ear to ear because I could actually see where my foot was landing, for the very first time!
You see, my father had glaucoma – a terrible eye disease which often leads to blindness. As an offspring, not only was I extremely nearsighted with an astigmatism in both eyes, but the pressure in my eyes was abnormally high, making me a high-risk candidate for developing glaucoma myself.
As a Christian from a very young age, I had always prayed to God about my eyes but also always carried around an undesirable guilt that there were far worse problems in the world than a young girl with bad eyesight. I realized, albeit sheepishly, that I was okay with or without spectacles – and I made the decision that my vision would never hamper me from fulfilling my purpose in life.
However, one defining moment seemed to challenge my self-doubt. As an adult, I remember sitting in my home church in Cape Town one morning when our former pastor – who has since passed on – prepared a special sermon on healing. There were four specific conditions that he felt the Lord wanted him to speak about and pray over that morning. I wasn’t sure where the sermon was going or what our dear pastor was going to pray about that day, but I remember a nervous feeling brewing in my belly from the very moment he opened his mouth, and before he even spoke the words ‘glaucoma’ I found myself standing up and weeping before the entire congregation.
I’m not entirely sure what happened in the physical realm that day, but I most certainly felt something lift off me in the spiritual. My follow up with my ophthalmologist confirmed that, after 25 years, my eyes were finally beginning to stabilize and that my eye pressure seemed stable and contained – albeit still higher than the average – but within a safe, normal range.
Four years later, in March 2019, I ventured back to my ophthalmologist for what I thought would be a normal visit for a new spectacle prescription and to check that things were still as good as they appeared previously. Not only had my eyes pretty much stabilized and remained unchanged in the last four years, but for the first time in my life, I was eligible for eye surgery to correct both my nearsightedness and astigmatism.
I carefully listened to the doctor’s every word, completely shocked and humbled by this positive news. In my 29 years of wearing both spectacles and contact lenses, I had never been a good candidate for surgery. The downside of this news was that the surgery would cost R21500 which was not covered by medical aid. Money I simply did not have. A little deflated but ever hopeful, I decided to take the quotation home and pinned it up on the fridge so I could look at it each day and be reminded of how far I had already come.
Over the months that followed, life seemed to go on as normal. As a wife, a mom of two and a freelance writer from home, life has a way of moving forward, whether you’re ready for it or not. However, one morning, my dear husband suddenly had the inclination that I should go back to my doctor and find out about starting the process towards surgery and how we could both pay it off and possibly set a date for the future. I checked my accounts and together we could muster up about half of the costs as a deposit and a future date would give us time to plan and save.Previously it had taken me almost six weeks to simply get an appointment with my ophthalmologist so at the very least, I could now get an appointment and we could figure things out as they went along.
The next morning, I called the surgery to try and book an appointment in advance and get the ball rolling. To my surprise, the kind receptionist informed me that they had had a cancellation for the next morning and that I could come in immediately to discuss my options. Oh dear… suddenly things were moving at a rapid pace.
I went through all the vision tests for laser and before I knew it, I found myself booking a date that was just four weeks away. That meant that we needed over R10000 in just under a month. Gulp.
I climbed behind the steering wheel of my car as I left the surgery that morning and I immediately turned the radio off so I could have a heart to heart with God. This was my quiet time with Him, and I began to wrestle with God in the car. I told Him that I wanted this surgery; that I had booked a date and that there was no going back now. (Cheeky I know). I told Him that He needed to come through because well, how was I supposed to pay for it all.
I called my husband and we thought for a moment about how we would possibly move around funds but that things would be very tight, if not impossible. I went home and sent out a message to my prayer group to explain the situation and to ask for prayer and guidance. I remember telling them that on the inside I was laughing because I was a little broke, but I knew that God had come through for me many times before.
That evening we sat together at the kitchen table and tried to process the day’s events. At this point, my husband had full confidence that God was leading us to have this surgery and that He would take care of it. Minutes later my phone buzzed. It was a potential client calling about a quotation I had sent through a month previously. He wanted to let me know that they were accepting my quote for a year of service, and if possible, if they could pay me in advance for the year…
I put the phone down and burst out laughing. What had just happened? In one day, God had orchestrated a divine appointment that had otherwise taken weeks to secure, and then He provided every last cent and more to ensure that this surgery was going to happen and that my family would be taken care of.
A few days prior to my surgery, a wise gentleman prayed for me at church and told me that He felt that God was aligning my physical sight to that which He had already begun to unveil in my spiritual sight. I knew then that my decision to wrestle with God was me choosing faith over fear and trusting that He would come through for me.
On 2 October 2019 I walked into the Cape Eye Clinic and I walked out without my spectacles. For the first time in my life, I can now sit and type on my computer with no corrective lenses. I can drive without spectacles. I can read without spectacles. I can do life without feeling like I have been hiding behind glass for most of my existence. The goodness of God leaves me speechless and ever thankful.
My eyes are currently in the process of healing and it may take up to 6 months before they stabilise, but I am trusting that God will continue to do what He said He would. My faith over fear journey is therefore far from over, but each day I’m reminded of where I come from and I look ahead to where He is leading me.
If you’re feeling as though you are unworthy of the fullness of God and His blessings, I am here to tell you that God can and will do infinitely more than you or I could ever hope or imagine.
Now more than ever, the Scripture in Proverbs rings true for me which says, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight,” (3:5-6).
What are you trusting Him for today?
Author
This guest post is part of my Faith over Fear series. The author, Tamsyn Cornelius, owns TC Editorial Services where she touches on topics of faith. You can check her out on social media: Facebook, Instagram and Linked In -
Faith over Fear: how a cup of hot water lead to a ‘Cup of Faith’
Guest post – A lot of people know that in June, my youngest son burnt around 80% of his body with hot water. I haven’t really written about the experience in full, because it’s still one of the most traumatic things I have lived through.
It was just 2 days after Eli’s second birthday, and we were celebrating Father’s Day. The following day was a public holiday and the kids were on school holidays, so we figured we’d order Mr.D and have a movie night. After placing our orders, we realized we didn’t have ice-cream and chocolate sauce, so made a quick trip to the Spar around the corner. I can’t begin to explain just how normal our day and evening were. I remember walking down the aisle, picking out the chocolate sauce and looking at my kids running ahead of me with such gratitude. My soul was full – in that moment, everything was just as it should be. We were healthy, life was working out, I had just started my new job, my kids were thriving. For the first time in what felt like forever, life was good and we were emerging from what was a very tough season.
We got home from Spar and decided to do a quick tidy up while we waited for our pizzas to arrive. I was in our bedroom, picking up tiny socks from the bottom of my bed, Axl was carrying toys through to his room, Eli was shouting for Tea (quite typical of him.) and Darren, my husband, was taking dishes to the kitchen. I was just about done in the room, but spotted another rogue sock in the bathroom. I told Eli that I was coming through to the lounge, I just needed to put the socks in the washing basket. I had just bent down when I heard something fall in the kitchen – I listened out for any sound, expecting D to say, “I am okay!” – and then I heard the unfamiliar scream of my child. It’s the kind of scream I can’t describe, it shook me to my core. I dropped everything and before I got through my bedroom door, D started shouting, “HOT WATER! HOT WATER!”
I wasn’t aware that D was trying to help out, by softening the chocolate sauce for our ice-cream we had planned to eat later. He had filled a plastic bowl full of hot water, to allow for the chocolate sauce to soften, and I imagine Eli was on his way to the kitchen to ask for tea, when he saw the chocolate sauce in the bowl, so pulled it down on himself. The bowl had hit him on the head, and the hot water had spilled all over his body.
By the time I got to the kitchen, Darren had gotten Eli’s clothes off. I grabbed him and ran through to my bathroom. Darren ran to the other bathroom and tried running a bath, but I was already in the shower – my clothes all on, standing in a cold shower. I started assessing the damage… his skin was coming off on my hands. I screamed, “we’re going to hospital! His skin is coming off. He is bleeding. We need to go!” At first, Darren didn’t think it was that bad, but as soon as he saw the amount of skin coming off his body, he just grabbed everything, and got us into the car. He was on the phone with his mom, asking her to meet us at the Emergency Doctor, I grabbed my wallet, phone… I had no shoes, no bra… My clothes were still wet from the shower. I ran back and remembered to grab my silk gown, to cover Eli. In my mind, I needed to stop touching his skin, so it would stop coming off, so I wrapped him in my gown, grabbed a new nappy for him and ran to the car.
While this was all going on, I had a five-year old completely freaking out. Axl is sensitive to loud noises, and Eli was… well, as you can imagine… screaming.
I also vaguely remember Mr. D kept trying to call me, but I had dropped my phone on the floor of the car, and couldn’t get it without hurting Eli. We pulled out the driveaway, and started making our way to the emergency room. Axl was blocking his ears and freaking out, D was just focused on getting there, Eli was screaming and I wasn’t processing any of it. All I could think to do was pray. And man, did I pray. The louder he cried, the louder my prayers got. We were on Cape Road, when a Golf tried to slip through as the robot had just turned red, almost hitting into our car.
My world froze.
This is how we die. It was slow-motion. The Golf was going to hit into my door.
I shouted, “Oh God, PLEASE! Keep my family safe!!!” And in the very last second, D gained control of the car and swerved, managing to miss the Golf, and continue on our way.
I don’t remember the rest of the drive to the Emergency Doctor. I know I prayed. A LOT. And that when we pulled into the driveway, people ran out the way, I opened the door of the car and just ran. I am pretty sure the car was still moving and I know I left the door open. I didn’t care. I needed someone to help my son.
A gentleman held the door open, the nurses jumped up and ushered me into a room. I was in a daze. They asked me questions. I knodded and shook my head in response.
“Hot water. It was hot water.”
…
“I can smell his burning skin. Is he going to be okay? What do I do?”
…
The nurse was so sympathetic. She spoke softly and calmly, assuring me that he would be okay. Darren and Axl were still not in the room with me. The nurse kept trying to assess the burns, but Eli would just scream louder. They gave him some pain meds, but obviously, he kept refusing them. They got him Burnshield, which I covered my already wet shirt in, so he could lay against me. The doctor came in and confirmed that we needed to go to hospital but they’d make all the arrangements.
We’re not on medical aid.
I had been unemployed for just short of a year. I had just landed a job and was trying to climb out of crippling debt. There was no savings, no cushion, no emergency money, no medical aid.
But I refused to worry. My son needed me.
I called Darren from reception to bring my phone and turned on the Lumineers album. I hushed Eli, danced with him and eventually… the crying stopped. I turned off the light, and swayed in the dark. I still didn’t have it in me to cry, to freak out, to vomit from the worry. I just swayed to the song, and prayed.
Meanwhile, a stranger in the waiting room had taken in Axl. He was holding him and wrapped him up in his jacket. He comforted him and made him feel safe, until his granny came. By the time my mother-in-law arrived, Mercantile hospital had said in order for them to admit us, we’d need R24,000 up front. TWENTY-FOUR THOUSAND RAND – WHO HAS THAT? I could hear everyone talking in reception, the nurse desperately trying to call other hospitals, the doctor trying to reassure my husband, Axl asking if Eli is going to die or if his skin will ever grow back.
Eli was asleep, the nurse and doctor had managed to strap on BurnShield by covering his body in bandages to hold the shields in place. I finally managed to message my parents, and asked them to start a prayer chain. My battery was about to die and I wasn’t able to give much information, because I still didn’t know what was happening. I needed to save the little battery I had to keep playing the music for Eli – it was the only thing that calmed him. Darren walked in. His head fell. “We need R24,000.” Before he could finish his sentence, he was called away. He came back… “A man in the waiting room has offered to pay the R24,000 upfront for us.”A man – a total stranger – offered to pay my son’s hospital bills upfront. He didn’t just offer. He did it. He EFTed the money right there, the nurses faxed proof of payment and we were ushered back into our car to go to Mercantile. I ran into the hospital, was shown to a private room where they gave Eli stronger meds. The nurses said he’d likely need to be sedated to have his wounds cleaned the following day, and that the bulge on his head from the bowl, would need to be scanned to make sure he didn’t crack his skull but that overall, he would be okay.
My dad arrived with a charger, my sister-in-law arrived with clothes and our family pastor who had just seen our family through the murder of my husband’s uncle, the cancer diagnosis of my father-in-law and the death of my mother-in-law’s mother arrived to pray with us. For the first time, it started sinking in. This was real. This was happening.
The days that followed were long and hard. We spent two days in hospital but were relieved that Eli didn’t need to be sedated, nor did he need to be scanned. The doctors confirmed he had superficial burns and although he was really sore, we could only really give him pain meds and change his dressings every few days. On our last day in hospital, we had to visit the wound sister for the first dressing change.
Having to watch a sister “rip off” bandages from my son’s burned skin, seeing him bleed, while crying “mamma” over and over again, is a memory I will never get over. The more he cried, the more I prayed. The only thing that was going to get me through this was God himself. It’s a memory etched deep within my mind, a memory that makes me cry anytime I give it a thought. The wound sister was cold, heartless, horrible and cruel. She spat out the words, “This is why we sedate them!” As if it was our choice not to – it wasn’t, the doctor said not to. We were only following the doctor’s orders, but were made to feel like we failed, as if the guilt of our child being burnt wasn’t enough.The care we received wasn’t the best, in general. We only saw a doctor once, they didn’t give Eli meds as often as they were meant to, and the wound sister was one of the worst professionals I had ever encountered. But we were set to leave, well, first we had to speak to a psychologist at the hospital, before they’d sign our release papers. The psychologist spoke to both my husband and I – she assured us that we did everything right. That things happen so fast, another sister chimed in how her own son had suffered 2nd degree oil burns. They pleaded with us not to blame ourselves, to have peace of mind that he will be okay and that he won’t remember the trauma of this entire experience.
We got the sign off and headed home.
I had a friend who I met on Twitter reach out to ask if she can start a crowdfund, my new boss sent Eli a gift and told me to take as much time as I needed, my mother-in-law stayed with us for a week, to look after Axl, would take him out during the day, stock the fridge and did medicine runs. My dad popped in every day after work to make me coffee and see if I was ok. My grandparents came and dedicated both my children, while we sat around on the floor of my bedroom – it was so informal, but it was perfect. I messaged the stranger who paid our bills to thank him, and his response was, “God provides.”
In the days after, I didn’t feel right about going back to the wound sister at the hospital. She charged R6,000 for the first dressing and said the next 3 would be the same price – I’d rather go without food, to pay a better professional to take care of my son. I decided to call around and met a friendly sister at Schuinville pharmacy. The first time we went to her, she spent 2-hours trying to undo the mess that the previous wound sister had done. She had put cotton wool on his wounds, so the wounds had healed with the cotton wool stuck to it, which meant when they removed the bandages, everything just ripped open again. Two hours. It was pure agony. But these sisters were so patient and reassuring. They eventually got him wrapped up with the right stuff. A few days later, they came to our house to check his wounds – you wouldn’t believe the healing. It was incredible!
By the second week, Eli was walking around again. He was still sore, his movement limited but he was able to engage.
Slowly, things started going back to normal, first I would work from my bed, then as he started gaining mobility, I started working from my desk again. Eventually, 3-weeks later, we were able to take his bandages off for good. We still had months of work ahead of us, and he had a massive fear of water, his scars were bad, but he was alive and God said, “Trust me.”
And so I did and continue to.
Looking back, I know without a doubt in mind that my strength and courage came directly from God. That I acted with God’s knowledge. That God kept us safe in the car. That God put those two men in the waiting room; one who comforted and looked after my son when I couldn’t and the other who has a heart so big, he paid the bill of a complete stranger. I know that God is responsible for my son’s remarkable healing, that He connected me with the right wound sister when I needed, and opened the hearts of strangers who took the time to drop off creams for Eli’s scars. Gosh… God’s hand in my life during this period is just SO big, that I can go on to tell you that weeks after, we realized that Darren had left the bath running, when we made our dash to the ER but that the bath never overflowed because by some coincidence, our bath had a leak. Or, how I really didn’t want to spend such a large sum of money on a Paw Patrol Rubbel Teddy for Eli’s birthday, but Darren insisted and for some reason, that was the only thing that provided comfort to Eli while in the hospital. Small things like the fact that Darren happened to get petrol earlier that day, meant that we got to the hospital when we needed to. SO. MANY. THINGS. Happened, because of God.God is Good.. So… Soo.. Good.
I made a commitment that I would spend the rest of my life sharing that message and shortly after, launched Cup of Faith. Cup of Faith is a South African online network for Christian women. Our platform is designed to share, inspire and encourage fellow Christian women through podcasts, blog posts, community reading plans, product reviews and much more! Quite frankly, I have no clue what I am doing, try to start an online ministry, but God is on the move and continues to wow me, as He leads me on this exciting new path. While I am based in Port Elizabeth, I have contributors based throughout the country and beyond, with some based in North Africa, Canada, and England – I wanted to create a platform featuring women and their real-life stories but could literally count on my one hand how many women I personally knew, who would want to share their stories… Well… I trusted God, and now we’re a thriving community of women from all ages and walks of life. We have new content being posted almost daily that tackles all sorts of topics that vary from mental health, discovering faith, marriage, parenting, addiction, to posts with helpful Bible resources, weekly freebies and printables. We also have a podcast hosted by myself, an online book club, prayer request, and social media accounts that aim to encourage our followers with daily devotionals and updates from the rest of our network. You can find us at: https://cupoffaith.co.za/
AuthorThis guest post is part of my Faith over Fear series. The author, Megan Botha, is the owner of Cup of Faith – a Christian resource website. You can join the Cup of Faith community, check out their latest posts and get updates about newest podcast over on Facebook, Instagram and Buzzsprout. -
Faith over Fear: A tapered journey
Guest post – There are moments in our lives that will either define us or break us. Lately I have been wondering which moment I’m living in. This is a narrow space and on either side of me the squeezing seems to be reaching a breaking point. The demands of life cry out to me from the moment my eyes open. I am a mom. A wife. A principal. A special needs educator. I am all things but there doesn’t seem to be space for me in my life.
Its 5am. My alarm blares loudly and it bounces around inside my head. Life rushes in and immediately those familiar anxious feelings encase my chest. It’s a mad dash to get two kids out the house and make the school run to two different schools and then I’m rushing into difficult days with difficult cases and managing issues and life seems to rush by me while I’m standing still. Life seems to move so quickly that the days blend into each other and when I look again my children are a year older.
We have entered into a moment in our lives where we have our terrible toddler years coinciding with preteen hyper emotionalism. Our days are filled with 11 year old sized tantrums and bite sized ones. My life seems to be reaching within me and pulling out all the patience, endurance and persistence within me. Today I refereed a fight over dog poop…
My toddler, all grown up, announces to the empty lounge “Daisy made a poop, I clean it” and off he goes to pull off the tiniest piece of toilet paper he can get all the while my preteen has heard him and has gone to scoop it up. Toddler arrived back in the lounge to find the poop is missing. He starts crying and I call out around my toothbrush filled mouth “what’s going on” and preteen starts crying hysterically because no one appreciates her and no one cares about her or listens to her. I am now rushing out the door with two crying children.
Parenthood has got me all squeezed out this year. I, like so many others moms, have found myself really soul-challenged by parenting. I worry if I love them enough? Do I tell them enough? Do I discipline them enough? Do I discipline them correctly? Do I give them a voice? Am I teaching them to be strong while still preserving their gentleness? All the while I am on a tapered journey. There are days when I loose faith in what God is doing in our lives. “God, why wont my son sleep?”. “God, why does it feel like I’m losing my daughter?”.
I have wrestled with debilitating fear as I drive away from my children’s schools. The question mark always hangs in the air. Will I see them again? I try not to catch it instead I let it slip into the faith I carry in my heart. This is a tapered journey, don’t you see?
There hasn’t been some bright light or a booming voice from heaven giving me all the miraculous answers I need for this moment of parenthood that I am in , however, God whispers gently to my tired soul. . . “The narrow gate and the difficult way leads to eternal life—so few even find it!” – Matthew 7:14.
This moment of life is truly a defining one, it is a narrow gate and if I choose to partner with faith then on the other side is peace, patience, kindness, steadfastness and an unwavering knowledge that God’s got this.
When I wrestle with fear over my children and I choose to submit that to the faith that God will grant me the wisdom I need. He will help me to navigate this transitional season in both my children’s lives. Then I am allowing Him to move in our lives.
I allow Him to walk me along the tapered journey and the destination is fullness, wholeness and peace. I am learning to trust Him with my concerns and He is teaching me that He is in the details. He allows me a moment to lean into His goodness when I watch my children snuggled up together on the couch. Our preteen lovingly wraps her arms around her little brother and he is content. Then I know we will pass through the narrow gate of being pressed on all sides to enter into the rest that faith provides.
I have to admit even Daisy’s poop was a defining moment…
AuthorThis guest post is part of my Faith over Fear series. The author, Sherayne George, blogs over at Pebble Crowns, where she chats about parenting (as a “soft crunchy mom”) and life lessons. You can follow her on Facebook. -
Faith over Fear: Choosing faith
Guest post – There has been so much chaos in South Africa with gender based violence being on a constant rise in our country.
Today I want to share how I have been using my faith to get through the current chaos in the country concerning Gender based violence happening the first thing that comes to mind is of corse fear because the evidence is their but fear is Satan’s first mechanism here is proof :
“For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.-2 Timothy 1:7”
It is clear from the scripture above that fear is NOT from GOD so therefore us living with constant fear is not in line with Gods word yes all the gender based violence is scary but I have been choosing not to walk or live in fear it is hard and it doesn’t make sense but I don’t make sense I make faith!!
So how do I choose faith over fear?
- Remember your identity
We need to remember who we are in Christ and to constantly remind the devil that we know who we are because he will always try to come back to us to test and see of if we really believe the below scripture clarifies who we are and our position in Christ.
“If ye then be risen with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ sitteth on the right hand of God.- Colossians 3:1-4 “
- Prayer
Prayer is communication that you have with your God and in times of troubles like we are in now it is important that we as believers pray for the country because prayer and complaining takes the same energy so instead of complaining and turn it into prayer.
“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” – Philippians 4:6-7
- Speak
Yes it sounds simple but speaking life and declaring faith over all these situations happening currently is so important because the bible says you shall have what you say and constantly declaring faith will surely help you surpass your fears.
“The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life—of whom shall I be afraid?”- Psalm 27:1
So finally yes we’ve seen the chaos with gender based violence in our country and it is terrible but as believers we must do just that we MUST keep believing God for our country and for the men and women of our country because nothing will change unless we change it by faith.
This life is spiritual and whatever happens in the physical takes place in the spiritual realm first so let’s take charge of our country in the spirit and choose faith over fear.
AuthorThis guest post is part of my Faith over Fear series. The author, Nadine Mokoena, blogs over at The Mom Who Prays, where she touches on motherhood, marriage and faith. You can follow her on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter. -
Faith over Fear: A lifetime of yes’s
Guest post – For as long as I can remember, I have been a creature of habit. Trying not to upset my own apple cart. I have never been very spontaneous and I never did anything that was not planned. I am a serious organizer. I like a lot of detail and I make lists for everything. I plan ahead and like when things are perfect. I lived a comfortable organized life… that is, until I got saved…
My story is nothing out of the ordinary. God saved me, from a mundane life of comfort. I was prodding around life, trying to please everyone except The One who created me.
A couple of years after I got saved, the Lord prompted me to live a Year-of-Yes. Saying yes to everything Kingdom related. To step down, and allow God to step up in my life.
My Year-of-Yes, turned into a lifetime of yes’s for Jesus and I have not looked back. Some decisions still terrify me, but I now want to and will forever choose God above it all. My yes’s looked like ministry trips, sharing my testimony when and where ever I could, letting God ‘interrupt’ my day to do His work. And as easy as it sounds, it came with it’s challenges, but the more I said yes, the easier it became. My biggest fear, was man. To be rejected, but God released me from that with every yes I spoke.
Five months ago, we dropped our safety net and said the biggest yes we had ever said. To a calling on our lives that we never expected, but yearned for so dearly. We left everything we knew behind and embarked on a Godventure. Supporting a church plant on the other side of South Africa. We had no idea what to expect, but chose to remain steadfast in God and His plans for us, although we were fearful of the outcome of this gutsy move.
We chose Faith over Fear.
You see, the world is a scary place, but I am not from this world, therefor I refuse to live in fear of it. We are called to bring Heaven to earth. If the King lives in me, I will bring the Kingdom to earth, and fear has no place.
Greater is He that is in me, than he that is in the world.
Until next time, be blessed mommies!
AuthorThis guest post is part of my Faith over Fear series. The author, Timann Esterhuizen, blogs over at Ele-feather, where she touches on the every day life of a mommy trying to live life 100% dedicated to the Lord. You can follow her on Instagram and Facebook.
