dancingthroughchaos

‘I believe that every person has uniqueness – something that nobody else has.’ Michael Schenker – German guitarist

Back in the damp and chilly UK, I am just reflecting on the past several weeks I’ve spent in South Africa.

It was not one big holiday (more’s the pity): walls were stared at; lists clamoured for attention; assignments were completed; words were typed; magazine articles written, rewritten, edited and submitted.  Brains were stormed and planning planned.  You get the idea.

However, it was a treat to have my long-term friend come and visit for the final ten days or so, which covered two weekends and was the perfect excuse to close the laptop and seek more indulgent and replenishing past times.

We had a ball.  An eye-watering itinerary meant that we managed to cram in an enormous amount on this, her first visit to Africa.  I have no doubt she’ll be back, and probably with her husband who will love it too.  As they say, Africa gets into your blood.  It is simultaneously dazzling, baffling, amazing and frustrating.

While I’ve been away, the UK has got through three Prime Ministers, one monarch and a financial plan that nearly blew up the whole world; or so it seems.  Not our finest hour by any means.  For a while there, it seemed that the chaos of South Africa with it’s corruption, missing millions, potholes, spiralling unemployment, gangs, failing education and imminent political mayhem (the ANC will choose their electoral candidate next month and Cyril Ramaphosa is struggling; it’s time for a robust alternative), didn’t look quite so bad.  I spoke to more than one person who was aghast at what’s been going on this side of the equator.  A gentleman from the notorious Cape Flats shook his head in disbelief.  He was struggling to understand what has been happening between Russia and Ukraine (aren’t we all), but hadn’t caught up with Liz Truss’s exit.  His eyes were wide in bafflement as he concluded that perhaps things weren’t as bad in ZA as he’d thought.  I declined to comment.

While those with considerably more power than most of us will ever wield, thrash out their arguments and posture in self-righteousness at the latest COP summit in Sharm El-Sheikh, it’s easy to feel small and insignificant.  We’re one of the crowd; the amorphous electorate who feel we’ve been taken for a bumpy ride during which our voice has gone unheard and our concerns pushed aside and trampled.

It’s easy to allow exasperation or even despair to make themselves comfortable in our company during such moments.  I realised how much I’d resigned myself to bantering with these feelings when I took my friend to a favourite treasure shop in the pretty seaside town of Kalk Bay.  Some call it a junk shop, others an emporium of collectables; either way it’s a great place to browse items from yesteryear in varying states of decrepitude.

I had searched through a box of flags, a pile of old comics and a large tin of beer mats before I noticed a small, leather case nestled amongst an array of coronation mugs and military badges.  It reminded me of one my father used to have for his toiletries and as the fourth anniversary of his departure was looming, I felt a particular draw to it.

On closer inspection I discovered it bore the twin initials J.H. I felt as though someone had turned a spotlight on me amongst the poorly-lit items.  My birth certificate declares that I was awarded the names Jennifer Helen on my arrival into the world fifty-something years ago.  To find both initials marked on anything was unlikely, and this felt like a special present.

Tenderly, I picked it up and found a leather strap and buckle in good working order, fastening the whole.  Opening it, I discovered it is lined with a stiffening material that has served it well for however many years it’s been around.  Clasping it closely, I triumphantly took it to the cashier where I paid a bargain price for a very individual piece of kit.

What will I use it for?  I have no idea, but it was the personalised initials recessed in the leather that made leaving it there, unthinkable.

One of the worst scenarios for me is the feeling, if not the reality, of being lost.  Separated from the people I know or the places I recognise.  I don’t know why this is the case, but I do know that being found after such an experience, is one of the most exhilarating emotions there is.  In the moment that I spied this little treasure in an out-of-the-way junk shop, I felt found, known and loved.

Perhaps that’s a little dramatic, or whimsical for you; but it’s true.

The Old Testament prophet Isaiah recorded that God knew ancient Israel by name.  Not only that but in chapter 49:16, he insists that God has ‘engraved you on the palms of my hands’.  That sounds both painful and permanent; but, more importantly, it’s personal.

God is not watching us from a distance, as Bette Midler sang in her famous song [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lN4AcFzxtdE].  We do not need to be at arm’s length from Him.  Not just my initials, but my name is written, tattoos, etched, embossed, or otherwise carried in His eternal hands.  I am not lost at all.  That’s truly remarkable.