‘We could never learn to be brave and patient, if there were only joy in the world’ – Helen Keller
Just a couple of weeks go, I had the privilege of visiting a friend in a Cape Town hospital after the safe arrival of her third child.
It was fascinating to compare a similar visit to a British NHS hospital and this one, where health care is paid for via a monthly insurance plan. There were two ladies per room with a pull-around curtain, but actually less space than I ever had in the maternity unit at the Royal Hampshire County Hospital in Winchester.
The jubilant welcome of so many babies, by celebrating families was much the same, though probably more exuberant amongst the mix of African cultures that gathered in the visitors waiting room. The staff were strict about only allowing two visitors per bed at any one time, so in the meantime, phones were passed around as pictures were shared amongst relatives.
Amidst the cacophony of ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s, I noticed a glass peep-through at one end of the room. Above it were the words: The Window of Joy. Being a curious sort of person, I went to investigate. Also taking in the scene beyond the glass was an Indian lady of similar age to myself.
‘What can you see?’ I asked her. She pointed to a gowned gentleman who I had taken to be a doctor, leaning into a perspex basinet.
‘That’s my son,’ she said, proudly. ‘That is my new grandchild. My daughter is still in surgery.’
Caesarean sections are pretty standard here, so the fact that the new mother wasn’t yet out of theatre was not particularly unusual.
I touched her arm and whispered my congratulations to her on her new-found grannyhood.
‘Are you Grandma or Ouma?’ I asked.
‘Ouma,’ she replied with happy tears streaming down her face. ‘God is so good. It’s a miracle!’ she declared.
I had to agree. The miracle of life is consistently breath-taking. Every time you greet a new born you can’t help but wonder at the awesome nature of such a complex organism which has been knitted together over nine months in the dark, cramped confines of a womb. The created uniqueness of each individual is a staggering testament to a designer and a process so much more profound than our finite minds can handle.
I left that new Ouma to her thoughts and her gratitude, and then I got to my own contemplation.
What a great idea, I thought, to have installed that Window of Joy so that family can catch a glimpse of a child’s new arrival and share the wonder together (while not sharing their germs).
Beyond the hospital walls, South Africa is experiencing power outages of up to six hours at a time, which affects everything from the time it takes to commute to work (if you’re lucky enough to have any), to charging your devices, cooking, laundry and domestic tasks as well as niche requirements, like university biological research which needs fridges and freezers to be maintained at constant temperatures to give reliable data. President Cyril Ramaphosa announced a State of Emergency after the State of the Nation Address in February. The ANC is collapsing, while frantically clawing at potential coalition possibilities as the 2024 elections draw closer. A Window of Joy would be welcome.
I return to Europe next week, where strikes, rumours of war, corruption and mishandling of national finances, all jostle for position on my news feed. For some, the Coronation offered a brief Window of Joy in the relentless parade of heart-breaking headlines. Others might find such a metaphorical window offered over the Eurovision weekend.
My physical window today looks out on a rain-drenched street; it’s more gloomy than joyful right now. On both sides of the equator, we’re going to need something less fleeting and considerably more solid than a glimpse of glitz; tawdry or otherwise. We need a spiritual window that has neither shutters, blinds nor curtains; is not made from frosted glass or is distorted to give us a false view of what lies beyond it. I believe our hearts yearn for our Creator more than ever. We haven’t grown out of Him, or become so smart, sophisticated, or scientific that we can dispense with Him.
The birth of my friend’s baby reminded me of that again. Perhaps it’s time to smash through the window and meet Him properly.
[Images: esudroff from Pixabay; Jonathan Borba on Unsplash; Paul Henri Degrande from Pixabay]
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