Today’s essay was intended to tackle difference, otherness, and separation. I find myself thinking of little else here in South Africa, reading South African literature and history, walking down streets, passing restaurants full of whites and restaurants full of blacks and so very few restaurants with both. We went to the public pool this weekend. Though I’ve often been in the racial or religious minority, I’ve never before felt so dramatically different than the four hundred people with whom I shared my Sunday. I’m still working through the embarrassment of feeling (to my shock and surprise) afraid. What was I afraid of? There are so many things to say, more to be explored and wondered out loud. I’d like to say and wonder well. In a week with too many tasks on the schedule, I feel incapable of proper reflection. So, perhaps, in two weeks…
It’s not easy to find your way in a new place even when it’s easier for you than for most people, even when God makes it supernaturally easy. These last few weeks I’ve joined a church and a small group and been volunteered for the greeter ministry (all joys and all new things requiring new courage). I’ve learned what I can and can’t find at the grocery store. I have yet to figure out where to buy a blender and a hand towel. I’ve discovered favorite walks and also that most walks here require far too much uphill climbing. I have used all my brain power converting RANDs to US dollars. And after that I’ve begun a new semester of homeschooling. I also wrote my grandmother’s obituary.
I’ve noticed I can’t stop writing about being tired. Maybe you’ve noticed too.
This week new friends of ours dropped us off at our apartment after small group. We saw, pulling into the neighborhood, that the street had gone dark. “Load shedding,” Gavin said. “Might be two hours before they come back on.”
Load shedding is South African for rolling blackouts. We climbed the stairs to our apartment and used our phones to search for candles. London (our survivalist) had a lighter. The stove unavailable for cooking, I made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We sat at the dining table and ate and played cards and laughed. By the time the power came on, we were headed to bed. In her prayer that night Eve said, “Thank you God for inconveniences that are actually delightful.”
Two nights later the load shedding struck again, this time at sunset. Eve climbed onto the picture window ledge in the master bedroom, London pulled out a sketchbook, and Justin read to us from Robert Macfarlane’s Landmark which is often simply a compendium of nature words and nature truths. All of it felt slow and indulgent and more real than real life.
Load shedding—it’s a good pair of words. What happens when you run out of power? You shed some of the load. You put away the emails and wrap yourself in a blanket and stare at your child’s face, hibiscus pink in the light of the sun setting behind Table Mountain. You listen to your husband and his words wet with dew and heavy with clods of dirt bring you back to life.
Eve loves load shedding. She’s thanked God for it in a few prayers now. She’s an enneagram 3, by the way. Permission to do “nothing” feels, to her, like a luxurious grace. To me, too—though I’ve realized lately it’s less luxury and more necessity. Bundling, being, wondering, seeing, connecting, laughing, loving—these are the basics of life, shafts of divine light.
Ah, that’s it…
When we have enough of our own power, when we light our own way with our electric industry and fluorescent knowledge and artificial striving and the neon glow of entertainment as escape, we don’t need the holy light of the sun and moon and stars, the flicker of candlelight, these shafts of divinity. We don’t even notice them. But when the power runs out, what do we find? The whole world already, always aglow.
-JL
Two things:
1. The Look to Love podcast is up and running with a BRAND NEW episode out today. Last year I committed to creating Look to Love teaching videos, working our way from Genesis to Revelation, helping you see, know, and love the God you meet in Scripture. Based on both your feedback and my desire to teach in my pajamas, I’ve turned those videos into a podcast. You can follow along on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and Anchor. If have another platform you want me to consider, message me and let me know (Messages will still be available on YouTube).
I LOVE getting the chance to create and share these short meditations. There’s nothing I’d rather be doing than opening my Bible, looking for God, and sharing what I see.
Please do share the podcast far and wide! Let’s help the world fall in love with God.
Today’s episode considers I Kings 19. It’s called God, the One Who Comes and Gets Us.
2. The Look to Love audiobook is finally done and emailed to all those who bought a print book in November. If you think you should have received a free audiobook and didn’t, send me a message and we’ll get you sorted. If you want to BUY an audiobook, you’ll need to wait just a little longer—we’re still waiting for approval from Amazon. Prayers appreciated! If I have to spend one more hour of work on that thing I may self destruct. :)
Between re-recording and editing all of those messages for the podcast and re-recording and editing the audiobook (plus planning our fall travel/living situation) I’m feeling plenty worn out. Looking forward to a few days of rest and restoration. How should I spend it? What’s your favorite way to recover?
Oh, I love this! Load shedding; everyone needs it, so few let themselves have it! Thank you for sharing this. <3
This concept is fascinating. Thanks for sharing. I look forward to reading more from you.