A Man-Made god, used by God…in my opinion anyway…

Note to reader – You are welcome to comment on this post, but I WILL NOT get into a flame-war with you, should you disagree with my post.  I am entitled to my opinion.  This is MY space.  If you visit, respect that.  If you disagree with my views, and wish to comment, be adult about it.  I WILL NOT tolerate being sworn at, nor abused.  Such comments WILL BE REPORTED and subsequently DELETED. If you can’t handle that, then please leave.

Many people, have, in my opinion, made a god of Nelson Mandela, forgetting that he too, like you and I, was a person, created in the image of God.  There is a global outpouring of grief today, as his passing is mourned by millions.  I can’t help but wonder if Jesus had been on earth now, if His crucifixion would have got the same media coverage.  Now, before any of you decide to put me in front of a firing squad, stone me, burn me at the stake, or hang me by the neck until I’m dead, I’m not saying that Nelson Mandela wasn’t a great man, a great leader and a shining example to us all, not only as South Africans, but the world as a whole. 

A while ago my parents and I were listening to the news, where the report was about a six-week old little girl being raped.  A few weeks prior to that, two little girls had been gang-raped, their broken little bodies left in a make-shift toilet to be found.  In South Africa we daily hear news about rape, murder, looting, corruption and AIDS to name but a few.  So much so, that it actually isn’t news to us anymore, and THAT readers, is where the problem lies.  I believe that the only hope for us as a country, and the world as a whole is a Divine Intervention and while I don’t know what Nelson Mandela’s beliefs were, I believe in my heart that God made him a wise, humble and forgiving man and that the wisdom, humility and forgiveness God placed in him will be remembered for generations to come, and that many people who are touched by those traits, will feel a transformation in their hearts, and turn to the One True God.

Today my Facebook status reads:  “I think regardless of anyone’s political views, we cannot deny that Nelson Mandela was a great man, with a great vision for our country. He could very easily have incited a black on white war if had wanted to, but instead, he chose to FORGIVE and move on…

I’m in no way saying that our country is perfect – I often think that the vision Madiba had for our country has got lost as politicians fight for power, officials lie to the people, and ignorant people rape and murder women and children…and it saddens me and I could go on, BUT we need to remember that Madiba had a positive vision for us, that he loved this country, that he FORGAVE. He too saw the vision being lost – after all he was still alive during a great deal of it, but he continued to believe in this country. He remained strong in his vision and mission for all South Africans – for us to reconcile and move forward. Who knows, maybe now that he has finally gone, the vision will be re-instilled in the Rainbow Nation’s heart.” 

My only hope is that we get to a point where we all realize Who placed the greatness and vision:

We must therefore act together as a united people, for national reconciliation, for nation building, for the birth of a new world.
Let there be justice for all.
Let there be peace for all.

Never, never and never again shall it be that this beautiful land will again experience the oppression of one by another and suffer the indignity of being the skunk of the world.
Let freedom reign!
The sun shall never set on so glorious a human achievement!
God bless Africa!
’ (Excerpt from Nelson Mandela’s Inaugural Celebration Address)

upon Nelson Mandela and that we get to know Him, because “we know that in ALL things God works for the good of those who love Him, and who are called according to His Purpose”.  Romans 8:28


My South Africa

I am not one who does the cut ‘n paste thing on my blog, but this is something I just had to share.  It was received from a friend, who had received it from a friend living overseas.  So often we only hear of the terrible things happening in South Africa.  We forget to see the good things that are right under our noses.  This was written by Professor Jonathan Jansen, Rector and Vice-Chancellor of the University of the Free State; Honorary Professor of Education at the University of the Witwatersrand and Visiting Fellow at the National Research Foundation.

“My South Africa is the working-class man who called from the airport to return my wallet without a cent missing. It is the white woman who put all three of her domestic worker’s children through the same school that her own child attended. It is the politician in one of our rural provinces, Mpumalanga, who returned his salary to the government as a statement that standing with the poor had to be more than just a few words. It is the teacher who worked after school hours every day during the public sector strike to ensure her children did not miss out on learning.


My South Africa is the first-year university student in Bloemfontein who took all the gifts she received for her birthday and donated them – with the permission of the givers – to a home for children in an Aids village. It is the people hurt by racist acts who find it in their hearts to publicly forgive the perpetrators. It is the group of farmers in Paarl who started a top school for the children of farm workers to ensure they got the best education possible while their parents toiled in the vineyards. It is the farmer’s wife in Viljoenskroon who created an education and training centre for the wives of farm labourers so that they could gain the advanced skills required to operate accredited early-learning centers for their own and other children.


My South Africa is that little white boy at a decent school in the Eastern Cape who decided to teach the black boys in the community to play cricket, and to fit them all out with the togs required to play the gentelman’s game. It is the two black street children in Durban, caught on camera, who put their spare change in the condensed milk tin of a white beggar. It is the Johannesburg pastor who opened up his church as a place of shelter for illegal immigrants. It is the Afrikaner woman from Boksburg who nailed the white guy who shot and killed one of South Africa’s greatest freedom fighters outside his home.


My South Africa is the man who went to prison for 27 years and came out embracing his captors, thereby releasing them from their impending misery. It is the activist priest who dived into a crowd of angry people to rescue a woman from a sure necklacing. It is the former police chief who fell to his knees to wash the feet of Mamelodi women whose sons disappeared on his watch; it is the women who forgave him in his act of contrition. It is the Cape Town university psychologist who interviewed the ‘Prime Evil’ in Pretoria Centre and came away with emotional attachment, even empathy, for the human being who did such terrible things under apartheid.


My South Africa is the quiet, dignified, determined township mother from Langa who straightened her back during the years of oppression and decided that her struggle was to raise decent children, insist that they learn, and ensure that they not succumb to bitterness or defeat in the face of overwhelming odds. It is the two young girls who walked 20kms to school everyday, even through their matric years, and passed well enough to be accepted into university studies. It is the student who takes on three jobs, during the evenings and on weekends, to find ways of paying for his university studies.


My South Africa is the teenager in a wheelchair who works in townships serving the poor. It is the pastor of a Kenilworth church whose parishioners were slaughtered, who visits the killers and asks them for forgiveness because he was a beneficiary of apartheid. It is the politician who resigns on conscientious grounds, giving up status and salary because of an objection in principle to a social policy of her political party. It is the young lawman who decides to dedicate his life to representing those who cannot afford to pay for legal services.

My South Africa is not the angry, corrupt, violent country those deeds fill the front pages of newspapers and the lead-in items on the seven-o’-clock news. It is the South Africa often unseen, yet powered by the remarkable lives of ordinary people. It is the citizens who keep the country together through millions of acts of daily kindness.”

Maybe we should ask ourselves “how can I make a difference today?”


Sidey’s Weekend Challenge – National Pride

A number of us now blogging at WP, used to blog on another platform. Each Friday Side View would propose a theme for people to write about if they wanted to. This week on her blog (http://viewfromtheside.wordpress.com)  she has given us a challenge to write on national pride.

It was 1995. I was in standard eight. Yes, I’m that old. I went to school long before people talked about grades. It was a chilly Saturday afternoon where we lived. Dad was away, working, in Angola. Mom and I were trying to ward off the cold by watching TV under the blankets in her room – we started watching the rugby world cup final between the South African Springboks and the New Zealand All Blacks.

It was a great game. Touch and go many times, but in the end Joel Stransky kicked a drop goal which won the Springboks the match. Mom had covered her eyes, quietly praying, “please let it be over, please let it be over…” Before she could say “Amen,” I sprang out of bed yelling “Yes! We won, we won!” and found that I was actually crying. I felt proud to be a South African that day.

In 2007 I got to relive that pride as Elizabeth, Lisa and I headed off on a wine tasting weekend in Roberston, but stayed in Montague. We spent the day dying of the heat, which led us to being thirsty, which led us to tasting much more wine than we should have. Upon our return to our little bungalow, we asked one of the locals to steer us in the direction of a place where we could watch the clash between the Springboks and England. We were directed to one of the local haunts which turned out to have a fabulous atmosphere, a big screen and great food.

The three of us were kitted out proudly in our Springbok T-shirts and jeans and I even went so far as to do my eyeshadow as green and gold (now if that isn’t national pride, then I don’t know), and we cheered the Springboks on, along with an entire pub of other supporters. Elizabeth cheered so loud that at one stage she lost her voice.

We won that game too and it was Springbokkie shots all round. We piled back into the car, with the windows rolled down, playing “Shosholoza” as loud as the car’s radio would allow.

I have national pride when it comes to our sports – we try hard, and most times we conquer! I’m sure this will apply to Bafana Bafana as they play their hearts out in the upcoming FIFA 2010 Football World Cup.

Viva Rainbow Nation, Viva!