Читать книгу The Vagabond - Frank Rautenbach - Страница 8

I made my entrance into the world on a Friday. The date was 12 May 1972. History books and Google searches indicate that this was a pretty uneventful day as far as world events were concerned. BJ Vorster was in office as South Africa’s seventh prime minister, the Cold War was simmering in the background and Roberta Flack’s hit, First Time Ever I Saw Your Face’, was the number-one hit on the Billboard Charts.

Apart from my parents seeing my face for the first time, I think it’s safe to say that, for many people in the world, 12 May 1972 was just another random day.

But, for me – it was my birthday. Birthdays are special and they have this magical, almost sacred, feel about them.

Deep in our hearts, there seems to be a feeling or a hint that we did not arrive on this planet by accident. That, somehow, we were created with intention. And, if we can still our hearts long enough, we find there a longing to know what we were made for. Of course, our parents played their part in the story of our creation, but even they are surprised and overwhelmed when we finally make our appearance. Like they were given the most precious gift.

Why, for the most part, do we as humans respond like that? Why is life so precious? Why does it feel like there is an intention to our lives and we can’t help seeing it as a gift, even though we get to play a part in creating it?

I personally believe that the answer lies in a few lines taken from a poem written by the great Hebrew king, David: ‘You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb … You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed’ (Psalm 139:13-16, NLT).

This poem tells us that, long before King David’s parents even had the desire for a child, God already had plans for him. This beautiful poem was not only written for David and Israel’s sake, it was written for all humanity. Your life and my life are as sacred and special as this poem describes. Its words are in the strands of the DNA God created and used to knit us together. That is why there’s a shadow or a hint in us that maybe, just maybe, we were made for a purpose because we were certainly made on purpose.

With all this intention and purpose, I must believe that 12 May 1972 was not just a random day for me to be born on; it was a day God handpicked for me. I don’t think I will ever fully know the reasoning behind his decision, but as time goes by I am still discovering the courage to believe that ‘Every day of my life was recorded in your book’. No one’s birth is random.

From God’s point of view, then, if our lives were worth making, then surely they must be worth living?

But what happens when the truth of those words is not the truth of our lives; when – for whatever reason – we feel that our lives are not worth living any more?

Maybe you’re a Christian and you’ve heard that God wants you to have your best life now. But it feels more like you’re living your worst life now. Maybe someone prophesied a great future and a hope over you and it’s been years, but nothing has changed for the better in your life.

Or someone did prophesy a very accurate word over you, one that you deeply identified with – as if they were reading your heart’s thoughts and you knew in an instant that God was speaking to you about your future. That God was calling you. There was great excitement and you felt like you were walking on clouds.

Now you berate yourself for being so naïve. For believing such ‘nonsense’, because nothing that you thought was going to happen has played itself out as you expected it would. Maybe you’ve walked away from your faith, disillusioned by how much you struggled to keep things together while waiting on God to fulfil his promises.

Perhaps you grew up in a country where, based on your race, you were discriminated against. No thanks to the injustice of this system, you could never reach your full potential.

The truth is, it is heartbreaking when broken dreams or dashed expectations leave our lives high and dry. Even more overwhelming when you realise your dreams can never be fulfilled because you simply can’t get those years back.

To defend ourselves against the onslaught of unfulfilled dreams we hide the pain by finding a ‘level of despair we can tolerate and call it happiness’, as Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard said.

If you are young enough, we might simply say that we’ll live to fight another day. What happens when you run out of days, or you simply don’t have the energy to fight any more? Or, you got what you wanted but – as many celebrities and billionaires have discovered – it still wasn’t enough. That’s when we might find ourselves accumulating despair or realising how despairing we really are.

Dealing with disappointment like that has a limited shelf life: years of hoarded despair will leave your heart and mind clouded with painful memories of unmet expectations until all you can think is, ‘My life is not worth living any more.’

So, when our lives feel like they’re not worth living any more, who can we look to for hope? Any well-meaning Christian might say that we need to speak to God, right?

But what if the person you feel most betrayed by is God?

You find in your heart a bitterness and an anger you can no longer control and all you can think of is ... Where was God when it all went down? Why didn’t He have my back? If He is the all-powerful, all-knowing, all-seeing God of the universe, how could He let this happen to me?

I know how you feel.