‘n Engel het haarself kom tuis maak in ons huis

 

Hallo Riana,

‘n Engel het haarself kom tuis maak in ons huis.

Na amper vier jaar in die vreemde, het ons ‘n huis gekoop. Die een slaapkamer-woonstel het net te klein geraak en met ‘n virus en ‘n wêreld wat halfpad mal geraak het, het ons vir twee jaar ‘n werksruimte gedeel wat maar die eet- en sitkamer en nog ‘n deel van die kombuis behels het. Met die onsekerheid oor toekomsplanne, visum uitdagings en nog vele meer het ons besluit om ophou huur te betaal en eerder in ‘n huis te belê.

Ons dink ons kyk nog na huise en toe ons ons weer kry, besit ons ‘n huis. ‘n Splinternuwe huis wat nog gebou moet word. Maar in Amerika is alles mos anders. Behalwe dat huise meer aan vuurhoutjies-geboue herinner is die proses van huis koop ook ‘n leerskool op sy eie met oneindige veranderlikes, keuses, en dies meer. Maar dit is ‘n storie vir ‘n ander dag.

Ons besoek ons huis elke naweek, wat aanvanklik maar net ‘n stuk veld is binne ‘n kompleks met huise in verskillende fases – sommiges al reeds bewoon terwyl ander in aanbou is. Dit laat my dink aan ‘n produksielyn, waar spanne spesialiseer in een spesifieke deel van ‘n huis – die houtraam, dak, verf en so voorts. En wanneer die voordeursleutel oorhandig word, is die skoonmaakspan ook al ‘n keer of twee deur die huis.

Met ons weeklikse besoekke om die vordering dop te hou vat ek op ‘n keer ‘n filtpen saam en “seën die huis in”, soos Johann dit stel. In die taal van my hart skryf ek seënbede en Bybelverse oral teen die mure en deurkosyne, op die kombuis se werksoppervlakke en aan die buitemure, terwyl ek bid en hier en daar.’n kruis trek. Nie net vir ons en die huis nie, maar ook vir die bouspanne en vir almal wat die huis betree. Bokant die voordeur onder die verf, staan een van my gunsteling verse -Joshua 24:15 “Ek en my huis, ons sal die Here dien”. Op die buite pilaar, voor die sierstene vasgemessel is, ons name en die datum. Ek will glo die werkers, meestal uit Sentraal- en Suid-Amerika en grootendeels net Spaans magtig, tog ook die boodskap sou kry.

Hier in Texas is ‘n groot Suid-Afrikaanse gemeenskap – ek verbeel my iemand het iewerste iets genoem van vier duisend gesinne. Ons is betrokke by die Afrikaansekerk, wat eenmaal ‘n maand bymekaar kom en na die diens eet en kuier ons saam. Die Saterdagoggend-bybelstudiegroep kon, danksy tegnologie, voortgaan gedurende die grendeltydperk wat ook ‘n geleenthede geskep het vir dames buite Houston om aan te sluit, en so ontmoet ek vir Anita Felix. Terloops, haar katte kuier ook gereeld saam op Saterdae, soms in volle lywe, ander keer net ‘n stert voor die skerm. Op ‘n slag besluit die een hy gaan die gordyn opklim met Anita salig onbewus van wat agter haar aangaan tot die kat na benede val!

Ons was geseënd dat die vrouekamp, na dit ‘n paar keer uitgestel is, uiteindelik in September kon plaasvind waar Anita ‘n paar van haar skilderye uitgestal het. Sy skilder die mooiste ballet tutus, rokke en abstrakte natuurtonele. En dan is daar die engele! Wat my fasineer is die vlerke. My gunsteling is die punterige, opwaarts, met ‘n effense ronding vlerk. Die kleure is meestal sag en neutraal met hier en daar ‘n verrassing, soos ‘n goue hartjie of ‘n bossie blomme.

Maar wat merkwaardig is, is dat Anita deurentyd bid vir die persoon wat daardie spesifieke skildery gaan besit terwyl sy besig is om die engel te verf. Met haar uitstallings in die VSA en Suid-Afrika asook bestellings wat deur die hele Amerika gestuur word, kan ek maar net raai hoeveel mense nie al deur haar gebede geraak is nie. Wat ‘n wonderlike storie en voorbeeld!

My Engel, klein genoeg om saam te gaan na ons volgende huis, staan in die voorportaal om ons en ander welkom te heet. Maar meer belangrik, om ons altyd te herinner dat "Hy sal sy engele opdrag gee om ons te beskerm waar ook al ons gaan" (Psalm 91:11, aangepas).

En so gebeur dit dat daar nou ook ‘n Engel in my huis is.

Liefde groete en oneindige seën vir die nuwe jaar.

Jovita

* ‘n Engel in my huis, deur Riana Scheepers

Vrou Stap vir Donkies

Rekord Newspaper - 15 November 2013

The Statistics

Routes

1. Camino Frances

• Start:  St. Jean Pied-de-Port
• Finish:  Santiago de Compostela 

2. Camino Finisterre

• Start: Santiago de Compostela
• Finish: Finisterre

3. Additional Route

• Finisterre - Muxia - Oliveiroa - Santiago de Compostela

Kilometers

• Official distance walked - 978.2 km
• Unofficial distance walked - 1038.8 km
• Days walked - 35
• Average distance per day - 28 km
• Most kilometers walked in a day - 39.2 km
• Least kilometers walked in a day - 13.3 km

• Week 1 - 143.3 km
• Week 2 - 194.4 km 
• Week 3 - 191.6 km
• Week 4 - 174.0 km
• Week 5 - 214.9 km
• Week 6 -   59.9 km

Health

• Blisters - 5
• Slips, Trips & Falls - 2
• Illness - None
• Injuries - Fractured foot

Gear

• Back pack - 12-14 kg
• Boots - Hi-Tech, waterproof
• Clothing - Mainly K-Way
• Water bottles - 2 (keep backpack balanced!)

Prayer list:

• Old lady at the church in Zabaldica (Die Groot Trek)
• Priests from the Order of Peregrinos dela Eucaristia, Pamplona (Many Ways)
• Albergue from the Order of Malta, Cizur Menor
• Parochial Albergue, Bercianos de Real Camino (The Wrong Road)
• Parochial Albergue, St. Nicolas' Pilgrims Hospital, Itero del Castilo (The Kiss)
• Senor Miguel, Itero del Castilo (The Winemaker)
• The gentleman in Mariano's restaurant, Villalcazar de Sirga
• Parochial Albergue and the Monks of the Monastery of Samos (Veperas and Completas)
• The young Spanish pilgrims (The Three Musketeers)
• The Dutch pilgrim (The Dutch Pilgrim)
• Rev. Thomas Joubert (The Story of a Tree), and retired Rev. Van Niekerk who was instrumental in putting Thomas and I in contact with each other
• WetNose (The Donkey Ambassador)
• The two young men on top of the hill (A Pilgrim's Home)

The Story of a Journey

I have walked
Alone over mountains and valleys
Through green forests and golden fields
Along bubbling rivers and rain drenched Mesetas
But never been lonesome.

I have seen
Some of the last committees of Griffon vultures sitting a top of the hills 
A congregation of eagles soaring against the blue sky
The softness of a smile
And the unselfish love, of strangers, in action

I have heard 
The church bells calling the faithful 
The kindness of a word
An orchestra performed by cattle and sheep bells in green pastures
The cadence of footsteps on gravel roads
The laughter of strangers around a meal

I have smelled
The earthly sent of freshly ploughed soil
Wild flowers and rain
The salty air of the sea

I have felt 
The angry wind through my hair
A cool breeze upon my skin
The warmth of the Spanish sun tinting my face
My grip around the shepherd's crook
The heartwarming gesture of a gift

I have tasted
Young wine
Home made food - balsam for body and soul
Ripe wild berries, stolen figs, cast away grapes
And drenched my thirst with the cool water of countless fountains

I have talked 
To strangers
Sang out loud songs of joy and gratitude
Sat in cathedrals in awe of their beauty
But stilled my mind in the simplest of churches
And spoke to Him, who holds us all in the palm of His hand

I have been blessed
In the busy street of a town
And my soul has chanted with the Monks 
During Completas in a small chapel of the old monastery

I have experienced
Much, some already forgotten by the mind
But not by the soul

I have walked a thousand kilometers for others
In ancient footsteps of peasants, clergymen and noblemen alike

And when the time comes 
That I should close my eyes and turn my head Homeward bound
I will know 
That I have walked to the end of the world under a field of stars 
In a faraway land
And that it made life worth living.

I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately (...)
I wanted to live deep and suck out the marrow of life (...)
And not when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.
(Walden, or, Life in the Woods, by Henry David Thoreau)


Buen Camino!

Jovita

25 October 2013

Ultreia!

In my Pilgrim's Passport, the word 'Ultreia' is written on the stamp of the first Albergue I slept in on the Camino. The hospitaleiro told me that this very old word means to go onward and upward, in the sense that one should never give up.  It was a word used by pilgrims of old not only to greet each other but also to encourage one another.

As I walked the days away, I thought about this word many times and the resilience of the human spirit.

In the early days of this journey, I noticed an older gentlemen that had no use of his right hand, perhaps due to a stroke. He kept his hand in a glove at all times and walked the route with some difficulty and at a slow pace, carrying a backpack.

A younger pilgrim, born with a deformed left arm which he can not use at all would pass me at a much faster pace, despite my early starts.

On my way to O'Cebreiro, during some steep climbs, I see a man wearing a built up shoe on his left foot for his left leg is much shorter than his right one.

And in Alberto's Albergue, I read a newspaper clipping of a Canadian pilgrim, who lost her full left leg when she was 13 years old due to an accident.  On crutches and carrying a backpack weighing 8 kilogram she walked 700 kilometer to reach Santiago.

Even if one does not have a physical disability, resilience is needed on the Camino to persevere when feeling tired, discouraged or alone; or when the new day is yet another grey and wet one.

Before leaving South Africa, I visited my home doctor to stock up on some medication that I might need.  As I am about to leave her rooms, she reminds me that the Lord has many angels who will watch over me on this journey, and like so many time to come, I was lost for words.

Once such angel was Emil, a 79 year old pilgrim, with whom I struggled to keep up. Originally from Slovenia, the family immigrated to Argentina when he was a teenager. He and his Spanish wife have been living in Madrid for over two decades.  When he speaks Spanish, people ask him if he is from Argentina. When I comment about it, he looks at me a bit puzzled and asks if I don't notice the difference in accents? I laugh It all just sound Spanish to me!  We walked together on and off over a couple of days and we talked about so many things, including General Tito and the Slovak countries. He has a good sense of humour and we laughed the kilometers away. 

When I reach the Albergue just before darkness, completely drenched from walking in stormy weather for 11 hours and feeling very sorry for myself, I ask for a hot chocolate to try and warm myself.  The young man behind the counter pours the milk and tells me it is nice and hot.  He speaks the words with such tenderness that I struggle to keep my emotions at bay.  He puts a bottle of cognac on the counter and tells me to use as much as I need.  Hot chocolate has never tasted this good!  When I pay the bill, the cognac is not charged for and before I could ask, he smiles and gestures that it is on him.

As I pass through the small village, an old lady walks leaning over her walking stick. She is dressed in blue pants, rubber boots that come up to her knees and a thick woollen jersey. Over this, she wears a sleeveless dress - perhaps in keeping with the old custom that women should not be seen in pants.  And she has a headscarf tied under her chin.  I try to follow the example of Cesar, a Brazilian pilgrim, to greet all people I pass by - some do not answer.  As I greet her, she turns to look at me and the most tender Buen Camino! is said with the warmest of smiles. My low spirits are restored.

Indeed the Lord has many angels, some stayed longer than others, but all gave me something that I needed at that moment, whether it was something to eat, words of encouragement, a smile, a lesson, a reminder of the human spirit.

And to help me along, onward and upward, until the journey is completed.

Buen Camino!

Jovita 

24 October 2013

The Greatness of a Nation...

and its moral progress can be judge by the way its animals are treated.  Gandhi

Most dogs on the route I walked in Spain are either chained or caged.  It is a sad picture to see and my heart goes out to these animals.  As a species, we have failed miserably towards all other life forms that have been entrusted to us.  I am completely against animals being chained, caged, used in circuses, for fighting, in laboratories, or any other form that does not dignify the life of that living creature, for "The question is not 'Can they reason?' Nor 'Can they talk?' But 'Can they suffer?' " Jeremy Bentham, Philosopher.

On a rainy day, I see a cross breed Boarder Collie tied to a tree.  There is no shelter, food or water.  As I pass, he stands up and shakes the water off his drenched coat.  He looks at me with loving eyes and I so wish that I could do something for him.  My first instinct is to cut him loose and take him with me.  But I know it is not possible and I feel completely hopeless.  

But where there is despair there is always hope.  

As I walk down the road of the small village, I notice a dog outside the Albergue with his little backpack. Later on, his German mistress is trying to apply some eye drops. I ask if I can help. Hold his paws please, she says.  She tells me that they have been travelling since January 2011 and are now making their way back to Germany. She carries a tent in case they cannot find an Albergue that will take animals.  His name is Mambo.

A pilgrim walking in front of me wears a long coat and tied to his back pack is the leash of his small dog.  As I pass them I say hello. The next day, as I head out of town in the early morning, I see that they are sleeping on a street corner.  I would see them many days later in Santiago, sleeping close to the cathedral, as I make my way to attend the early mass.  Later that day, as I do my last shopping, we walk towards each other.  I remember the dog.  He recognises my staff.  Felicitations! he says to me. Congratulations to you too! I say. He points to his dog. 'Amigo'!, gesturing that the dog is also to be congratulated.  I couldn't agree more. And as I go about my way, I wonder how many times they have slept on a street corner when they could find no Albergue that would allow dogs.

At the Albergue in the small village, I look through the window and see a horse under a tree. It wasn't there when I arrived.  I go out to investigate and find that she and her owner are making their way to Sarria, to meet up with others and together march to Santiago.  Her name is Boira, a Catalan word for mist - how appropriate, for Boira is white.  And as they they pass me the next day, I shout Buen Camino Boira! Boira flicks her tail.  And when I see horse shoe markings on the the road in the days to come, I cannot help but wonder if they belong to Boira.

I have done my rounds in the village built around the monastery and walking back, I notice that a pilgrim coming towards me is carrying his medium size dog on top of his back pack!  It is a rather odd picture but I see that the dog is enjoying his vantage point. I cannot help but smile. On my way the next morning, I spot them sleeping in the park.

When I see how loving pilgrims are towards their travel companions, I so wish that more people would be kinder towards the creatures with whom we share this planet and the words of Mark Twain 'The more I know about people, the better I like my dog'  have never made so much sense to me.

Buen Camino!

Jovita 

23 October 2013

The Dutch Pilgrim

Around the bend, I see a horse standing near the gate.  I stop to talk to him for a while. He is busy seeking out acorns amidst the leaves.  I pick up some on my side of the gate and offer him a handful.  His soft lips touches my hand and one for one he eats them. I pat him until he moves on.

Just up the road I see a solitary ostrich, so out of place here in this wet world, and I wonder if it longs for Africa's sun like I do.

I have walked in the rain for two days and have given up all together to stay dry.  I feel the water dripping from my jacket´s sleeve on to my hand. In the forest, the leaves are heavy from the rain and there is no shelter.

I first see the neck of the guitar wrapped in green plastic. I notice a fern leave tied to the bar handles of the bicycle.  Then I notice the bicycle and finally I recognise the pilgrim. It is the Dutch pilgrim on the bicycle with only three gears!

He recognises my shepherd´s crook.  Coming back from Santiago? I ask.  He says that he has been to Santiago and is now on his way back to Holland, for he needs to attend to some matters.

And when he speaks about the cathedral and how beautiful it is, his voice falters from emotion and he puts his hand on his heart.  He tells me that he is a drug abuser and that he needs to go back to Holland to do a four month jail sentence, but first he wanted to complete the Camino.  His parents do not know about the jail sentence and while he is doing it, he wants them to think that he is still somewhere on the Camino. And then he adds:  And when I come out of jail, I will be a new person.

We clasp our arms like the Roman soldiers of old, and wish each other a warm Buen Camino! knowing it will be the last time that we will see each other. He blows me a kiss before riding off.  I turn to look at him, but see only the neck of the guitar, an arm stretched out waving. Buen Caminooooooo! he sings.

I realise then that we do not know each other´s name, and that it is also not important.

I pray that he will travel safely and that after completing his jail time, become a man of sober  habits. My hope is that he will choose to follow Him, the only Way, for all his days to come.

Buen Camino!

Jovita

17 October 2013