Caught In The Hourglass

He was born and bred in a small town on the outskirts of South Africa, in the Bushman-land where summer turns life into a living hell and winter freezes it in its totality. Cruel land of extremes……….

War broke out during his last year of school and before long, he found himself crossing the blue African skies as a fighter pilot. Sharing a bungalow with 29 RAFs, English became like a mother tongue. He met his wife during the war. An Irish girl with long, pitch-black hair and eyes that reminded him of the blue skies where he served his country. It was love at first sight and they got married while the war was still on. At first her non church-going Catholic parents merely tolerated their new son-in-law who was to be a preacher in a Protestant domination, and his staunch Afrikaner parents rebelled against the new Irish-Catholic daughter-in-law. But love conquers all, and finally the families made peace and accepted each other.

It was only after the war that he went to university to study Theology, and he did so in faith. His father was a poor farmer who could not afford to send his four sons to university, but he brought them up in the ways of the Lord, and the preacher knew where to find his resources. So did his three brothers, and God provided well for them all and they were never short of anything – The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want – and the bills got paid……. month after month after month…………

While still at university, his wife gave birth to a stillborn boy, and a year later to a little girl who was sickly at first, but the angels did babysitting while the couple was busy with their required daily activities…………

His first calling was back to the rigid, callous Bushman-land with its ruthless sun and its need of sheltering shadows He worked hard and was always supported by his wife, who could by then speak Afrikaans. But time marched on and the years tinted their once dark hair a soft silvery color. The moon shines with gentle compassion on those who tasted life to the fullest. A few more callings took him through the Karoo, Namibia and back to where he is now serving the Lord on the High Veld.

Saturday afternoons allow for time alone in his study while preparing for the Sunday sermons. The windows are open and he takes pleasure in the variety of bird songs that come to him in a hundred different harmonies. Songs written by the Good Lord Himself……… His eyes pan over the private collection of over four thousand books. They have become his best friends, his intimate friends. The grand old Emboya desk with matching swivel chair was a birthday present from his wife. Not long now, and she will bring their 4 o’clock coffee with homemade chocolate-chip cookies on a neatly decorated tray. Saturday afternoon ritual of two gray-winged doves…..

Within five years’ time he will retire, something for which they started preparing many years ago. Together they dream of a cute two-bedroom, two-bathroom cottage by the sea, with a spacious open plan kitchen-living room area. Only their favorite furniture will be send down, and only one car will be kept. The Stinkwood lounge suite that was a grand investment some 30 years ago, and grandma’s bone China tea-set which she inherited. Her own Royal Albert set, and as many of his leather-bound books as they can fit in……. The West coast of so many of their dreams where they will walk long summer walks during early evenings. Where they will have time to listen to Mozart’s piano concertos and the operas of Pucinni. Where she will have enough time to paint again, and he will write poetry and a long promised autobiography.

And time will be time, caught in the hourglass, and locked up for all eternities to come.