Pasaka (Pess – eh’ – cha) knocked on my door yesterday (pictured). He was with the Bureau of Statistics for the South African government, taking census information as his department does every five years. “Do you have electricity, water, refrigerator, internet, radio, tv, how long have you lived here ...?” He wrote answers on a very official, multi-page form. We got to be friends during the questioning, his female co-worker who joined the conversation wanted to know when my husband was coming. The most shocking answer I gave was that I had never given birth. The idea was so unheard of that Pesaka repeated the question three times to make sure I understood. He was missing important parts of his sandals (same as some of the other workers with him) and made a point, after the business of questions, to tell me his name. “Pasaka,” he said, “in English it means Good Friday.” Ahh, of course. Pesach: Passover, redemption from slavery and sin. Somehow it seemed right, a South African black man telling a white American woman about God's mercy and His power to save.

Before Pesaka arrived, the yard men came to the same twelve foot gate entrance where Pesaka arrived. As is customary, they whistled until someone let them in to do their job. Two faces smiled and thanked me for being the one to come. Several weeks ago, a group of military police showed up. They came --- in eight armored humvees holding about five police officers each --- to see if they could get overnight accommodation nearby before a big international soccer match at the University the next day. All forty of them sat on the lawn and visited with us about their jobs: employed by the South African government, as the Riot Patrol, they assist in dangerous situations all over the continent. They had just returned from the Congo and were excited about the soccer match at the University (where the most violent incident was in the game itself) the next day. I couldn’t help but pray for them.

As of yesterday, I’m in the South African Government’s records as a temp resident situated with a beautiful lawn all around, protected by the country’s finest armed guards and reminded of God’s saving grace. I count it a good day!

The place I’m staying is called Dennepark, named after giant pine trees that grow here. Pine is “denne” in Afrikaans. The trees are so big it would take two people holding arms outstretched to go all the around some of them. It’s amazing to think that it took six people in the same position to go around one of the many columns that held up Solomon’s portico on the Temple grounds in Israel. (In front of the trees are two of the little girls from Germany that live nearby.)

The dirt here in Potchefstroom is quite red, almost like Edom in Israel (the land of Esau, whose name in Hebrew means Red). Between here and Johannesburg, there are lots of gold mines. The dirt stacked several stories high beside the mines is not red, but they’re interesting to see anyway. East of here is the largest manmade crater on earth (so they say). The giant hole was dug in search of diamonds. I asked a guy in the IT department—who was watching the movie “Blood Diamonds” while I waited to have my computer loaded with University software—if he thought the movie was accurate. He said, “that’s a totally different world, I have no idea, but the movie’s good!”

This week marks 4 weeks since I’ve been here in South Africa. There hasn’t been a dull day yet. My study is truly rewarding. Last Friday night I was invited to dinner with a theological student, Tim, and two of his friends. Tim shared about his yearning to go to Burundi, Africa to start a Christian training center. His plans were quite detailed as if he got a clear blueprint from the Lord. He’d not shared it with many people when he received a phone call out of the blue from a man he didn’t know with an offer to support him financially in the effort. The man offered and later delivered 1,000 Rand for each of the one hundred and fifty-three fish that Simon Peter pulled in with his net (John 21). That’s enough to support Tim and several others for the first three years in Burundi.

The Apostle Paul had it right when he said, “since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made…” He’s everywhere, whether talking out loud, working through others, or just showing us things along the way.

This morning I went to an area of the city called Ikageng [(ee – ka – cheen)---Setswanna has a guttural “ch” sound]. It’s a black township where we visited an all black church. The congregants were so pleased to see me and my German neighbors (Sabastian, Uta and their three children) that they made special arrangements to have part of the two-and-a-half-hour service translated from Setswana. The first attempt was to translate into Afrikaans, thinking that was our native tongue, but the black woman who took us explained that we didn’t understand Afrikaans, so they switched to English translation. The older women wore a certain kind of dress (all black skirt, black long sleeve blouse and a white collar) as did the group of women 51 years old and younger. The later wore white long sleeve tops. I was glad to wear a sleeveless dress and be written off as a foreigner who didn’t know better. It was 87 degrees outside, hate to guess the inside temp.

The text for the sermon was Exodus chapter 3 but the preacher told the whole story of Abraham leaving the listeners with a question, “how do you respond to the Lord when he calls you?” He was so excited that he hardly left time for the interpretation. There was a lot of singing, dancing in the isles (particularly with the older people), clapping, and arms waiving. Perhaps the most touching part was when everyone stopped to sing a song especially for the white visitors. It was a prayer that our names be written in the Book of Life. Reminded me of the biblical tradition at the Feast of Trumpets when the same request is made.

This picture shows an older couple in front of a fund raising table. Maze is sold in many different varieties, here it's simply corn on the cobb. I'll find a better way to post photos so you can see more than one at a time!

Last week I went to a birthday lunch hosted by one of my neighbors, Madupe (Ma du' pay). Madupe is a pharmacologist from Nigeria and a Christian; she invited a couple of people from her department at the University, someone from her church, and a couple of neighbors. The birthday party was really for her 9 year old daughter but the children’s parents and a few others came together to sit, eat and visit while the children played. (This picture is of one of the theological post doc students dressed up like a mysterious sultan providing clues for a treasure hunt at the birthday party.)

One of the women who sat by me at the luncheon was South African. She shared about her family history, how her Dutch grandfather, as a child, was put in the concentration camps set up by the British during the Boer wars. Several of her grandfather’s siblings died in the camp. Today there is still animosity between the British and Afrikaans, I’m told, though an outsider can hardly see it. The larger distinctions are between whites, blacks and coloureds and Indians. The Chinese migrated to South Africa centuries ago but there doesn’t seem to be a category for them. There’s room for a lot of healing.

Yesterday I went to get a cup of coffee with a woman who exercises at the gym. We had a typical breakfast at the coffee shop: a muffin with grated cheese, shredded biltong, butter, jam, and whipped cream. (The muffin is cut in half and all that stuff goes on top!) While we were eating she said, “the first time I saw you, you looked as if you were wrapped in soft white cotton like a cloud in which the Lord keeps you protected and secure from harm.” Funny, that’s what it feels like from the inside. The Lord has been gracious providing directly or through others, but always surprisingly. We’ve chosen a great, and very personal, God. Like the song in Fiddler on the Roof, “if I were a rich man,” I cherish this chance to study Him and His ways all day long.