Siblings

I am on a roll here with fresh ideas (how long has it actually been since I wrote ANYTHING that was not work-related). But I have to step away from the theme in my heart to put something out there.

Remember David, the King after God's heart? Yup, think back to the scrawny kid looking after sheep who was anointed in front of his older brothers. The one who was sent to a battle to take food and drink to his brothers. The one who got shouted at in front of everyone by Eliab, his brother, who basically told David he was a loser, only came to watch the battle and belonged back with the sheep.

I hear that quite a bit in my household with my kids. And a ton of other nasty unfriendly words that I am not going to repeat.

It hit me like a ton of bricks this morning. As family, we see the grim and grotty underside of the carpet. We find the torn threads, the mould, the dust and the holes. We see the becoming happening and it's ugly a lot of the time. Others see the top side of the carpet with the beautiful patterns and exquisite needlework.

God is so gracious with us. He calls us as He sees us: beautiful, beloved, warrior, princess, brave child, artist, creator, gift carrier, world changer, lover.

Dear God. Help me to treat those I love like the top of the carpet. Help me to walk with care in the lives of my children and nearest and dearest. Help me not to tramp through the underside which desperately needs cleaning.

Forgive my frustration. Let me voice what you see. The truth bringer. The light bearer. The warrior princess. The dreamer.

Then let it be so.

Moms in the mountains

It’s been 13 years of pregnancy, babies, pre-schoolers and primary school. A life that has been interspersed with camping trips because we love camping and our kids love camping, but camping trips to safe places. Quite a few rambles through Newlands forest, lots of hikes around Silvermine and a memorable fight against the wind along Silvermine Ridge wondering who would be blown off first, and of course discovering the beauty of the remoter parts of Cape Town’s coastline and rock pools.

We started off well in this new season of our lives. Our firstborn kloofed Tonquani at just 3 months old, napping in her chest pouch and under a fern, splashing happily in the waters and being held aloft through the deepest pools. My parents might have called us irresponsible if they had known but she loved every minute. Our second was breastfed under a down sleeping bag in a freezing cabin in Cederberg during winter when there was ice on the river in the mornings. Add in the camping trips, day hikes. Kids, friends, rivers and tents. A winning combination.

But for the last year or two I have felt the itch. It’s time to find real mountains again. Not just look longingly towards the silhouettes in the distance.

Our amazing husbands took over kid-duty when Jen, Val and I slipped out for a first ever post-kids moms’ mountain weekend away in October 2019. Between us we have 6 children, from 18 months old to 13. We’ve all been yearning for kloofing weekends, overnight hikes, that darn heavy pack and sitting round a campfire (or stove) without having to think what to feed the masses who we do love dearly.

I didn’t really try to explain what my “girls’ weekend” was to the school moms. It didn’t involve manis, massages, hotels or drinks out on the town. No hot showers. What bliss!

Jen arrived first from Jo’burg and we headed for Table Mountain with Steve and Adam as a warm up, looking far, remembering lots, laughing more and defending our sarmies and cake from the red wing starlings. 

Val arrived the next morning and we were off to Mike’s Hut and then Agtertafelberg. Three girls again on a mission, the first part of which was to actually find Mike’s Hut. Which despite a long look from the hut convenor, a rookie error in taking a car without ground clearance for rough farm roads, a guess at where to park and some help searching google maps, we did. What a gorgeous spot!

After the first dip in the delight of a new river and no one to share it with but ourselves, we sent Jen back for a camera and she fell over a rock and cut her shin open almost to the bone. As moms and experienced mountain people (and ex-MSAR back in the day), we administered a sock to wipe up the blood, wine, gauze, metres of micropore and then cheese and biscuits to go with more wine. And resolved not to call for any help ‘cos that would be (a) wussy and (b) we wouldn’t live it down and (c) well… we were in the mountains. Ow. Ow. Ow. But wahoo!

Beautiful stars, night mountain winds, down jackets, a loo with a view of Somerset West spread out before you and the Hottentots Holland mountains behind you. Rusks for breakfast. We are all much older than the last time we were together on a mountain. I discovered that Jen now eats from the moment she wakes up until about 5pm when she is finally full. You can have sweets in the open but hide your trail mix, jungle bars and extra rusks! Val can trail-run anything and still wakes up looking gorgeous. They're both fit and climbing regularly. I have bags under my eyes and desperately need that coffee first thing in the morning. 

Val bounced, Jen limped and I wandered back to the car just before mid-day. We returned the Mike’s Hut key, fetched the Agtertafelberg key and headed the Du Toits tunnel and Fisantekraal. Huffed our way up the mountain with packs on, discovered the field of proteas and sunbirds as the sun was setting and wound our way up to the hut, which we shared with another two groups of hikers. More laughter and new friends made, mountain-style over food and coffee and long tales. Steri-strips for Jen’s looking-less-nasty-whew wound. Another swim in a beautiful remote river. Deep discussions of life and faith. 

And on Sunday, with reluctance, it was time to wash up after several cups of coffee, sweep and lock the hut, repack our bags, absorb the silence amid the tall peaks and then return to everyday life. With a last quick dip in the river before Fisantekraal’s parking. And a final long, long look at the high peaks around us. And another snack for Jen. 

Even now, in early 2020, the deep deposit in my heart refreshes my soul while I work out who is playing what sport when, find a new meal idea or get back to my computer to work. John Gillespie Magee spoke of this holy moment of touching God through flight in his poem “High Flight”:

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth

And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

Of sun-split clouds, – and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of – wheeled and soared and swung

High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,

I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air…

Up, up the long, delirious burning blue

I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace

Where never lark, or ever eagle flew –

And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod

The high untrespassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

Mountains are my high untrespassed sanctuary. I don’t top their heights with any grace, but as the lark and eagle fly above me, I find myself reaching out my hand and touching the face of God. 

_____

I am so grateful for these women, my friends, who shared these moments of wonder, silence and depth in the midst of our busy fulfilled lives, and for our husbands who released us to receive us home with open arms, chocolate and kisses.