2018 – A fynbos bouquet

I was tempted to write 2018 off as a blur.

A year that sped past and left a sense of “check, next!” in its aftermath.

Our daily lives are so crammed with detailed to-do lists, that the memorable moments of the year could easily get clouded over by the mental fog of “truckloads of stuff got done.”

So, yesterday, I took stock. Properly.

I took my daily calendar (I still have a physical diary every year, not just a phone/computer calendar), and I paged through from January to date. I wrote down three to five highlights and significant experiences from each month. I also went through the photo album on my phone, and my Instagram feed to refresh my memory where the calendar only said “hike” or “kuier” or “Hermanus naweek”.

Then, I drew themes from this rich data.

Basically, I did a thematic content analysis of the year. These things happen involuntarily if you are a verified nerdgirl …

The themes were a revelation to me.

When I looked at them from another perspective (as a qualitatively inclined researcher arguably should do often), I realised that I could probably draw most of them back to words of encouragement I received while I was going through the tough season of mourning in the second half of 2017.

Here are my main themes. I share them as an encouragement for you to find yours, and be intentionally thankful for life in abundance.

The first theme was flowers. Red disas hidden above a rock pool in a kloof outside Hermanus. Rare blue disas on Table Mountain. The delightful Bergbruidjie and Fleurs de La Motte fynbos art at La Motte. Proteas on my mother’s grave, and on the slopes of Jonkershoek.

Quite a few people told me last year that they saw pictures of me walking through fields of flowers, and that they see flowers blooming again after a devastating veldfire. Profound. Beauty for ashes.

The second theme was mountains. Jonkershoek. Table Mountain. Swadini. Overberg. Not just looking at them. Playing in their ravines. Hiding in their shadow-shelters. Drinking from their streams. Delighting in the wild charm of spontaneous waterfalls and springs. Battling with their inclines, tested by their immovable nature. Marvelling at their abundance. Soul restoring. An overflow of ferns and wild proteas adorning slopes where only few see. I love how extravagant beauty is hidden in high places. Green, lush life. Buite speel.

Psalm 18 is an anchor scripture for me, and has been a go-to comfort for the season. “The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold … He makes my feet like the feet of a deer; He causes me to stand on the heights … ” Hence, the delight in being hidden in the clefts of mountain rocks.

Another theme is rivers and full dams. The Blyde River. The Eerste River. The drought that was broken by merciful rain. Lest we forget His on-time provision in times of desperate need. Don’t have to explain that one too much.

Another theme was community. Friends and family and church and work. The love and the laughter woven into doing daily life, Saturday hikes and braai’s, Sunday services, weekends away and holiday road-trips. WhatsApp groups with random memes and rabbit-trail conversations. A rich tapestry of characters, personalities, shared dreams and burdens. A sense of belonging. Communal purpose. Being valued. Having people to love, pray, work and celebrate with. Priceless.

“He sets the solitary into families …”

A theme that became important to me a few years ago is self-care when I realised that self-love is in fact a Biblical mandate. I don’t mean vanity. I mean actually loving who you are, and taking care of your only body, soul and spirit because you are delighted in by God and you are allowed to enjoy being you. I cannot begin to tell you what a victory it is for me to wear a bikini in public. It’s not about how you look to others. It is about how you feel about yourself. I loved going for pedicures this year, and investing time and money in exercise that I enjoy. I bought a mountain bike and I did the Gun Run 21 km. I also try eating as clean as possible, without being pedantic. Because, you know, pizza. I also invested in my mental health, making regular appointments to speak to a counsellor when I need to process the layers of spiritual and emotional turmoil I don’t show to others. There is no shame in needing help. Body, soul and spirit. Take care of all three. A crucial aspect of selfcare, is boundaries. You alone are responsible for setting them wisely, and protecting them diligently.

A theme that carries through my work and personal life, is words. We play with words daily, because words create worlds. Brands and communication strategies are built first with words. The meaning of a word is weighed, tried, tested, shifted, played with. Deleted. Re-written. Words have always mattered. And this year, some of my heart words found their timely way onto the pages of a beautifully crafted passport journal, giving a glimpse into the pent-up poetry which is my soul. Inviting others to find their own words. Psalm 45:1.

I also saw ministry fruits beginning to form again, from brokenness. I had an opportunity to share some of my testimony relating to loosing both parents, as well as being very single for very long. I had opportunities to teach about spiritual warfare and Holy Spirit gifts, as well as on a Kingdom vision for society. Green faith-shoots breaking through devastation. As promised.

Then there were books that fascinated me. Biographies of controversial historic world leaders, to be exact. Napoleon and Cleopatra. Weird, I know. But I guess I’m fascinated by people’s motives for wanting power, and how influence actually works. I honestly don’t get why one would want to rule the world. It seems like way too much admin to me. But yet, throughout history, people have been driven by the seemingly addictive need for power to dominate. To this day. I don’t get it. But it fascinates me. Why would you want to rule / lead a nation if you have zero desire to care for people? Same applies to companies. Or churches. Power, or shall I rather say the desire to control, seems to inevitably corrupt. I pondered on that this year, also reading Commanding Heights, an overview of the global political and economical governmental systems since World War 2. Trevor Noah’s Born a Crime is also proving to be quite a challenging and insightful rebuke.

I won’ add an image to this one if you don’t mind … Obviously, I had a crush on one or two guys during the year.  Spanning an age gap of probably about 20 years between the youngest and the oldest. What can I say. Lifespace theory still applies. Psychographic segmentation has alway been more useful than demographic segmentation. Ce’st la vie. A luta continua.

And that is basically that.

This year was not just a blur. It is textured with layers of profound memories. Experiences and lessons. Opportunities to exercise faith and wisdom. To love. To forgive. To petition. To surrender. To step up and to stand back. To hold loosely, and to let go. In faith.

When I first moved to the Western Cape, I thought fynbos was just a blur of grey and green shrubbery, being used to the trees of the lowveld and bushveld, and grasslands of the highveld.

But fynbos is in fact a multifaceted tapestry of abundance that only becomes clear when you’re focussing in on the delightful detail of each plant.

This year was like the fynbos that grows wild on the mountain slopes that I have come to love.

Where eagles glide in to nest, and childlike souls are free to play.

Selah.