Saturdays are endless
I was watching Nhabhutu play by herself this morning. With no concept of time, in her world, and in my other childrens’ world, Saturdays are endless. I envy that. I remember as a child that days spread themselves across endless summer fields, trips to Beaver Creek or Cranberry Flats in Saskatchewan. As we age, time sneaks up a little closer and then one day you ask where it went.
I refuse to let time get the better of me. Every day in every way, must count, must be remembered. Here in the West, we take so much for granted, but in little Nhabhutu’s world, she came from nothing, so she expects nothing. Her days go on as they have, with ore turbulence than most people need to have, but she hides it away. She is six and remains unfettered by any type of cares.
Now, I am not saying it is alright for her not to be really healed from her experiences, but I do admire the way she can wake up and be six. She can wake up and face the day, not hide from it and play. She tells me a story of a villager that ran from rats that came into his hut. She says he ran from them but did not stop to chase them away. I think in her own way she is telling me that she is fighting those rats on her own and refuses to run away. I admire that. The world is full of too many people that bemoan and blame their situations on others. She is standing to fight. (Keep her in prayer!)
Her story’s of the village are riotous. I find a lot of them hard to believe and find it hard to believe that anyone could survive that environment for long. She tells of a fat man named George who passes gas in front of the town’s donkey. She pantomimes his actions and I can’t stop laughing. George, she says, does this because he says it keeps the flies away from his corn meal.
Saturdays should be endless. Life is meant to be enjoyed, to be shared. Anything else makes it pointless and a waste. Wake up and share it today with someone.