Stories of Faith 2/2020

 

Revelation 12:11 says: “They overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony; …”. When we tell testimonies of the Lord God’s power and saving grace on our lives, the devil slinks away tail between legs. So, let us share our amazing stories of God’s love in action and shame the evil one. 

We look forward to reading your own story of faith in the coming weeks. Your well-written story should be about 800 – 1000 words. Send your story to: barbarankala@gmail.com. Selected stories will be compiled into an anthology of stories of faith.

        Here is today’s story of faith told by Pastors Philip and Charlotte Pike. Enjoy! And look out for the next story in a fortnight’s time.

Pikes' Faith Journey

Pastors Charlotte & Phillip Pike

(Charlotte Pike tells the story)

Three faith quotations tickle my mind. 

“Faith is to believe what you do not see; the reward of this faith is to see what you believe” Saint Augustine.

“Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase” Martin Luther King, Jr.

“Now faith is the confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see” Hebrews 11:1.

We have lived through many faith journeys. This particular journey of faith started in 1998 when we lived in a small suburb called Masasa Park, in Harare. We went to fellowship at Hear the Word – now Celebration Centre. Celebration Centre was being built along Borrowdale Road, and we were part of that project. So it was that we desired to live in the Borrowdale, or Vainona or Mt. Pleasant areas to be near our place of worship. The snag was that we did not meet the criteria to be in those areas financially. One thing we did not have was a shortage of the substance of faith... And, we prayed! 

For starters, we sent our children to Borrowdale Primary School, which was near where we had the church project. That was “by faith”. That entailed driving about 15km one way every day to drop the children at school. We believed that one day we would live in that area. 

Every Sunday we attended church at Harry Margolis Hall in Milton Park, where we used to meet while our church building was under construction. One Sunday, as we were leaving church, we bought the Sunday Mail. Philip (my husband) was attracted to an advertisement of a show house at 27 Armadale Road, Vainona. We decided to go and have a look, “by faith”, though we did not have the kind of money required. We were quite young at the time, in our early 30s. All we knew was that we trusted God to enable us to live in that area.

“Look at this Charlotte! Let’s go have a look!”

“Hmm! The price Philip!”

“Yes, but let’s just go and see what happens.” 

So it was we drove to 27 Armadale Road that particular day, and we were wowed by the many cars parked inside and outside the premises. Then we viewed suave business people as well as polished politicians confidently sauntering from room to room. They registered their interest, as well as what they were willing to put down. I think we were the youngest couple present at that time.  We realised that this was a prime area. Some of the offers made our hearts beat uncomfortably fast, but we stayed on, hopeful.

The house belonged to a white man called John Clinton. He must have been in his late 50s or early 60s – rough looking and very abrupt in his conduct. True businessman, and shrewd. So, while various ones  made impressive offers, we did not offer anything because we had nothing to offer. And while people were walking about outside the yard my husband managed to get a moment to speak to Mr Clinton. He basically told him this, “The reason why I would like to move into this house is because we are building a church near here on Borrowdale Road. My children are already at Borrowdale Primary School. Our desire is to live near our church and our children’s school.”  

“What can you offer?” Clinton asked brusquely. Silence. We really had no answer to that. We went away knowing that the house was beyond our dreams. My husband and John Clinton exchanges business cards all the same. At the time,  my husband worked at Founders Building Society. We were at the bottom of the list for consideration as we had offered nothing. We went away with that dreadful feeling that John Clinton would not call us and yet our hearts yearned to own such a kind of house in that area. All we could do was pray. 

Monday went by uneventfully. Tuesday morning came, and out-of-the-blue phone-call came through from John Clinton to my husband at his work-place.

“Young man, out of all these people, I want to deal with you. Can you meet me at Kantor and Immerman Legal Practitioners tomorrow!”

Philip called me excited about meeting Clinton the following day. We still had nothing to offer as we had no money.

(Philip Pike takes over the story)

We went to meet the seller at the lawyers’ offices and they had drawn papers for the offer. The lawyer said,

“What do you have to offer?”

We had nothing to offer in front of all those lawyers. We must have looked ridiculous and foolish. Silly dreamers! We watched with trepidation as the countenance of the partner in the law firm changed. He was so upset with us and the seller, John Clinton. 

“I asked what you have to offer” he repeated.

 “I do not have any money, but I have faith I shall find the money.”  

Harry Kantor, the senior partner then addressed both the seller, John Clinton, Charlotte and me:

“John, and your people, get out of my office! You are wasting my time!”

That was hard. We had come in full of excitement. Now this! We crept out with tails between our legs. 

I even went to speak to our pastor at the time who happened to know John Clinton. He is late now. Pastor Gary Strong said,

“You are dealing with John Clinton! He is a very sharp and difficult man. I was at school with him and he is a shrewd businessman – he started business at a tender age of 14 or 15 as he had no parents. He grew up hard and so if you are trying to get a house out of him, well, the Lord help you.”

To our utter surprise, after the unceremonious dismissal from the lawyer’s office, Clinton seemed unruffled and in the usual curt fashion he said,

“No problem! You guys, here is the agreement I had drawn. You can go and live in the house without paying. Whenever you get the money, you can pay me.” 

Unbelievable! Alone we wondered whether we had heard right! We did have faith, but possibly did not think it could move mountains. We soon got used to running two homes; at Masasa Park and in Vainona near Borrowdale. We were not even paying rent. For the first three months, we lived there for free. 

While I worked for Founders Building Society, I was head-hunted by Time Bank, a fairly new bank at that time. I went for an interview and they were happy with me and said,

“We would like you to take you.”

“I will only come on one condition” I said. “May you please advance me payment for a property I wish to acquire. I have got an offer for it.”

Lo and behold, that faith kicked in and manifested itself as they said, “Yes, we will pay for it.”  I presented the papers and the payment was made in full.

Twenty years down the line, we are still in the house. Faith never fails. Faith works regardless of whatever circumstances and situations one is facing. Don’t give up when your faith is tested. Your dream may seem out of reach, and the staircase might be out of sight, but active faith makes everything possible.

Philip and Charlotte Pike are Pastors of Ebenezer World Outreach Ministries (E.W.O.M.) They have three adult children and one still at school. They also have one lovely grandson.

Stories of Faith 1/2020: A Rich Legacy

A RICH LEGACY

Barbara Nkala

There is just one more day to go before 2019 comes to a close. After my morning devotions I lounged and closed my eyes. I pondered the many Christmases I experienced in childhood (in the 1950s), as a young person, as a young couple, and now that I am a grandma. I began to think of the early Christmas times and the man who impacted my life in a big way from childhood. He was imposing. He had such a presence. He was full of wisdom. He was caring. Khulu (Grandpa) Makhalisa Moyo has been gone about 29 years, but I still remember him with candour. My faith roots start there. I bask in the rich legacy bequeathed by him.

Khulu Makhalisa Moyo on a visit in Harare, 1989

I flash back to those wonderful years gone by. Every school holiday father drove us to Khulu’s farm at Godlwayo in Filabusi. We used to look forward to those times. Khulu would welcome us with delight and immediately lead us to the sheep pen to choose one to slaughter. We, townsfolk helped by holding the legs apart and learnt a lot about the inner parts of the carcass in the process of skinning the sheep. The tail was a bag of fat that Gogo fried, saving the rich oil that she used to fry scrumptious doughnuts for tea. When the lamb was used up, another sheep was slaughtered.

Khulu wanted to hear about our school progress on day one, and we crowded him to show our reports. We each were rewarded with shillings that we kept for use at the school tuckshop. It was really wonderful to hear Khulu say, “Very good! Well done!” We loved it! Khulu was a keen educationist. He had helped establish Vumangwe Primary School at Gwabila with the Salvation Army Church. He educated all his children, five boys and four girls. Two Aunties were teachers and two were nurses. I admired them. He also educated his late brother’s grandchildren who filled the homestead. It was a big home with a big family, including a vagrant in the area, and the poor who came to work in Khulu’s fields to make a living. 

Big three-legged iron pots were used to cook isitshwala (mealie porridge). It was interesting to watch the elderly ladies use big cooking sticks to stir the porridge. It was equally fun to watch two people pounding mealies to a rhythm, with song. The skilled would even throw up the stamping stick and catch it in time to stamp in and out. We learnt the skill and art, including grinding roasted nuts on a grinding stone. We shared food from the same dishes in groups. Only Khulu had his own plates. Women ate together, so did grandmas, older boys, children of various sizes. What was annoying was to have an older child pick the nice piece of meat one was eyeing, or if they delayed picking relish as there had to be the order of age in picking pieces of meat. A special treat was when we each had wooden spoon-fulls of fluffy pure white curds mixed with cooked and ground barley placed in our cupped hands - 'umcaba'. O, my mouth waters still. It was an honour to be called by Khulu to collect his plates for he always left something good in the plate and he always had the best of all food.

We learnt a lot of things in the rural country-side so that our childhood was very rich, as we were familiar with both the township trends and the farm life. We learnt how to balance big buckets of calabashes of water on our heads. We always stopped to swim in the pools in the river. We looked for firewood, and learnt how to make a fire at the hearth, sometimes in tears because of smoke from wet wood on rainy days. We swept the yard clean using branch brooms. We learnt how to use cow dung to smear on the floors. The smell of the floors was good and fresh, and no insects were bothersome. Khulu led us in fertilising the growing maize using little scoops. He demonstrated where to place the fertilizer, and how to remove offshoots. We learnt how to cultivate and remove weeds. I learnt to hold the leather reins to guide the oxen. At first, I was fearful that one ox would break loose and gore me with its horns, but no, they were all tame. 

The best time was in the evenings. After the evening meals, we played all sorts of games outside in the dust. We had already bathed, so that dust was cleaned by the blankets. Amazing that we never fell seriously ill except for the occasional common coughs and headaches. Many a time we sat in Gogo’s kitchen to listen to the wonderful folk stories ('inganekwane'). Some were scary and I would have night-mares, but most were just great fun with great lessons. Sometimes we had competitions of riddles. We sang and danced. Every evening, at just the right time, there was a call in the homestead: Mthandazo! (meaning, “Time to Pray!”) We all stopped what we were doing and rushed to sit in Khulu’s lounge/dining room. 

Gogo MaSibanda, Khulu Makhalisa, Gogo MaDube

Khulu sat in his antiquated sofa, holding his Zulu Bible. (There was no Ndebele Bible then.) We sang a couple of songs from the Salvation Army hymn book. That is where we learnt so many classical hymns in Ndebele, such as “Bal’ Inhlanhla Nezibusiso” (Count Your Blessings), “Umhlobo Wethu NguJesu” (What a Friend We have in Jesus), “Babuthule, Ubusuku” (Silent Night), “NginoMsindisi Ongigcinayo” (I have a Saviour Who’s Mighty to Keep). Then Khulu would read a chapter or section from the Holy Book. He is the only one who owned a Bible then. He would elaborate on the Scripture and then pray or ask one of the Gogos to pray. Then off to bed, where I often dreamt about a bull chasing after me, or a snake trying to jump and bite me as I flew.

The best times were Christmas times. Father would come from Bulawayo loaded with gifts for each person. I thought we had the best gifts always, and he always brought the most modern of things, such as the latest dollies that made sounds, or tiny click and watch screens with interesting pictures. There were new clothes and shoes and socks of course, so that we were all smart on Christmas Day. And Khulu beat the drum with gusto while Gogo MaSibanda played the tambourine that had many coloured ribbons flying in the air in style. As the eldest grandchild, I always organised the younger children and we performed a Christmas skit, and we sang Christmas carols learnt at our Sunday School at BICC Mpopoma. After an uplifting worship time, we had a good Christmas lunch with a lot of meat, and sweets. Ah, those were the days! 

Khulu after every so often called for a gathering of all his children, and grandchildren for Thanksgiving. A cow would be slaughtered and there was a lot of other food such as meat and samp and we ate to our heart’s content. The gathering always was to thank God for providence and sustenance. I remember the last one he called in 1989. We gathered at Gulungwe Farm. Khulu stood up and sang praises to God. That is when he taught us the song he composed, “Bong’ uJesu Moya Wam’ ”.  I later in life realised it was based on Psalm 103:1, 2. He then stood up and thanked God that he was still alive, at about 99 years old. His two wives, Gogo Mbanda (MaDube, my grandmother), and Gogo MaSibanda were still alive. His nine children were alive. All his grand children were alive. He counted his blessings and named them one by one. “Count Your Blessings” became the Makhalisa clan theme song. This has persisted till this very day. Our children are teaching it to their children. What a legacy! 

So, as we start a new year after tomorrow, I wonder what impact I have made on various ones in my lifetime. I am determined to live 2020 with a purpose. I plan to be more loving, kinder, to serve better, to love God more and read his word more and pray more. Maybe …just maybe I will emulate Khulu Makhalisa Moyo.

Barbara Nkala 30 December 2019