Sparrow Redeemed

By Manfred Dedekind

Manfred's ancestors left the safety and comforts of Germany in 1866 to go as missionaries to the warlike Zulu tribes of South Africa. He describes his early childhood and family memories growing up on a farm, being schooled in the Lutheran community and church, and the great love of family members. His book also brings out how he, his family, and relatives have faced numerous and serious dangers from wild animals, disease and armed farm attacks.

Manfred comes into a new-found relationship and faith in Christ. His dreams of effectively preaching the Gospel to the Zulus and other people is fulfilled when he gets the opportunity to receive training as an evangelist in the church he is attending. His zeal in witnessing to others has led many people to give their lives to Christ, including the members of his family; and has enabled him to be part of mission teams that traveled into Rwanda, Uganda and Burundi to share the Gospel with the people.

The successes and troubles of life for him and his family have been a journey of perseverance and trust in God, bringing out clearly, the rewards of faith, prayer, and trust where God will carry one through the hard times. Personal testimony of God's goodness is revealed over and over again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Manfred Dedekind
• Release date: Feb 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215591192

Book preview

A SPARROW IN THE HANDS OF ALMIGHTY GOD

Luke 12: 4-7

I tell you, my friends, do not be afraid of those who kill the body and after that can do no more.

But I will show you whom you should fear: Fear HIM who, after the killing of the body, has the power to throw you into hell. Yes, I tell you, fear HIM.

Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies, yet not one of them is forgotten by GOD.

Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.

GOD created the majestic eagle.

GOD created the gentle, beautiful dove and GOD also created The Little Sparrow.

Majestic eagles remind me of mighty men of faith like Abraham, Moses, David, Elijah, Daniel, The Apostle Paul, Martin Luther, John Calvin, George Whitfield, John Wesley, D. L. Moody, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Billy Graham.

The gentle beautiful dove reminds me of my devoted Christian mother, and devoted gentle Christian men, like Jay Juice Johnson, Jeremy Cech, Dr. Warwick Cole- Edwardes.

Then I think of myself as an insignificant little sparrow, but not forgotten by GOD:

IN CHRIST ALONE MY HOPE IS FOUND.

Chapter 1 - MY EARLY CHILDHOOD

27 May 1947 -  As the siren went off for the noontime break at the Dundee Brick Yards, in Kwazulu-Natal, South Africa, I gave my first cry of life on earth and I was placed into my mother’s loving arms. My father was overwhelmed with love for my dear mother and wrote her a beautiful love letter saying that he loved her more than ever before. Papa expressed his ardent hope and prayer that their little boy would grow up to lead many to good and lead no one to do wrong.

My precious and beautiful little sister, Monika was born 18 months later. On the day of her birth, my godly grandmother found me at home kneeling at a chair in prayer. I told her I was praying for my baby sister and on being asked what her name should be, I replied: Moses. I can still remember, to this day, that special, pleasant odor of those woven grass chairs of my very early childhood where we would kneel in prayer during our regular morning time of devotion. I can also remember the amazing, warm sense of deep peace and security that would flood my young child’s heart on hearing Luther’s Morning Prayer:

Dein Heiliger Engel, Sei Mit Uns, Dass Der Böse Feind Keine Macht an Uns Finde.

Your Holy Angel be with us so that the evil enemy will gain no way with us.

My deeply devoted Christian mother taught us to pray, I think before we could hardly speak:

Ich Bin Klein Mein Herz Mach Rein Soll Niemand Drinn Wohnen Als JESUS Allein.

I am but small, cleanse my heart. No one shall live in my heart but JESUS Alone.

And then:

Lieber GOTT Mach Mich Fromm Dass Ich Zu DIR Im Himmel Komm.

Dear GOD make me devoted that I would come to YOU in Heaven.

Later, our childcare Zulu girls were also allowed to tell us their exciting and interesting Zulu Fairy Tales before bedtime. So, we were fluent in German and Zulu from our very early childhood.

Like every little boy, I started to seek out danger, even as a 2 ½ year old trying to run over a cobra with my little tricycle, to my mother’s shock and my father’s anger. While at my grandparent’s home, I also managed to get my father’s GMC pickup truck started and almost ran it down a stone terrace. A big papaya tree stopped me.

My mother’s brother, Uncle Egon, as a little boy would leave a little of his porridge (grits) and milk every morning and walk off with it from the breakfast table. Eventually when they followed him outside one morning they found him feeding a huge cobra. When they killed it, he cried saying: Now you have broken my stick!

Two years before I went to school my baby sister, Margaret, was born. She and I became very close later in life.

I will never forget that lost feeling on that first day of school as I stepped out of my father’s GMC truck alone with my little suitcase. That overwhelming feeling, very gratefully, melted away a few seconds later when my older cousin Hartwig Schroeder came running to meet me with open arms and a beaming smile! Although only one year older, Hartwig was my strong defender and protector in my first years of school. If the older boys got me to fight, Hartwig would root for me, giving me advice on how best to overcome my opponent.

The richest blessing at school was that our Lutheran pastor would begin each morning with a half hour lesson in GOD’s Holy Word guided by Luther’s small catechism. I clearly remember dear Pastor Engelbrecht explaining to us that as children of GOD we no longer have to fear ALMIGHTY GOD with the fear that a slave has for his brutal slave master. Instead, we fear our GOD like a loving child fears his loving father! He also told us that our parents had Holy authority over us as they represented GOD’s authority in our lives here on earth. We would also memorize precious Bible verses and hymn verses every day as homework.

When my sister, Monika, started school, she was bored because she had already finished the grade one lessons with me at home. So, she was moved up to grade two after 2 weeks in grade one.

Monika and I now went to school in a donkey-cart. Felamandhla, a Zulu boy about four years older than me would drive the little cart pulled by two donkeys. On one occasion, a huge cobra crossed the road ahead of us. Felamandhla and I jumped out of the donkey cart and pursued the cobra into the grass. When we confronted the cobra, it turned and started towards us, its head and its widened neck about 18 inches above the ground. We immediately started hurling baseball sized rocks at it until it was about 10 yards away when Felamandhla scored a direct hit on the cobra’s neck causing the snake to flip over.  We then ran up to the dazed snake and crushed its head.

My Zulu friend was also very good with his sling-shot, and on one occasion he took a bird out of the sky in full flight while riding on the donkey-cart. The place where he shot the dove out of the sky was almost exactly the same place where we killed the snake, just a little less than a mile from home. Felamandhla, Monika and myself were sitting in the cart traveling in a northerly direction when a nTinti, flying very fast in a southerly direction about 30 yards away, caught his attention. He stood up, whirled around and while doing so slipped the sling-shot hanging around his neck over his head. Never taking his eye off the dove, Felamandhla then took a stone from his pocket and after quickly loading his sling-shot, he aimed about 3 feet ahead of the target before releasing the stone. A second or two later, to my astonishment, the nTinti collided with the stone. It was a head shot and the dove dropped out of the sky. Felamandhla could not believe his luck and was beside himself with excitement! 

At about age 7, there were 2 Afrikaans boys, Wouter and Stoffel, who lived on the neighboring farm and these two just loved to tell jokes. Previously though, my godly mother had said to me, Son, if you laugh at a dirty joke, you are just as guilty as the one who told it. Soon after my mother had warned me, these boys told me a dirty joke at school and I almost burst at the seams laughing, more about them laughing at their own joke than about the joke itself. Well, my conscience was pricked and about two nights later, I had a dream! A dream like none ever before and none ever since! I am now almost 65 years of age and I have seen horrible and brutal things in my life, but I have never experienced such horror as I did on that night now many years ago because Satan came to me that night. He came to claim my soul that night.

My father was a mighty, tall, strong man. He was about a head taller than most of his generation. He was just incredibly strong and powerful in every way. Well, my father was with me in that dream, and like any little boy, I looked up to Papa to save me from the Devil! Instead, I heard my father say, Time to go Son! Even Papa could not help me! My time had come to go down to everlasting hell and damnation! I had hit rock bottom!

I woke up drenched in sweat! Drenched in sweat, as though I had been pulled from a swimming pool! In utter despair, I got out of bed, walking through the dark to my parent’s bedroom.

Mama, Papa! I gasped. I’m not good enough! I can’t go to heaven!!!

My father replied, "That’s why JESUS died on the cross! But son, if you think you are good enough even JESUS cannot help you!

To me, I saw JESUS hanging on the cross for me. For the very first time it was for me! For me! For me! He became my SAVIOR! My LORD! My GOD!

My little boy’s heart was flooded with heavenly peace as I went back to bed unafraid in the arms of Jesus, my Jesus. I love HIM because HE first loved me! HE loves me with an everlasting LOVE! I am so grateful that JESUS is the SAVIOR of sinners, that HE is mine and I am HIS! From as far back as I can even remember, I always knew that bad people had nailed Jesus on a cross. That they had beaten Him and mocked Him! Spat on HIM and ridiculed HIM! As a little boy I hated those people, but at my age I had not realized that I was one of those people! That night for the first time, I knew that JESUS hung on that cross for me!

I know today that if I was the only sinner that ever walked this earth JESUS my SAVIOR would have left the glories of Heaven to pay for my sins on that cruel Roman cross. I am the sinner HE came to save!! I am the one for whom HE sweated blood, in the Garden of Gethsemane, alone. He did it alone!!! All praise glory, laud and honor, to our GOD. It was also for me that HE rose victorious from the grave on Easter Morning.

From about age 11 or 12, I started reading the Bible every night before going to sleep. Because we did not have electricity in our farmhouse, I had to read GOD’s word by candlelight.

As a young boy I still ploughed and hoed my daddy’s land with oxen and I also rode on an ox wagon.

From about age 12, my father taught me how to light the paraffin lamp so it could be used to light up our dining room area in the evenings. This became my unpleasant task every evening.

Almost every afternoon after school, Felamandhla and I would go hunting with my pellet gun. We had great fun and he got very good because, unlike me, he would patiently stalk every target to get close to make sure of his shot. He also had a very good eye for the African Bush. On occasion, he would suddenly put his arm out in front of me and say: Watch out, there’s a snake! When I’d ask him, Where? He would explain: You see where that root of the tree ahead twists to the left, that’s where it is. And then, I too could see the snake clearly.

Felamandhla, and I would run barefoot around the thorn trees on our farm, and because of this, the soles of our feet were very sensitive to the many sharp thorns. However, on one occasion I got a thorn deep into my heel. Using another thorn as a needle, my Zulu friend dug around my heel for about an hour trying to dig out the painful culprit.

Not only did his probing hurt, but the hole was getting bigger.  Yet the thorn would not budge.  No matter how much it hurt, I could not show my Zulu friend that I could not endure pain. Eventually, my father had to dig it out with a safety pin. 

I adored and greatly respected my dear father and would do anything to win his approval! Time and again fire would break out on one of our farms which was located 9 miles from our house. Somehow the fires seemed to always start towards the late evening. Papa would go into crisis mode and all the Zulu farmworkers would be sprinting for Papa’s GMC truck, some of the men barely getting on the back as the truck was already speeding off. Because of the extreme urgency, I would never have time to put on my shoes. I had to be in on the action to please Papa and thus earn his approval, but also to feel good about myself, that I too was a real man. I would fight the blazing hot veld fires, and choke on the dense smoke, with my nose running and tears running down my cheeks, working side by side deep into the night with the big, strong, brave young Zulu men.

When the fire was eventually extinguished, I would find myself extremely dehydrated, utterly exhausted, and painfully limping with multiple thorns in both feet, desperately keeping up with the also exhausted young Zulu men to get back to the pick-up truck. My father would patiently take all my thorns out with a safety pin, and seemed to approve of me not whining or complaining; while he worked hard with the needle to extract every thorn from both of my feet.

We were told that Germans are brave and they don’t cry. Even my little baby sister, Margaret, would not cry if Papa had to take an occasional thorn out of her little feet. My daddy would however be highly amused about his precious little girl’s feet, breaking out in a sweat while he worked with the needle to dig the thorn out. He dearly, proudly, and tenderly loved his little girl.

Papa was also an avid fisherman. He just loved to fish, but I had very little interest in fishing. However, when my father would happily ask me if I would join him, I always agreed just to please him.

When I was about 5 years of age, I would carry the bucket containing the bait consisting of earthworms. The bucket which also contained earth to keep the worms alive would seem to get heavier and heavier as the wire handle cut into my fingers. My father would be walking briskly, taking huge strides because he was so excited to get to his first fishing spot. To me, it seemed like I had to take ten little steps for each one of his! I would find myself lagging behind and would have to run as fast as I could to catch up, only to repeat the process. Papa would say to me, Son, the African people walk single file. We walk side by side! But, I could simply not keep up with him and I would vow to myself that I would never go fishing again.

But the next time Papa excitedly asked, My boy, are you coming fishing with me? I would answer: Ja, Papa with as much excitement as I could muster. I could simply not disappoint my hero, my beloved father. (Mein Papa).

His favorite spot was where the little Isibindi (Liver or Courage in Zulu) River would flow into the Buffalo River (Umzinyati River in Zulu).  On one occasion we had some heavy rain, and the Isibindi River was high and we had to cross it. I will always remember that warm feeling of love, security, and admiration for my papa as he took me in his strong arms, keeping my little head and shoulders above the deep water, as he waded shoulder deep through the flowing river.

He never told me he loved me. He never told me that he was proud of me, but on that occasion, I felt so close to my dear Papa’s heart, as he held me close to his heart with his big powerful arms.  I could sense his pride and fatherly love for his helpless little boy with him in the water. He was my hero! I always loved my father. I could not always understand and agree with his actions, but I always loved and admired my father and was always very, very proud of him.

As my beloved Papa kept me safe and close to his father heart that special and unforgettable day, so my heavenly FATHER, ALMIGHTY GOD has kept me safe, secure and close to his heart all the days of my life. He is my FATHER, my Papa, my Daddy, through JESUS CHRIST, His son, and without JESUS, we as helpless sinners cannot dare to call Holy, Holy, Holy and ALMIGHTY GOD our FATHER!!!

My father was also an excellent shot with his English made 12 bore double barrel Greener shotgun.  That top quality shotgun was his pride and joy! During hunting season, he would often ask me to join him, hunting for partridge with Bruno, our beautiful English pointer. We would leave home around 3 p.m. and Bruno would go totally berserk with excitement, and my father would be forced to severely discipline the dog to get him to focus on his task.

I just loved hunting! Every minute of it.

One of the reasons for my love was watching Bruno at work! It was fascinating to watch him because he could pick up the scent of a partridge hiding in the grass from a distance. He would then cautiously stalk closer and closer, one step at a time in total and utter concentration until, about 8 to 10 feet away, he would come to a stop. He would lift up one of his paws.  His long tail, stiff as a ramrod, would be in line with his body. His actions were out of this world, but nothing could move him once he got into this position.  He was cast in stone!

Once he was on point, my father would then walk forward in the direction Bruno’s nose was pointing, his shotgun at the ready. The partridge would then come flying out of the grass as though rocket-propelled, flying off in different directions making it extremely difficult to hit more than one. However, Papa was amazing with that gun! He would hardly ever miss. He would get one, then turn and hit a second one in the nick of time! Thanks to his shooting skills, we would be walking home by 5 p.m. carrying up to 15 partridges for my mother to prepare, making a very tasty meal that we would eat cold the next day.

At around the age of 10, my father considered me responsible enough to go hunting with his .22 Oberndorf Mauser. What a gun!  I just loved that gun. I could not have dreamt of a more beautiful gun. I actually think I was in love with this gun like a man loves a woman! Besides being a masterpiece of the German gun industry, it was, not only beautiful to my eyes, but it was also deadly accurate and highly effective. If you miss with a Mauser, you can only blame yourself.

The first buck I shot with the Mauser was a beautiful mountain reebuck. Then the very next afternoon, just to relive the excitement of the previous day, I took the Mauser and went down the same hill where I had shot the reebuck. As I walked along the slope, to my utter amazement two duikers came running down the little hill to my right, chasing each other, totally oblivious to my presence. Duikers are normally extremely elusive, very shy and alert. Yet, there they were at only about 20 yards. What an easy target despite being about the size of a German Shepherd dog.  After taking careful aim, I shot one of them, very surprised at my good fortune!

The last duiker I ever shot was during my first year in high school. It was the last day of the winter holidays and before returning to boarding school, I went hunting. Unfortunately, there was a gale force wind that made shooting very difficult. The farther away the target stood, the more difficult it became. And, as it turned out, the duiker I spotted happened to be about 300 yards away.  Even without the wind, hitting a target at that yardage would not be easy. After allowing for the effect of the strong wind on the bullet, and the long distance, I pulled the trigger. I could hardly believe my eyes when it went down. When I came upon it lying there on the slope of the mountain, with those beautiful, big, black eyes, I could never shoot another one! And I didn’t!

From about the age of 11, my father encouraged me to go hunting for guinea fowl with his 12 bore Greener double barrel shotgun. I had great fun, although I had to get used to the kick of this big gun to my young shoulder.

At about age 12, my 7-year-old baby sister Moppsie (Margaret), a fun-loving, brave and strong little tom-boy would accompany me when I would go hunting for partridge with my father’s English pointer, Bruno. Mamma would tell us to be back before sunset. On one occasion, I clearly remember the sun was about to go down when my baby sister Moppsie reminded me that we had to get back home.

When I answered her that I just wanted to try a little bit longer, she replied: Well, you will not get any more partridge then because you are being disobedient to Mamma. True enough, I did not get a single bird after that.

Chapter 2 - LOOKING DEATH IN THE EYE!!

Our GOD is a GOD Who Saves; From the SOVEREIGN LORD Comes Escape From Death. (Psalms 68: verse 20)

In South Africa, violent crimes, including carjacking, have been on the increase, especially since the Late 1980s. On one occasion, a young mother was high jacked with her little 3 year-old. When the mother was forced out of her car, she pleaded urgently with the hijackers for her little child. But they ignored her plea, and took off with the little child inside the car! The poor mother, screaming and panic-stricken ran to a nearby house, pleading and begging for their help. The people in that house immediately called the nearest police station. When the police heard the poor frantic mother’s screams over the phone, they told their callers to tell the mother that they already had the little child and her car at the police station. Still in shock, the mother could hardly believe the police.

I would submit to you that a little 3-year-old child could not just make up the story it told. The child said that the hijackers were speeding along when suddenly a mighty angel appeared inside the hijacked car. The hijackers fled in a panic leaving the car on the side of the road. Soon after, the police found the car with the engine still idling and the little child inside. GOD obviously opened the eyes of the little child and the eyes of the hijackers to behold HIS mighty angel.

Firstly, I would like to make absolutely clear that real angels, GOD’s angels, are not sweet looking little girly beings with little wings! GOD’s angels are HIS mighty, awesome servants, one of which can wipe out an entire army. We know this from GOD’s own Holy Word! If GOD ever allowed us to see one of His angels, we too would tremble with fear!

In the 1940s, 50s, 60s and 70s, and even the early 1980s there was not much violent crime in South Africa, but GOD’s angels are always active.  One day, my father left our home on his way to the nearest trading store, about four miles away. It was a bumpy dirt road and less than a half a mile from home it joined with the main dirt road from Rorke’s Drift to the trading store at Elandskraal. Papa stopped at the junction to check for any oncoming traffic before entering the main road. It was then by GOD’s grace and mercy alone that my father suddenly noticed my 2-year-old baby sister, Moppsie, standing outside on the running board of his GMC truck, with her little arms up and holding on with her little hands. How she had not already fallen off, with the high possibility of being crushed by one of the big back wheels, is an absolute miracle.

~

In those early days, there was no need for gun safes and farmers would have their gun racks mounted on the wall, close to their beds. Papa’s guns were always fully loaded setting in a rack. At the top, Papa had a military .303 Rifle. In the middle of the rack was his double barrel 12 bore shotgun and at the bottom was his .22 Mauser.

When Monika was about 5, and little Mopps was about 2, Papa bought his two little girls each a golden signet ring. Monika was so thrilled with her little ring that she dreamt about it. She dreamt that she had lost it, and it distressed her so that she got out of bed and started for our parents’ bedroom.  My father half woke up when he heard soft steps coming towards him across the wooden floor.  The steps were coming softly, quicker and quicker like someone on tiptoe. Convinced it was a burglar, my father reached for his shotgun and aimed for the door with his finger tight on the trigger, ready to blow the burglar to kingdom come!

GOD alone saved little Monika’s life! At the very last moment, she cried out: Papa! and ran forward, throwing her little arms around my father’s now trembling legs. My poor father came so close, so close to blowing his precious little girl away that he never wanted to talk about it. The memory of it just hurt him too much. 

~

The Zulu boys and men working on my father’s farms would not sit down safely on the back of Papa’s truck. Instead, they would always defy the odds by sitting on the outside edge of the bed, holding on with their hands. Sometimes they would even have one leg hanging over the outside. My father would drive fast over the bumpy dirt and gravel farm roads and the Zulu boys would just hang on for dear life, enjoying the 50 to 60 miles per hour wind in their faces! (Just like American Harley riders, riding their motorcycles without wearing helmets) In all our years on the farm, not one Zulu boy ever fell off a pickup truck. As a little boy, I also loved sitting on the back of Papa’s pickup and to sit like the big Zulu boys. It looked like great fun and it was when I did it. But my father always admonished me to sit flat with my butt on the bottom of the bed, safe and secure with my back leaning against the cab.

Because of my disobedience, there was a time when I came very close to death! When I was about 9 or 10, my father was driving fast down an extremely bumpy steep farm road. I was sitting on the edge of the bed behind my father just like a big Zulu boy. Suddenly, I fell over backwards! Only my one leg, up to my knee, was still on the top inside of the bed of the pickup. The rest of my body was hanging on the outside, with my head just 3 or 4 inches from the rough and rocky surface of the road. It was a horrific experience seeing the rocks just barely passing beneath my head which was about 18 inches in front of the back wheel. Only GOD knows how I managed to get back onto the truck without my father noticing it. Either GOD gave my little body super-natural strength, or my guardian angel helped me back up.

In all my life, Papa never gave me a hiding (spanking) because he did not have to. With his most amazing blue eyes, he was a man whose authority I never dared to question. When those blue eyes would flash disapproval, he did not have to say a word. A look was more than enough! So, I was more scared of Papa’s disappointment in me than having my head and face smashed up or being crushed by the GMC’s back wheel.

~

On occasional Saturdays, I would leave early before sunrise and without having breakfast. I would go deep down the valley below our house to hunt for dassies (rock rabbits) living in the high cliffs rising out of the riverbed. I would return home late in the afternoons, absolutely famished, looking for food. On one occasion, I took my baby sister, Moppsie, with me since she loved the outdoors and very often joined me as we would freely roam around our 4500 acre farm. Actually, she was more like a little brother to me than a little sister. However, on this particular Saturday, I was hunting with the .22 when I spotted a dassie (rock rabbit) sunning itself about 30 yards away. It was a perfect opportunity for Mopps to have an easy shot at the dassie since she was on top of a huge boulder. After giving her the .22, I knelt down directly below her to hide from the dassie. While she was taking her time, carefully aiming, I decided to slowly stand up in order to see Moppsie’s bullet hit the dassie.

Moppsie was about to squeeze the trigger when the back of my head suddenly appeared in her gun sight. She instinctively lifted the gun as she cried out. Fortunately for both of us, she had managed not to pull the trigger! Somehow, I had miscalculated the angle and in a split second, in the twinkling of an eye, Mopps could have shot me through the back of my head, dropping me stone dead just below her. I praise GOD for sparing my little sister the trauma of killing her brother. It was my fault alone and I thank GOD for sparing my life! 

~

A similar shooting situation happened to one of my older cousins, Reginald Brockman, but his had a tragic ending.  He and a school friend went hunting one day and they were carrying my Uncle Eddie Brockman’s .22 Mauser, taking turns shooting it. Someway, somehow, the friend shot Reginald in the stomach.  To make matters worse, the friend must have been too terrified to tell Reginald’s parents immediately after the shooting occurred.  By the time he found the courage to tell them it was already too late.  Sadly, Reginald died.  He was about age 13. 

––––––––

At about age 17, I experienced how pride and arrogance can very easily cost you your life. My father raised the most beautiful Africander cattle. Even their long, sharp horns were beautiful. They were his pride and joy, but the cattle had to be dipped regularly because of heavy tick infestation. The dipping process began with the herd being driven into a kraal (made of high walls of stone). Next, the bull and the cows would be carefully herded into the crush pen from where they would jump into the deep dipping tank which contained a strong insecticide. After swimming about 50 feet, the animals would then enter another crush pen made of big strong gum tree poles.

The little calves would be kept back because they could easily drown in the crush of bodies swimming. The older calves, from about a month old, would be herded into the tank carefully one by one after their mothers had gone through.

Cows are very protective of their calves, especially when their calf is still very young. Some cows can be very vicious. If her little calf is still small and wobbly on its little legs, an overly protective cow will go in for the kill to protect her calf. That is one of the reasons why Zulu herdsmen always carry hardwood sticks and usually a whip to defend themselves when they work with cattle.

On one particular day, the cattle had all been dipped and the herdsmen were pushing the cattle through a gate, back to open grazing. I was standing about 20 yards away, right next to the strong and sturdy crush pen, when a little one-day old calf, still very helpless and very wobbly on its legs, got itself caught in the barbed wire fence. When the herdsmen tried to help the little calf, its mother stormed them. When they scattered in all directions in fear of their lives, I shouted at them in Zulu: You bunch of cowards! (Ama Gwala Lana!) It was as if the cow had understood my words because she turned and came straight at me. Now, if I had not called those brave Zulus cowards, I could have simply jumped to safety inside of the crush pen which was right next to me. Instead, pride forced me to stand my ground, but I had nothing to defend myself with. So, I shouted: Throw me a stick! By GOD’s grace alone, I managed to catch the stick thrown to me from about 20 yards. The bellowing cow came at me with her lowered horns now a mere two yards away. With her intent on ripping me apart, I hit her repeatedly on the nose as hard as I could. Those hard blows caused her to close her eyes, yet she continued her onslaught, bellowing and swinging her sharp horns from side to side, only inches away from my body. She was determined to tear my intestines out, all the while blowing her warm saliva over my shirt and face.

Because my very life was at stake, I desperately stood my ground and kept hitting her nose as hard and as fast as I could. If I lost this dual, I would die a very painful death. After what seemed like an eternity, she turned and I gave her one or two more smacks on her rump to keep her going away from me. My knees felt like jelly when it was all over. I could hardly believe that I was alive and uninjured. (If that stick had shattered or broken, I would also have died).

Why did I risk death?  It was a matter of honor. I just could not lose face with those Zulus, them belonging to one of the proudest, bravest warrior nations on the face of the earth. And I, a 17 year-old boy, had dared to call these Zulu men cowards! I deserved to die, but my LORD and my GOD, in HIS grace and mercy had saved my life yet again! I praise HIS High and Holy Name! What a foolish thing pride is.

About two years into our marriage, my wife Joy, our little daughter Liesel, and I moved back to my parents’ farm. I had acquired a farm of my own, but we moved to our family farm because I still had to build a house for us on my farm. During this time, my Oma was at Greys Hospital in Pietermaritzburg with terminal cancer. We had driven down to visit Joy’s parents for the weekend and to visit my Oma in hospital. Her sister-in-law had stayed with her niece in Pietermaritzburg and had also been visiting Oma so she asked us for a ride back home when we drove back on the Sunday afternoon because her home at her farm, Simbria, was only about 10 miles from our farm.

At the end of the visit, we loaded up again, but this time my great aunt sat next to me in the front passenger seat. Everyone else was in the back seat when we headed out. It was about 6:30 p.m. and already dark when we rounded a fairly sharp curve in the dirt road. We were about two miles from Simbria. As we came into the curve, I noticed two boulders blocking the road. On getting closer, I noticed that the boulders were very cleverly spaced. Not being very large made me think that it must be some young Zulu boys up to mischief and so I was not overly concerned even though there was inter-tribal fighting in the area at that time. Also, there was the fact that the 1970’s car hijacking and violent crime was at a comparatively very low level. However, it was dark and I was too suspicious to stop and try to roll one of the boulders out of the way 

Surveying the scene as we slowly approached the makeshift barricade, I could see there was not enough room to drive around the left side and it would be impossible to drive between or over the boulders. The right side would be the only option and, fortunately, there was just enough space for me to carefully squeeze past at slower than walking speed. Because it was winter, all the car windows were closed, and Liesel was already fast asleep, peacefully on the back seat. Totally unsuspecting, I negotiated my way past the road block, I could not see the Zulu tribesmen waiting in ambush with their firearms, taking aim at us. Suddenly, it sounded as though stones were hitting my car and I thought some Zulu boys were using their catapults, sling-shots, to plummet the car.  Just as I said to my Aunt: Gee, these boys have a cheek! there was a very loud crack from a high powered, heavy caliber military rifle. The round almost completely obliterated my driver’s side window. The bullet missed my head by a hairs breadth before exiting through the bottom of my windshield, leaving a huge hole.

I suddenly knew that we were driving through a hail of bullets, fired at us at point-blank range! Although the heavy caliber .308 bullet did not score a direct hit through my head, the force of the bullet was so incredible that the glass splinters hit the side of my face with the force of a hard smack by the hand of a powerful man. The splinters also stung like I had been hit by a shotgun blast and I did at first think that it was. As more and more shots rang out, I shouted at my passengers to lie low while I accelerated away towards Simbria at high speed. I was furious because the assailants could clearly see that there was a little baby in the car because of the pram (stroller) on the roof rack of the car.

Arriving at the farm, filled with a fury so great that all I could think of was getting back at the assailants. Forgetting about my passengers, I just ran into the house asking for a gun. Uncle Karl, his wife Tante Ilse, their son, Ronnie, and his wife Ella were sitting in front of their fireplace as I stormed in. At the sight of blood streaming down the side of my face, their mouths dropped open in surprise and shock. Gathering himself, Ronnie got up and grabbed a double barrel, 12 bore shotgun out of the nearby rack and gave it to me.

Grabbing the gun, I turned and started running back to the car, but Ronnie shouted: There are no shells in that gun! The very worst moment in all of this was when I broke the shotgun open and looked down at the two empty barrels! I pleaded with Ronnie for ammunition, but he firmly insisted that I calm down. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but he was right as well as wise. 

Police from Dundee, Helpmekaar and Pomeroy came to investigate that same night. I had to leave my car at Simbria for further investigation so the police took Joy, Liesel, Sebenziele and me home. The next day in the sunlight, we could see where splinters of glass caused by the exploding window had taken chips off the steering wheel.  The exploding window had also sent flying splinters that cut my face and had left blue marks on my hands and fingers. Although, at least 10, or maybe even many more bullets were fired at us at point blank range, only two hit our car. The second bullet barely missed one of the front tires and even made a clear indentation on one of the brake fluid pipes. So, besides very narrowly missing being shot through the head, I could have lost a front tire and my brakes! What about the damage all the other bullets could have caused?

I did not experience any fear during this encounter. Not because I am fearless or a brave man, but because GOD can take all fear away and HE did. I was also told by many, that the Zulus don’t know how to shoot straight, but we all know that you don’t have to be a marksman to hit a target at point-blank range! Many people also told me that we had been incredibly lucky! I can only say now, as I said then, Lady Luck will let you down when you need her the most! I know with all my heart that it was the hand of Almighty GOD alone that saved Tante Selma, Sebenziele, my Joy, our little Liesel and me.  Even our son, Brendon, who was already in Joy’s womb on that day although we did not yet know it then was also spared

"THE ETERNAL GOD is your

Refuge,

And underneath are the

Everlasting arms." (Deuteronomy: 33:27)

"He who dwells in the shelter of

THE MOST HIGH

Will rest in the shadow of the

ALMIGHTY.

I will say of the LORD,

HE is my refuge and my fortress,

My GOD, in whom I trust." (Psalms 91:1&2)

––––––––

I do not know the reason why GOD, so amazingly, protected us from certain death that day! We have a very, very limited view of life, but GOD knows the end from the beginning. Nothing is hidden from HIS gaze and nothing is impossible to HIM! I can only say, thank you, thank you, thank you JESUS! All praise, glory and honor to Your Holy Name, JESUS, my LORD and my GOD!

~

A few years later, Joy and I were in Dundee, the nearest little town to us which was about 50 miles away. We had picked up our children from the Uelzen Church Junior School and had stopped at an Indian fruit shop to buy some fruit. As is the case in South Africa, the sidewalks were crowded mainly with African people. This day and time of day, it was even more so. It was Friday, pay day, and after 5 pm. It is also that day and time of the week when gallons of Tshwala (grain sorghum beer) and other liquor is consumed! After parking the car, I went into the fruit shop, I was hardly inside when I heard an ominous sound coming from the big crowd outside, there was an urgency in their voices! I rushed outside to see if our kids were okay in the car.

The sun was just setting. It was then that I saw a huge arm rise above the heads of the crowd, a knife blade in a hand, glinting in the sunlight!

During the next moment it seemed like the earth had swallowed up the crowd except for the two men on the pavement. One of the men was lying face down, half of his body was in the gutter and the other half was laying on the sidewalk, he was desperately trying to protect his throat while his huge, strong assailant was attacking him with a knife! At first sight, I just froze in horror. Then, in the next second, it was as if a still small voice within me simply said: You are not going to let this happen, are you?

I took off running to the scene about 15 yards down the pavement. About halfway, the attacker leaned as far back as possible before lunging forward to stab his victim in the face. I saw the victim’s eye drop out, and hang from his face! Suddenly, the attacker looked up and saw me running towards him and that may have caused him to lose his focus because, with me now only about 3 yards away, his knife only sliced the victim’s scalp instead of plunging it into the victim’s head again. As I reached the poor victim lying on the pavement resting on his elbows with his chin down in an effort to protect his throat, the attacker stepped over his body into the gutter, still towering over his victim, face to face with me. I stood astride the victim and with my arms wide open, I shouted in Zulu: Myege! (Leave him)

It seemed like time stood still as he stood there facing me full of hate and deadly menace in his eyes, like a lion preparing to attack. He stood there, his powerful body swaying from side to side gripping his knife with a killer’s determination. Suddenly he just turned and walked away. 

Turning my attention back to the victim, I quickly realized I was totally helpless to help the poor victim with his eye hanging out, but Joy came to his aid, and the police came within about two minutes and took him to the hospital before an ambulance could get there.

Furious and with a strong surge of adrenaline in my body, I asked the Indian shop owners why they did not try to help the poor victim? They assured me they had tried, but the assailant had aggressively tried to stab them as well. One of the Indians had a deep knife wound in his cheek to prove the point.

When I told my father about this later, he said: You are a fool, Son! A fool! He could have so easily stabbed you to death! I wholeheartedly agreed and said: I know, Papa! I know, but I just simply could not look on without going to the aid of the poor helpless victim! There was no time to think of my own life and safety, and GOD, my glorious GOD had taken away all fear! Why had this huge powerful man not simply plunged his knife into