Life's Compass (IS3)

From the streets of Manzini, Eswatini, where I grew up, I knew that life was a hustle. The city was bustling; alive with horn-blasting, honking, and the hiss and clatter of all that were selling and buying. I was just a kid trying to survive, through bubbling chaos and with little direction. We were poor and most nights I would lie awake, hearing the noises of the city around me, weighed down by the unarticulated worries that burdened me. It was during those long, sleepless nights that I began to feel the emptiness inside of me, an emptiness that I didn’t fully understand.

I knew about God in the way many do in my community: through tales shared by elders, prayers softly spoken in church, and a straightforward belief handed down across generations. However, to be truthful, I never felt like I genuinely knew God. Religion was more of a remote concept; something you accepted because that’s what you were taught. Life was tough and faith frequently appeared too insignificant to cope with the pain I witnessed and endured.

One evening, during a calm moment and in a tranquil instant, I genuinely sensed God’s presence for the first time. Not through boisterous prayers or in a church gathering, but in the silence. It felt as if a soft whisper was trying to connect with me, reminding me that I was not alone. Though I didn’t hear any words, I could feel a warm, comforting presence surrounding me, like a father embracing his child in a blanket after a long day. That evening, I came to understand that God was waiting for me in the tranquil moments, not in the clamour or turmoil of life. He was patiently waiting in the quiet moments we frequently ignore.

After that night, I started to search for those peaceful moments. I began rising early before the city came to life, sitting in the tranquillity of dawn, simply paying attention to my breathing, the sounds of birds chirping, and the gentle swaying of leaves. Gradually, I discovered that in those still moments, I could discern God’s voice more distinctly. It wasn’t loud or spectacular; it was gentle, akin to a soft breeze brushing against my spirit.

Life in Manzini continued at its fast pace and I still encountered hardships, poverty, violence and struggles in securing employment. Yet, I carried the experience of that evening with me. Whenever life felt too heavy to bear, I would seek out a moment of tranquillity. I would sit in silence, take deep breaths and remind myself of God’s presence in the stillness. Sometimes tears would flow. Other times, I would simply remain quiet. But each time I felt rejuvenated, as if the divine was softly saying, ‘I am here, with you’.

One of the most profound lessons I gleaned was that encountering God in stillness is not about fleeing life’s challenges but about connecting with a higher presence within those struggles. It involves slowing down sufficiently to listen, to feel and acknowledge that God’s love isn’t far off or reserved for flawless times. It’s in the quiet, raw moments of our existence when we feel weary, broken, or alone that God’s gentle hand can be most powerfully felt.

Today, I continue to reside in Manzini, and life still presents difficulties. However, I now understand that even amid chaos, there exists a sacred space within me, a haven of peace that no situation can strip away. I’ve discovered God in the moments of stillness, and through this, I’ve unearthed a strength I never knew existed.

My narrative is a straightforward one, yet I believe it mirrors what many endure: God patiently waiting in the quiet recesses of our hearts, hoping for us to pause, breathe and listen. And in that stillness, we encounter Him, not as a distant entity above but, as a caring presence within. So, if life seems overwhelming and the clamour becomes unbearable, I encourage you to carve out a moment of stillness. Sit in quietude; breathe deeply. Tune in to the silence. Because in those instances, you might just realise that God has been right there all along, waiting to connect with you in the still moments of life.