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"There are social and spiritual constructs that prevent many from fulfilling Gods call upon their lives; fear of rejection and hopelessness have seen many die with unfulfilled dreams and ambition – Tainted by the stigma of a failed marriage and subsequent divorce I fell apart, never believing that a day of restoration would dawn. But Gods love and the care of those whom he placed along my path inspired me to once again rise from my brokenness and surrender to a loving and ever gracious Father.

God held onto me even when I was about to let go and lovingly began to heal each wound I sustained through slander and rejection at the hands of brothers and sisters within the Body of Christ I thought loved me.

I do not validate divorce as the alternative to a troubled marriage - I believe Gods heart is for reconciliation and we should attempt to do so with everything we have;  I acknowledge that our approach to and perspectives of marriage changes as we allow God to change our hearts but I also realise that for many it is a safer recourse; I am aware and know that many continue to be riddled with accusation and never ending rejection – and for those who choose this path or are already divorced, there is a special message of love and grace from Gods heart

I trust that something of my journey will light a fire of courage in the souls of all who read these words and will find the strength to arise and embrace that which God has written upon the face of heaven; promises spoken and gifts that have their name inscribed upon it; that out of their pain healing will be wrought for others;

No matter what your past looks like, you can be free.

Whether innocently accused, condemned by others, guilt-ridden, and rejected ….condemned to waste away and die……….

Like the woman at the well your Father says, “Drink of this water I give you and you will never thirst again,

You are free"! - Beulah Kleinveldt


Welcome to the ministry of Beulah Kleinveldt

Singer, published poet and writer, activist, humanitarian, public/ministry speaker, developer and mentor -

Beulah Kleinveldt is the Visionary of Samaritan Woman;  The Campio Burns Group and The B-Kreative Arts Training and Finishing Society        


Her life and story cannot be defined as anything less than miraculous - it has to be experienced.
                                          

For ministry invitations – Email: beulahkay@gmail.com  -


Please Note:  All personal information, pictures, photographs, creative writing/stories/biographies and music/videos via any channel or source that are supplied through this blog is copyright protected.  The use of any material may be requested in writing.    Illegal use or use without permission is in direct contravention of the copyright act.



Sunday, 27 September 2015

Somewhere in Africa - are we really enjoying the freedom Tata Nelson Mandela fought for


Tata Nelson Mandela and his colleagues fought for freedom- A freedom for us to enjoy but sometimes I wonder………….Are we enjoying it and does it really exist -

Because.....

Somewhere in Africa
On the sunny Southern side
There are homeless kids
Whom no one understands
Who depend on the penny you doubt to give
Children who have no place to go and

Nothing to eat

Somewhere in that sunny place called
South Africa
There is a woman,
a woman who is being whipped by her husband because
she charged his sexual “rights” as

Rape. 

Somewhere in South Africa
There is a baby in a bin
Crying sorrowful cries
Dumped by its parents
for reasons that remain a sin


And somewhere else,
not remote or removed
there is a baby soon to be called

Orphan child

Somewhere in South Africa
There is a man or woman
Tagged as gay or bisexual


Hiding…………

Down in the closet
And afraid of being accosted - 


Somewhere in South Africa
There are drug dealers
Who think nothing of taking a life
Acquiring money for selfish reasons
And in all the wrong ways
Destroying lives
while building empires from

Dirty money
And
Broken lives 

Somewhere in South Africa
Racism still exists
There is a black man walking the shadows
with a shattered heart

Because
“Kaffir”
became his

“Pet-name”.

When are we going to
Cry aloud
When are we going to admit that we have these problems
And when are we going to do something about them –
May we all carry the burden to be the change we wish to see 


But then again,
on the flip side of Africa
On the sunny southern side

There is love, 

Hope 

Joy -

But that's another poem
For another day...............

Lulama Damba (Kwamfundo HS, Cape Town, South Africa) – (16 years old)
© 2015 All rights reserved

Friday, 3 April 2015

‘Levens (‘11's) - The man who changed the heart of a protected middle class girl



The rain pelted the window pane and the wind whistled through the keyhole.  Amidst the thundering storm we heard a pounding on our door.  When I look back now, I realise that the evening was much too scary for a protected, middle class girl like me.  That night, almost 26 years ago in 1988, my husband, despite my protests, opened the door to a rain drenched and bedraggled figure of a man…….

Vagrant, 

Bergie, 

Homeless

or

Mountain man 

So many names and tags that divide our social lines and keep us ignorant - kept me ignorant.
He asked for help and showed us his arm that had been stabbed earlier that night; on the station he said. 

His eyes begged for food….Just food he pleaded
His fear and downtrodden dignity pulled at my heart…I wanted to say yes but felt my head shaking no.  My husband had already prepared a snack and had him seated in a chair. 

Alfred.

That was his birth name 

Living under the bridge and sometimes in the bush  

He was a member of a rejected community of people, social outcasts.  

We bandaged his bleeding arm before he ate. And one meal led to a sleep-in space inside our garage.  One meal led to Alfred becoming a trusted member of our family and who later became the face that opened the gate.  A humorous moment rises in my heart as I remember how the afro comb we gave him audibly snapped in two as it met with hair hardened by unkempt years. We took him to church, gave him his own bible and in our garage that became his bedroom, he found God.   Twelve months later we were called to England and Alfred had to move to my husband’s aunt….

She was old 

He felt lost. 

He went back to the bush

3 years later we returned…

He returned

But too late

He couldn’t rehabilitate, 

we had been away too long

Maybe our leaving left a bruise he never quite wanted to risk again…at least that’s what I think….even now 26 years later…….I believe Alfred felt he had lost the only true family and love he had ever known….

But each night after, come rain or shine he knocked for his meal; sobriety far from him.
One Xmas afternoon, Alfred never came as he promised he would
We heard a pounding on the door….and now I know the trauma was too much for a protected middle class girl to bear…for the agonising memory stays with me still.

The female voice said,…..”Levens is dood……. Die bus het hom gestamp”. (Leven’s is dead, he was run over by a bus)

Leven’s
His street name……….

Alfred
His birth name…..

Names that bridged the divide between the bush and the suburbs from which we toss peanut buttered bread.

I think heaven was made for the lost and transformed souls like Leven’s……for 24’s, 26’s and even 28’s.
Maybe Leven’s was sent to show us a bit of heaven’s heart.
The soil of our paths mourn for the 

Vagrant

 Bergie

 homeless

or

 Mountain man

 For the man who slept under the bridge,

the man who stumbled upon our stoep and was running from a drunken father and an abusive home;  the same man who humbled the heart of a protected, middle class girl like me.

Today, almost 26 years later……my heart still wonders

What would have happened if we had never left 

Or 

if the bus was a few minutes late

While there may never be another Alfred and Leven’s, and though times have changed, there are many others like him who still knock on our door on
cold stormy nights.

(public domain image)

Dedicated to Alfred - who changed our lives and though we have learnt to love others there will never be another Leven's.

(C) 2015 All rights reserved
Beulah F Kleinveldt