Matchless Love

By my brother Arthur, soon to be blogging near you:

Jesus. I am astounded; amazed; blown away; awed, brought to tears. As a Canadian citizen of South African birth, I have experienced a similar journey. I have lived in the largest city in Canada. I have seen the ostentatious wealth. The lights. The shows. The stores. The well heeled. The luxury cars. The glitz. The glamour. And there I was, in a small village in the middle of nowhere. Lesotho. The most dusty, and desolate place I could have imagined, even if the mountains and scenery surrounding the village were picture-postcard perfect. There were signs of wealth, to be sure. Some houses were built of brick and mortar. Some even had corrugated iron roofs, and windows. Most, however, were simply hovels. Put together out of scrap lumber, old skids, left over bits of sheet metal. Doors and windows were merely holes in the walls, covered with opened-up burlap sacks. They hardly needed windows. There were enough holes in the walls to let in all the sunlight they would ever need. But of course, the holes also served to let in the rain and cold and dust. Old cardboard boxes were of no real help, either, only temporarily slowing the entrance of the elements. Occasionally, one saw a vehicle. Ten- and twenty- year-old cars held together with rope and wire, their tires balder than,