Winter has settled gently over the Kalahari.
Wrapped in a warm blanket, with a steaming cup of coffee in my hands, my Bible open on my lap and my journal beside me, I settle onto the porch as the first light breaks across the Kalahari savannah. The air is crisp enough to sting my cheeks, yet there is something about a Kalahari winter that embraces you like a well-worn fleece blanket—quiet, comforting and deeply restorative.
The men have already left. Just before sunrise, rifles slung over their shoulders, they headed out in search of an old kudu bull. The house is unusually still. It’s my favourite kind of silence—the kind that allows you to hear the whisper of God’s voice.
I breathe deeply. The cold morning air carries the unmistakable fragrance of freshly picked lemons. An earthenware pot on the kitchen table is overflowing with bright yellow fruit from my mother-in-law’s little tree, a splash of sunshine against the muted colours of winter.
This morning I find myself in Galatians 6.
“Do not be deceived: God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap. The one who sows to please the flesh will reap destruction from the flesh, but the one who sows to the Spirit will reap eternal life from the Spirit. Let us not grow weary of doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people.”
Galatians 6:7–10
Those words linger in my heart.
The harvest we receive is always of the same nature as the seed we sow.
How often we long for different fruit in our lives. We pray for peace, yet sow impatience. We desire strong relationships, yet plant criticism. We long for joy, but scatter seeds of worry. We hope for kindness, yet our words can so easily wound.
God’s principle is beautifully simple.
If we long to harvest love, we must sow love.
If we desire peace, we must become peacemakers.
If we long for joyful homes, faithful friendships and hearts full of grace, then those are the very seeds we must faithfully scatter every single day.
And perhaps the hardest encouragement of all is this: do not grow weary.
Seeds spend a long time hidden beneath the soil before anyone sees the harvest. Yet beneath the surface, God is already at work.
Winter teaches us this so well.
The trees appear bare. The veld seems quiet. But life is quietly preparing for the season to come.
With those thoughts still turning in my heart, I carry an armfull of fragrant lemons into the kitchen.
Today these beautiful winter fruits will become one of my favourite comforting desserts—a Self-Saucing Lemon Pudding. Light as a soufflé on top, with a silky lemon sauce waiting underneath, it’s the perfect way to welcome hungry hunters home after a cold day in the veld.
As the pudding bakes, the whole house fills with the scent of warm butter and fresh lemons. Soon the quiet will be broken by dusty boots on the porch, stories of kudu tracks, and laughter around the table.
And perhaps that’s another reminder that some of life’s sweetest harvests are found not only in what we grow—but in what we lovingly share.
May we all sow seeds that one day become a harvest of faith, kindness, joy and love.
Because in God’s perfect time, we always reap what we sow.
With love from my Kalahari kitchen, Aldalene
