Debbie shares her holy moment on her trip to South Africa — January 22, 2013
Debbie is into her final week in South Africa and begins her travels home on Thursday. This week the group is on a 3-day safari followed by a retreat to reflect on the experience. In her recent email to Elisabeth, she says, “Many things have been difficult to see but the people . . . I don’t even know what to say…the people here have taught me so much. The world won’t change unless we share our stories.”
Debbie would like to share her HOLY MOMENT:
This was probably my most difficult day although it still doesn’t convey the impact of what was being experienced to the fullest. It’s a glimpse.
The people I’ve met along the road have taught me so much. I have been the “learner” with some of the most amazing, inspiring teachers. This trip is for me a transition; a transition into what is yet unknown. All transitions are marked by opportunities, a portal, an opening to a new beginning, but not without pain. The tears flow freely; sometimes in my heart, at other time they stream down my cheeks and I can’t seem to stop them.
We have traveled through townships that South African whites won’t enter because of fear. We have not only entered those townships, but have been overnight guests in their homes in Guguletu. Beautiful, welcoming, hope-filled people despite the wounds and injustice of apartheid.
I had the privilege of visiting a man in Guguletu who three years ago was severely beaten and left for dead during a car-jacking. His head, face and body marred and in a moment his life changed. The physical scars to his head are one thing, but the psychological and emotional scars are what hurt the most. It’s been three years and he sits. Sits in his tiny home, and stares. Day after day he sits. Remembering. He is embarrassed by how he looks. He is embarrassed by the slowness of his speech. I only saw a beautiful human being. He is not the same as he once was. He doesn’t want to constantly be asked “what happened to you?” It’s too painful. He wants to forget, but he can’t.
I explained to him the scar was hardly noticeable. He didn’t believe me. He’s never seen it. It’s on the side of his head. He would need two mirrors to see it. He doesn’t own one mirror. I asked him if I could take a picture and show him. He didn’t understand at first but then said “yes”. This was a holy moment.
He took off his hat. I got at just the right angle and “clicked”. I held the camera out for him to see. There was complete silence as he sat and simply stared. This was a holy moment. I had to turn away. It felt so private, so intimate. He needed this time to take it in. He didn’t know what he looked like. Now, he knew.
He kept his hat off. We talked about how he might just start thinking about going out in public. To start living again. He asked before I left if he could see the picture one more time. I smiled and held out my camera. This was a holy moment. I plan on developing the pictures for him when I get home and get them to him. How could I not?
This trip has been a pilgrimage.
A pilgrimage is not about what you take away from a place.
It’s about what you leave behind.
-Debbie