When I was five my parents moved to the UK from Zululand where they had been missionaries for 16 years. I’m embarking on a kind of pilgrimage to visit for the first time the place I was born and the places my mum and dad ministered.
Today’s reflection is a picture from 36 years ago. I don’t have too many from the time when I lived here in Vryheid, South Africa.
One of the few is of me hugging a man called Harold aka Rocky, who used to come to our house and help paint and find solace away from his alcoholism. Hanna, one of my sisters, remembers him coming to see our mum and dad so drunk and just asking for forgiveness on the front lawn and our Dad just hugging him. Hanna remember’s him crying at the airport when we left.
The first person I met today out of the whole entire town was Harold.
This encounter kind of blew me away.