In the fall of 2009, I spent three months in Swaziland, a small, mostly unheard of country in southern Africa. While I was there, I had the privilege of meeting a beautiful, young woman named Dudu who was slowly dying of AIDS. Proximity to such suffering, and eventually death, marked me in ways I cannot fully describe.
I haven’t thought about her for quite some time, and yet I cannot ignore how I sense the Spirit bringing her to mind as I read Henri Nouwen’s thoughts on peace learned from working with individuals with disabilities. Nouwen writes about how he experienced peace and presence with the most unlikely of individuals (from a worldly perspective) and yet those relationships impacted him more than any other.
And I remember Dudu.
I see her lying in bed. Face shallow with cheek bones protruding. Her breathing is heavy as you see in her eyes the fight to live. The disease literally eating away at her body as it has countless others in her country. Her room smells like death and I remember feeling so nervous the first time I walked into her room and saw her lying there. I remember her mother’s skeptical glare. Another young white girl here to see her languishing daughter, expecting that she too will never come back, just like the others.
But I kept coming back. Even if no one else came with me.
I felt drawn to her in ways I’m not sure I can articulate, even after all these years. Which is why, even as I sit down to attempt to express my thoughts, I feel hesitant. Perhaps it's because I want to honor her memory and the profound impact she had on my life. Perhaps it’s because in reflecting back on those moments with her I am confronted with how far I’ve wandered from the simplicity of the Gospel no matter how much I think I’ve grown since then. I’m drawn to her memory as I resonate with Nouwen’s revelations of peace and love while simply being with the forgotten and ignored of society. Those who could not help themselves and therefore lived with nothing to prove. How their presence was one of warmth, kindness, acceptance, and compassion, even in their weakness and frailty.
And I’m reminded of Dudu.
I remember learning how to be with her. Here I was, a twenty year old missionary who had studied the AIDS epidemic and knew the love of God, and I was brutally confronted with how much I had to learn. I remember walking in and feeling a loss for words. Instantly feeling so small and powerless as the stench of death was strong and overbearing. I remember wondering what the heck I was doing and what could I possibly offer someone who did not speak my language, much less could barely speak herself. We had nothing in common. I grew up in privilege and wealth while she survived in one of the poorest, most diseased-ravaged counties in the world. A county most haven’t even heard of.
What was I doing here? What could I possibly do for her?
Nothing. I could do nothing for her. But, I could simply be with her.
Sounds simple enough. “Simply being” is a phrase we love to throw around as the ideal for human existence in relationship with God and others. The state of true freedom and belonging as we are rooted in love. Easy peasy, right?
Easier said than done. Especially when we are raised and nurtured by a performance-driven culture, pressuring you day in and day out to prove your worth and belonging. And in ministry, we can easily find ourselves striving for the feelings of competency and success in what we believe we are called to do, in the pursuit of bringing heaven to earth. A noble endeavor to be sure, but one that can quickly lead to bondage if we fail to remain vigilant to keep our hearts abiding in Jesus.
And so here I was, sitting beside a woman slowly and painfully dying. Barely able to breathe, much less speak, confronted with my own helplessness to make her life even a tiny bit easier.
You better believe I prayed for healing. Cried out for it. And while I in no way negate the necessity and power of prayer, I believe the Lord used her to grow me in more ways than I realize, even now after almost 15 years.
Through her, the Lord taught me the power of presence. What it means to simply be present with another. With no agenda other than to see and cherish the other. Not needing anything from them and not feeling any pressure to give anything to them. Simply looking into their eyes and acknowledging their existence, their value. Embracing our shared humanity, even in the silence.
It's a lost art in today’s world, am I right?
We move too fast and go too hard. We are more concerned about status and possessions than we are about our shared humanity and the gift of being present with another. Help me, Lord.
No wonder we lack peace. No wonder we’re exhausted, insecure, and fearful.
As I reflect back on my time with Dudu, especially now as someone with a growing passion for people and their flourishing, I am convicted of how I’ve complicated things. How I’ve placed higher value on acquiring knowledge and experience than cultivating a heart of peaceful presence. I’ve cared more about being approved of and seen as impressive than I have about seeing and serving others in the way of self-denial.
And here, God brings me back to simplicity. Inviting me to simply be with Him and empowering me to simply be with others. Is that not what Jesus did when He came to earth and walked among us? He was so present with the Father, Himself, and those around Him. And from that place, He released the kingdom of heaven through His words and deeds.
All that we hope to become and accomplish for God’s glory begins with presence. And is sustained by presence.
Oh Lord, forgive me for how I’ve wandered. Bring me back home to You, and renew in me the joy of abiding in You.