My Pilgrimage with the Unseen

978-0-7961-6051-5

I sat in my car and stared at the small, drab prefab building across the street. Could this really be a church? I wondered. It was a far cry from the towering Afrikaans church buildings I was accustomed to, all stained glass and brick veneers. This tiny English-speaking community church was within walking distance from our house. It had taken me a while to notice it, and I was curious.

My heart was as barren as my womb. I was still recovering from my recent surgery, and my soul felt dry and shrivelled up like a sponge baking in the desert sun. I was desperate.

It was with fear and trepidation that I shook off the shackles of tradition and stifling expectations and stepped over the prefab threshold the following Sunday. After much begging and plead- ing, Heinrich agreed to accompany me.

Heinrich and I met during my last year of high school. I was freshly sweet sixteen and innocent as a lamb. Heinrich was my first boyfriend, a friend of my older brother. He was twenty-three when we met, and he played the bass guitar in my brother's university band. My life was filled with sports, books and church youth activities. I had no interest in boys, and boys had no interest in me.