In the fourth of her meditations, Theodora Hawksley wonders why we are more convinced of our blindness than of the transformation that the Lord is working in us

We had a few hours to wait in Katoonarib before Fr Jim picked us up in the 4x4. Perry wandered down into the village to borrow a cutlass so we could open some coconuts. When he returned, he asked if I would visit a sick elderly woman in the village.

Aunty Katrina was bed-bound and blind. I knelt down by her bed and took her hand. “I can’t see nothing, sister,” she said. “I used to be able to see where the window was but I can’t see that now. I forget my Bible. I can’t read my hymns. I lost all of it. I forget my prayers in my own language, sister.”

We prayed together. I thanked God for her life and for the strength of her faith. Perry led the “Our Father” in Wapishana – Katrina’s language – and she mouthed the words with him. When we had finished praying, she turned her face towards me, peaceful and almost unlined. “I’m not afraid. I’m ready to go any time. I’m not perfect, but nobody perfect. Jesus loves me, I believe he merciful.”