Week Two: Walking Slow Enough to See

For more than a thousand years, people have been making pilgrimages throughout Europe. Every pilgrim has a unique story and a different reason for setting out. But there is one thing every pilgrimage has in common.

It is slow.

The pace couldn’t be more different from the frenzy of the weeks leading up to my arrival in Italy. It was year-end at Opportunity International Canada. We were working toward fundraising goals, program disbursement commitments, and trying to tie up as many loose ends as possible before I left. My calendar was packed with coaching sessions, meetings, writing assignments, and planning for the next Board meeting.

There were hundreds of emails, WhatsApp messages, texts, Teams chats and video calls. Add in the endless scrolling through LinkedIn and Facebook, and life felt like a constant race toward the next thing demanding my attention.

And now?

Silence.

Pastoral landscapes.

The crunch of gravel beneath my boots.

Birdsong.

The wind moving through the trees.

The cheerful greetings of villagers and fellow pilgrims.

A long, unhurried walk toward a destination still weeks away.

Pilgrimage is, in many ways, a form of meditation. The noise begins to settle. Thoughts that were buried beneath deadlines slowly rise to the surface. Memories return.

As I’ve walked, I’ve found myself thinking often about the clients we serve. So many faces. So many stories. Mothers and fathers. Entrepreneurs and dreamers. Each carrying hopes that, when you slow down enough to listen, are remarkably familiar to our own.

One story has stayed with me.

Jessica is twenty-four years old and raising her four-year-old daughter, Emiliana, on her own. She began working when she was just fifteen years old, first cleaning a beauty salon before eventually babysitting the owner’s children. While she worked, she watched carefully. She practiced whenever she had the opportunity. Little by little, she taught herself the skills to become a beautician.

Four years ago, she opened a tiny salon in her home. Starting with almost nothing, she even built much of the furniture herself.

Today, a modest loan from Opportunity is helping her take the next step. She is purchasing new equipment, expanding her services, and steadily growing her business so she can provide an even brighter future for her daughter.

What struck me most wasn’t simply Jessica’s determination.

It was something she said.

Because of her business, she no longer has any desire to join one of the migrant caravans searching for opportunity somewhere else.

That stopped me.

A migrant caravan is, in many ways, its own kind of pilgrimage. Families leave behind everything they know, walking toward the possibility of a better future, uncertain of what lies ahead.

Jessica found a better journey.

Instead of leaving her home, she is building one.

Instead of searching for opportunity in another country, she is creating it in her own community.

Instead of walking away from her future, she is investing in it—one customer, one loan, and one faithful step at a time.

As I continue this pilgrimage, I realize hope doesn’t always require a change of destination.

Sometimes it simply requires someone willing to walk alongside you.

That is exactly what the Good Samaritan did.

He came where the man was.

He crossed the distance between himself and a stranger.

He drew close enough to see him, to stop, to bind his wounds, to carry his burden, and to ensure his future.

The greatest obstacle to compassion may not be indifference as much as distance.

When we remain distant from people’s stories, it’s easy to reduce poverty to statistics, headlines, or problems for someone else to solve.

But when we draw close enough to know someone’s name, hear their dreams, understand their fears, and celebrate their victories, everything changes.

At Opportunity, that is what we strive to do every day. Yes, we provide loans. But we also provide encouragement, training, mentorship, and long-term relationships. We walk alongside families as they build businesses, educate their children, weather setbacks, and create futures they once believed were beyond reach.

Perhaps that is what this pilgrimage is teaching me most.

A practical expression of faith always begins with proximity.

Whether on a dusty road between villages in Italy or alongside an entrepreneur building a small beauty salon in Honduras, love requires us to come near.

Sometimes the most meaningful journeys aren’t measured in kilometres walked, but in the distance we’re willing to cross for someone else.