I had not intended on this being so long. I didn’t even get to some of the more recent experiences of God’s sense of humor. Some of the things were not always so humorous at the moment. Looking back, he has really blessed me so much and I am thankful for all that he has allowed me to experience!
For some reason, I always seem to learn things the hard way. I knew from the start as I kneeled on the beach in Nice, France in 1987, as I entered into a relationship with Christ, that God had a special call on my life that would take me around the world. Little did I realize how he was orchestrating my path long before I really knew him.
After all, it was funny that I was studying in Nice that year. Or in French at all—I had never intended to study French. My plan was to take a semester—get my retroactive credits to satisfy requirements and move on. I had no intention on continuing my French studies. I was to major in Art. I did a complete flip flop. I didn’t like the art profs I had (spoiled in H.S.), and I couldn’t stop laughing in French. My first prof of French was so entertaining (I feared my French teacher in High School—I was far from the best student, it wasn’t her fault at all)! The end of the first year I was engrossed in French.
Three years prior I had set off for the beaches of Normandy, then a nominal Christian—with a mere intellectual knowledge of Christ at best. I had a great experience that first year, but it wasn’t what I really wanted to experience in France. I had this urge to go back. Ironically, I had just learned that I was lacking a course needed for graduation: English literature. I am probably one of the few if not the only person to actually do a year abroad in France (as a French major) to fulfill an English literature requirement. And most likely the only French major at UW-L to have completed enough credits in French alone to equal the total credits needed for graduation. I usually say that I “triple” majored in French. (I am sure that they had me in mind when a limit to the years one could stay at the University now-a-days). The two years between the trips to France were spent completing basic studies. I had always said that I was not going to “teach” French either.
I went on to apply to be an English teaching assistant in a French high school. I wanted to be in La Crosse’s “sister city” of Epinal. When I applied, I was told that that was not possible, never-the-less I indicated that on my form. I had contacted the mayor’s office in Epinal to inform them of my intention. So, one of the local schools put in a request to have me at their school.
As time went on, I had not heard anything regarding my candidacy. I figured that I had been rejected and had decided to finally enroll in graduate school. Having looked for many other jobs in French, I reluctantly applied to the School of Education. I wasn’t so sure that I wanted to teach. Two days into classes, I received a call from France. It was the English teacher from the Lycée Claude Gellée, in Épinal who, to my surprise, asked me if I had received word that I had been appointed to be their TA that year? Of course, I had not. He then proceeded to ask me whether or not I was still interested in coming to Épinal. “Ben, oui! (yes of course—with the famous Norman expression I had picked up in my first trip to France). It was in Épinal that God discipled me through the French “Temple Protestant” via a small group, a lovely older French woman and an American family.
A few years later I felt God was calling me to Africa. I leapt at the chance to go to C.A.R. with the Peace Corps—I don’t believe I had much knowledge about missions, much less Africa. I was sent to the Congo (then it was called Zaïre) to the “Club Med” of Peace Corps training sites: Bukavu just over the border from Rwanda. I left for the Peace Corps the morning my sister gave birth to her first son, whom I would later adopt.
Prior to coming to leaving, the people at church asked me what frightened me most about Africa? I told them spiders: I would jump at even the smallest spider in the US—I imagined that they would be gigantic in Africa.
The first Sunday, I was excited to run out and find the nearest church! I went to the first one I could find with a service in French; after all I don’t speak Swahili. I had arrived just before the Swahili service let out. Were they ever rocking the house! After what seemed like a swarm of people had finally filed out the door a mere handful of people trickled in for the French service. It was such a sleeper service that I could barely keep my eyes open (I have never attended such “ho hum” service even in the U.S or any where else for that matter). As soon as the service was over I ran out the door to see whether or not I could find another service that morning.
A few doors down I found a Pentecostal church. The men at the door reassured me that while the service would be in Swahili, there would be some French translation. Relieved, I entered for a new experience. The service was moving, I even recognized a few choruses as they were translations of English songs. NOT a word of French was spoken. Needless to say, I didn’t get much out of the long-winded sermon in Swahili, but I had no trouble staying awake this time. The service was hopping and the music was lively. However, I still wasn’t as satisfied with what I had found.
The following week I scouted out possibilities for the next weekend. I ended up attending a Methodist Church, expecting another sleeper, but felt that I had to try something different (there was a fairly limited selection or at least to my knowledge). Wow, I had the most amazing experience that Sunday. Most of the music was in Swahili, again I recognized a few pieces. Then five gentlemen got up to bless us with their special music akin to the “Swahili” version of Il Diva. I was literally blown away. Although, I could not understand a single word they sang, their music was and still is today the most heavenly music I have ever heard. I don’t know the name of the group. I just know that I was blessed beyond belief! I am afraid that I may never hear these men sing again as this was just prior to the Rwandan genocide. I pray that they survived and that they carry on ministering through music, they were truly anointed!
It wasn’t long into my training that I fell ill. To this day, it is a mystery as to what I had: a parasite or some other bug? I may never know. While I wasn’t deathly ill at the time, I was going to move to a place with fewer comforts (not usually a problem for me), less access to medical facilities and a more limited food supply. After a month or so on a strict diet of rice, bananas, and a couple of beans, I prayed for guidance to decide whether to stay in Africa or return home.
During my prayer time, God gave me a vision and reassurance that he had sent others here to reach out to the Central Africans, Rwandans and Congolese…that he was in control of his mission in Africa. Earlier that summer, I had celebrated the 4th of July with a group of missionaries from the U.S. I am not sure how I had met this group no do I remember any of their names—I just remember how special I felt to be part of this celebration.
When I finished praying, I popped in a new cassette with mix of Christian music, one of those 99¢ promotional cassettes. I had never listened it before. The first song on the cassette was: “Lord, Please Don’t Send Me to Africa!” I about fell out my bed in a fit of laughter—it hit me, what was I doing in Africa? Was this my will or God’s will? Reflecting on the vision God gave me and the song, helped me decide to return to the U.S.
By the was, I never did see one single spider on that whole trip! To this day, I am no longer so deathly afraid of spiders—I don’t think I would like to meet up with a tarantula all the same!
Despite, what seemed like a disastrous experience, God taught me so much about the misconceptions we have here about Africa. This helps me to continually pray for the various people groups all over that beautiful continent.
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