Line upon Line

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The following is the latest in a series. To read the previous installment, click here. To read other posts in the series, click here. 

“He shall prepare a way”

My husband, Bruce, tries to save money. That is a statement of fact and the reason why he booked our trips to and from the DR-Congo through Belgium rather than through the easier portal of Paris. It cost less.

This particular booking would become part of my growing testimony that the Lord is a part of our lives at all times and in all places, that He knows what is needed and how to succor and empower His children.

In November, 2017, I finished the scheduled initiatives in Lodja, DR-Congo (literacy, film, and oral histories) and prepared to return home. My brother was to have been with me, but his visa did not permit another trip to Kinshasa during the year. So I was on my own.

The priest I had been working with, Abbe Veron, (he was also the rector of the university and the head of the schools where I was preparing for other team members to join us), was deathly ill with malaria. Nonetheless, he drove me to the airport. We said The Lord’s Prayer together before I boarded my flight.

I did not know that a young Congolese man, Utanda Mbambu, was in another part of the airport saying goodbye to his family before flying to the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah.

His mother, a widow, had not favored his serving a mission, as she needed him at home. Over a few months, however, he had persuaded her that missionary service would be a good thing. He did this, not through words, but through his life. He had been a rebellious teen with no focus or even much of a moral compass. Sadly, in the Democratic Republic of Congo, this is a common thing. Poverty, wars, inaccessibility of education for many have resulted in common despair and day-to-day living without goals beyond bedtime.

After his baptism, however, he started finding work and pursuing his education. He quit using abusive or offensive language. He quit drinking. It was this changed man who told his mother that he wanted to be a missionary. Finally, she agreed.

Ten missionaries were called from his stake. All were called either to the DR-C or to other African nations. Elder Mbambu was stunned by his call—to Salt Lake City, east.

On that Monday afternoon when both of us would fly from Kinshasa to the USA, his bishop, his mother, and his siblings had come with him to the airport. He had been set apart as a missionary only hours before and would not get his missionary tag until he reached the MTC. While I was reciting The Lord’s Prayer with Abbe Veron, this young man was saying goodbye to his family.

I did not meet him until we were in Belgium. There, he asked me (in French; he spoke no English) where he was to go. I saw only his next stop—Newark. It was also my next stop. I told him to follow me. I assumed he was a businessman. “What will you be doing in the United States?” I asked. He smiled hugely and said in French, “I am a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” Now my smile widened. “I am a member of that church,” I said. What I didn’t say was that I recognized the hand of God and knew that I was to protect and guide him through the next part of his trip to Newark and then to Salt Lake City—a trip which would include several delayed and cancelled flights and a maze of an airport (Newark) with no French speakers.

He told me his story and I asked how his mother was doing. “Oh,” he said, “she was crying hard at the airport. Well, all of us were. Me, too. I was crying.”

“Were you afraid?” I asked.

I could imagine his situation. I had been in a similar one when I flew to Lodja for the first time—knowing that my French was pitiable.

“No,” he said. “I knew that the Lord would provide a way.”

As it happened, we had mutual friends. I called one of them, Aime, and told him who was with me. “You’re with him?” Aime asked to speak to the missionary and said that at that exact moment, he was en route to the missionary’s bishop—the man who had been with Elder Mbambu at the airport a few hours ago. We took a photo of ourselves, the Anglo grandmother and the Congolese missionary, so that the bishop could show it to Elder Mbambu’s family and let them know that the Lord was protecting their brother and son.

When our flight from Belgium was cancelled, I was sent to a hotel.   Elder Mbambu remained in the airport. The next morning, all of the passengers seemed to know that he was my companion. They directed me to him and some asked about our shared religion. Most assumed that we had been traveling together from the beginning of the trip, as I was clearly caring for him like any mother would.

The weather in Belgium was not too cold, but I knew that Newark and Salt Lake City would be frigid.

“Do you have a coat?” I asked him.

He gave me that enormous smile and a shrug. “No. Maybe they will have one for me there?”
“Maybe,” I said, but I also called my husband and instructed him to meet us at the airport with a coat in hand.

We negotiated the maze of doors and customs officials (none of whom spoke French) in Newark, I acting as translator/friend/mother. After one more delayed flight, we were finally Salt Lake bound. My husband was waiting. He had spent an hour choosing the perfect coat.

It is a small story, only one of many showing God’s hand. It ended (or appeared to) with Elder Mbambu on his way to the missionary training center.

The next day, however, I had an email from him, including photos of his MTC companions. Every p-day since then, we have heard from him. He is another of our missionary sons, the one who the Lord gave us at a security station in Belgium.

What did it mean to his mother to receive a photo of her son with his American companion—who clearly cared about him? What does it mean to any mother to see evidence that the Lord has provided the way and there is no cause to fear? What did it mean to the missionary?

It seemed merely a personal paragraph explaining the meaning of I Nephi 3:7: “For I know that the Lord giveth no commandment unto the children of men save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish it.”

As for us, we who got to serve this young man through either companionship or warm clothing, we give thanks for the honor. Did God plan our encounter from the day Bruce tried to save money? Were our flights aligned way back then?

I don’t know. I merely recognize that all we do in the service of God is attended by angels and heavenly help. When we consider every other endeavor we plan for the Congo—especially those which seem most overwhelming–the reminder of this young stranger in a strange land comes back to reflect us—we who are also strangers in a strange land during our stays in the Congo. We may not have the nuances of language; we may find ourselves ill-prepared. We may even find ourselves teary or fearful. But we know the words of Isaiah 41:10. In fact, the hymn based on this scripture is our family theme: “Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.”

Even so. Amen.

P.S. The additional testimony: After the priest, Abbe Veron, completed his visit to the USA on February 19, 2018, my husband and I took him to the airport. We loaded his luggage into our car and left in time for him to catch his flight, which would take him to Minneapolis and then Paris and finally Kinshasa.

As context, I had already sent an email to Brent Anderson, an American friend of mine who feels called to help young people in the Congo develop businesses.  For several years, he has made multiple trips there to teach business principles.  He is the son of the mission president whose wife was killed in the car accident when Mitt Romney was a missionary and a passenger.  I wanted to introduce him to Abbe Veron with the goal of getting business help and instruction in Lodja.  I hadn’t yet heard back from him. I certainly had no way of knowing that he was making a trip to Kinshasa (Congo) on the same day as the priest!

When we unloaded l’abbe’s luggage, we quickly realized that we were missing one bag–the most important one, the one containing his passport.  Obviously, he could not board a plane without a passport.  It became clear that we had likely left it in our driveway when we were packing the car.  Our son-in-law offered to get it and meet Bruce half-way between Provo and the airport, but even with that generous act, we knew that our dear abbe would miss his flight.

I was in process of doing a google translate to tell l’abbe that perhaps there was something good meant to come out of this disappointment when I heard my name.  It was Brent Anderson.  I saw the hand of God instantly and introduced Brent to l’abbe.  We managed to get l’abbe on Brent’s flight–with no extra charge.  And then the plane was delayed and they missed the connecting flight to Paris.  By the time this is published, Brent and l’abbe will have finished their flight to Kinshasa together. Because of flight delays, they will have spent four days as companions.

What is God putting into place through the meeting of these two good men? Part of the beauty of watching God’s design unfold is that we never know how glorious it will be. So we watch with faith. We seek to see the full beauty, which will perhaps not be revealed until the next life. But the act of seeking to see beauty is also an act of worship.