My missionary partner, a frail, older lady, and I were already travel-weary. I could see the weariness in her face. After having managed the Paris streets, it was a marvel that we had arrived at the correct airport for our next flight. But, where were we to go to get to the plane? Neither of us spoke any French! We stood in what seemed a closed hall way. Where were the elevators?
Elizabeth Olmstead and I were on the last quarter of our “round the world” tour of ministry. The two wonderful months spent in Australia had been our last major scheduled period. We had had a great time of ministering in several places there, preaching, teaching and counselling and making many new friends. Our Hostess in Sidney showed us superb hospitality, and became a lifelong friend. We felt that the Lord had sent us there for a purpose and had given us great opportunities to preach, instruct, encourage and befriend many people new to us.
Beyond that, our schedule was not solidly fixed, but we knew the Lord had further ministry for us. Flying from Sidney, the plane’s next stop would be Jakarta. We had been given the name of a pastor there whom we thought we might visit, but we did not know we had to have a visa until it was too late to get one. We proceeded then to Singapore where we did have one contact with a fine Chinese Dentist, who was also a Pastor of a church. We had one meeting there. No connection for a flight to Madras was available for five days, so we relaxed, put up in a low priced Travellers’ Lodge.
At our next stop, India, we had a wonderful time visiting and ministering in several places where I had spent five years as a missionary, years before. That's another story. From there we were to make our Europe visits—France, Belgium and England. It was exciting to fly over places en route which we had known only as names on the map. In Rome we had to spend a night; but instead of locating a room in a strange city we chose to spend the weary hours sitting in the cold, dingy airport. Not even a decent cup of tea or coffee was available to keep us warm!
Paris was our next stop. From there we planned to travel to Brussels to visit a missionary friend of Bessie’s. In the Paris airport we sought some one to direct us to where we would get our connection. We knew we would have to spend some time there, so rather than dragging our heavy baggage around the airport we deposited them in a locker near by, intending to pick them up nearer to our flight time.
We went to a counter to schedule our flights. It was after the clerk had made out our tickets for the onward flights that we learned that Paris had not ONE airport but THREE, each located in a different part of the great metropolis. We would have to take a bus to get to the airport we needed. BUT—our bags were in the locker, back where we had first entered—a long walk from where now stood. Back we trudged to retrieve the suitcases, then to find the bus to take us to the proper terminal! There was now not enough time to make the arranged flight. A whole new schedule had to be booked.
We were already travel-weary. Bessie was of a frail build and not too young. I marvelled at the endurance she did have. But I could see by her face that the weariness was building, after having walked many blocks to find the proper bus. It was a marvel that we arrived at the correct airport for our next flight. But now,where were we to go to get to the right plane? Neither of us spoke any French! We stood in what seemed a closed hall way. Where were the elevators we were supposed to take?
Puzzled, and fighting that feeling of panic, we looked at each other, both praying silently.
In this little claustrophobic hallway, suddenly—from out of nowhere, it seemed—a young man appeared. He was medium-to-tall in stature, slightly wavy blond hair, fair, clear skin, and beautiful sky-blue eyes. Without a word from him or us, he picked up our two heavy suitcases and led us to an elevator, entered in with us, and took us to another floor. Setting the bags down near a door to the outside, he pointed to the bus. There through a glass door we saw the bus that would take us to the airport we needed.
We were overtaken with gratitude and surprise. We turned to say, "Merci beau coup!”, and to hand him a few American dollars I happened to have.
"Where has he gone?" gasped Bessie. The mystery man had vanished!
Since that experience, Bessie and I often said to each other: “Could he have been an angel!”
In retrospect: I have often thought of this experience. This young man reminded me very much of my late brother Wilfred, who, at age 20, several years before this, had mysteriously disappeared. Five months after his disappearance, just after the spring thaw, his body was found at the mouth of the Fraser River in British Columbia, hundreds of miles from where he lived with my sister and brother-in-law and myself. That his body was ever found, was a miracle in itself. Had the water carried him just a little further, his body would have been lost to the carrion of the Pacific ocean. The question has often come to me: Could Wilfred have been the Angel sent to minister to us that time in Paris?
© Evelyn Splane
Please visit our website: Gospel of Christ Outreach