I was heading home tonight from the tube, and as I began to climb the stairs from the underground I went to call home, as I always do. It makes me feel safer to talk to someone as I walk home and I always enjoy catching up with family. My mom didn’t pick up on either line and so I mentally paused as I approached the cross walk, waiting for the signal to turn. I found myself sandwiched between two men, and felt really uncomfortable. Some people I instinctively know not to trust and I’ve learned to trust my instincts. When the signal changed I walked quickly, hoping to lose them.
“I need to talk to you.”
The thought entered my mind with Divine transcendence that I could easily recognize as being distinct from my own mental chatter.
“Yes, Heavenly Father?” I inwardly cringed, wondering if it was going to be bad news. I’ve been wrestling through some stuff lately and so I inwardly prepared myself to hear whatever came next.
Nothing came.
Maybe it was just my brain misfiring. I continued to feel quite uncomfortable as I walked home alone in the dark. I paused and then dialed my mom again. She didn’t pick up.
Again, it came: I need to talk to you. This time I snapped to a bit more, mentally speaking.
I started to pray, first starting out with what was weighing on my heart. As I prayed I found the mild panic I had felt minutes earlier at the thought of walking home alone dissipate. As I continued to pray, I moved on to praying for the local missionaries of the ward I attend. Next I prayed for the Gospel to spread throughout the world, and finally, to finish up the triad, I prayed that I might have missionary experiences of my own.
No sooner had this last prayer been prayed I looked up and immediately saw a man standing ahead of me.
“You’re going to share the Gospel with him.”
Ummm…. No, possible, pseudo-schizophrenic misfiring, I am not. I am not going to approach a stranger, in Central London, thank you. I am going home, tired brain, and giving you some rest, rest which you obviously need. I walked passed him and wondered casually about my mental health. A minute later I looked over to my left and there the man was. He greeted me and we began to speak casually. I could tell by his accent that he was of Middle-Eastern descent. He seemed pleasant and I didn’t get any sort of bad vibes off of him. I figured I was on my way home and it was well lit enough to risk it, especially since I had been given some Divine forewarning.
He asked me what I had done that day. I told him I had just come from church and we spoke a bit about that. After a few minutes, he asked what made my church different and I told him about the Book of Mormon, what it was and what it meant to me. A minute later I gave him my copy.We continued to talk about religion – he was Muslim, but readily admitted “My family and I could be wrong. My people could be wrong.”
I told him there was much I admired about Islam. He and I both agreed it was important to ask questions of our faith, to live life well, to honor God and focus on meaningful relationships with people. Kahel, my new friend, seemed genuinely to be a good soul. So much so that I felt safe walking with him in downtown London. He warned me against being so trusting – I told him God had told me I was going to speak to him and that’s the only reason why I was doing it.We walked and talked for about ten more minutes.
It was an amazing experience to find a kindred spirit in the midst of a city of purposeful strangers. At the end I told him I hoped we would meet again, and in the note I wrote in his Book of Mormon I gave him information on how to contact me. I hope I do hear from him again. I feel extremely blessed to have been used of God to meet this man. I have never so profoundly heard the Lord in my life, and never had His word so quickly fulfilled. I can only think that we were supposed to meet and that the Lord has great intentions in our meeting.
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