I had been standing in line to pick up our passports with our new residence visas, and it was finally my turn to be served. Inside the cubicle, a man sat behind a desk that was covered with visa applications and passports. He looked like he would rather be doing something else, but all in all, the process was going surprisingly quickly. Maggi had just picked up the passports for herself and the kids. Since they are all Norwegians, they were handed out at the same time, but my passport was still sitting on the desk.

““Didn’‘t your wife take yours already?“” the man asked shortly.

“No, she just picked up hers and the children’s,” I replied. My French language ability is growing, and I’m so glad I can now handle simple conversations like this.

“Oh, you are American,” he said, picking up my blue passport from among the scattered red and green ones. “And your family are . . . Norwegians, right?”

“Yes, Norwegians.”

“Why is it like that? Why is your wife Norwegian and you are American?”

My French was insufficient to give a very deep explanation, so I simply replied, “Because Norwegian women are beautiful!”

He laughed a little, then squinted at my visa application. “You are a missionary, and you say that?” He was looking stern now.

Uh, oh, I thought to myself. Probably the wrong thing to say.

“Missionaries appreciate beauty, too,” I replied, realizing I needed to be careful where this conversation went.

Fortunately, the man changed the subject. “So, what church are you with? The Jehovah’s Witnesses?”

“No, I’m an . . .”

“Adventist!” the immigration officer said before I could, his face lighted up with recognition. Two months earlier, I had been in his office to pick up our first set of visas. I had brought enough copies of The Desire of Ages to give one to each of the officers we interacted with, and I had given one to him. Now he pointed to the book on his desk. A bookmark peeked out of the middle. He reached out and took my hand, drawing me closer. “Can you bring me two more copies of this book?” he asked earnestly. “One of my colleagues wants one, and so does my wife.”

“Yes, of course,” I replied. “So, you have been reading the book yourself?”

“Yes, and it is wonderful!” he said. It was clear that he meant it.

“One of the very best,” I agreed.

“It will be a long time before I see you again for visas. Can you bring them sooner?”

Ten minutes later, I was sitting on the back of a motorcycle taxi, buzzing back to the immigration office. As I handed over the books to the very thankful man, I found myself feeling even more thankful. God had giving me an opportunity to plant seeds of truth in the heart of somebody here in Benin.

As I left, I told my new friend, “When you are done with that one, I have another one for you.”

“Okay,” he replied. “That is good. See you in three months.”

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