Devil at My Heels - Louis Zamperini [123]
Only when Bob Pierce, who established World Vision and had just returned from the Orient, spoke did I have reservations. Bob had become a war correspondent and had a radio program that dealt with the problems of Japan and other Asian countries.
“Why,” he asked, in his forceful way, “are no missionary teams going to Japan? You’ve scheduled many teams for Europe”—I was part of one, ready to leave within twenty-four hours—“yet only one team for the Orient! We need more.”
Pierce was very upset, and I couldn’t stop feeling that he was speaking directly to me. Whether or not he was, it made sense; if anybody ended up in Japan, I’d be the one. Not that anyone had asked—and if anyone did, I already knew I definitely didn’t want to go.
A few years earlier I’d made that much clear to Time magazine when I’d said, “I’d rather be dead than return to that country.” I couldn’t stand Japan. The war memories—like the times we had to fertilize the potato and carrot crops with our own human dung, and then eat the result—just made thinking about a return trip worse.
In Japan poverty was still a way of life. I wanted to do missionary work where my surroundings were more Americanized, more democratic. I had friends all over Europe and knew I’d have a good time there. Had I not become a Christian, I might have eventually gone back to Japan just to find the Bird, if he was alive, and make him pay for what he’d done to me, but since I’d forgiven everyone, the country no longer held my interest. At least that’s what I told myself.
When Pierce finished I snuck out before anyone could talk to me. Yet walking back to my hotel room, I could not escape the conviction that until I had actually faced the Japanese again and seen the reflection of my supposedly new self in their eyes, I would never know for sure whether or not I had dispelled the past. So I got the idea that perhaps I should come face-to-face with some of my former captors, now interned at Tokyo’s Sugamo Prison, and forgive them. Only then would I be complete.
In the lobby I met some buddies who wanted to have a prayer meeting. When it was my turn, I said, “Lord, I feel this terrible conviction that I have to go back to Japan, but I’m not sure. It’s burning in my heart.” Then I came up with a clever way to shift the responsibility for the decision elsewhere: “Being a new Christian, Lord, I’ll need a good swift kick in the pants to understand your will.” In other words, show me an unmistakable sign—and quickly—or I’ll leave with my team for Europe, as planned.
On the way to my room I walked by a conference room just emptying. A young minister, a complete stranger, stopped me. “My name is Eric Folsom,” he said. “I’m an evangelist from Tucson. I heard you speak. Perhaps you’d tell your story at my church?”
“Certainly,” I replied, handing him my card. “Write me when you get back and let me know when it’s convenient and we’ll work it out.”
“By the way,” he said, “Did you hear that challenge on Japan?”
“I did. But I’ve got to get to my room and—”
“It thrilled me to hear Bob Pierce’s message.”
“Me as well,” I said. “Anyway, I’ve got to get to bed…”
Folsom put his hand on my arm. “Just a minute, Louie.”
“What’s the matter?”
“As we’ve been talking, God has burdened my heart to give you five hundred dollars to start you on your way back to Japan.”
I didn’t know whether to hug him or hit him, but the truth was inescapable: I had asked God to give me a sign, and He had obliged me. Folsom explained that he didn’t actually have the money, but he promised to send it to me in California the moment he got home. (I found out later that he went back to Arizona and sold his car!)
Less than a hour later, a singing group of about six people knocked on my hotel-room door and said, “We heard that challenge on Japan, and you’re the logical person to go back there. We want to give