Editor’s Note: This story is less about missions, and more of a story of faith. Ben is a newfound friend of mine, and I have asked him to share his journey to Christ that he made a couple of months ago when he landed on our proverbial Central Coast doorstep. His story is one that proves God is alive and well, working and active, even when we do not see.

“Call to me, and I will answer you and show you great and mighty things, which you know not.”
Jeremiah 33:3

Dennis, the white-haired coach driver, called out in his deep American accent: “Grover Beach, this is Grover Beach.” I instantly woke up from a sound sleep.

I jumped to my aching feet and after several seconds of shaking my sleep-loving travel companion, he also got up. We disembarked the 9:20 Amtrak coach that has chauffeured us from Santa Barbara, and as we donned our extraordinarily heavy backpacks, I asked myself whether a two piece suit and hair straightners were absolute travel essentials.

While walking for what seemed miles, we discussed all of the things we wanted to achieve from the trip, most of which seemed to involve some kind of self-indulgent and self destructive activity.

I digress. You must forgive my uncontrollable ramblings. After all, I am British. I’m a young man — argh who am I kidding — I’m a 29-year-old chef from a small market town called Darlington, which sits just between County Durham and North Yorkshire. After becoming tired of the ‘small town’ mentality, terrible weather and predictable social life, I booked a flight to the United States for a change of scene. British Airways Flight 502 would transport me and Sleepy from hum drum town life to the sun fun state of California.

So back to Grover Beach…

Our walk took us to a friendly looking venue brimming with Frisbee-throwing families enjoying tri-tip from the barbecue. We thought we were in luck, only to have our balloon of hope popped when we were told that we couldn’t camp because ‘we did not arrive by car.’

Bemused, we turned our weary bodies around and again hit the road. The pavement that would lead us to the next campsite seemed to last forever, only to be told that we were not permitted this time because we did not arrive in an SUV towing what would be classed as a medium-sized family home. I apologised for our lack of Co2 ommittance and headed to the exit.

After throwing the bags to the ground, we lay on the grass staring at the California sky, me wishing I had planned this slightly better (un-organisation being one of many of my bad habits). As I lay beside The Sleepy One, a cheery chap threw us some bottled water stating ‘that we needed it more than he did.’

“How jolly well nice,” I commented (obliviously un-aware of the hospitality that awaited us.) Once again, we begrudgingly headed back along the road we had just trekked — to quote the great Wilfred Owen — “bent double like old beggars under sacks.”

Whilst walking I wondered what reason we would be given as to why we were not permitted to pitch our tent at the next site. We eventually limped into the Coastal Dunes campsite, only to be heartbroken by a Closed sign. I again flopped to the ground — this time seriously contemplating giving up and swimming for home. I was stirred from this ludicrous vision a voice coming from yet another ranger. I hardly dared to ask if we could camp, but forced out the now-dreaded question.

“Hmmmmmm,” he muttered whilst rubbing his chin. I froze, fearing yet another ludicrous anti-camping rejection, only to be told that there was no problem and to grab our bags.
I jumped to my feet with a newfound energy and followed the ranger, who en route to our new home, commented on our choice of footwear. After explaining that the original pairs had buckled under the weight of the over-leavened luggage, we walked past the RV’s and campfires wearing pink and white plimsoles. (I must add that The Semi-Narcoleptic was sporting the pink pair.)

After pitching our tent, we wandered to the beach, happy that we would not be sleeping rough, not knowing that this strange string of events would lead me to a place that would literally change everything.

We settled into the life quite nicely, but nice was not what I had come for; I wanted to find ‘me,’ whoever that may be. I wanted a new career, more money, a huge house, maybe even a holiday getaway somewhere warm, and so on and so on, you get the picture.

Then while attempting to add colour to our pasty English skin by the pool, I was again awoken by an American voice. I looked up from my reclined position seeing the speaker in an inverted state. I righted myself and the mystery man introduced himself as Kyle, the son of Lorrie (one of the rangers we had met whilst paying for our pitch.) We chatted and again replayed our story so far. Kyle showed a genuine interest in our little trip. After telling the tale so far, he asked whether we would be interested in joining him at church that evening.

I pondered for a while, not remembering the last time I had gone to church, but accepted his offer with open arms when he added that there would be food. (Our staple diet to that point consisted of chili and a strange tinned concoction called ‘pork and beans.’ Although I must admit, I’ve seen more meat on a butcher’s pencil!)

As we headed to church, I couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy. I was a Christian, but in the sense that I was christened as a child and went to church for the usual births, marriages, deaths and midnight mass on Dec. 24, singing ‘Morning Has Broken’ badly, and thinking I was doing my bit.

I was shocked when we arrived, pizza in hand for the pot luck, at a beautiful family home. I was now thoroughly confused. This bore no resemblance to the archaic churches of home –not a pew or stained glass window in sight. As we entered I was introduced to Pastor Mark Perry. Again I was taken aback by his appearance, as far from a man of the cloth as you could imagine in — fact bordering on being cool.

Mark proceeded to explain that this was a Microchurch and part of Everyday Church, of which he is at the helm. It was strange. I had been there all of twenty minutes, but already felt accepted by this close-knit group of friends. I was intrigued and had an overwhelming thirst to know more.

After his prayers and words, we talked some more. Anyone who has met Mark will know he puts you at ease and I soon forgot that we had only met an hour ago. We chatted about various aspects of life, but the thing that stuck with me was his explanation that going to church once a week — although perfectly acceptable — would not bring me closer to God. I was very confused, but he went on to explain that I have to build a relationship with God. I liked it. I could always do with a helping hand and frankly could not see the downside.

The evening culminated with a prayer for me and The Tired One. I was so honoured. Here I was, 5430 miles from home, with relative strangers, yet they prayed that we would have safe passage on our trip and that we would continue to discover ourselves along the way. I think it was then that I realised I didn’t need the money and material items that I had so hankered for. What everyone at the church had could not be bought, yet made them the wealthiest people alive. Maybe I was going to discover “me”on this voyage after all.
We were due to leave the following day but I couldn’t there was much more I wanted to see, so we decided to stay.
In the coming weeks we met many more people from the church and in turn their friends and family. In particular, Kyle’s family reached out to us, and what a family they are. Just how a family should be. We were taken in like two lost puppies. No longer would we eat “pork & beans.” Kyle’s dad Tom added hugely to my newfound openness with unobtrusive guidance, for which I will always be grateful. I think he knew before I did where this would lead.

Eventually our voyage had to continue and we headed north. We hiked, biked and hitched our way to San Francisco, visiting many beautiful places along the way, all the time thinking of the events that unfolded in the Central Coast. Could that have all been a coincidence? I started to question it, so we made a detour back through Grover Beach, this time not as tired and with a need for more knowledge.

We reclaimed pitch 22 and settled back into our old routine. We continued to meet more of the church regulars — a DVD alphabetising addict, a man more at home up a cliff than on terra firma, a girl with a hat-styled bicycle helmet and the nicest killer of animals you could ever meet.

We took a full-fledged Sunday visit to Everyday Church and yet again my preconceptions were smashed. Music filled my ears — not the regular “How Great Thou Art,” but a band that blasted out worship songs with passion and vigour. The church patrons stood with hands aloft, voices echoing joyful praise around the room. The hairs on my neck stood up and for the first time in long time, I felt good about myself.

The next time we went to church, I filled me in for the absent drummer. I tapped, banged and crashed my way through the set for which I apologise profusely. Pastor Mark then posed a question to which I answered “yes yes yes” — for I did need saving and I was ready to move on. I spoke to Rich (a stand up Londoner) who listened to my story and extinguished any doubts that may have remained. I felt safe and in the company of friends.

The next thing I remember is being immersed in water. I felt closeted and warm, a million thoughts passed through my mind, memories and feelings combined both good and bad collided. I emerged born, new, a relinquished soul. A huge burden lifted, akin to removing the heavy backpack from my weary shoulders. My friends Peter, Nathan and Kyle, walked with me out of the water along the glorious sand of Pismo Beach, to the cheers and applause of my new family.

I found “ME” and it didn’t cost a dime. I also built friendships that will last forever. After returning to the UK, I have managed to stay in touch with my newfound family and with their support continue to search for myself, but no longer alone. For now I have a relationship with God, one without limits, a relationship that allows me to achieve things I previously thought incomprehensible

Where will this go next? I do not know, but I now have faith and that teamed with like-minded friends gives me the confidence to allow my life’s decisions to be made by someone else, someone who cares and loves me for “me.” He forgives my shortcomings and encourages me to be the person I know I can be.