I was neither seeking God, nor ministry, nor even answers when He found me. My conversion came in a secular college classroom, where I sat defiantly as an atheist, convinced that religion was merely an emotional drug to quiet the guilt of its adherents. Religion was for the duplicitous: angels Sunday morning but demons by night. Yet with remarkable clarity, the power of prophetic truth penetrated my skepticism, gently dismantling my doubts, and illuminating a new path through a four-hour Bible study on Daniel 2 and 7 from a young woman I had sat down with only because I found her pretty. Observing my love for history and thoughtful arguments against faith, she gave me a copy of The Great Controversy. Its pages conveyed ancient answers to my pressing heart questions. From this place came a call to ministry on secular campuses among students whose hearts, like mine, quietly yearned for deeper truths.
As the dust settled from my own transformation, my heart ached for my peers, young men and women ensnared in spiritual apathy, disillusioned by grandiose Southern megachurches, and craving authenticity and depth. Thus, I heard the divine whisper clearly: secular campus ministry was to be my field, and students my congregation. Accepting this call with trembling hands and a willing heart, I committed two years of my life to intense preparation, training with the Michigan Conference’s public campus ministry missionary training program at the University of Michigan and Michigan State University, before enrolling as a student at Eastern Michigan University.
Something Was Happening
There is a peculiar grace that accompanies obedience—a divine energy that lifts simple acts of faith into something magnificent. It was on those campuses that I experienced this firsthand, witnessing God orchestrate encounters and weave connections I could never have imagined. I recall visiting a student addicted to smoking, with the intent of inviting her to our stop-smoking seminar. During the visit she made it clear that she couldn’t attend the meeting but asked me, “Do you know the steps? Could you walk me through them right now?”
Caught off guard but unwilling to turn her away with nothing, I coyly said, “Sure.”
There is a peculiar grace that accompanies obedience—a divine energy that lifts simple acts of faith into something magnificent.
I proceeded to walk her through the ideas found in Steps to Christ, one of my favorite books, ending with prayer. She called the next day, excited that her desire for smoking was completely gone! Subsequently she began visiting our student church on campus, joined our fall spiritual retreat, and eventually answered an appeal to give her life to Christ. Praise the Lord!
While at Eastern Michigan University I initiated a service project called “Unbound,” repurposing outdated textbooks to help universities abroad that lacked resources. What began as a humble logistical venture blossomed into a rich avenue of spiritual conversations and genuine relationships. Conversations with collaborators naturally turned to matters of faith, life, divine purpose, and eventually Bible studies.
Then the hand of providence placed me in the path of the late Vernon Polite, at the time the dean of the College of Education. We first interacted when he noticed me wearing a suit to my work-study job for him. Besides the fact that it was laundry day and that I feared Northwest Airlines might lose my luggage, I explained to him that I was traveling that evening to Indiana University to give a talk on finding purpose in Christ. He then extended an invitation to deliver a brief invocation at the inaugural State of the African American Male Conference. Those 10 minutes proved pivotal, not merely for the event but for both our souls. Unbeknownst to me, that brief speech etched itself deeply into Prof. Polite’s consciousness. Something was happening; the Spirit of God was moving.
Shortly thereafter, Prof. Polite found himself confronting a battle with cancer; his oncologist insisted he adopt a plant-based diet. Suddenly the threads of our relationship, woven by casual admiration and quiet respect, pulled tighter. He sought me out, inviting me to weekly lunches around campus as together we discovered restaurants serving plant-based cuisine. Each meal became sacred ground—quietly I ministered to his physical and spiritual hunger, conversations drifting naturally from recipes to redemption, from dietary healing to divine hope.
In the quiet ebb and flow of those lunches, the seeds of friendship and trust blossomed. The professor became my advocate, voting for my nomination for Eastern Michigan University’s MLK Jr. Student Humanitarian Award for my work with Unbound. At the president’s MLK Jr. birthday luncheon, having won the award, standing before faculty, community leaders, and peers, I was privileged to share, for 15 uninterrupted minutes, not only about humanitarian accomplishments, but about the underlying motivation of love driving us to excellence. In that audience sat the professor, heart profoundly moved, quietly affirming the investments he had privately made.
The culmination of God’s patient orchestration became poignantly clear months later. I had graduated and moved to Cambridge, Massachusetts, to train student missionaries in the Boston area, when I received a call that Prof. Polite had suffered a stroke, silencing his voice and darkening his days. Yet, miraculously, in his silence, he asked to speak only to me. Over a tender phone call, thousands of miles apart, I prayed with my dear friend and mentor, gently leading him to surrender to Christ. Just days later he slipped peacefully into the sleep of death, his final breaths fragrant with the grace that had pursued him so faithfully.
When I returned later for his memorial, my heart overflowed with awe at the delicate, determined ways God moves among us, through us, and even despite us. On those secular campuses, God had manifested His presence in profound, tangible ways—not simply in grandiose public victories, but in quiet, individual triumphs like that of Prof. Polite, whose soul now rests secure in Christ.
Today missionary life on secular campuses is seldom marked by grand evangelistic crusades. More often it is the quiet witness of consistent love, patient dialogue, and gentle persistence in the mundane moments. Yet in those humble efforts the weight of glory descends unmistakably upon us, reminding us that our labors in the Lord are never in vain.
To have seen God move so clearly, drawing hearts from confusion to conviction, from darkness to divine light, remains one of my greatest privileges. And though there were countless miraculous encounters throughout my missionary journey, none remains more vivid, more sacred, than guiding Prof. Vernon Polite, friend and mentor, safely home.