At a recent gathering of some alumni of the 1971 class at Bryan Adams High School, Becky Lapsley’s name came up. I confess to having completely forgotten her. After all, we went to such a big school (3,300 students back then), and it was impossible to know and remember everybody. Becky was a rather tall girl whose parents had been missionaries in Africa, and she took her faith very seriously. I knew nothing more of her than this.
An off-hand reference to her after our dinner at Highland Park Cafeteria spurred me to give her a try on Google. Maybe something would come up, and did it ever. I found numerous references to her, her family and her life, along with photos. I learned that she died on November 2, 2013 after a four-year fight with uterine cancer. Becky had married a man named Dave Black, and they too did missionary work in Africa—Ethiopia, to be specific.
You need to know that I recently finished reading a book entitled King Leopold’s Ghost / A Story of Greed, Terror and Heroism in Colonial Africa. In it, I learned about the ghastly and shameless way Belgium had killed, enslaved and stolen enormous wealth (mostly in the form of ivory, rubber and gold) over a 30-year period spanning the 19th and 20th centuries. William Lapsley had been sent on a mission by the Presbyterian Church to the Congo with the idea of proselytizing to the natives.
What made this unusual was that he was to have a black co-worker named William Sheppard. Lapsley, a native of Virginia, could have been excused for resisting any such plan since Jim Crow attitudes were then hardening. He did not, however. Lapsley and Sheppard actually made a solid team as they arrived in the Congo. They brought the gospel, but they also saw and reported some of the horrible things going on in the name of Leopold’s ostensible philanthropy. Lapsley died in 1892, just two years after reaching Africa. His son and grandson (Becky’s father, Brad) also did foreign missionary work, teaching, building houses and improving the quality of people’s lives.
And so we come back to my former high school classmate. Becky and Dave spent 37 years together, during which they had children and grandchildren. I have seen numerous photos of her, surrounded by family and what seems to be extended family—people of all colors. Lots of authentic smiles and hugs. Dave is a fairly prolific writer who has documented her life with articles and photos galore. I was able to see the two of them at their wedding, moving into middle age and then with heads of gray hair.
She wrote an autobiography with the unpretentious title of My Life Story. The book, a bit too conservative and preachy for my taste, was published a few months after her death. Becky did not flinch or worry about the Grim Reaper or any of that. I have read her own words and those of people who knew and loved her. This was a lady who lived a purpose-driven life, the Christian life from start to finish, and I have to believe her great-grandfather, William Lapsley, would have been proud of her.
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