the Holy Spirit at work

together again!

The journey back to our country of residence unfolded in the usual way – fly and wait – until I presented my travel documents to the attendant at the international check-in in Seattle. “There’s a problem,” she frowned, pointing out that one digit on my new visa was printed imperfectly.

I took a seat and waited while the attendant said she would send an image of the document in question to her embassy for further scrutiny. She said it would take an hour to determine

will i stay, or will i go?

whether I would get a boarding pass or not. Zeroing in on the blizzard of garbled announcements over the PA system, I strained to hear my name called. I’d spent the day before cancelling credit cards and renewing my license after I’d carelessly lost my wallet. Ever the diligent traveler, I tried to focus on the blessing of even having a passport at all.

After more than an hour, it was determined that I would be allowed to enter the country, where an official interview would determine if I could stay. Having some experience in these matters, I suspected that even though the situation wasn’t my fault, I would be held accountable. I

up, up and away...

spent a good portion of the next ten hours conjuring up unpleasant scenarios and windowless rooms. It was a perfect opportunity to practice everything I believe about trusting Our Father while getting less sleep than I had hoped for.

After landing in the capital city, I immediately started texting so K would know that I had arrived. The “imagined” officials did not meet me at the gate. At the immigration checkpoint, I smiled wanly as the steely-eyed clerk scrutinized my documents and repeatedly referred to his computer monitor. Finally, he looked up and asked for my name in the local language. I responded in the usual manner that

everybody's happy...

I introduce myself to new friends. Smiling and apparently satisfied, he waved me through, saying I was a “local”. My interview was over. PTL!

With spirits high, I made straight for the left luggage counter to deposit my large suitcase before heading across town to my hotel to await my connecting flight home the following evening. Alas, left-luggage had been permanently closed that very day for security reasons. So much for traveling light.

My suitcase and the subway seemed like a horrible mix at rush hour, as did sitting in a taxi, so I opted for the express bus. My rusty

... and so are we!

language skills and airport hullabaloo promptly had me comfortably aboard a bus headed for who knows where. This led to a scene straight from an action movie:  K at home on her phone texting me street names, bus stops, walking directions, landmarks and compass points. Eyes locked on my phone, I hoisted my suitcase on and off buses at unlikely places, against the advice of the bus driver and onboard attendant, and scurried up and down busy streets until I made my destination. Our Father really is good.

After another successful trip back to the airport, I boarded a flight to my home community.  Upon arriving in our city of

so, this is spring?

residence, I was met at the airport by a colleague and her husband who graciously chauffeured me home. What a blessing!  K and I were thankful and happy to be together again as we negotiated with our school over schedules and welcomed the students back to the first week class. Father God is good all the time!