A (senior) officer and (NOT) a gentleman (and me...fighting....at the visa office)

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight.”

“You hem me in, behind and before, You have laid Your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain”

“We are given no miraculous signs, no prophets are left, and none of us knows how long this will be”

These are my Bible verses of the week. <3. Maybe a bit paradoxical? But fitting nonetheless. My friends, if you will, please listen to my tale, for it is quite a tale to tell…

My weeks in Indonesia passed swiftly and joyfully, filled with slobbery hugs from 4 yr. olds, storybooks to read and exclaim over, and joke-filled after-school volleyball. My host family was sweeter than could be imagined, and I felt as if I were in the most secure of hands; treating me to everything I could desire, and caring for me like a daughter. The weeks were fun-filled and adventurous, I was not lying when I said I got a picture with a cheetah (and an orangutan!), but I can now include in my list that I have successfully managed my first Aikido class without killing myself (although I did come away quite bruised!), and had lunch at the Indonesian President’s palace (although the President himself was unfortunately busy, doing heaven’s knows what (leading the country, perhaps? And not exactly concerned about the reunion of my host family’s University class)). Again, I felt slightly guilty at the pleasures I was afforded, knowing that I have come to Asia to sacrifice my time and efforts to help others come to know Christ. Still, God was using this time in a big way to prepare me for all that lay ahead (don’t worry, I’ll fill you in on all the wretched details later…). I was incredibly blessed by the teachers at the school, some passionate Indonesian girls, and friendly, laid-back Aussies, there was even a gentleman from Texas teaching English with a drawl. I was afforded the opportunity to teach, play, and love the students at the International School that my host family’s daughter attended, as well as give my testimony at their church. It seems an insignificant offering, and yet God knows, my full heart was in it, and the comfort surrounding me helped placate the storm brewing in my heart.

You see, after spending weeks with Jason Martens in the Philippines, my mind had been expanded on the theology of what I believe. I was challenged and beaten with the truth (don’t worry, not literally, but Jay had some serious points to be made!) and it began to whirl around in my head and toy with what I thought I was once certain of. In Jay’s arguments on predestination I could only sit there and agree that the Scripture was very clear, and wish that I could somehow discover a way to get around what I found a very troubling truth. God chose His children before they were made. It is only by His work in us that we are saved; we do not even have the ability to crawl to Him. Yet how can I reconcile this? My God, my Father, choosing some of his children for paradise, and in essence, others for eternal hell? How can He do this? How is it glorifying to Him to send those He creates to damnation in order to prove to those He does save, that they did not deserve the saving? I could not rid my mind of these disturbing thoughts. They invaded my meditation, my Bible reading, the church services I attended. My turmoil continued amidst the beautiful peace of my surroundings, and I was grateful for the Lord’s provision: that when it was storming inside, there was solace in the comfortable routine of my everyday life. I wish I could say that in some burst of brilliance, Christ has revealed to me the understanding of this concept, but it would be false. In reading through Romans I find it obviously stated that God chooses who will be saved, yet I still do not want to believe it. I have, however, surrendered it all to the Lord, and prayed that in time, understanding will come. That in seeing this side of my Creator, who I so often shrink to the paltry magnitude of a Teddy Bear, I will grow in depth of relationship with Him, as I see Him as He truly is. And at this time, I do not mind admitting that I do not have the answer to this question of doctrine, but also beg for reprieve due to the nature of our Lord; He is as unsearchable as the heavens, and His ways, no one can comprehend.

My dears, might I beg you to read on? For my story is not yet complete, though I fear to bore you. I can promise, however, that this next bit will spark at least some vestige of passion in you, if I can convey the frustration of my situation properly…

I left Indonesia, alone, on the 9th of March. Traveling solo was a new experience for me, and although taxing on my shoulders (a backpack, a purse, and two duffel bags are no mean feat to carry!), I feel I managed quite competently. I was able to check myself into the nearby hotel, and even find some semi-healthy dinner to eat. The next morning, I was up early and ready for my next quest. The task? Find my way to the Indian High Commission in Kuala Lumpur, and get them to give me a new tourist visa. While some may think this would be a trivial mission, others may know the perils that awaited me at the stuffy, stinky, crowded, building some call the High Commission, but I lovingly dub… “The house of torture.”

My access was barred almost immediately after stepping out of my cab, having already bussed into the heart of the city, and I had to convince the guard at the entryway, to let me pass. Thankfully my magic password got me through (NO, I cannot tell you what it is, otherwise, EVERYONE would be able to get into the joyful paradise of the Indian Consulate!) When I entered in the puny room that already held WAY too many sweating Indian and Malaysian people, (I suppose they were trying to emulate what it really is like in India…no Air Conditioning!) I falteringly glanced around for some sign to tell me where my inquiry could be made. Thankfully, it was at the end of the shorter of the two lines, and me and all my baggage quickly found our place fighting for a chance at the counter. After waiting more than 20 minutes, a surly lady (seriously, who is that grumpy at only 10 in the morning? Your day could not have started off THAT bad…) finally opened the window, and the line started moving. When I reached the front I put on my friendliest of smiles and posed my query, and was responded to with a frown and immediate suspicion. “I’ll have to check your passport with my senior officer” said the miserly woman, “have a seat.” What was I to do but follow orders?! So I sat. And sat. After another 20 minutes, I got in line again, thinking “at least they could give me the form to fill out while I wait.” When I again reached the front, she gave me one glance, would not even let me begin my sentence, and stated, flat out, “you can’t get another visa.” WHY!? Was the word exploding in my mind, and what followed was the biggest, most frustrating argument of my life. Here is a tip: Don’t try to argue with reason with a grumpy person who holds the trump card in his/her hand and doesn’t feel like wasting their time on you. They will always win. Her reasons? “Why do you want to go back to India? You’ve already spent 4 months there, and that is enough time to see it.” Was she serious?! Was this some kind of cruel joke? I realized my calamity when she gave up even trying to talk to me, gave me the “talk-to-the-hand” wave, and left, only to return with her senior officer. Again I voiced my argument, “all I want to do is go back to India, I am just a tourist, I have stayed for some time visiting friends at a small school, helping them a bit, and also traveling around to see different parts of the South. My friends (not to mention all of my luggage!) are waiting for me in India, I even have a flight booked home from there!” The rebuttal: (do your best to imagine a tall, thin Indian man saying this in an Indian accent) “why do you want to go to India? I don’t believe you are a tourist, you are trying to get the wrong type of visa, if you are staying at a school, you should get a student visa, you need to go back to your country and apply from there, I know, I am from India, you do not need more than four months to see it, I do not believe you…” and so the argument would have continued on for eternity (with me intermittently crying, begging, and yelling while his steely eyes remained pitiless) but for the ONE trick I had up my sleeve….
“my camera! Do you want to see pictures, I can SHOW you what I have been doing in India!!!”
And praise God, he said yes. So I showed him. I went through images that made me smile through tears of frustration (ok, so I wasn’t REALLY crying, you know I have problems with my tear ducts, but my eyes were kind of watery!), of the students, of my garden, my joy over eating the beans I had planted, making silly faces as we worked on workday, traveling to Pondichery at Christmas, finding a French café with real crepes (!!!). Pictures of trucks filled with green bananas, skeletal street dogs digging through trash, cows walking on the beach…
I want to go back to India.
With a grim look, the officer said, “I have to check with my senior officer” (how many senior officers can there be!?) and left. I stood there praying, pleading with Jesus to let him have mercy, to give me this chance. And he returned with an application form!
All was good in paradise, right?
Well, I still had to bring my application to another location, fill out a different application, pay my fee, and find my way to Harvest Haven (another bus ride) while lugging all my stuff, to settle there and wait. And TRY not to worry. Trying. REALLY hard. And learn what it is to wait. Wait patiently. And that does not just mean sitting, it means so much more. It means trusting. In an all-powerful God who works miracles for small girls in big, scary places.
And so I am back in this place of learning. Learning to be grateful for that nice, comfortable time I had in Indonesia. Learning to hope for a miracle (you see, the visa could take as many as 10 days from when I dropped it off……and my flight is in 8….). And above all, still, still I am learning just how much this Jesus loves me and has a plan for my future.

So, although some days (…hours…..moments…) I feel miserable, and some I am filled with hope, I continue to be kept afloat by prayers from you! My precious loved ones. How can I properly thank you? Perhaps by ending this so you can go on with your day, and hoping that you were entertained by my tale? Sharing it with you lightens my heart, and renews my hopes. I stay in trust, (in between bouts of chronic worrying), and can joyfully say, with my full heart,

“But as for me, it is good to be near God. I have made the Sovereign LORD my refuge, from-grumpy-difficult-apathetic-visa-people; I will tell of all Your deeds, including-miracles-of-contact-with-my-family-at-unlikely-times.” (paraphrased, Lauren-version)

Aaaaay….men.