Shortly after receiving a stamp on my passport for country
#14, I made an extremely last-minute decision to fly back to the states. Though I had originally hoped to avoid flying
stateside mid-journey, things changed when I arrived in Uruguay. Because my team is constantly on the move and
there’s no such thing as a “set” schedule, it’s virtually impossible to plan
ahead when booking a ticket. Several of
my teammates have flown back and forth from South America to the states and
Europe throughout the last nine months, and while some have had smooth travel experiences,
many have not. A handful have ended up
busing ahead to make their departure flights out of a particular country; still
others have flown back to the wrong country and wound up stranded while waiting
for the team to catch up. After
witnessing such atrocities, I vowed to not get myself into this mess.
However, upon arrival to Uruguay, the frigid air must have
gotten to my brain, and I booked a ticket home. Though it seemed like a spontaneous decision, I’d
actually felt a growing sense for months that I needed to spend some time with
my family. Our date of return, originally
scheduled for August, was looking more like December or January. At first, I had said I’d be home for the end
of summer, then by Thanksgiving, then Christmas…and now I’m not even sure of
that. I needed to be with my family and
show them that I love them more than ministry.
What use is it to love people all over Latin America if I can’t love my
own family? Several of my teammates had also
felt an itch to go home and booked tickets for June family visits. Our team leader promised to wait in
Montevideo, the capital of Uruguay, for each of the travelers to make their departure
flights without any hassle. A chance to
fly at such an opportune time was rare, and I figured I should cease it while
it lasted.
I had twenty-four hours to make a decision and wondered if I
was being brash. A ticket home was
expensive, especially on a missionary “salary” or lack of. I debated for hours, going back and forth in
my mind. I paced around the streets
outside our team’s hostel deliberating.
I asked God if I should go home or not.
This would mean missing pretty much the team’s entire time in Uruguay
and flying back into Brazil to meet up with everyone. Would it be worth it? When I asked the Lord, I heard Him simply
say, “Honor your family.” At that, I
knew it was time to go.
Shortly after, I was on a plane headed to New York
City. I landed in Brooklyn, greeted by
familiar accents and teasing comments by the customs officer at JFK. “Ya get inta trouble ova there?” he asked as
he smirked and looked at my passport.
“Whatcha doin’ in South America? Ya
sure you’re not causin’ any trouble? Ha. Welcome home.”
I made some sassy retort and continued on through customs,
where I passed through in approximately thirty seconds. I emerged into the mess of JFK and tried to
find my family. They were nowhere to be
seen. I had no phone, so I began to ask
different vendors to give me quarters in exchange for my bills. No one would help me. After the third try, I finally begged the
money exchange woman, explaining that I really needed to make a call on the pay
phone. At first she told me she didn’t
have quarters, but after a few minutes she reluctantly slid four down the
counter. Irritated, I paid a dollar to
call my dad who couldn’t hear a word that I was saying anyway. Meanwhile, my little sister (who could pass
as my twin) was walking through the crowds, asking if anyone had seen a girl
with her face. After about thirty
minutes, I saw my dad in the distance. I
ran towards my family, and as soon as we united, it felt like no time had
passed at all. Moments later, we were
sitting in my dad’s car headed home to Connecticut--a land with soft beds,
clean toilets, and hot showers. Heaven.
I spent the next two weeks catching up with my family and
old friends, sharing crazy stories from my time in Latin America. I started to realize how insane my life
is. At first, as I shared about miracles
I’d seen along the journey, I feared I would miss many more in Uruguay and lose
out. However, I quickly realized that
the biggest miracle God had in store for me this month was being with my
family. As we spent time together,
laughed together, prayed together, and cried together, God began to pour out
His love on my family and break through in a fresh way. I felt such a deep peace and constant
reassurance that I was exactly in the right place. And the timing of my unplanned visit was
impeccable. I was able to be a part of certain
events that I knew were no coincidence; God was leading every step of my trip.
While in Connecticut, I sent my passport to the Brazilian
Consulate in Manhattan to apply for a Brazilian visa. So far, I’ve been able to get a visa for
every country upon arrival, but Brazil’s entry process is complicated, strict,
and expensive. I sent in my application
and almost $300 to get the needed documents, being told I would receive my
passport and visa back within a couple days.
Over a week passed, and I wondered why my visa had not returned to
me.
My time in Connecticut flew by, and it was already time to
leave the state and take a detour to California before flying to Brazil. I was certain my visa would have arrived
before I reached California, but no luck.
Upon arrival to Orange County, I called the Brazilian Consulate and found
out they were on strike. They were no
longer processing visas for an indefinite length of time. No,
this can’t be! I thought to
myself. Why did they have to go on strike this week of all weeks? I started
to freak out, wondering if the strike could last for months. I was afraid I would never get back to South
America. Without a visa and without a
passport, I was pretty much stuck.
I went to The River Church of OC on my first Sunday night in
California. I was greeted by missionary aficionados
who showered me with prayer and encouragement.
One of them prayed that an angel would stamp my stinkin’ passport for me
and get it to California. My faith in
that visa angel was feeling pretty rocky.
However, two days later, I had a Brazilian visa in my hand. The consulate was still on strike, but my
passport had somehow been Fedex-ed to California with a shiny Brazilian visa
inside. I literally cried when I found
out about my visa miracle. I could keep
my flight and get back to my team.
The rest of my week in California was insanely busy but also
incredibly fun. The sight of palm trees,
sparkling blue waves, and the faces of some of my dearest friends made my heart
happy. It was a huge blessing to reconnect
with so many great people. At times,
however, being in California was challenging, as I realized how much has
changed in the last ten months. My
friends’ lives have not stood still while I’ve been gone. Though a dynamic life is a good thing, it felt
strange to be dropped off in my “old life” and realize it wasn’t quite the same
life I’d left behind. I was reminded of the steep price of leaving
home to pursue missions. The weight of
it all hit me.
The day before I flew to Brazil, I went back to The River to
gain some refreshment. The worship was
music to my soul. I could have sung for
hours, so thankful for the simple presence of God. I spoke to some friends involved in missions
who understood what it feels like to be a nomad--to never quite fit in or have
a real home. After the service, those
who wanted prayer were asked to come forward.
I went to the front where a man and woman prayed for my journey. I was at peace and ready to return to the
field.
After they’d finished praying, another woman came forward to
receive prayer. She had intense pain all
up and down her right arm and thought it was tendinitis. She could force herself to bend it, but the
muscles were so sore that it caused great pain to move it. The man who had just prayed for me instructed
me to now pray for this woman’s healing.
I laid hands on her and started declaring how much God loved her. I commanded the pain to leave her arm in the
name of Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit fell on her so strongly you could
tangibly feel a heavy presence around us.
I asked the woman how she felt, and she started swinging her arm around
and smiling. “Oh my gosh, wow!” she
exclaimed. “Wow! It doesn’t hurt!” She started moving it in a way she couldn’t
before without pain, and she said the tightness was gone. When I’d shared testimonies of healings from
South America, some people had said those miracles are more common overseas, as
if other countries have some special anointing for faith and healing that
America lacks. However, this woman’s
miracle would suggest otherwise.
Everything I’ve seen throughout Latin America can also happen at
home. It’s the same God moving; it’s the
same power and the same love.
Early Monday morning, I headed back
to South America. After flying from Los
Angeles to Miami, then Miami to Rio de Janeiro, going through customs without
speaking Portuguese, and then boarding my third and final flight, I arrived in
Porto Alegre, Brazil, where I met up with some of my teammates. From there, we headed to Florianapolis,
Brazil where the rest of the team will meet us today. I can’t wait to see the other half of my team
after almost a month of separation. It
will be great to be together again--one big, crazy, loving family. I am so happy to be back, but I am also
incredibly thankful for the chance to have seen many of you while I was
home. Thanks for all the support, generosity,
love, and encouragement shown me. I look
forward to soon updating you with more stories of God’s love and faithfulness
as my team spends time here in Brazil!
