Uruguay and A Taste of Home

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!