Immigration. A word that has crossed my path many times, and often associated with mixed anxiety, anticipation, joy, and disappointment. And here we meet again!
I entered the country of Honduras on a 90 day visa. Right after I came we applied for my residency. As the days and weeks passed I realized that the residency needed to come through soon or I would have to go through the process of extending my visa. First, we heard it was not coming through, then this week, they called saying my papers were ready and that I needed to come into the office on Thursday-- which happens to be the very day my visa expires!
So I, along with Juan Sebastian (IBC student) and Eric (VIDA staff member), arrive at the immigration office in Tegucigalpa, only to find out that the lawyer still had not signed the most important document...but the lawyer was expected to come anytime. So we waited and waited...
Juan Sebastian got his residency. More hours passed. We went to the mall for two hours and came back to check on progress... Still nothing! The last bus to El Suyatal would be leaving soon. What would we do if we missed the bus? We looked at each other and sighed. It was going to be a long day. It was about this time I was impressed to pray more earnestly than I had been earlier. At this point, the difference of one hour could mean losing another day of work, another trip to the city, and hundreds of lempiras (the local currency). I knew it was in God's hands to perform a miracle. I just felt so helpless.... All I could do was sit there unable to do anything to solve the problem. Just then a promise came to mind:
"Nothing is apparently more helpless, yet really more invincible, than the soul that feels its nothingness and relies wholly on the merits of the Saviour. God would send every angel in heaven to the aid of such a one, rather than allow him to be overcome." – {7T 17.3}
Another hour passes. The immigration office would be closing in less than ten minutes. Suddenly Eric bursts through the door with the signed document. He tries to get the attention of a busy official to let him know. The response does not seem very hopeful. This official has had a long day and just wants to get home. I could almost hear the desperation in Eric's voice as he presents our case. Then he turns to me: "Jennita, where is the money? I need your passport! Take these and go make copies! Quickly!" The orders were coming faster than I could process, but there was no time for questions. I thrust the money into Eric's hand: I ran in one direction, and he ran to the bank in the mall. I had not even crossed the parking lot, when the bystanders began shouting "It's closed! It's closed!" My heart sank. Everything is in the balance now. But still I hurried back to the counter of the immigration office, and told those at the counter what had happened. One lady (another official who was listening) suddenly grabbed my papers and disappeared into the back of the office. Eric now arrived, and since the bank fees are paid he sends me straight to the same official (the one who basically refused us earlier) announcing over my shoulder, "Everything is done; she is ready to have the paperwork finished." As I sit down, the official growls, "Where are your documents?" I really did not know what to say, but just then the lady showed up again and placed all the papers on his desk. I sighed (this time in relief!) as I finished filling out all the Spanish paperwork...It was done! Thanking the officials, we made our way out to the street.
But the day was far from over. We were pretty much stranded in the city as the last bus to El Suyatal had left several hours ago. Eric called a friend of his, who agreed to pick us up and take us to the marketplace, in hopes of finding a bus that, at least, might go in the direction we needed to go. But it was rush hour and sometimes traffic nearly stopped. Well, we were were hopelessly late for the 6:00 p. m. bus. In all, we spent over an hour driving around the city trying to find another bus. Finally we arrived at a station just ten minutes before the bus left. This one could take us to a city about 45 minutes-1 hour from our destination. We hurriedly paid our fare and boarded the bus. I am learning something about public transportation in Honduras: there is no such thing as personal space...people just board the bus until every space is used to its potential. It was a very stuffy ride with loud music blaring, but at least we were moving! About 80 minutes later, we were dropped off in a gasoline station to wait for our next ride. Another staff member was driving to pick us up. It was with a truly grateful heart that I took off my heavy backpack, sank into the comfortable seat, and for the first time since coming to Honduras (!!!) had the luxury of putting on a seatbelt. It was a wonderful feeling!
Such is a day in the life of a missionary! I am truly grateful for a God who loves me in enough to allow these experiences that will try my patience and develop my character. However helpless and hopeless it seems.... He is faithful!
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