Yesterday I received notification from my Attorney that my petition for the Green Card is now under review with Immigration. I should hear the decision or notice of further action within 30-60 days. Please pray and keep on praying!
Wow…this could come through by Christmas…
Trusting in Him!
“I know your works.
See, I have set before you an open door,
and no one can shut it;
for you have a little strength, have kept My word, and have not denied My Name.”
Revelation 3:8
My latest date with US Customs and Border Control was at Denver Airport Monday, November 10.
I had just flown in from an excellent week with the Global Missions Force School at Horizon College & Seminary, Saskatoon, Canada. The school is preparing for four months service in Nepal. Thanks Stirretts for warm hospitality, Tim Hortons and the privilege of being with your DTS! 
The entry procedure is so familiar to me. I step up to the thick black line on the carpet marking the last point I wait before I meet my latest Immigration Officer. He or she is just a couple of feet away from me sitting in a glass box and busy with their latest “guest.” I’ve arrived at this mark on the carpet having slowly followed a twisting and turning line of countless foreign guests from all parts of the compass, all in different stages of jet-lag depending on the length of their travels. This time I’m not suffering any level of exhaustion as Saskatoon was an easy two and half hour flight. But it doesn’t make any difference. This black mark on the carpet is the point of no return and soon my passport will be in the hands of an immigration officer who has little interest with how far I have come to be here today…
The Guest in front of me moves on and it’s my turn. With a cheery hello, another quick prayer and a tensing of my insides, I smile as I step up to the window to meet my latest Border Patrolwoman. Yep…a lady and they are usually tough. I hand over my passport and immigration card. The officer quickly begins tapping away on her computer keys. She glances at me, leans into her computer screen, raises an eyebrow as she reads and with barely a nod in my direction asks; “Where are you coming from?” “What are you doing in the USA?” “Are they paying you?” I give my answers, a few more keys are punched and my paperwork is gathered up and handed over to a summoned officer who escorts me to the secondary interview and waiting room. I have often wondered if any of my fellow guests are curious about why I am being escorted away instead of being processed and able to move onto the baggage hall like the others before her? What has she done?
I arrive at the waiting room which is full of internationals, some sitting alone quietly, others chatting in languages I don’t understand, most have their eyes fixed on the Border Patrol officials standing behind a long counter and busy processing endless immigration documents. Everyone in the room is hopeful their paperwork is in order and desperate for favor when their name is called.
“Miss Kent.” My name is called. I head to the counter ready for the rapid fire of questions I know will soon follow. My passport has been perused, as too my records on the computer screen. Eyebrows raise again, 3 more questions…“What do you do?” “Are you paid?” “When are you leaving the USA?” The Officer jots down a few notes and asks me to return to my seat as he Ieaves the room to consult with others never seen. I wait for another ten minutes.
The Officer returns, types some information into the computer, looks at me, looks at my passport, looks at the computer screen and types some more. I am called over, asked again the same questions though worded slightly different. What are they looking for in my answers? All the while I am praying and trying to remain in peace though I feel the anxiety rising inside.
One more look at the computer, at my paperwork and then the moment I have been waiting for; the officer reaches for the STAMP. The large, metal, government issued date stamp…the unmistakable “thud,” “thud” of that stamp being applied to my immigration card and passport disguises the sound of a long breath slowly exhaled, my own breath I have been holding since departing the aircraft over an hour ago…
The Customs Officer reminds me to exit by the date now boldly and permanently displayed in my passport. My documents are handed back to me. There is never a word of “welcome” expressed by the Officer but I don’t mind. I am thankful and I tell him so. I collect my hand luggage and head immediately to the now empty baggage hall to collect my dizzy bag that has made many lonely laps around the carousel.
With cell phone in hand, fingers itching to announce another successful border crossing to praying friends, I head for the nearest Starbucks to settle the nerves and celebrate.
I am home again. Thank you Jesus.
I stood on the curb outside of the Arrival Hall of the Islamabad International Airport. I had just flown in from Gilgit after a very rewarding time with the Board of Directors of the Shining Light Community Development Organization. My journey to Pakistan had been tested by canceled flights, terrorist attacks and economic crisis but the fruitfulness of His miracles in Northern Pakistan had reduced them to a faint memory of an ineffective distraction.
I was all alone except for my luggage cart which I promptly leaned against. My driver had disappeared into the nearby parking lot to retrieve our vehicle for the ride to the guest house where I would stay for two days before I returned to the USA.
I casually surveyed my surroundings noticing a group of Pakistani Policemen some distance away to my left. Their royal blue uniforms a fresh wash of color and their police badges catching and reflecting the morning sunlight. Rifles hung nonchalantly from shoulders and I could hear their laughter as they spoke with one another or greeted a passerby. No one paid any attention to me. It was unusually quiet on the street, the teeming crowds absent and that’s when I noticed the faded, yellow vehicle parked to my right about six feet away.
Normally it would have just been any ordinary beat up, old car, so typical on the busy roads of Islamabad . Today, for some strange reason, maybe because of all the recent tragic events in Pakistan, it became much more to me.
Within seconds my imagination had determined that this was a car bomb and as the thought took root in my mind, fear flooded my heart and swept along my veins sending a chill throughout my body. I looked again quickly to the policemen, nothing had changed, no one was looking at me. My eyes swung back to the car, no driver or passenger in sight and without any reasoning process, I knew that when the car exploded as it would in moments, I would not feel a thing. I would be the foreigner that had died in the latest terrorist attack in Islamabad, Pakistan.
I clearly saw in my mind’s eye my body being swept up before the blast of the bomb and shattered into a million of glass-like pieces that sparkled as they fanned out through the air and as this vision took hold of me I tilted my head to heaven and said out loud; “I am Yours Father, I am ready…”
It was as if time slowed down and almost stopped. My reasoning and response took place within mere seconds and the very moment I had uttered my readiness to God an old familiar worship song filled my heart and came forth from my lips and instantly the fear was gone. Without any conscious decision I heard myself singing to my God and all peace and sense of rightness with the world was restored. The chilling fear had vanished and all that was left was the impression of the potential car bomb threat.
As I looked again towards the faded, yellow vehicle I watched with relief and a little sense of foolishness as two men, their arms laden with packages loaded themselves inside and drove away.
I stood on the unusually quiet curb outside the entrance of the Islamabad International Airport thankful to my God. Thankful to be His and thankful to be alive. I will not shrink back.
The treat of terrorists and car bombs are part of life in Pakistan and much of the Muslim world but as I discovered intimately that day, His peace and His deliverance are mine always.
I will not shrink back.
“For we are not a people who shrink back and are destroyed; we are a people who believe and are saved.”
Hebrews 10:39
Remember those gumballs I carried into Northern Pakistan? All three pounds of them? They were a huge hit!
Twenty little faces lit up when their teacher, Miss Pamela, entered the classroom carrying a jar laden with the enticing, intriguing, rainbow assortment of GUMBALLS! A magical phenomena never before experienced by these Pakistani Muslim and Christian children. Oohs and aahs filled the air as the kids eagerly anticipated getting their little fingers around the shiny, brightly colored gumballs…and the taste…wow…they could hardly wait to taste the much talked about American candy.
Who would have thought that a simple sweet like a Gumball could have such an impact on a group of kindergarten children! Not just a candy to suck and chew but a mathematics resource too! Graphs, tallies and simple addition quickly were applied and of course color differentiation! 9 red gumballs, 6 blue gumballs, 4 pink gumballs, 7 green gumballs… The promise of their first ever gumball ensured that the class was unusually attentive that day. 
And then the moment they had all been waiting for…the opportunity to personally choose the gumball of their color choice! All over the classroom little arms were stretched out, little hands shaking with excitement as they reached deep into the gumball jar. Mere seconds later the gumballs quickly disappeared into mouths and before long reappeared displayed proudly on the tips of little pink tongues that were quickly changing color according to the magic of the gumballs and much to the amazement and delight of every child. It wasn’t long before the delectable prize had all but disappeared and all that remained of the gumballs were rows of baby teeth now brightly colored to match their tongues! 
This group of children, our first ever kindergarten class will never be the same…and I am sure that in those moments of simple fun and learning a passion for mathematics was born because of the day it rained GUMBALLS at Shining Light Academy – Gilgit, Northern Pakistan! 
Let It Rain 