Back home…for awhile.

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.

His Peace defuses a car bomb.

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

Its raining GUMBALLS!

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!

Stateside…again!

Thank you for your prayers!

After 33 hours, 8,000 miles, three flights, one monster of a migraine, two airline barf bags… and one more challenging interview at the US border, I am back home again!

In between riding the waves of jet-lag I’ll be sharing more stories from my journey here.

The next three weeks I will be on the road and back in the air.
This Wednesday I will attend the Fall Pastor’s Conference for Foursquare held in Colorado Springs. On Friday I will head over to my dear friends at Vernal Christian Church for their annual Mission Fair weekend and then onto a week of Mission teaching at YWAM Cimarron, Colorado. I will return to Denver to fly to Saskatoon, Canada for another week of Mission teaching in the YWAM Global Force school from November 2 to 7.

I’ll return to Denver on Monday November 10…this means another encounter with US Immigration at the border. Please keep me in your prayers. Every time I reenter the USA is an act of warfare…its His grace and favor that keep me coming and going and not afraid.

This was my first experience with airline barf bags…they sure hold a lot! What about you? Have you ever used one?? 🙂

Delayed by the Rain…

Four days ago I awoke to the tinkling sound of rain drops dripping from the trees outside my bedroom. I headed to the front porch for a view of Mt. Rockaposhi. At 26,000 feet she was hidden from sight behind a thick and heavy blanket of cloud that covered all of Gilgit. During the night, the lower crags had been dusted by snow and now in the early morning light the outside world seemed to glisten and glow. Birds were beginning to stir, singing out their morning tunes and the smell of the rain was invigorating. Gilgit was washed fresh and clean. I knew there would be no flights that day. Minutes later the phone rang to confirm that the plane from Islamabad would not be coming…nor would it arrive the following day. How could I mind? After all, it was the Rain.

Two days later, surrounded by fourteen veiled local ladies and five chubby babies, we boarded the Pakistan International Airlines plane (fondly called “Prayer In the Air” for a host of reasons!) right behind their men. I had missed my international flight back to the USA but I was not worried as a quick visit to the Qatar Airways office in Islamabad would solve the problem. I buckled myself in ready for the full throttle blast up the runway necessary to clear the mountains just ahead. I was the only foreigner on board and I felt totally at home.

My heart was happy and overflowing with gratefulness. It had been a rich ten days in Gilgit. Rich in relationships, rich in Kingdom vision and rich in the promise of His salvation coming to this mountain land.
To be delayed because of the Rain was so perfect!

I’ll be Stateside Saturday the 18th. Please pray again for God’s favor at the border.
Getting back to reliable internet, I’ll be sharing more of my journey so please check back here for more of His story and how He is continuing to rain on Northern Pakistan!

Missionary and Auntie!

Today I leave for Islamabad, Pakistan.
I have been busy stuffing goodies into every empty nook and cranny of my luggage. Besides the much in demand Starbucks, chocolate chips and Ranch Dressing packets, there are a few cans of pumpkin pie filling and yams! There are also some special treats for the children of the Shining Light Academy, Gilgit. Neon colored squishy balls, jigsaws of the world, coloring books and markers galore. There is a bucket of sidewalk giant chalk and a tub of Gumballs…a special request from one of the volunteer teachers who realized she had been using “gumballs” in her lessons and discovered that the kids had no idea what they were! Imagine the excitement next week when 100 or so kids pop a gumball for the first time!

Stowing all the fun and educational stuff for the Pakistani Christian and Muslim children close to my heart has made me think of some other kids very close to my heart.
I am Auntie to two beautiful nieces and three handsome, rambunctious nephews! Yesterday I received the following email from my eldest niece Ashley…whilst I’m packing supplies as I head to the mission field, she’s busy on the farm, packing eggs and praying for me!

“Aunt Leonie:
We are doing well! We butchered our bull Duke, did you know that?? And we have three cows pregnant. That is all our cows and then we have one bull you know? Howie. Our chickens are laying about 15 eggs a day! We sell them for $2.50 dozen.
Love,
Ashley”

Now you know where to get the best eggs! Check out their farm www.kentfamilydexters.homestead.com

Ashley, Johnathan, Joshua and Benjamin in Missouri and my Down Under Aussie niece Samantha (Sammi).

U-Turn at the Border…

Not long ago I made another visa run to the Canadian border where for the first time ever I experienced the easiest reentry into the USA. I believe God opened the door yet again!

My friend Lorrie and I drove to Minnesota (thank you Danielle, Aaron and Mikko the Corgie pup for such warm hospitality!) and then headed north along Lake Superior towards Thunder Bay, Ontario. Before we realized what had happened we had sped by the US Border Control Station ( a case of “blink and you miss it!”) and arrived at the Port of Entry into Canada. I knew I had to return to the US Border to record my departure from the USA in accordance with my visa requirements. The Canadian Border official was very surprised when I asked if we could do a quick U-turn and return to his counterpart on the US side. With a distinct “Eh” he said go ahead.

We drove back to the US Border and explained to the Customs Officer why I was returning. I was immediately asked to step into the Customs office. I thought to myself; “Here we go again.” And with a little panic rising I again prayed for God’s favor. I was in for a big surprise. He looked me up and down as he perused my passport and my immigration file on his computer screen. “Boy, they’ve been giving you a hard time. Someone needs to show some common sense here.” I could hardly believe my ears. A US Customs official showing me mercy? “Miss Kent, how long do you want to stay in the USA?”

Within 10 minutes my paperwork was processed, my mug shot and finger prints taken and I was allowed to enter the USA for another six months! I didn’t even have to spend one night in Canada. It seems my US Border Patrolman was happy enough with my U-turn in the Canadian Customs parking lot!

The week before I left for the border I had no money for the road trip only enough gas in the car to get us out of town. I knew God had said to drive to the border rather than fly and so I was waiting and trusting He would provide. Three days before our scheduled departure we received a card in the mail from mutual friends with a check each for $150.00. They has no idea of our need. We cashed the checks, pooled our resources and hit the road. Five days later we returned to Denver with the six month visa in hand and $1.14 in change! Another miracle of provision…2600 miles, all our fuel and meals, 3 Starbucks and one bag of red Twizzlers! Our God is so faithful!