Boarder Crossing Contentment

When my squad and I were leaving China we had to go through customs to get on the airplane to Kazakhstan. I was in a line of about ten people, once it was my turn I handed my passport to the officer. He looked at the photo, then back at me. He did this several times and I knew why. Finally He looked up at me and said, “This..you?” Yup, my biggest fear come true. “Yes me,” I replied. “No,” He said, shaking his head. So I preceded in my attempt to explain to him that I was indeed the girl in the photo for about two minutes, and the line was growing behind me. “I lost a lot of weight since that photo, but yes that is me,” I tried to find words for this Chinese man to understand through our language barrier. He then called over his superior officer, and again the looking at the photo and then back at me started and so did my tears. Finally I was let through and as soon as I saw my squad and my gate I took a seat in a different waiting area and just sobbed, candid. 

Ever since then me and boarder crossings don’t get along, the same thing has happened in Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan, and each time it made the experience less and less enjoyable. It got to the point where I dreaded boarder crossings because I would have to face the reality and the shame of the girl I use to be. So this travel day, we had four different crossings that occurred, and on top of being very, very sick for the past three days I was not excited. I said a quick little prayer to Papa in hopes He would just make this a painless process so I could go back on the bus quickly. It was my turn and I handed the guard my passport and right away He beamed a smile at me and said loudly, “AMERICA!!” I laughed, and answered with a “Hello! How are you doing tonight sir?” He said America again this time laughing as He was flipping through my passport.

My anxiety was eased immediately, thanks Papa. The guard then asked, “Boyfriend?” To which I replied, no sir! Which followed a witty, half broken English attempt at saying, “Me. Your boyfriend now.” (He was my fathers age, and was totally just joking around with me.) We both laughed pretty loudly, He wished me safe travels and flashed a huge smile at me. Never batting an eye at my photo. Thanks Papa. 

I believe in such a purposeful God, such an intentional Father. There were two lines and two guards and I got the one who cracked jokes and made me laugh a lot, a guard who made my boarder crossing funny and enjoyable. I asked God for something so simple, in the middle of nowhere Kazakhstan at five in the morning, how truly rad He is to answer me at such a time. 

A lesson. Always teaching me a lesson. Call on me, ask me, challenge me, Kenz please do it. I did it, and He answered. He showed me grace, he showed me comedy, he showed me all of my love languages in one through a stranger. He took a situation that I dreaded and made it the most enjoyable part of my travel day. My shame washed away not because the man was nice to me, but because God made me realize that there is no place for shame in how I looked before as there is no shame in how I look now. That because of one experience, I should not live in fear of others perceptions of me. 

I got back on the bus and as soon as I sat down He challenged me again. His whisper so deafening, “Shame my daughter? You feel shame for your appearance? Lay it all down at my feet. Give me your securities, give me what you hide behind so you can find your true beauty through me.” I knew exactly what He was talking about in that moment. I cut off seven inches of my hair today. My hair, which I love more than anything else about me, He wanted. He wanted my security so I could learn to love all of my insecurities, that I could intimately depend on Him to fill every part of me. 

I sent this note to a friend, “I just want to give all of me to Him, ya know? I put so much self worth to my hair and it shouldn’t matter about that, it should only matter about my heart. And God’s been asking me for everything, and I thought I gave Him it all, and I did. But not all of ME, and I know it’s just hair, but to me, that’s my everything. And I just want Him to have all of me, and Him be the only man to have all of me. Ya know?”

In Mongolia, I prayed to be unraveled so I could be rebuilt in Him, and I am blown away at the amount of beauty I am finding in all of the brokenness.

Xo

MacKenzie Nicole