All Packed Up with Nowhere to Go

Closed Doors and How We End up Where We Are

If you have followed me for a while, you have heard this story. You’re thinking, “We know, we know. You didn’t get your visa.” But there are some new followers here, and the way I tell this story changes as I gain more perspective. It is wild that these events unfolded nearly 10 years ago. Our plan B was no surprise to our Father who sent us. Looking back, I can so clearly see His hand through it all.

Going, going… staying?

Our bags were packed, goodbyes graciously said and done. We had thirteen bags full of essentials like brownie mix, fitted bedsheets, and taco seasoning. But we didn’t have visas.

The officer holding our papers said “It’s not looking good. Cases like this never have a happy ending.” We sent our passports off with our applications months before and never received them back. As a last ditch effort for a happy ending, we pulled our student visa applications and re-applied as tourists. We trusted and prayed that the Lord would make a way for our family to enter India.

I learned to apply a brave face when we were fundraising, and I flexed this skill during The Waiting Time. How often had I kept the story of our late-term miscarriage to myself? How many times had I downplayed the difficulty of the following pregnancy stricken with hyperemesis¹ and fear? When asked about our struggle to obtain visas, I shrugged and said, “The Lord knows.” I just wished He would fill us in.

Access denied

We continued counting down to departure, but no amount of desire could change the minds of the powers that be. After enlisting some help from a local congressman, we were given a 3 month, single-entry visa. We could go once, but we could not stay. The official who delivered the news said, “It was suspicious that you were taking your whole family” and indicated that it would be impossible to get a long-term visa in the future.

By this time, our new prayer cards had reached all of our supporting churches and the churches we hoped would partner with us. We still had a full box on the floor of the living room at my in-laws’ house. The Taubes on the card mocked me, standing next to a silhouette of the Indian subcontinent smiling away. I was swollen with post partum hormones and hope.

For three years, all we talked about was India. We stood under the India Gate, gawked at the Taj Mahal, and returned with a renewed sense of calling. We spread the word about the Great Need. We were privileged to be a part of what God was doing. And then we weren’t. We knew who we were and where we were going. And then we didn’t.

What now?

We took long walks. In February. In Ohio. Raw hearts hid under scarves, gloves, and hats. We pulled our toddler behind us in a Fisher Price wagon. Our breath formed clouds in the air as we asked God all our questions. We shook frozen fists in opposition to His will. He offered no direction about where to go other than around the corner back to the farmhouse.

Our families grasped for security: Will you be somewhere safe? How will you get your visa? Who will meet you when your flight lands?

Paul contacted families serving in other fields about taking a survey trip. Cambodia was one option: intimidating and strange but a place of Great Need. My body tensed when he mentioned Vietnam as a contender. I found my brave face again and said, “I will follow you anywhere.”

He booked tickets to the country we now call home² from a coffee shop one Wednesday evening. Days later, he traveled with our pastor and missions committee director. I stayed home with my three-year-old and newborn. I kissed him goodbye and said, “I will meet you when your flight lands.”

Change ahead

Uncertainty bore a hole in my stomach. I comforted myself with reminders of God’s character. He would use us anywhere not because we were capable but because He is faithful.³ I kept busy while Paul was away, spending most of my time at my parents’ or my in-laws’ home. These visits distracted me from the flood of stress in my mind, and the free babysitting was a definite perk.

Across oceans, my husband scoped out rentals and talked with expat families about cars, churches, and facilities for language training. Our relocation was no longer hypothetical.

Panic over little things took up big spaces in my soul. I was unprepared for the harsh winters and worried about my kids’ cold ears and other catastrophes. I purged Kohls and Wal-mart of their discounted winter stock and felt comforted for at least an afternoon.

Ready or not…

An incoming plane crashed on the tarmac, delaying Paul’s return to me, but plans were already in motion to relocate our family to Southeast Asia. Since we left our stacks of bags untouched and unzipped, it took no time to prepare once he was back on American soil. He hadn’t even recovered from jet lag before flying back across the world. He packed my panic-purchases without complaint. At the airport, I pushed the stroller behind his heels, fretting over flight times and sanitizing bottles.

On the plane leaving Chicago and everything familiar, my daughter snuggled Baby Bop. She furrowed her brows, trying to remember every point of the safety instructions. My son smiled up at me as I placed him in the bassinet, oblivious to this huge thing happening.

Descending into the city, instead of staring out the window at our new home, I stared at his sweet sleeping face, thinking about how everything was about to change. We gathered our bags from the overhead bins, and another passenger asked me, “Are you visiting?”

I could hardly believe it when I said, “We live here now.”

The plan was to study language and bide our time until we could secure a long-term visa for India. But once we were meeting people and learning to minister to them, our roots naturally dug deeper. We fell in love with the country and all its quirks. The notion of leaving vanished. When we bought property for the camp, I remember thinking, “Oh, I guess this means we’re staying” like that major consideration was just a little afterthought.

The death of our dream felt like the end. But it was the beginning of a story of hardships and hope, blessings and belonging. God had written the good and hard parts set in a new location when we were still chasing plan A. How gracious He was to shut that door, to take our hands off of that dream.

The Lord gives grace for every day and every delay. My memory of The Waiting Time is not tainted by the unpleasant feelings of fear and uncertanity. It is illuminated by the present reality of God’s work in our lives and in our ministry in the Plan B place.

The Plan B place has become our home. It took time. It took surrender. It took patience and prayer. But we got here, and here is a perfect place to be.

---

I want to hear from you:

• Do you have a plan B story?

• How did you end up where you are in the world?

• What keeps you there?

• How do you see God working exactly where He has you?

1. “The severe end of the spectrum regarding nausea and vomiting in pregnancy.” via National Library of Medicine

2. For security purposes, I do not use the name of our host country on social media.

3. He really has showed himself faithful even though this location is plan B.