As my time in Africa draws to an end, I’ve been reflecting on all the incredible ways that I’ve seen God work, ways I’ve never seen before – demons being cast out, physical healing of long-term ailments, rainy downpours in a drought. But as I look back on all of those moments, the one that baffles me the most is the time God showed up at the border of Mozambique and Malawi.
At training camp in October last year, I was selected to be the logistics leader of our squad, which means I am responsible for getting all 37 people on my squad from one country to the other. Chris, my co-leader, and I arrange transportation, research any required visas and border crossings, and deal with all the bumps along the way. It’s a job that I know God has called me into and I deeply enjoy it, even in the stressful moments.
But on the way from Mozambique to Malawi at the end of January this year, I felt a deep sense of inadequacy for this job. And it all started at the border.
Chris and I had done our research and known that the border into Malawi closes at certain hours. We were pretty sure it closed at 8pm, but it’s always hard to say for sure, because, well, this is Africa (TIA). At around 12:30pm on our travel day, we made a lunch stop in Tete, a town in Mozambique about two hours from the border. For some reason, our bus drivers took our bus somewhere, and for about two hours we weren’t able to locate the bus.
After some calling and searching, we found them down the street at a mechanic, because the taillights needed to be repaired. It was nearly 3pm, and we still had at least two hours before we reached the border, and it would probably be longer because, well, TIA. We knew we need to be at the border before 8pm, but the drivers confirmed that they would be finishing up soon, so I felt confident we would make it on time, even with the delay.
As we walked back, I jokingly said to Chris, “My nightmare would be that the border actually closes at 6 instead of 8!” A few minutes later (by which I mean a half hour later…because TIA), the bus pulled up, and we loaded on and headed out.
While we drove, Chris called me on my World Race team phone from the front of the bus. Confused, I answered, and he said, “So, our squad leader just called me and said the border closes at 6.”
My heart sank. I was silent.
“Should we tell the squad we’ll have to stay the night at the border?”
My heart sank deeper.
“No, please don’t,” I told Chris. “Let’s just get there and see what happens. And pray for a miracle.”
We continued to drive and for the next two hours I sank into such a deep state of sorrow and inadequacy. I felt like such a failure. The ride had already been twice as long as we had anticipated, and three time as uncomfortable. Everyone was hot, hungry and tired, and we all just wanted to sleep on a real bed and bathe in a real shower. We had already been on the road for almost 36 hours, and it was NOT going to go over well that we would delay our arrival by another twelve hours.
I couldn’t bear the thought of the bitter reactions of everyone on my squad if I had to tell them that we wouldn’t be crossing the border that night. I feared being the object of everyone’s resentment. I also feared that my squad leaders would see the way I was handling this situation and think I was inadequate for the job of logistics leader. In that moment I realized that I was deeply misguided in my search for approval and affirmation, which needed to be coming from the Lord instead of my role as logistics leader. I turned to Psalm 34, and began to pray for a miracle.
“I sought the Lord, and he answered me and delivered me from all my fears. Those who look to them are radiant, and their faces shall never be ashamed.”
Psalm 34:4-5
We arrived to the Zobue border crossing just after 6pm, which was a miracle in itself. There were still lots of people milling about, so Chris and I went in and saw that they were still stamping people’s passports, so we all piled out and jumped in line. It takes a long time for 37 people to get their passports stamped, so we didn’t finish until about 7:30. By that time it was dark, and we were about to head into no-man’s land, which isn’t very safe. As we drove to the Malawi border, I began looking on the side of the road for safe places our bus could park for us to sleep, because I was absolutely certain that we would only be met by a closed border on the other side.
We pulled up to the Malawi border and saw that the central building still had lights on. Chris and I went inside and saw a lone officer at the desk. We asked him what time they closed the border, and he said 9pm.
What? I looked at my watch. It was ten til 8. I was sure we had missed it by two hours. I had done a lot of research and 9pm was never one of the closing times listed, always 6pm or 8pm.
We told him we had 37 people who needed to apply for a visa, and though he looked rather irked, he said we could get things started. We rushed back with all the applications and had everyone start to fill them out as quickly as we could. We only had an hour to get these visas processed, and in Africa, they will shut things down the moment it turns to 9pm. We had to move quickly if we wanted our miracle.
We turned in everyone’s applications and passports and then waited. And waited. It takes a very long to process each visa individually by hand, and the first passports weren’t out until 8:40. I was waiting for the moment that all the officers would come out and say, “Ok, we’re done for the night, sorry, see you in the morning” and we would be sitting ducks at the border again.
But the minutes kept passing. And the passports kept coming. And 9:00 came. And then it was 9:30. And soon it was 11:30, and the last of the passports were processed. Shocked, and so thankful, we said good night to the weary immigration officers and drove on our way.
I don’t think I would have been nearly so shocked at that circumstance had we not been stopped by the police in Malawi a few hours later. They stopped us and asked where we were coming from, and Chris told them we were coming from the border.
“The border? It closes at 6pm.”
Chris told them that the officers at the border had said it was open until 9pm, and that they had stayed until 11:30 to finish our visas.
“Well, how much did you pay them to stay open late?”
Chris told them that we hadn’t paid them, that they had done it voluntarily. At the back of the bus, I was praying, because I knew how suspicious we looked. A group of white Americans on a bus packed with stuff at 2am coming from a border crossing. The policeman could have easily questioned us further, but instead he said good night and let us continue driving.
It was unbelievable. I have never doubted God so greatly and yet seen Him show up in such magnificent ways. Most of my squad never even knew that the border wasn’t supposed to be open that late. But I hope that they still saw God when He showed up at the border.
