"I Feel Like a Crumpled Chip"

It is early Monday morning and Amani, Abby and Sophia are still in bed. We are at the MCC Welcoming Place, a series of buildings to house international MCC workers who are taking orientation sessions before leaving on assignment. It was a long drive on Sunday from Kidron, Ohio to Akron, PA and we arrived after 8 p.m. The girls were pumped, no getting them to bed before 10 p.m.

Now Wanda is waking up the girls. As she sits on Sophia's bed and strokes her hair, a still-tired Sophia says, "Mom, I feel like a crumpled chip at the bottom of the bag."

That about says it all folks. The last week has felt just so for all of us . . . I have felt like a crumpled chip too. The selling of so much of our worldly possessions. The checking off the list of all the things MCC asked us to do (shots and medications at the health clinic, forms to fill out) to leave town as well as what we needed to do to leave town without a posse coming after us for unpaid bills . . . Then there was the move-out and we weren't as ready as we should have been. Thanks to all those wonderful volunteers who came out to help us pack the UHaul . . . and sorry about the chaos.

We struggled with feeling sick and tired. Sometimes all at once. Deadlines drove us, especially Friday, June 8. So when, by a miracle (it seemed), our UHaul truck and grandma/ grandpa Amstutz' minivan pulled out of 1 Woodcroft Ave. at 3:30 p.m. we breathed a sigh of relief . . . but not for long. Would U.S. customs officials let us cross the border? The answer would be "yes" for me and our daughters. But Wanda was crossing without any status. A call to the border earlier in the week confirmed our fears. The official said that it would be the border guard's call; we could be pulled over and questioned or even denied entry and have to turn back. So we prayed as we approached the bridge.

Wanda and I felt that, given our recent run of luck, we were just a likely to be kicked back to Canada as to enter the U.S., a 50/50 chance. As the diesel engine chugged down to the border crossing on the American side, I decided to choose lucky 7. An older man awaited us. He asked us the normal questions, then asked us for proof of our story. We handed over a file of documents we had put together to convince them of the truth of our story. We told them about my parents in the minivan behind who had our 3 daughters. Then in a sudden gesture, he gave back our file and passports and waved us through, "you may go."

I was stunned. I almost asked for clarification (what did you say?). But recovered my senses and drove away and waited for the minivan. We were shaking like leaves in the wind. Deliverance. A "Gott Kann" story for our little family. How and why did he let us go without further grilling or documentation? I don't know but I was convinced in that moment it was the hand of God.

Our adventure wasn't quite over. We weathered severe rain storms through New York and Pennsylvania with the window on the UHaul wide open. I couldn't get the a/c or even the vent to blow anything but hot air so it felt better to feel the cool rain and the cool air rushing in on us. The UHaul made it to Kidron that night. Exhausted but content to end the day with the goodness of a shower, clean bed and quiet place, everyone rested. The next day we not only had to unload the UHaul but put everything out and re-sort items. The rushed packing meant items that should be together were scattered all over; kitchen ware, workbench, electronics, children's stuff, etc. But the day was beautiful. Sunny, warm but low humidity. Unfortunately we ended up with sunburns because we neglected to lather up in the morning (Wanda is suffering more).

We have finished our first day of orientation at MCC. We felt like crumpled chips but today some life returned. Bit by bit we shall feel more ourselves. We miss all our friends in St. Catharines (thanks to those who are writing Amani, Abby and Sophia. They'll be writing back one of these days) and family.

For now, we are in good hands and go to our rest tonight in peace . . .