So how did it end?

Well, Ethiopia was amazing. The last day was full of trying to figure out how we were going to get Kim home with Netzanette and then her realizing that though I was originally supposed to leave after her, she would be leaving the day after me. She would have to brave it alone for a day and I must say, I wasn't ready to leave her there. She was full of stress and anxiety over the embassy and paperwork and I just felt like I should be there with her until she was boarding a plane. God's plan was different than that and I had to board at 10PM that Monday night.

I went to the airport with time to spare. I was tired, but energized at the idea of heading home to see my family. I looked through the shops in the airport and found some really neat home made albums to buy for Kim as a thank you gift for an amazing time. I found the cutest tshirts there too, but decided against them as they were unbelievably expensive. I waited. I saw other adoptive families all waiting with their new family members in the terminal. I waited some more.

Finally it was time to go. My section was called and I boarded a plane for Germany and connecting through Sudan. I don't know if I mentioned it, but I discovered that just weeks prior to my departure to Africa, a plane had crashed in the rugged airport of Sudan because of the sand storm interfering with the plane engine. I had to admit, I was not looking forward to stopping in Sudan and just wanted to get on to a European nation where it just felt more familiar.

The flight went slow. I was trying to stay awake so that my nights and days could be swapped upon my arrival in Phoenix. I had brought sleeping pills and decided to take them on the leg from Germany to Chicago, thus remaining awake from Chicago into Phoenix and hopefully feeling like I could sleep once my head hit the pillow of my own bed. I only slept about 30 minutes when the plane touched down in Sudan. I was happy to have fought off the sleep my body was desperately wanting.

The plane was not full upon landing. Upon take off from Sudan, it was a different story. A darkly colored Sudanian sat next to me in our two seat row. I was against the window but offered to exchange the seat for him because he was unhappy with the way he seat reclined. I look back and what was I thinking?? He was an educated man. He was a doctor of obstetrics in Sudan and had a wife and two beautiful children. He proudly showed them to me on his cell phone. He was on his way to London to stay with friends and take some classes to further his education. He seemed nice and innocent at first. We laughed a bit, I shared my thoughts on all I had seen in Africa and he shared about Sudan and the ups and downs of African life there. He told me I should actually get off the plane next time I came through and for a moment, a short moment I now claim and temporary insanity, I thought I might. It sounded like a nice pit stop to a tired and delirious woman.

As conversation dried up and I worked to force my eyelids open, I found this man's hand on my leg. I moved my leg away and shifted my body. He told me that he liked me. That I was nice... then began to tell me about how in his country, some men take second wives. I pulled away and told him that I was a Christian and very opposed to that idea and that it was really offensive to me that any man would or could do that to a wife he loved. He, of course, agreed with me. Just like a creepy man, right? YUCK. Anyway, he then grabs my hand to hold and and continues to tell me about the women in his country. I felt a need to remain polite. I was trapped. The plane was full. I had 3 hours left to go and no way out... I pulled my hand away and used it to open my back pack to remove a book I had no interest in reading. Avoidance would be my strategy of survival and let's just say that my fear of sleeping too long on the flight was nothing to be worried about at all. I could not sleep because of the broken seat, the creep next to me, and the time zone change I was struggling to uphold.

When the plane landed, I did my best to act unterrified. Is that a word? Well, that is what I was shooting for. I waited patiently as the people filed off the plane ahead of me and made my way as I always did, until we got to the tunnel. From there, my pace exponentially increased until I was clearly on my own and heading in who knows what direction. I had time to spare so figured I would discover my location once I knew I was alone and safe to do so.

Well, (boys don't read this part!) wouldn't you know my period started. I was having cramps the last hour of the flight and the realization that all sanitary products were checked in and likely somewhere between Ethiopia and Arizona. First thing I needed to do was to change my money back into either euros or dollars. I had saved enough to get me home comfortably and to account for any missed flights, etc. I was now familiar with the airport from my trip to Ethiopia, so headed for the changing counter once I knew I was alone and free to do so. They would NOT take Ethiopian birr. I sorted through my euros from my first pass through and counted a total of 7 euros. I headed for the restroom to find a vending machine. Apparently in Germany, people are less concerned with their periods and more concerned with "welcome home sex" because tampons and pads were no where to be found in any of the machines in all three bathrooms I could find. Should I ask someone? What should I do?? I didn't know who would speak english and what they called what I needed there anyway. I opted to see if the little shop would take a credit card. I lucked out and they did. I bought my "supplies" and an applejuice. (Yes, it cost me about $35 to do so) and decided that I would not get to eat this time through Germany. I had about 2 hours before I needed to worry about my next flight at this point and knew that I would have about 3 security checks before I got to my gate. I checked to see if my flight was on time and headed in the general direction of my gate. There I found some lounge chairs in a long walkway connecting terminals.

I sat. I put my bag down beside me and pulled the last granola bar from it. I opened my magazine, cracked open my juice, and munched on my bar. My legs were out on the footrest, my seat slightly reclined and boy did it feel good to be lounging. I could see the first security check at the end of the walkway and knew that I would sit here and read until my juice was gone. It was about a $15 bottle of juice and I was NOT going to throw it in the trash because of security.

I startled myself awake, realizing that I had dozed off for a few minutes. I didn't know how long I had been out but hadn't slept hard since I had left Phoenix 9 days ago and knew it couldn't have been for long. I decided that my juice would take but a minute and if I were going to doze off, I had better be seated at my terminal to do so to insure I made my flight. I gathered my things and went to pull my passport out of my.... I had not put it in my bag. I had used it as ID for my credit card since my drivers license was not with me and had put it on the top of my magazine. It was not there. My mind raced. I knew it was not in my bag but tried to convince my tired mind otherwise and searched for it several times. I found the employee who had helped me find my gate number and asked her if she had seen it. She advised me to go to the police and I did.

What was I going to do? I was in Germany with no ID at all. My tickets were also with my passport and missing. I had no tickets for my flight. No ID. No cash that they would take and now even my credit cards were no good because my ID was gone. I was stranded. I broke down as I told the police man my situation. He made it clear that I was inferring that someone had stollen it. I knew they had. I did not move and knew where it was. I was kicking myself for closing my eyes. How did this happen to me? How?

I was advised to go and get my flight tickets reprinted and to ask them if they would allow me to board since I was heading to my native country. I knew that would not work. How would they know it was my native country? All languages reside all over these days. The line was long. I cried as I explained to the lady behind the counter what had happened and she reprinted my tickets though I heard all of the other ticketing ladies tell their clients that they were on strike and could not help them. I was thankful that she pittied me. She told me that I would need to go back to the police and get my ID back or I would be stuck.

I could hardly look the police officer in the eyes. I was so wanting to be home. I just wanted these long flights to all be over. I was exhausted and starving. He could see the panic in my face and called our department of Homeland Security. It turns out that there is an unofficial branch there in Germany and the director met me at the police station in the airport. He was James Bond, only bald, fat, and a bit cocky rather than suave. He asked me a bunch of questions and within minutes had a picture of my face sent from Texas to him on his phone. WOW! That was super sleuth. He would have to escort me all the way to the gate and I would be unable to leave. My tickets got stamped at the last ID check as having a passport and when I asked this man if I could get some documentation that all this had happened so that when I got to Chicago I would not have to go through this again, he told me simply that I could not because he and his department did not exist. I could have NOTHING from him. He wished me luck as I took my seat in the terminal.

I prayed a prayer of thanks that I was able to get back to the states. I knew I could figure it out from there. Next to me was a pay phone. I slid my credit card and called home. I needed to speak to J. I needed something familiar and reassuring and when he answered, I could not contain my tears. I cried. I cried a lot, holding nothing back. I could tell that fellow passengers were listening in but I didn't care. When I hung up the phone, I sat and propped my head against my backpack and went to sleep.

My sleep was light. I could tell that the volume of people had really picked up around me. Turns out our flight was delayed by the strike. It was delayed for 4 hours. People were on the floors, in chairs, and standing. It was hot and the mood was- not nice. I didn't care. I was so tired that I worked to get comfortable in my chair and sleep. Suddenly, I heard my name over the loud speaker. I ran to the counter within the terminal, asking the gentleman next to me to hold my seat, and I just knew there was only one reason they would be calling me. Sure enough, they had my passport! They were calling my name all over the airport for the last hour and finally tried the terminal. They knew I couldn't get into it without the ID so assumed that I would not answer, but there I was. I was overjoyed and relieved. I explained how I got in and they were happy to have helped. In the crowd of angry people, I was the one that now smiled from ear to ear. I would not have to worry about my connection in Chicago and if the plane left soon, I could make the connection.

I resumed my seat and announced to my unfriends that I was sorry but God delayed the plane so that I could get my passport back. Most didn't find it amuzing, but the gentleman next to me that had heard my phone call earlier was thrilled for me.

The flight was long and I slept nearly the whole way. I needed it, too! We arrived to complete chaos in Chicago and had to clear customs. I was told I would not make my connection and was waiting to re-ticket when I noticed that my connecting flight was also delayed by 30 minutes. It COULD be just enough time. I bolted. I boarded the tram, found my terminal, and sprinted to the security check point. There was a long line. I asked in the most pleading voice I could summons if I could go through to the security guard and was promptly denied. I was litterally dancing in my spot in line when a man got in line behind me. He offered to hold my spot while I tried again! How could I not. I had 10 minutes to clear security and get to my gate. It was looking dim. I asked the grumpy guard again. Could she not see how pathetic I was? I was dirty, smelly, puffy eyed... Her boss overheard and allowed me to the pilot line! And the pilots graciously let me cut ahead. My shoes were in the xray machine and I grabbed them. 5 minutes and counting. I flung my backpack on and ran barfooted to the furthest gate. Sweat poured. My breath was gone and my heart was pounding from the stress of the situation. I was the last passenger on as the gate doors closed behind me.

So there I was... on the plane and headed for home. So grateful to be on that plane. So grateful to be going home to a land of so much opportunity. So very grateful to be going home to a family I loved and missed so much. God was so good to get me through my trip and my flight home obstacles. It was incredibly crazy and incredibly beautiful at the same time. The last bit of the trip was really just the icing on the cake, teaching me that I AM NOT IN CONTROL and that I have nothing without Him. I get it. I got it. It is good!