The last text I received told me to not worry. Told me that I need to accept any decision with grace. And told me not to show too much emotion. Essentially, I was to be a man about it. I was to be that typical boy out of the 50s who never cries, who wears his letterman jacket around, who gave his girl a pin, and who only knows how to shake hands - no embracing allowed. I was asked to be more mechanical than human because even if tragedy strikes, oh well; I should be able to tough it out.
But honestly, I'm not sure if Audrey actually knew what she texted me. Of course I was going to accept any decision with grace, but I was going to need a lot more grace to merely accept the answer. And I was going to need some sort of supernatural strength to make it through. Some sort of realization that this wasn't the end of the world. I needed something - something to get me through.
Making it was possible. And I knew for a fact that things weren't the best, but they weren't the worst either. Many before me, many now, and many later will be caught in situations far worse than my own. And the one classic story that reminded me of this is found in the first chapter of Job:
Now there was a day when his sons and daughters were eating and drinking wine in their oldest brother's house, and there came a messenger to Job and said, "The oxen were plowing and the donkeys were feeding beside them, and the Sabeans fell upon them and took them and struck down the servants with the edge of the sword, and I alone have escaped to tell you." While he was yet speaking, there came another and said, "The fire of God fell from heaven and burned up the sheep and the servants and consumed them, and I alone have escaped to tell you." While he was yet speaking, there came another and said, "The Chaldeans formed three groups and made a raid on the camels and took them and struck down the servants with the edge of the sword, and I alone have escaped to tell you." While he was yet speaking, there came another and said, "Your sons and daughters were eating and drinking wine in their oldest brother's house, and behold, a great wind came across the wilderness and struck the four corners of the house, and it fell upon the young people, and they are dead, and I alone have escaped to tell you."
Then Job arose and tore his robe and shaved his head and fell on the ground and worshipped. (Job 1:13-20)
I walked with what dignity I had left. I carried my head as high as I could. I kept silent, moving with the confidence that everything was going to be cool; it was going to work out. I'd be seeing mom soon. Sorrel was flying in the next morning. So I planned on returning to the airport at 7 AM to surprise her. To hold her. To laugh with her. To carry all of her bags. To smile. And to walk hand-in-hand trusting God with our futures - together.
Everything was going to be all right.
We came to one of those doors you see in spy movies. The kind where one person needs both a pin number and a card to get in. You know, those high security doors. She swiped her card and plugged in the code. Then the door clicked.
I never stopped to wonder where I was going. That didn't seem important to me at the time. I just went where the UK Border Agents told me to go. It never occurred to me that I might be brought down to some secret layer. An almost Frankenstein layer with chains on cold stone walls, each chain holding remnants of past prisoners. Little skeletons left as reminders that when traveling you should always have your paper work in order.
You know the doors labeled "Employee Entrance Only" that I'm talking about. The type in those old black and white Hitchock films or any of the government's hidden rooms from Ian Flemmings' books. Maybe I'd meet the revered "M" or get to talk with a Sean Connery-esk double-O-agent.
But when the door opened, it didn't reveal anything special. Nothing cool. No armed guards. No odd looking scientists scurrying around. No telegraphs receiving Top-Secret information. It was just a hall ending very abruptly. Dimly lit and barely wide enough for my year's worth of luggage.
The immigration officer told me to leave my bags at the end of the hall and come with her. She led me into another room, but she wasn't even able to enter it without verification. The security guard buzzed us in.
The room looked like an empty doctor's office. There were rows of chairs neatly ordered. Plastic chairs. The cheap kind of chairs you get for cookouts, except they didn't fold up. The one thing this doctor's office didn't have was a set of building blocks. I always loved playing with those wooden blocks when I was younger. I'd make castles and stack towers higher than the clouds. I'd demolish the architecture and begin again, attempting more daring feats.
I could tell it was going to be a lonely night. They didn't even offer me the pleasure of getting back to my childhood. They left the room barren. Only a small bookcase of random selections collected dust in the corner. A vending machine that seemed overused and somehow made full cups of tea with milk and sugar along with Nestle's rushed version of a cappuccino. And a pay phone. Maybe later I'd get the infamous one call.
For now, she brought me into the interrogation room. But she kept the door open as if to say, "Go ahead, be my guest. Try to escape. You know you want to. You know you want me to let you into my country without any hassle." Or maybe she just trusted me enough to sit still and not be a bother.
I stared through that door like I knew things were going to be okay. Like that was some sort of sign telling me I'd make it through and be able to live in London. Like that one open door was the open door to my new life.
But it was just one more door in the whole line of doors I'd need to walk through in order to reach my destination. I needed a miracle to get out and get on with things.
That miracle never came the way I wanted it though. I sat there still. I think everything was motionless at that point. The whole world stopped.
And I wasn't sure how to worship God. I mean, how can a person actually worship, actually connect with an intimacy so far beyond description during such a trying time? And I'm not sure what I did, or if I even worshipped God in the slightest at all. But I know that I began answering her questions honestly.
Maybe that was my little bit of worship to God - to stand firm in how I've been raised; to keep my integrity by not letting a lie pass my tongue even if the answer's not sufficient for the lady interrogating me.
I had to worship God even if it meant not getting into the country.
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