I often pride myself in my ability of being responsible.
I, actually, consider ‘responsibility’ as one of my main strength. I know people can depend on me. I am really good at staying faithful and making sure everything is going according to plan. I’m just good at it.
This past week, I’ve felt everything but responsible. Not in every area of my life—but in the one part of me being responsible about my trip back home. Long story short (actually, it’s a short story), last Wednesday as I sat on my bed dreading to pack my things… I thought about my passport. As I wondered to myself where in the world I had placed it, I slowly began to remember telling myself something last summer. My head leaned to the left and I thought, “I feel like my passport was suppose to expire this summer.” Huh—well, that’s good.
Remembering that I had put my passport in my other purse, which at present time was in the trunk of my car, I quickly ascended the stairs (from the basement room I was staying in). I went straight to the garage, opened the truck, grabbed my purse.
Without any delay, I got my passport out and opened it. Expiration date: June 12, 2011. The current date was: July 20, 2011.
I was back in the basement in no time. Checking the time—my parents were still up. I grabbed my cell, called home.
“Mom, give me dad!” Was the first thing that came out of my mouth.
“Why, what’s wrong?” She asked, immediately, she seemed to understand something was definitely up.
“Uh…” I let out, my hand clapping my forehead. “My passport has expired.”
The phone was immediately given to my dad.
I only got to speak to them for a while, since they were going to bed. They’re seven hours head. It was midnight for them.
I spent the rest of my day dead worried. I researched, cried, researched so more, and then cried so more. The time I finally felt relief was when I spoke to my dad in the morning again. Later he set me up with an appointment with the Chicago Passport Agency in Chicago, IL on Wed. 27th. My weekend was here… I could do nothing until I got to Chicago. I was glad. I had no reason to worry anymore. Fell stressed. I hate the feeling. It’s like I always give in, when I left situations such as these get to me.
My troubles didn’t stop there.
I felt like a war or something was going on. Monday and Tuesday, the weather here (near Chicago) was absolutely perfect. Not hot, but pleasant. Then—I wake up Wednesday morning… and it’s pouring down rain.
The rain let up when I left the house to drive to the metra station. However, on my way there is poured and poured and poured. To the point where I could barely see—but I kept driving.
My aunt and uncle ended having to direct me to a different station because I lost the metra I was going to take. Everything appeared to be working against me. The rain, the getting on station on time… the having all my documents for my passport. After being the first person in line to be called up—I found out I needed a copy of my flight itinerary. I left the federal building, went to the library—printed out my itinerary.
I’m not saying all this to complain. I just really felt like something was trying to prevent me from getting my new passport. As if the evil of this world was against me. It’s times like these that I wonder the power of the devil. I refuse to believe all this was accidental.
Either way. I’m getting my passport tomorrow. Jesus wins. I win. The devil has lost. And he will continue to lose. For my God is greater than he who is in this world!
I shall only pride myself in my weaknesses—for Christ is made strong in them!