[Here's Deportation Part 1. Probably pretty important to read so you can pick up with us today.]

So after Richard is convinced that my flatmate’s phone number is a fake, he asks for another number. I give him the pastor’s phone number. At this point, it’s been about 25 minutes and Richard had fully interrogated me about everything under the Scottish sun.

My spirit inside me is praying like crazy. To be blunt, this didn’t feel like a natural thing… it felt supernatural. It felt spiritual. The Bible says that our battle is not against flesh and blood [and grumpy Richard]… so I began to pray that God would win this battle and allow me into the country.

As Richard left to go call the pastor, I sat down in a chair. And I had a Blazing Furnace conversation with God.

I said,

“Hey God, just like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, I know what You are able to do. I know You can rescue me from this situation. I know You are able to save me from deportation. I don’t think I’m done here in Edinburgh. BUT EVEN IF YOU DON’T, even if I get sent home today, I’m not mad. I will still praise You. I have still loved my time here and I am still grateful.”

I know that sounds sugar sweet and whatever, but it wasn’t. I said it through gritted teeth and with a begging heart. It was a painful tearful moment alone in an airport. I didn’t want to leave Edinburgh. But what else could I do?

I can barely hear Richard on the phone, but his voice is angry. And now I’m SURE I’m going home. [Here's where Richard earned the name on his nametag.... he said untrue things to the pastor to try to trick him - he made the pastor believe I had said things that I hadn't said. Pastor told the truth. I told the truth. But Richard tried to trap us.]

I get it. I’m not mad. His JOB is to protect his country from dangerous people. And truthfully, it’s sweet innocent women like me that can be the really nasty ones. So Richard, bless him, was just doing his job.

When he came back from the phone call, probably 15 minutes later, his demeanor totally changed. [Insert miracle here.] He spoke kindly to me, he slowly explained why I should be deported and every reason that the right thing to do was to deport me, and then he said, “but I’m going to let you stay.”

And I almost fell on the floor with relief.

The Lord had done it. The warring angels, I believe, defeated that which tried to keep me out of the country. I don’t know if you’ve been in a situation like that, but I’m telling y’all, the atmosphere changed. No joke. I knew that the battle had been fought and I knew it had been won.

[Also, at the point, pastor and his wife and others they told were praying like CRAZYTOWN, so it certainly wasn't just me.]

Richard did, however, put a massive stamp in my passport that makes it illegal for me to go back to the UK until mid-2012. So he didn’t let me leave without a little hand slap.

Touche, Richard. Touche.

Morals of the story:

1. ALWAYS get a stamp in your passport, even if you are coming home.

2. Flying between European countries is VERY VERY DIFFERENT than traveling between US states.

3. Proverbs 19:21 — “Many are the plans in a man’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.”

4. That verse would still be 100% true if I got deported.

Amen.

I’ve been strategically waiting until there was no way I would go to jail or be banned from the UK to tell you this story.

I’m thinking that since I’ve been home for one month + one week, now is an okay time.

Thesis statement: In October, Scotland tried to deport me.

Supporting details:

If you’ll recall, during the latter half of October, I spent a weekend in Prague with some of my dearest college friends who live there now. These people.

[I didn't do a great job blogging about Prague because it was right smack in the middle of 31 Days of Courage. Forgive me. But I did make a facebook album of pictures. Hopefully that will suffice.]

A simple mistake I made is I thought, “Oh, I’m just hopping to another EU country… no biggie.” So I didn’t bring my folder of paperwork [bank statements, printed flight info, etc.] with me to Prague. It was just a weekend visit between two friendly European countries.

Well, I had a lovely time in Prague and landed back in Edinburgh on Monday night around 9:30pm. There are two lines at customs- EU residents and other. In our entire flight of people, there were only two ‘other’ – me and a blonde gal. The blonde gal went through the line and then it was my turn.

I stepped up to the gentleman at customs. We’re gonna call him Richard. I’m not going to actually call him by the name on his nametag because a) you wouldn’t believe me and b) it is a cuss word and you’ll think he totally earned the nickname. Anyways, Richard.

Richard looks through my stuff and says, “How long have you been in the UK?”

I say, “Since July.” Which is a totally true and perfectly legal answer.

See, there is a rule that you can be a tourist for up to 6 months out of a 12 month period without having a visa. Since I was only going to be in Scotland 5 months and 28 days, I did not have a visa.

He shows me on my passport that back in February, when I returned from my month in the UK, I did not get a stamp on my passport saying I landed in Atlanta.

So pretty much, it looks like I’ve been living in Scotland without a visa since January [because I have an entrance to the UK stamp in January and an entrance stamp in July, but no exit stamp.]

Not good, my people. Not good.

Richard says, “I’m sorry. But I’m going to have to send you back.”

And I’m like, “BACK!!?? I WASN’T EVEN HOME! I WAS JUST IN PRAGUE FOR THE WEEKEND! I HAVEN’T BEEN IN AMERICA SINCE JULY! BUT I WAS IN AMERICA IN JULY! I HAVE A FLAT FULL OF STUFF AND I DON’T KNOW HOW MY FLATMATES WILL PACK IT ALL AND I AM ALLOWED TO BE HERE AND PLEASE DON’T SEND ME TO AMERICA TONIGHT!”

I panicked.

Then he asked to see my paperwork [yep, the paperwork I mentioned above that I didn't have].

Then he asked for details of what I would be doing every.single.day. for the last four weeks of my time there. I answered with a shaky voice.

Then he asked for my flatmate’s phone number.

He tried to call her and for some unknown reason, it wouldn’t go through.

So he comes back to me and says, “Ms. Downs, that is a fake number and both you and I know it. Please give me a real number of someone I can reach.”

[PS- he copied my flatmate's number OUT OF MY PHONE so obviously, it is the same one I used every day. Crazy stuff.]

At this point, I am sweating like I’ve run a half-marathon, I can’t exactly breathe, and I’m shaking like a polaroid picture because I am working through in my mind what happens to a person when they get deported.

Because Richard is about to deport me. For realz.

to be continued…..