Utterly Helpless

One may think that living overseas and serving the Lord full time occupationally requires a great deal of effort to trust in the Lord.

I can confidently say that many times here it is easier to fully trust in the Lord because He is it!

Case in point- my entire morning.

Yesterday I started getting a runny nose.  I was optimistically hoping it was simply allergies (in the middle of the concreted city...)  As the day progressed, I realized my necessity to be within a foot of the tissue box at all times was probably because of a cold :/  This is my second bout of minor illness here (the first unfortunately timed on move-in day).  And its no surprise really when much of our days are spent in close proximity with others in cafes or busses.  Living in an apartment building, you also share light switches and door handles.  Lots of germ gifting goes on in Italy, or any pedestrian city for that matter.

As my disease progressed throughout the evening last night, I could only anticipate a long restful night that could heal my ailments.  But alas my permesso fingerprint appointment was this morning.  No sleep-in cure all.  And anything involving the government is a surefire adventure.  Sickness-carry on...

And to my dismay, I learned that there was a bus strike today-meaning that certain bus drivers with specific unions will hold a scheduled strike during non rush hour times.  Its very thoughtful of them.  Mama mia.  Now I can get by in a restaurant or a grocery store or meeting a new friend.  But navigating a government office and permesso procedures in Italian-faaaaat chance.

Strike,

But my appointment was naturally scheduled after rush hour.  So I drug myself out of bed, strapped on Finn and trekked across the city, past a jail I think, and arrived at the Immigration office.

Entrance of the Immigration Office.  Inviting eh?

Unlike many official offices in 'merica, there are no nicely framed signs informing you of the procedures like 'Sit here until your name is called' or 'Wait here to be helped'.  The lobby of this building is overflowing with foreigners just scattered about like cattle, with seemingly no rhyme or reason or procedure.  This would be stressful in America. But keep in mind, with the heat, my illness, my strapped on baby, unfamiliarity with this area and process, there is also a language barrier...

This is right about where I realized that now is the time to cling to Jesus.  And call Jesse.  And pray that they call my name, or notice I'm a lost puppy, or have pity on the poor American girl.  I finally start asking some of my fellow cattle if they speak English.  A sweet girl informed me in her best English that he would call names.  So a man comes out and starts calling numbers!  I'm frantically searching my paperwork for a potential number that could be my ticket to get my fingerprints.  I'm checking and rechecking and triple checking my appointment time.  I'm trying to sneak glances at other papers and appointment times to see if I'm even in the right place with the right idea or if my time has passed.

Panic ensues.  Jesus clinging is at full force!  'Lord, direct my path-literally to a helpful English speaker.'  'Lord, help me know what's going on and not look so lost and out of place (with my flaming red hair...)'

And then-they call my name!  Powleesoan.  Woooo!  I'm ushered back to a room with windows.  I go up to a window and a man directs me in Italian.  I ask if he speaks English-he pushes my papers to another fellow.  He looks at my papers-and leaves the room-and looks at my papers again-and leaves the room.  This continues for approximately 20 minutes.  Despite his little English, I have no idea what he's doing or if he's looking for something he needs.  He then asks if this is my first permesso.  "Si!"  He was relieved at this information and stated all he needed was my visa!  Phew!  Swiping the thousands of sweat beads off of my forehead. 

Then, Finn gets upset.  So I start to take him off my back.  If you've witnessed this process it looks treacherous, but I'm used to it!  The other 20 foreigners in the room are not used to it however and all jump into help!  Not helpful...  But I get him into my arms and we wait for further instruction.  The man continues to shuffle my papers and leave the room.  I finally give my fingerprints, and then he tells me I have to go somewhere else.

Heart crushed.  Literally screaming for the Lord's comfort in my head.  I'm sick and hot and tired and I was looking forward to my bed right after this terrible adventure.  But He gives me energy to go on.  And a bus!  Praising Him for the surprise bus arrival outside of the office.  Thank you mister bus driver for not being a part of the striking union today.  I owe you immense gratitude that you wouldn't understand in my bad Italian/English.

I ride the bus back into town while Finn get's tired and sweet old Italian ladies try to comfort him.  Which works, because the kid loves to be spoken to in Italian!  I hop off the bus and use my handy dandy iPhone maps to navigate to the next office.  Praising Jesus for 3G and iPhone maps...

I walk up to a drive way and duck into a little room.  Again, no signs or helpful instruction.  So after the room clears out and people are done being called (no idea how they got called), I poke my head around the corner and ask if I can be called.  I ask if they speak English, and one does! Thank you Jesus again and again!  The other doesn't, and didn't mind that I told him I don't understand his Italian-he keeps trucking, asking me questions in Italian.  I give up answering that I don't understand and just smile.  He grabs my hands-oh, ok sir- and shoves them on the fingerprint machine to get a good impression.  You have to have two sets of finger/hand prints for your first permesso.  Then he tells me to sit.  I obey.  Then he tells me to sign.  I do that too.  Then I'm done!  They sent me on my merry way!

Finn and I trek back into the center of the city to my familiar neighborhoods and I decide that the best reward for this adventure in the heat and illness is gelato or granite.  So I pop over to my favorite spot.

Deliciousness.

And they're closed.  Have mercy sweet Jesus; return now!!!

So I trudge back home.  If you witnessed me at this leg of the journey I looked like a zombie.  A sick, sweaty, dying zombie.  Or are zombies already dead?  That's how bad it was-a dying dead zombie.

As I rounded my street, I remembered the cafe down the way has the best chocolate muffins filled with Nutella.  They are nearly close to Heaven's menu choices I'm sure.  And they definitely have some antibiotic treatment in them-so I'm anticipating them greatly.  I see them in the window, pop in to order them, and am informed that those aren't chocolate-they're something else.  Jesus, I understand now more than ever your desire for me to look to you alone-and not even a chocolate muffin.  Message heard.  Clinging on!  So I settle for the second rate muffin, and hike the 66 stairs up to my apartment.

Living overseas is for the faint of heart.  Because Jesus desires a faint heart to cling to Him instead.  Not  my own talents or confidences or comforts.

When we were utterly helpless, Christ came at just the right time and died for us sinners. Romans 5:6

I am still utterly helpless.  And daily in need of a sweet Savior.  Praising Him for showing me that this morning.