Continued from this post…

We arrived safely at the Accra airport to find absolute bedlam.

Tanga was ten minutes behind us so we waited by the arriving traffic.  It continued to rain.  We borrowed a cell phone, which is quite common in Ghana, and eventually found the cab with our bags.

We entered the gates to find masses of people looking confused and bedraggled.

In Ghana, it is quite normal to not go to work when it rains.  Everything just shuts down.

Apparently even the Delta counter.  But not the flights.  Awesome.

So the lines were long and the waits even longer and customs took ages.

It began to look as if we might not make our flight as we stood in the line of security at 10:10 p.m.

Departure time.

Running at break-neck speed, we arrive to present our boarding passes only to find that Dana and I are carrying carry-ons that are indeed too large to stow in the overhead bins.

At this point, I began to wonder if we were on “The Amazing Race”.  After eight days in Ghana and solving one conundrum after another, it became apparent that Dana, Rachel, and I just might need to apply.

We would totally win.

And yet another communication glitch leads to me to think I was to leave my bag where we were checking it at the gate.  Rachel had already run on to the plane.  Dana was behind me.

I ran to the plane.  Or so I thought.

And yet the next phase was not the gate.  It was a small terminal and before I knew it, the crowds were jostling me to where I needed to go – to an awaiting bus that transported us to the plane.

I arrived to find Rachel, anxious and a little wet from the rain, clutching a pole and feeling like she could not get on that plane fast enough.

Truthfully, I couldn’t wait for the complimentary wine to be served.  It was time.

The doors began to close and I yelled at the man standing by the converging plates of glass.

“Our friend is still in there!” I yelled as if she were wounded and in a foxhole, which of course, at this point, felt as if she was.

“She get next one,” he stated in broken English.  No soup for you.

So we arrive on the plane and I sit and panic thinking that our sweet friend would be left in Accra and Rachel and I would go on to Amsterdam.  With friends like us, who needs enemies?

So I waited and when I saw her walk down the aisle, I seriously considered standing up to sing a chorus of “Hallelujah”.

I did stand and I shouted her name.

Wearing a bit of a grin, she said,”You left your bag!!!”

Oh dear.

She explained that I was supposed to register the bag THEN carry it to the plane but of course this wasn’t communicated to me.

Petite Dana, ever the powerhouse to be reckoned with in the nicest of ways, sweetly told the woman that of course I didn’t take my bag because I WAS NEVER TOLD TO DO SO.

She then proceeded to share that she was not able to carry both her bag and mine to the bus and then to the plane so begrudgingly, a man who almost didn’t let her out of the country during her last visit (yes, the same man) carried the bag on the bus to the plane.

Over the river and through the woods.

She was the last person to step on to the plane and the doors were shut behind her.

And so we marveled.

And we drank some wine.

We flew from Accra to Amsterdam.  From Amsterdam to Detroit.  From Detroit to Indianapolis.

A flight that was ten hours on the way is fifteen hours on the way home due to the direction of the winds.

A sick joke in the face of three women longing to see familiarity and sad to leave behind pieces of our hearts in Teshie.

We arrive in Indianapolis to hear the giggles of our children fascinated by the planes and lock eyes with husbands who suddenly see us maybe a bit differently than they did just nine days before.

And we walk on, with new knowledge and hope, and we make plans to set the world on fire.

For Him and through Him.

And I can’t thank enough.

This marks the end of the “Ghana” series though I will write another post or two on the pertinent lessons and funny observations within the next week.

Are you interested in supporting The Fern House?  There are many ways to help – even $5 each month would further this cause.   Here is how you can help:

1.  Partner in prayer.  The most important thing you can do.

2.  Donate to help.  At the moment, you can commit to donating $30, $50, or $100 each month OR you can make a one time donation.  Click here and scroll down to “Pregnancy Resource Center.”

3.  Tell others about The Fern House.  We will be doing some fundraising in the near future so stay-tuned!

Learn to do right.  Seek justice, encourage the oppressed, defend the cause of the orphan, plead the case of the widow. – Isaiah 1:17