My Big Fat USCIS Adventure

The Journey Begins (With Tea and Tar)

So yesterday I had what can only be described as The Great American Immigration Quest: Biometrics Edition — a tale of sweat, smoothies, soggy shoes, and divine delays.

It all started when I got the golden ticket—a letter from USCIS summoning me for biometrics, which sounds way fancier than it is (translation: fingerprints and a mugshot). I was still VERY excited. One step closer to that magical green card!

Google Maps estimated it would take 2 hours and 15 minutes from Ocala to Jacksonville, so like the responsible adult I occasionally pretend to be, I left at 10am for my 1pm appointment. Plenty of time, I thought. Oh sweet, naïve, me.

For some reason, my GPS decided i95 was too mainstream, and rerouted me through the scenic route—which I now call the National Geographic Tour of Northern Florida. Forests, bridges, lakes, and… roadworks. Of course.

At one stop, I got to watch a surprisingly attractive, tiny-but-mighty road worker lady absolutely dominate the tar-shoveling game. I swear she couldn’t have weighed more than 45 kilograms soaking wet, but there she was, shoveling like a gladiator while the big dudes stood around “supervising.” I was sipping tea from my thermos, living my best life and thinking, “you go, girlfriend!”.

Where GPS’ go to die and the quickest Biometrics in the West

Then I hit Jacksonville.

Let me tell you something—Jacksonville is not for the faint of heart or the directionally challenged. It’s all highways stacked on top of highways like some sort of spaghetti bowl of doom. I went from peaceful tea sipper to sweaty-palmed GPS worshipper in 30 seconds flat. Somehow, I made it to the USCIS office with 30 minutes to spare. Victory?

Not quite.

There was a serious-looking officer guarding the door like he was auditioning for FBI: The Musical. And there I was, bladder bursting from that huge thermos of tea and stomach growling from that one sad slice of toast I had hours ago. So I detoured to Smoothie King (blessed be thy overpriced blends), grabbed my Chocolate Protein Power smoothie, used their glorious restroom, and sped back to USCIS—brain freeze and all.

And then as I get back… the sky opened up. Full monsoon. I looked like a poodle in a power washer. I clutched my documents, shoved the smoothie into my bag, and bolted toward the door like I was storming Normandy. The scary officer greeted me with a glare that could curdle milk and said the unthinkable:

“Ma’am, you’ll have to throw away your smoothie.”

NOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Goodbye $8 smoothie and any trace of dignity. Inside, I was double-scanned because apparently necklaces are a national threat. Finally, I made it to biometrics where a lovely lady took my fingerprints and captured what I can only describe as my “wet rat glamour shot.” Whole process: 10 minutes.

First world efficiency, baby!

When Your Car Locks You Out… and God Locks You In (For a Reason)

Feeling slightly defeated but proud, I walked back to my car… and reached for my keys…

Oh no.

Yep. In my sprint to avoid the downpour, I’d locked my keys in the car. Because I drive an ancient Chevy Spark that lets you do that sort of thing. #ClassicMe

I called my sweet husband Stevie, who said he’d drive 3.5 hours with the spare. Lovely gesture, but I was sitting outside a federal building, phone dying, with the nearest coffee shop across a 4-lane highway of doom. I started pacing like a spy who missed the drop-off.

Then, miracle! Stevie remembered our car insurance includes roadside assistance. A lovely man showed up 45 minutes later and opened my car in three seconds flat like it was child’s play. I cheered. He did not. But I cheered anyway.

So back to Smoothie King I went—justice for Smoothie #1!—got a new drink, and began the 2.5-hour drive home. This time, the GPS took me on i95… just in time for it to announce a major accident ahead.

And then… it hit me.

Maybe—just maybe—that whole ridiculous adventure, the rain sprint, the locked car, the delay… it was heaven’s way of keeping me safe. As I approached what was a massive, multi-vehicle wreck involving a truck pileup, I realized…

If I hadn’t been delayed, I might’ve been in it!!

Almost Out of Gas… and Definitely Out of Dignity

So there I was—post-biometric, post-drenched, post-smoothie-mourning—finally settled back in my car, ready to head home and emotionally process the day’s drama with some light sobbing and worship music.

But nope. Not yet.

Because as I’m pulling out of Jacksonville, I glance down and there it is—my fuel light blinking like a toddler in a tantrum. I had completely forgotten to refuel in all the biometric excitement. No problem, I think, I’ll just take the next exit and hit up the BP station like a responsible adult.

Except… just as I’m about to turn left to BP, I spot the golden arches of road trip salvation: Buc-ee’s. I mean, it’s Buc-ee’s. Bathrooms like palaces. Jerky in 87 flavors. Gas pumps until kingdom come. Obviously, I decide to turn right instead.

Except…

That “right” was actually the onramp back onto the i95.

Panic mode engaged.

I yank the wheel in a desperate attempt to correct my course, nearly colliding head-on with a poor, unsuspecting traveler just trying to enter the highway in peace. I execute the world’s most dramatic wheel spin onto a patch of grass (Fast & Furious: Immigrant Edition), and realize with horror that there’s no way back—I’m now officially back on the highway with nothing but prayer and fumes in the tank.

Cue me whispering, “Please Jesus, not the roadside assistance twice in one day. My dignity can’t take it.”

Thankfully, hallelujah for America, where you can find a gas station every six feet. I coasted into a station, probably on angel wings, and filled up, swearing I’d never ignore my fuel light again (a promise I will definitely break).

Rain-Soaked but Rescued: Publix, Peace, and Peanut Butter

One final task before heading home: get peanut butter. Yes, after a day of governmental bureaucracy, accidental fast-lane stunts, and smoothie sacrifices, all I wanted was to cradle a jar of crunchy, comforting peanut butter.

I walked into the grocery store like I was on a mission from God… and came out with peanut butter. And also a loaf of bread, some bananas, a candle I didn’t need, and possibly a potted plant. Because healing is a process.

And just as I reached the door… BOOM. Another sky-dumping cloud burst. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

There I stood, in the entrance of Publix, holding my peanut butter and my pride, dripping yet again.

But here’s the thing (serious voice now ): as much as it felt like the enemy of my soul was doing everything in their power to steal my peace, my joy… maybe even my life—they didn’t win.

I had a great adventure.

I saw the hand of God in the delays.

I was protected from disaster.

And I still got my peanut butter.

Moral of the story?

Sometimes what feels like a delay is actually a divine detour.
Even in the chaos, God is weaving protection, provision, and maybe even a little humor.