Tales from the Tangled Trail

Tag: christianblogger

  • 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.

  • My Accidental Escape from a Marriage Proposal – Episode 1

    Champagne Problems and Secretarial Woes

    When your “plan” is to find a husband with a plan…

    Let’s start with the basics:
    After four years of being in a relationship with a man who made it crystal clear he’d never marry me—like, bold underline, all-caps, skywritten by a plane clear—I finally walked away. Heartbroken and with nowhere else to go, I dragged my tail back to Durban and back into my parents’ house. They never approved of him (they were right, of course), and they were also very religious… and I had spent the last few years living like someone actively trying to dodge both God and good decisions.

    To top it off, I’d quit my job that morning—sent a dramatic message to the attorneys saying I’d never be back. So there I was: unemployed, emotionally wrecked, and back under the roof of people who would’ve fainted if they knew even half of what I’d been up to in Joburg.

    Let’s just say returning home was humbling. Champagne lifestyle? Please. Durban didn’t even offer a bubbly on a budget version of the life I’d been living.

    I was broke. I was bitter. And I was working for my mother.

    Not exactly the opening line of a bestselling autobiography, but we’re being honest here.

    At this point in my life, my career goals could best be summed up as:
    “Marry someone with ambition so I don’t have to develop any.”

    it’s not that I was lazy—I just didn’t know what to do with myself.
    Well, besides chasing men with red flags and stabbing myself in the eye every morning trying to nail that darned winged eyeliner.
    (And still walking out the door looking like a raccoon with commitment issues.)

    By day, I was a secretary in my mom’s office, which was every bit as soul-sucking as it sounds.
    By night, I was on a romantic scavenger hunt for someone—anyone—to rescue me from myself.

    Spoiler: that person never showed up.
    (Unless you count that one guy who thought a packet of biltong was a suitable birthday gift. I do not.)

    My salary? Laughable.
    My expenses? Mostly overpriced cocktails and late night dinners with my girlfriends.
    Rent wasn’t a concern—I lived at home—but somehow, I was still financially gasping for air every month.

    You’d think partying four nights a week on a shoestring budget would slow me down, but oh no.
    I just became really, really good at eating crackers for dinner.

    Then came The Call.

    Dramatic pause. Cue hopeful violin music.

    Out of nowhere, I got a phone call from Duncan—an attorney I used to work for at a fancy law firm back in my more “respectable” days (read: before fleeing the city like a dumped contestant on The Bachelor).

    Duncan was a quiet, serious man, older than me, and very professional…and very short.
    Think legal version of a little Mr. Rogers – minus the cardigans…and the full head of hair.
    I’d always appreciated how kind he was, especially the night we both had to stay at work until 2 a.m. helping a millionaire matriarch rewrite her will out of pure spite.
    (She was leaving nothing to her family and everything to her cats. You think I’m kidding.)

    When I ghosted that job post-breakup meltdown, Duncan was the only one who called to say goodbye.
    No guilt. No passive aggression. Just kindness.

    So when he rang again—months later—I was genuinely happy to hear from him.

    We chatted. Caught up. Laughed a little.
    He said the firm missed me. I said something self-deprecating and charming, probably while sitting in my pajamas at 2 p.m. eating toast.

    Then the calls kept coming.
    Once a week.
    Then every other day.

    And then?

    Duncan had a business idea.

    Ladies and gentlemen, this is where our story really begins.

    🛎️ Coming Next: Episode 2: The Wooden Bowl Hustle and Hope in a Suitcase

    International dreams, backseat naps, and the hangover that nearly ruined everything.

    Subscribe so you don’t miss a moment of this wild tale, or drop a comment below:
    💬 Ever tried to find meaning at the bottom of a wine glass? Same.
    Let’s swap notes.

    💬 Note from the Author

    I want to pause and say—this isn’t a story I share with pride. Especially not the parts about my wild lifestyle or the choices that led me down a path I now see so clearly for what it was: a slow unraveling. I was chasing validation, fun, escape… but mostly, I was running—from God, from truth, and from myself.

    I tell this story not just to entertain (though yes, parts are laugh-out-loud ridiculous), but to offer a quiet warning wrapped in real-life mess. If you’re reading this and something inside you whispers, ‘this feels familiar‘, please know you’re not alone. You don’t have to figure it all out by yourself.

    If any of this hit close to home and you need someone to talk to—someone who’s walked that road and turned around—I’m here. I’d be honored to walk alongside you.

    See you in Episode 2!!