Angel Visits

… And lo, I am with you always,
even unto the end of the world.
Matthew 28:20

For the first year of my marriage, I lived in Copenhagen, Denmark. Yes, that Copenhagen. The one frequently topping travel lists such as “the happiest place in the world”, “the most liveable city” and “the best place to live in the world”.

And though I think those titles are a bit silly (and a huge exaggeration), I won’t deny that it’s a great city. There is, in my opinion, no better place to be than Copenhagen in the summertime.

But let’s just say that the initial excitement of moving to a cool new city (and country), halfway around the world from where I grew up faded quickly. The reality of being a lonely expat wife who knew nobody hit me in the face faster than you can say smørrebrød.

***

Walking towards the bus stop on the way to immigration, it is a cool summer’s day, yet I am wearing four layers of clothing, teeth shattering. My City Navigator app is opened on my phone when I came across an uncomfortably quiet street, void of any life form, though littered with charming, old white houses on both sides.

I stop. This did not seem like a street that would hold a bus stop; it was clearly a row of houses with a dead end.

I glanced down to my app again. I had read the map correctly and I was confident that I was in the right place. But where is the bus stop?

I looked up once again to the empty, wide road, and noticed that despite the freezing cold, the sun was shining, the skies the brightest blue I’d ever seen. I sighed, accepting that I was probably lost. I held back tears, defeated once again, having been lost numerous times already while living here. Six months into my Big Adventure moving overseas alone, and I am reduced to a lost soul wandering the streets as I try to navigate the public transport system in a foreign language.

This was not the way I thought newly wed life would be. I had a life back home. I had a family. I had friends. I had a job. What am I doing here? I start to panic, worried I would be late to my appointment.

I had turned around and started to walk back for a few seconds when I hear someone call me: “Miss, miss!”

An old gentleman appears out from a house window. His hair is so white it’s almost shining, and in competent, perfect English, he calls to me: “Miss, it’s down there! Keep going! The bus stop is down there!”

He points. I don’t respond because I am in shock. Where did he just come from? How did he know I was looking for the bus stop? How did he know to speak English to me?

At that point I didn’t care. I run down the long street, thanking him as I pass. I turn back almost immediately, wanting to wave good-bye, but he is gone. I freeze. The sun is suddenly shining so bright it almost blinds me. I look towards the sun, then down to the house, the long road, the trees. Everything is so still. There is no sign of life once again.

Did I imagine it?

I continue on this secluded road, lost in my thoughts of what just happened, wondering if homesickness can cause hallucinations.

A narrow, unkept staircase eventually reveals itself in the right corner of the dead end as the road closes off into a forest of sorts. The sun continues to shine on me, as if it were leading the way.

I had only managed get off the last step when a small, rugged old bus stop appeared in front of me and I burst into tears. Humbled by His grace, I knew God was with me in all things, the big and the small, and that ultimately, He was always there, even unto the end of the world, and that everything would be alright.

And it was. Six months after my appointment at immigration that day, I receive a letter: my visa application was denied. I smiled. It was time to go home.