I sat in the plane from St. Louis to Chicago, the first leg of our journey. With a deep sigh of relief I asked for a cup of tea and started reading my book for the journey, Becoming Elisabeth Elliot, by Ellen Vaughn. Caleb was sleeping next to me, our bags were all safely checked on to the plane, the goodbyes were behind us, and we were on our way back to Jakarta after a morning that had already had a rocky start. I settled into reading the preface by Joni Ereckson Tada, “I loved [Elizabeth Elliot’s] matter-of-fact way of living by daily dying for Christ. It was a no-nonsense way of looking at things. Just pull-yourself-up by the grace of God, hoist your cross on your shoulder, and follow your Savior down the bloodstained path to Calvary. And don’t complain about it.” I contemplated this attitude in light of my own life and future.
Going back to Jakarta hadn’t been an easy decision. I was glad to have the turmoil of the last two weeks of agonizing and decision-making finished. Do we go back now, or wait till the covid cases go down and restrictions in Jakarta lift? After all, going back meant being confined to our Taman (neighborhood) again, without even the option of going to the international school to use their pool, playgrounds and fields. After experiencing a summer of freedom in the states where we could go hiking, visit playgrounds, travel, take the kids into stores, and go to church, it was going to be a shock to our systems to enter back in to lockdown. Not to mention, entering it alone. I definitely had already started the complaining in my heart.
One thing that makes our life in Indonesia so sweet is the community around us. None of the families from our main support system were going to return when we did. Most had made the decision to delay. I would’ve made that same decision had we had the choice—but our visas were due to expire at the end of July, and if we didn’t return before they expired, a whole host of complications would arise.
So in the end, our only option was either for an extended family separation with Jeff returning alone, going through quarantine and getting his visa renewed, and then returning to get us and bringing us to Indonesia later, or, for us to stick to the original plan and all return together. In the end, we decided that the family disruption would be less if we all returned. The kids were excited to see their home again and the prospect of separating our family across continents for an undetermined time was daunting and logistically overwhelming.
Travel with a young family is stressful, but travel in the time of covid with family takes the stress level up a few notches. The two days before we left we were busy trying to figure out how to get all of us covid-tested with the appropriate amount of time (72 hours) before our flight and yet still get the results back in time. While it was easy to get most of our family tested, we needed to find a place to test Titus since he was under 3 years old. We found a place that would test him for free so we spent an entire afternoon driving out to get him tested. The next day, the day before we were scheduled to leave, we got all our results back except for Titus’. We felt slightly panicked as evening drew near and there were still no results showing up, so we took him for yet another test at the local urgent care clinic. In the end, it turned out they’d given him the covid test that was not accepted for international travel. We prayed the other results would come in time, and they did, at 7 PM the night before our 9 AM flight the next day.
The morning of our travel dawned. Jeff and I, with scratchy eyes from a night of adrenaline-ridden sleep, finished the last packing of things and people into the car. We got to the airport with plenty of time to check in to our flight. Some complication always arises at check-in time for these flights back to Indonesia. Sure enough, we’d left our stroller attachment at my parents’ house, so my mom drove back to get it. We unloaded our 12 bags at the American Airlines counter only to discover that American/JAL had changed their baggage policy to only one bag per person. It was too late—we were already standing there with all 12 of our bags, carefully packed according to what we needed for quarantine and what could be sent directly to our house. There was no way we could rearrange or eliminate any of the bags. We had to pay.
To top it off, while we were waiting, the kids were sliding around on their carry-ons and Elias fell off and busted his mouth on the concrete floor of the airport. Thankfully a careful look told me that nothing was chipped, just a lot of bleeding and tears. We cleaned him up, and I gave him some Tylenol from my carry-on (tip: always carry children’s Tylenol in your carry-on. Both on the way to the states and on the way back to Indonesia I had to use it before we’d even boarded the plane). Little did I know that this was just one incident in a day that was going to keep getting worse.
So there I was: we were finally on the plane, all of the last weeks, days, hours of insanity and stress behind us. The deed was done; we were leaving. As our plane from St. Louis landed in Chicago, I closed my book, prepared (so I thought) to have a better attitude in light of Joni Ereckson Tada’s and Elizabeth Elliot’s attitudes in the face of true suffering. We gathered our things and made the long trek through the airport, kids and bags in tow, and made our way to the gate for the second leg of our flight departing to Japan. Jeff went to get our stroller tagged to check in at the gate and handed over our paperwork to the lady at the desk. There was some bustle as we settled everyone down near a window to watch the huge plane outside that we were about to board, and then, as the airline lady walked over with papers in hand, she asked the question that left a pit in my stomach.
“Do you have a covid test for the baby?”
“No, he’s only 8 months old, he doesn’t need a covid test.”
“According to our documents, anyone who flies into Jakarta has to have a covid test.”
“But we just flew from Jakarta two months ago and he didn’t have to have a covid test. All the airline websites and information say that children two and under don’t need to be tested.”
“Well, that was flying to the US, it’s not the same when you’re flying to Jakarta. I’m sorry ma’am.”
We couldn’t believe it. The sinking feeling continued. Jeff and I conferred, we talked to the lady some more. There was a moment of hope as one official that they called agreed that children under 2 didn’t need to be tested. The hope lasted for a few moments as the airline called the consulate in Jakarta to confirm Indonesia’s testing policy. Soon, we knew the verdict. We were not getting on that plane. Caleb needed to be tested, and even using the testing site at the airport, there was no way to get the results from the required test in time to board the plane in an hour, no matter how much money we paid.
The feeling of being stranded was complete. We’d had 3 adults helping us get all of our kids and stuff into the airport. There was no physical way that Jeff and I could get everything and all of our kids around the airport without some help. We didn’t even know where to start. Where would we go to get Caleb tested? How would we get there? Do we just fly back to St. Louis and start over again? There wasn’t another flight to Jakarta on our airline for a week, and our visas expired only a couple of days after that. It was cutting things too close. To make matters worse, if we flew back to St. Louis and started all over again, most likely we’d have to pay another $600 to get our bags on the rescheduled flight. Why hadn’t the airline officials in St. Louis caught the discrepancy and stopped us before we’d even begun the journey? Should we put out an SOS to friends in Chicago and see what would come up?
If you’ve been in charge of young kids before, you know the feeling. You absolutely have to attend to logistical and pressing demands, but you have young kids around you who are hungry, tired, and impatient. There’s no way to attend to the urgent, pressing, and time-sensitive decisions and needs, without first attending to the immediate needs. Everything therefore takes at least twice as long, or multiply that by the number of kids you have and that’s how much longer it takes. So first things first, we got everyone hamburgers and fries from McDonalds, then Jeff and I settled in to trying to puzzle our way out of the mess. Along the way of trying to make decisions, there were kids who needed to use the bathroom, kids who started running around and fighting in the airport, some tears shed by adults and kids… you’ll start to get a pretty accurate picture of how we looked that afternoon.
We decided to switch airlines to Qatar. They had a flight leaving the next evening to Jakarta that still had available seats. But could we get our test results in time? The flight two days from now had no available seats, so it wasn’t an option. If we got a flight any farther out than that, new covid tests wouldn’t be valid anymore. Not to mention we’d potentially be paying for multiple nights in a hotel in Chicago. It was a logistical nightmare. We decided to risk it, book the flights on Qatar and just hope that our results came in time. We would reschedule if they didn’t. (Keep in mind, that decision was made after hours of phone calls, talking through options, talking to various airlines at customer service desks throughout the airport.) At this point, Lydia was sobbing and wanting to go back to St. Louis. All of the kids were whining and asking why we couldn’t go on the airplane. The airplane that we were supposed to be on pulled out of the gate.
The airline had given us two options for where to get covid tests. One was right in the airport, but to get expedited test results that possibly wouldn’t even reach us in time for our next flight, the cost was enormous: $365 per person, and we were all going to need to get re-tested because our first tests would expire by the next evening’s flight. We called the other number they’d given us for a lab about 15 minutes from the airport. Praise God, it was only $60 per person to get the required tests we needed to fly, and they tested all ages. They said we’d have our results back in time to catch our flight to Qatar.
Our plans quickly formed after that, and God graciously provided what we needed. Our friends the Stutzmans told us we could spend the night at their house, and Brent was even willing to drive down and pick us up. They had young kids as well, so had all the car seats that we needed. (Another logistical issue, we hadn’t brought car seats so going anywhere was tricky.) The airline told us that they’d pulled our bags and they were stored at the airport until the next day when they’d be loaded on the Qatar airways flight. This was good news as there was no easy way for us to collect and transport them back and forth. We found a taxi willing to bring us to the testing lab without car seats, and he graciously reduced the price of the drive for us. The testing lab was amazing. No one else was there, they were so kind, and they quickly tested all of us without too much discomfort. For poor Titus, that was the third test in three days. Shortly after the tests finished, Brent arrived to pick us up. We collapsed into his car. At this point, it was about 4 PM, and after hours of walking the length of the airport and dragging the kids and stuff along with us, it felt so good to sit down. All the boys fell asleep on the ride to their house.
The next twenty-four hours turned into an unexpected visit with Chicago area friends that I thought of as our final taste of freedom before we entered quarantine and lockdown life in Jakarta. We had one more meal of grilled burgers & hotdogs, the kids enjoyed the huge outdoor swing, we enjoyed meeting up with other friends, the Snapes, at the local park the next day. We slept (well, at least some of us did!) and we were fed, and we were cared for. And wonderfully, we received all of our test results back by the next morning. To be honest, despite all of this, along the way I was not happy. Here we were in obedience to God, going back to a place that was not easy, and I felt like he was making it so difficult for us to get there instead of miraculously smoothing away all the obstacles.
We arrived back at the airport at about 4:30 PM for our 8 PM flight. We wanted to be sure everything was squared away and our bags made it on the airplane. Our new airline, Qatar, had computer issues, so the lines were incredibly long, even with three and a half hours to spare. We ended up standing at the ticket counter for over an hour as they got our documents in order, checked us in, and gave us our boarding passes. The kids lasted for a while, but once the mischief started we pulled out the iPads. The airline told us that our bags would be put on the new flight, but that there was no way to check and be sure because they wouldn’t all be loaded until right before the plane departed. We just had to trust that what they were telling us was true.
We made it through security for the second time (what a marathon that is), and finally, we were on our way to the gate. We arrived with enough time to get a little bit of food before boarding. Our new itinerary was quite a bit longer—Chicago to Doha is about a 14 hour flight, and then we had a 2 hour layover before another 10 hour flight to Jakarta. Usually the flight to Japan is 11-12 hours, and the flight from Japan to Jakarta is 7-8 hours. I was having a hard time wrapping my mind around being in an airplane for 14 hours. But at the same time, it was a relief to be allowed to board the plane. Once we were all in and settled, Caleb quickly fell asleep and the kids were content to watch movies. But then we sat. And sat. And sat. They held the plane for almost two hours for incoming passengers. I felt panic rising up in me as I looked at the screen showing the time to landing—14 hours, still unchanged. In total, 16 hours on the airplane. Jeff and I looked at each other—would we make the connection in Doha?
Fourteen hours later we landed, with hope in our hearts as the airline had said they would wait for us. We didn’t have our stroller since they’d checked it all the way to Jakarta because our connection time in Doha was only two hours. As we gathered our things and tried to hurry towards security to make our next flight, we saw an airport worker holding a sign saying flights to Jakarta.
“Yes, we’re on that flight.”
“I’m sorry, the flight has already left. We will reschedule you on another flight.”
Jeff and I were in disbelief. “But it’s only 7 and the flight leaves at 7:15!”
“I’m sorry, the gate is already closed.”
At this point, we were entering our third day of travel. The kids all had runny noses, Jeff and I had had very little sleep over the last 72 hours, and we were stranded in another airport with our kids and stuff and no stroller. My thought process went like some panicked version of this; God, why are you making it so difficult for us, and especially our kids? They’ve probably picked up Covid having to go through so many airports and come into contact with so many people! Titus was a hot mess, Caleb was doing ok since he’d probably gotten the most sleep of any of us on the previous flight, Lydia was in tears because the plane had left without us—would we ever get home to Jakarta?—and Elias was generally running around, running into things and people, and hungry. I tried to pull myself together and have a positive attitude for the sake of the kids; I comforted Lydia that we WOULD make it to Jakarta.
We camped out on the floor in the late night abandoned airport in front of the customer service desk and waited. They told us they would get our stroller for us, and about an hour later it came. They rebooked us on a flight leaving in about 6 hours to Jakarta. They gave us water bottles since all the water fountains were shut down. About two hours later, we finally had everything we needed and we went through security. We still had four hours to pass before our next flight. All I wanted to do was lie down and sleep. They’d told us there was a family room, but when we got there it was filled with other families. I lay down to sleep on the floor next to Caleb for a short nap. The airline had given us vouchers so we got some food, and the kids played on ALL the playgrounds in the Doha airport. I couldn’t help but cringe at the thought of all the germs they were in contact with.
Finally, we boarded the last flight. It was almost empty. We each could have a row to ourselves after all the passengers boarded. The only problem was that Jeff and I were the airline attendants for our family…about every 10 minutes someone was either falling off their seat as they slept, crying, couldn’t breath because of their mask, needed help with their seatbelt, etc. etc. Ten hours later, the sight of Jakarta as our plane landed had never looked so good.
But the marathon hadn’t ended, yet. We got off the plane and were almost immediately greeted by a worker with sign that read, “Spanogle.”
“Yes, that’s us!”
“I’m sorry, your bags didn’t make it on the flight. Please come and fill out a missing baggage claim.”
It was the cherry on top. We followed the airline worker to the missing baggage office. In the office I tried to explain, “We’re about to enter quarantine, all of our diapers, baby food, clothes, and toys are in those bags, we really need them. How quickly can you get them here?” I knew it was fruitless, but I had to say it all anyway. The airline workers took our baggage claim tags that were still listed with our American Airlines number, bags we hadn’t seen since we checked them in 4 days ago in St. Louis. We waited as she checked her computer. They couldn’t locate our bags. But they would contact us as soon as they had information. The prospect of seeing our bags anytime soon, even by the next day as I’d hoped, faded into the distance.
About two hours later we were finally leaving the airport. Almost everyone was crying and wanted to go home. Home was going to be a hotel for the next eight days.
We arrived at the hotel in central Jakarta, and wearily trooped into the orientation office for our quarantine. After the quarantine rules were explained, there was one last hurdle to jump before we could get into our rooms and recover. Everyone had to get tested again. Almost everyone was already in meltdown mode, but at the sight of the PPE clad doctor and the testing vials the screams and tears began in earnest. This test was going to be especially thorough. Both nostrils and a throat swab. In God’s mercy, we had a kind doctor. Jeff and I went first and as the kids refused to enter the room after they saw us getting tested 3 different places, I begged the doctor, “Please be gentle with our kids. We’ve been traveling for four days.” She asked their ages and said she would only give them the throat swab. I was so thankful for a doctor who was willing to be flexible. I felt awful about the amount of flexing the kids had had to do over the past week, and that small kindness was a big blessing. I couldn’t help but think about all the refugee families I’d helped to resettle back at World Relief in Chicago. I wondered how long their journeys were to get to the US, and all the hoops they’d had to jump through and flexibility they’d had to display. I was sure they had a much better attitude than I did. My respect level for those families and their kids rose.
After our swabs, we were finally led to our rooms. The kids were ecstatic to be in a hotel (good thing they were so excited, little did they know how long 8 days would be!) And ran back and forth between our two rooms exploring and looking out the 9th story window onto Jakarta below. After some food and showers, we collapsed into bed for the start of our week-long enforced recovery time.
Jeff and I spent a lot of the week making phone calls, sitting on hold, and trying to track down our suitcases. Although we were never provided with much information from the airline or told in advance, we would suddenly get a message on our phones saying that several of our suitcases had arrived and would be delivered. By the time we left the hotel, we had seven of our suitcases back. The day we returned home, we had a wonderful welcome home gift and four more were delivered. The final delinquent suitcase was finally returned about 10 days after we arrived.
It was a journey I never want to repeat. I hope that it produced character—the kind talked about in Romans 5. “Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.” And here’s the good news: “You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly.” I certainly saw that I was powerless to change my attitude and outlook about our return to Indonesia on my own. “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Thank God! It’s easier to write all these words, see the big picture, and relive these experiences with some space from the big emotions of those weeks.
As we recuperated in the quarantine hotel and set up house again back at home, I continued reading, Becoming Elisabeth Elliot. Elisabeth saw that there were not always easy, pat answers to life’s questions. We don’t always see good results from the hard things we face, and we don’t get answers to the why’s of God’s providence. We are asked to move forward in obedience to Him. The small sufferings our family experienced in our trip were nothing compared to those that have been experienced by so many people in the weeks that have followed our return—the Afghani people, Haitians who lost lives and homes in the earthquake, those who are sick and suffering with covid, and so much more. I won’t say that I can look back and see how everything added up and made sense: why we had to miss our first flight, or all our bags had to get lost, or our kids had to get painful covid tests four and five times. (Thank God, with both tests we had in quarantine all of us were negative. It turns out their runny noses and coughs were just colds!) But I will say that looking back I see God’s faithfulness, that he cared for us, that even though it was hard, we were in his hand. Life doesn’t have to be easy, and we were certainly learning perseverance. I pray that it will bear fruit and fill us with hope. Certainly hope is a supernatural thing that can only come as the Holy Spirit convinces us of God’s unchanging love for us. And God’s people are a tangible way that this is displayed. Through the lonely and frustrating days of our quarantine as we waited for word on the status of our bags, so many people reached out to encourage us, offering to go the airport in Chicago for us, sending us donuts, asking what they could do to help, praying for us. All of those things meant a lot.
So here we are, back at home with all of our stuff, (and wow, did I see how much I loved my stuff as I contemplated losing it all!) ready for a year that I know will continue to have challenges. May the Holy Spirit continually remind our family of God’s love and the true reality that is unchanged even during tumultuous times--the greatest display of God’s love—“While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”
