Sometimes I wonder whether my prayers are too small, or whether it’s my faith in God that’s too small. The Lord gently pointed this out to me as I landed at Entebbe last week, after a wonderfully relaxing (though not as academically productive as I’d hoped) home assignment.

I had picked up a some kind of respiratory thing mid-November, and while my prayer requests before travel always include safe and uneventful travel, I assumed I wouldn’t enjoy my flights for being a bit congested.

How wrong I was. Not only was I not congested, I had no seat or row mates for either flight… meaning I could almost get myself comfortable and rest. This, in and of itself, is a miracle. I only had a two-hour layover in Amsterdam, so that was blissfully short.

My last concern for my trip was a suitcase I was bringing for a friend who had just delivered her first baby. Missionaries live for having people schlep things to them, and Leah had sent me with a bag, and then had things sent to me while I was in Virginia. I had heard of stories of people having things taken from their luggage at the exit x-ray machine at Entebbe, and I was fervently praying that would not be the case, especially for the things for Leah’s sweet baby girl.

When I had retrieved al my luggage and saw the line at the x-ray machine, my heart fell, knowing that I’d have to put all my luggage through. I was praying for the Lord’s protection over everything, and headed over that way.

When I got to the line, one gentleman blew right on by, right in front of me. The two attendants were surprised, but didn’t stop him. That must have emboldened me, because I asked the male attendant, “Do I go this way (pointing to the x-ray machine), or that way (pointing to the door)?” Now, the answer is patently obvious. I’m already in line. Americans are quite good at queuing up in lines. But no harm, no foul, right?

The man peered at me for a second, then asked, “Do you have a drone?” Did he just ask if I had a drone? WHY on earth would he ask if I have a drone? I must have given him an odd look as I replied, “No…” because he asked me again. “Do you have a drone?” This time, I answered him more confidently, “No! I’m a musumba (shepherd, priest); basumba (plural) do not have drones.” And I sailed right on out, with all my items intact.

As I was thanking God profusely for His provision, He gently pointed out how He had taken care of everything on my trip… my health, rest, lack of seat mates, the x-ray machine, and asked if I really believed He could do all that. I had to confess that I didn’t.

I mean, I did, in the sense that yes, I know God can take care of these things, and I trusted that He would, but did I confidently believe that He would? Not really. So He showed me how small my faith was. And in my rejoicing, I repented.