A Modern-Day Miracle

The drive here to the village was very long and tiresome. It began on December 29. On Saturday, we left Deming, New Mexico, around 9:30 a.m. We arrived in Palomas, Chihuahua, around 10:30, and were amazed that our entire process of immigration, visas, and vehicle importation and paying the fees only took an hour to complete! We paid a low tax on everything in our trailer – something else we didn’t expect – and we left very grateful, and began our descent into the country of Mexico.

The drive after Los Palomas was bearable for about an hour as we headed south, but then as the road curved west, we entered the Sierra Madres (the English translation of this mountain range is “The Mother of Mountain Ranges” – how true!) This mountain range was so dangerous and so steep, and so frightening, that for almost four hours we did nothing but hold our breaths intermittently and pray intently. The grades of the Sierra Madre mountains can vary from 9 degrees to 25 degrees, and on some upgrades, we were driving 10 miles an hour just to make it up the mountain, with our back plastered to the seat like a rollercoaster! After 6 hours of navigating the Madres, we finally began the full descent out of the mountains.

With only three more hours left to travel to Hermosillo, Sonora, where we planned to sleep for the night, we picked up speed when we hit the plains. We whipped around a corner just slow enough to slam on our breaks for the inspection station.

Inspection stations in Mexico are nothing to mess with. Mexico has a strong military presence, and uses military force to man the main highways. Soldiers guard these stations with AK-47’s, and it’s not uncommon to hear of someone who got mouthy, and was arrested on the spot. Most Mexicans have enough common sense, and are sober enough, to let the soldiers search their things and send them on their way. And the first three inspections had been easy, but this one was a test.

The inspector asked us to present our manifest and our receipt of tax payment. Immediately, he noted that we had paid a very low tax payment, and lacked papers to prove that most of our luggage was donated items. After much discussion, we asked him what he considered a fair payment. He instructed us to empty the entire trailer and let him write down the brand names and look up prices on the Internet. We asked him where we could pay the rest of the taxes. He said, “Where you entered the border is where you must pay your taxes.”

I broke down crying and left before he could see my tears, and wept in the cab of the truck while Joshua continued to negotiate more with the man. He insisted that we had to make the 7-hour drive across the Sierra Madres back to Las Palomas, and pay our rightful taxes there. Joshua argued that the immigration office in Palomas checked the manifest and prices, and deemed them okay, but this inspector insisted that his job was to check the tax payments, and if someone did not adequately pay, he was to return them to the border – if not by choice, then by force. I prayed intently that God would change this man’s heart and allow us to pass. Joshua prayed intently that we would find favor in the man’s eyes as the man walked away to check another truck. After two hours of standing around the inspection station, the man put down his phone and talked with his assistant, then turned to us, waved his hand, and simply said “Pasale!” (which, in English, means, “Pass.”)

I stood dumbfounded, and Joshua blinked. He asked me if he interpreted correctly, so I asked, “Say that again, please?” He said, “Pasale,” then in broken English, “You can go.” Then he explained in Spanish the steps to take next year to avoid this problem. I shook my head, thanked him about five times, and he smiled. We hurriedly put a few things back into the trailer, jumped into the truck, and sped away. I broke down and sobbed, and we prayed together and thanked God for the miracle that he performed!