Travel by Greyhound has consistently provided me some of the most unique experiences of a lifetime. My catalog of bizarre bus trips is long and varied, and I don't think I've ever had a two-way journey in which at least one of the legs wasn't overly complicated and odd.

Yesterday was no exception. It began when my sisters and I arrived at the bus terminal in Rochester, NY, for my journey to Toronto. An SUV marked US Border Patrol was parked outside the station, and as we sat inside waiting, two border control officers walked in, resplendent in army green suits and intimidating sunglasses. When the time came to board the bus, I was one of the last because of saying goodbye to my sisters. When I finally tried to board, a Border Patrol officer was blocking the aisle. "You'll have to wait," he barked, and when I said "OK" and stepped back, he clarified: "No, outside."

I disembarked and joined a group consisting of the jocular driver, a baggage handler, and a smoking black-clad Goth girl with a Jersey accent and shaved and tattooed eyebrows that arched in a bold blue swoop across her forehead. As we waited, one of the border patrol officers escorted a dreadlocked guy off the bus and made him retrieve his baggage: for whatever reason, he wasn't going to be allowed to continue his journey.

So, I'm back in the city where I lived for six years, and I am absolutely loving it. I had no idea how I'd take it, how I'd feel, before I moved, but I am so very thankful to be back.

People always used to ask me the differences between Canada and America, and I didn't know what to tell them. I'd lived in Canada for so long, and been so young when I moved, that I'd kind of forgotten what America was like. Then, when I moved back to America, I only had the shock of what was different about the States. Now that I've moved back again, I have a somewhat clearer perspective.

Friday, my friend Margaret and I rose early and made the 9-hour drive to the Queenston-Lewiston bridge into Canada so I could complete the immigration process by landing (entering the country).

I have to admit to a terrifying amount of nervousness as we approached the border. Border crossings are always a point of stress, and this was the biggest one of all. After so many years, so much money, so much work, and several moves, was it all going to be scotched by a suspicious immigration officer? My leg on the clutch was shaking as I frantically prayed that all would be well.

I slept badly last night, frightened gallons of adrenalin washing through my system causing my sleep to be restless and light and full of wacky dreams about futile attempts to travel. I woke after about five hours of sleep and only dozed off again for a little while a few hours later.

Today is the last day in New Hampshire; tomorrow morning I'm setting off for Toronto. I'm excited and sad and nervous and happy all at once. It feels so right, but I hate border crossings and this one is the biggest of them all. I hope I have all my documents in order.

I went for a brief walk in the field just down the road to scatter some stale peanuts to the beasts of the field. The wind was cool, a buoyant breeze washing over me both the sweet smell of summer's last wildflowers and the harbinger of autumn. The afternoon sun lit the greens of the field with gracious clarity out of a pure blue sky. The Queen Anne's lace was dried and brown and curled up on itself like an arthritic claw, waiting only to sleep through winter and be awakened again by summer's kiss. The trees were tinged with autumnal colour, a deathly orange tint creeping into their green.

And I thanked God. I thanked him for giving me this beautiful place to live in for the last two years. It has been a beautiful place, full of not only natural beauty but the beauty of people whose hearts are full of his grace. I'm thankful.

I'm keeping this blog out of some principle or other (in theory partly to help my far-flung friends and acquaintances, should they choose, to keep up with my happenings), but I find myself tempted to give it up most of the time. Mainly because I'm not funny, don't write about the mundane happenings of my day in a compelling fashion, and when I do have something profound to say, it's usually overly serious.

I sort of feel the need to post something just because I haven't in a long time. Life's been quite busy and the usual summer activities aren't all that conducive to blogging.

Highlights recently have included meeting the well-known Christian blogger Adrian Warnock for a portrait shoot; and Celebration Northeast, an annual meeting of the Newfrontiers churches in this part of the country and Canada. (Audio of the messages should be posted to that site soon). It was a fantastic time of encouraging messages from John Lanferman, Steven Van Rhyn, and Ian Ashby; stirring worship; and great fellowship with new friends and old. Saturday night was a particularly powerful time of worship as the Holy Spirit invaded and touched many people. Two of my friends had bad knees healed. I'm sure there were many other healings I haven't heard of. I personally had a very touching encounter with God. All in all it was a great weekend; the sense was of the church on a mission and of joyful celebration of all that God has done and is doing.

Today, I received word that Citizenship and Immigration Canada has approved my application for permanent resident status.

The next step is to send them my passport, which they will return with the visa. After that, I have a time limit (usually 4-6 months) in which to enter Canada.

I have to admit my first reaction was not joyful excitement. It was weeping.

Why?