Card-carrying Alien

I recently read Three Cups of Tea. In late September 2001, the author, an American, found himself in Pakistan with an invalid United States passport after a page was ripped out at an Afghan border post. To say he was in a predicament is an understatement.

In my purse is a credit-card sized I.D. labeled, "Government of Japan, Certificate of Alien Registration." My photo, signature, unique alien certification number, and 16 identifying facts about me are squeezed onto the front in tiny, retina-damaging font, while changes are listed on the back, with the official's seal on each update.

This card is so much a part of my life now that I do not think about it much. I pull it out and grab it when I'm going for a walk. Otherwise it stays in my purse. The law requires that it be on my person at all times.

This card identifies me as not belonging to this place in which I reside. And I could be asked to present it to an authority at any time.

Does my life identify me as not belonging to this world in which I reside? Could I be asked at any time to present my reason for the hope that I have?

Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.

I Peter 3.15-16