It was during one of our recent evacuations that this stuck with me. The day began with our usual requests, the kind of missions we’d gotten used to running. But there was one extra — an older woman and her son trapped in an area that had become one of the most dangerous around. Just two months earlier, one of our armored vehicles had been hit there by a suicide drone, and things had only escalated since.
A supply vehicle was supposed to bring fuel and food into the area and, at the same time, evacuate the mother and her son. But it never made it. It was struck by three drones. Just like that, their last hope for a vehicle evacuation was gone.
The mother was injured, and time mattered. With no other option, we told them to try to walk to the next village where we could meet them. After finishing the rest of our evacuations for the day, we waited at staging. They had no means of communication once they left, so we had no way of knowing where they were. We gave them another hour and a half, wanting to allow every chance for them to make it.
Then the word came: the Russians had mined the road into the village. The mission was canceled.
That left us in a terrible place. We had promised them we’d be there. She was hurt, and we were out of options. Our chaplain began working his contacts, hoping to find another way out for them. We drove home with the questions turning over in our minds: Should we have gone in anyway? Should we have taken the risk? What if the intel was wrong? What if it was right? Either way, we wouldn’t be at the meeting place if they made it out.

The next day we got word that they had made it out alive and were in the hospital! Later, we finally heard the full story.
They had set out with the injured mother in a cart and the son pushing. At some point, they turned down the wrong road. Before long, a drone appeared and began following them. Then a second drone showed up. The son gave his mother a white cloth to wave so it would be clear they were civilians, but the first drone attacked anyway. It exploded close by, and the son was hit with shrapnel in his leg, back, stomach, and arms.
He dove into the grass for cover. But the second drone was still overhead, watching. It came down and struck the grass right beside them — but it didn’t explode. For a couple of minutes they just lay there in shock, not knowing what would happen next. Then Ukrainian soldiers arrived and asked, “What are you doing here?” The son explained, and the soldier called for an evacuation team. But he told them, “The sky is dirty tonight,” meaning there were many drones out. They had to wait until morning before the evacuation team could finally pick them up and take them to the hospital, where their wounds could be treated.
The night before this evacuation day, during our evening prayer time, I remember someone specifically praying for the safety of that mother and her son. Later we learned something that stood out to me: these drones often fly in pairs. The first usually carries a smaller charge to disable a vehicle, while the second carries a heavier payload to finish the job. The fact that the second drone landed right in the grass beside them — but didn’t explode — is something I can only call a miracle.
So what should you do when your good isn’t good enough? That’s the beauty of serving a God who is enough. He works in ways we could never plan, and He turns even the darkest moments into opportunities to show His glory.