How Much Does God Protect Us? It’s a question I’ve thought about often. And to be honest, I don’t have a full answer—but I have a strong sense that it’s far more than we realize or will ever fully understand. There have been moments, heading into hot zones, when the chaplains we work with have warned us: “This is not a good place—it’s very dangerous.”And yet, when we arrive, it doesn’t feel like what we were warned about. No close explosions. No drones targeting our vehicle. No obvious danger. Just a strange calm in the middle of chaos. And it hasn’t just happened once—it’s happened multiple times. One time, while we were in the hot zone to evacuate some people, we found ourselves uncomfortably close to an active firing position. That always adds a layer of risk—when rounds are going out, it usually means return fire is on the way. Artillery crews on the other side tend to target those positions, aiming to destroy the equipment. Knowing that, we were eager to get moving. Unfortunately, the people we were evacuating had a lot of gear to bring with them, so it took time to get everything loaded. Just after we finally got on the road, an artillery round landed about 50 yards off to our side. In that moment, I was grateful for our armored vehicle—and even more grateful that no shrapnel hit us. Another time, a glide bomb struck an area five minutes after our team left. On a separate occasion, a suicide drone locked onto our vehicle—only to veer up and over us before exploding harmlessly behind. We’ve had drones target places directly in front of us. We’ve had our vehicles stuck in areas where things could have gone very badly. Even at home, we’ve felt the danger. A few ballistic missiles once hit within 3 miles of our house. A Shahed drone hit around half a mile away—both impacts shook our house. And yet, through it all, we’ve never been harmed. Some might call it luck or coincidence. But I don’t believe that. I believe it’s God—His hand over us, His protection surrounding us in ways we can’t see or comprehend. Without Him, we couldn’t do what we do here. And I also want to thank you—every one of you who prays for us. It’s humbling to know we’re being lifted up by so many. We’ve gotten to witness those prayers answered firsthand. So thank you for praying. All the glory goes to Him.

We were heading in to a very dangerous village where the line was currently being held. It was early in the morning, and it felt like another “normal day” on Evacs. I went with our translator Karlin, and Yura a police officer. Karlin was driving the main road heading into the village at high speeds. Right before we could enter the safer part of the road that is covered with nets to keep drones away, a FPV drone dropped down to eye level and was flying straight for us. In a matter of seconds the realization of being hit by a FPV drone was awakened inside of me. I felt my body go numb, as I prepared for the explosion. The drone was flying straight for the drivers side windshield. The Police officer starting using words that revealed the fear inside him. Karlin slowed down and swerved out of the way as much as possible. But to our surprise, the drone miraculously flew straight up above our vehicle, and exploded a few meters behind us. We had our new REB system turned on, but even with that effecting the drone, there is no logical reason for the drone to have flown up and away from us. If the REB system worked on the drone in that moment, then what should have happened is it should have cut the frequency and lost control in the direction it was headed. It still should have hit us or landed much closer. I fully believe God was the reason for our safety in that moment. I believe He has used the REB system, the weather, and many other factors to keep us safe, but in that moment, I could just imagine his hand moving that drone out of our way. It was a chilling and raw moment for me, and it brought back to question, am I willing to die serving God? I know the answer to that question, and until He calls me home, I’ll keep trusting in my all powerful, all knowing, loving Savior, Jesus Christ.

Since I've been here in Ukraine, I've seen that life here is a lot about managing expectations. What do I mean by that? Around here, no two days are ever the same. Some days are more chill. We get coffee, play checkers, and go visit the neighbor who gives us chai and rides on his carnival train—which, I might add, is made for little kids, not three grown adults. Other days, we work hard. We spend hours hauling dirt with a stretcher for a building project or doing laundry and mopping floors at the shelter. Some days, we attempt to make a schedule, only to have it change many times. Like the morning we were told we didn’t have evacs, only to find out at breakfast that we actually did—and they needed us right away. So we gathered our things and headed out. Then one of our vehicles broke down, so we turned around and switched to a different one, only to be told they didn’t actually need two vehicles after all. So we turned around and went home again, and my teammate just grinned and said, “Welcome to Ukraine!” But one expectation that has been met above and beyond is the fact that God is here, and I find Him in so many places. I feel His hand of protection when we hear the drones and face scary situations—but in the face of danger, He removes the spirit of fear and replaces it with a spirit of peace. I feel His presence when our team gathers around for praise and worship. I find His goodness when I see the incredible team I’m surrounded with. So even though I have expectations, God’s ever-changing plans are so much higher than anything I could have planned.

It’s been a few weeks since I left Ukraine. And I miss it so much. I miss the smiles of welcome as we entered a village. I miss the hugs and tears as we told them goodbye. I miss seeing faces light up as we handed them a loaf of bread. I miss the wonderful tea we were given every time we went to Dronivka. I miss spending time with my team. I miss seeing crowds of people gathered around to hear the Gospel, sometimes with missiles flying overhead. Mostly I just miss being part of what God is doing in that country. My life is forever touched by the things I saw and the people I met there. I saw God working in ways that I had never witnessed first hand before. He brought me to a place of surrender in areas that I had never faced before. In the midst of war and chaos, He is working. His light shines brilliantly in stark contrast to the darkness there. Because of the conflict, there is an openness there that you don’t see in a lot of places. People are so drawn to the peace and joy of a Christian. Truly, the fields are ripe for harvest, and the laborers are few.