Close Calls

“A suicide drone just hit where you were parked.”

We had barely left the village when the phone call came.

Earlier that day, we had spent hours with children in a formerly occupied village—one where I had helped secure funding and organize repairs for a building that Russian soldiers had used during their occupation. What had once been a place marked by fear had been turned into a place of healing and ministry.

Many of the children there had lived through horrors no child should ever witness. Some had watched their parents beaten. Others had been held by Russian soldiers themselves. The trauma was visible even in the way they approached us—hesitant, cautious, shy.

Just two days earlier, a drone had struck that same village.

Yet despite the fear still hanging in the air, the day was filled with joy. We played games, shared meals, laughed together, and spent time encouraging the children. We shared our testimonies of surrendering our lives to Christ and reminded them that even in suffering, God had not abandoned them.

When it was time to leave, Pastor Vadim and I sat in the van urging the others to hurry. We had a long drive ahead and another destination waiting for us, but the ladies lingered talking, as they often do, and needed repeated encouragement to get moving.

Finally, everyone climbed in, and we pulled away.

Only minutes later, the call came.

A large Shahed suicide drone had flown in and struck the exact area where we had been parked.

By God’s grace, we had left just in time.

As far as we knew, no one was killed in that strike. But as we drove away, it became clear the attack was far from over.

For the next two hours, the sky around us was alive with war.

Plumes of smoke rose from multiple directions as other drones found their targets. Anti-drone trucks were positioned along the roads, firing into the sky in desperate attempts to intercept them. Sirens wailed. More smoke climbed into the air.

We pressed on toward Krivyi Rih.

That evening, we arrived at Pastor Zennia’s house, where we shared a wonderful meal together before installing a battery backup system for his church. Even through the warmth of fellowship and the satisfaction of completed work, the air raid alarms sounded through much of the night.

The next morning, we left early for Mykolaiv to install two more battery systems in another city that is struck regularly.

The danger was real. But so was the progress.

And with every church equipped, every light that stayed on during blackout, every pastor better able to serve his people, the impact of the work became more and more clear.