Flying Motorcycles

I was running on empty.

After thirty-two hours of driving, multiple days near the front lines, and a nonstop schedule of installations, deliveries, and ministry, I had reached the final push of the trip—one last twelve-hour drive to reach the city where I would catch my transport back to Poland.

It is a drive I dread every time.

The roads are narrow and unforgiving, packed with slow-moving trucks that drift onto the shoulder when they can, while impatient drivers pass in places they should never attempt. Potholes appear without warning. Oncoming cars force split-second decisions. Rarely do I make that trip without seeing at least one major accident along the way.

Staying alive requires constant focus.

By that point, exhaustion had taken over. My mind could barely process everything we had accomplished during the trip. The only thought left in my head was simple: stay alive until the hotel.

We made one final detour to deliver funds for another organization, then pushed on for hours more until at last we reached Lviv around 8:00 that evening.

There was time for one final meal with the pastor and his wife—a chance to encourage one another and reflect briefly on the work before the trip ended. Then it was off to bed.

After calling my wife to let her know I had arrived safely, I laid down and tried to relax. Sleep came quickly.

Or at least it almost did.

Just as I was drifting off, I heard it—at first it sounded  like a motorcycle racing at high speed down the road outside.

In my exhausted state, my first thought was confusion. I did not even think the road nearby was good enough for anyone to drive that fast.

Then the realization hit. That was not a motorcycle. It was a suicide drone.

Still groggy, I struggled to react until I heard it circle the hotel a second time.

Then the anti-aircraft guns behind the hotel opened up. The deafening blasts shattered the silence as crews fired into the night sky trying to intercept it. They missed.

Moments later, the drone struck its target several kilometers away, tearing a hole into a building somewhere in the distance.

Silence returned—but sleep did not.

It took nearly an hour for my heart and mind to settle enough to rest again.

Getting sleep on these trips is important. The days are long, the driving is dangerous, and clear thinking matters when lives are on the line.

But sometimes rest is hard to find.

And in moments like that, lying awake in the dark while war echoes outside your window, I have to remind myself of something simple:

If God wants me to continue the next day, He will protect me through the night. If not I would be home with Him. So eventually, I closed my eyes again. And trusted Him with the hours I could not control.