Boots on the sand, I pulled my cell phone out of its pocket. I called the chief pilot to let her know everything was OK. Then I called Breanna.

“Just wanted to let you know we’ve had an issue with the airplane here in northern Kenya. Everyone’s OK, but we probably won’t make it home tonight.”

Thank you Lord for cell phone service, even in this remote place!

“At least I’m not crazy!” I thought, “The engine really did die.”

In the back of my mind I thought about our location- The Suguta valley. A handful of years ago, it was infamous for its insecurity. I had no idea how it was currently. As the only male onboard the airplane, I had concerns about security for our entire group of five. I noticed a handful of curious strangers watching from behind distant thorn bushes. I retraced our landing roll through mounds of sand and straggly thorn bushes. Then I turned and greeted them. In Turkana. They stared blankly. I tried Kiswahili. Still no response.

“Pokot?” I asked.

A few nodded. I don’t know a single word in Pokot.

The crowd looked friendly. Young boys and teenagers, and every single one carried an automatic rifle. I grabbed my phone again and called Art Davis. No answer.

Art has worked among the Pokot people for over 30 years. Even though he’s officially retired, he lives in Kenya and still visits Pokot land several times a year.

The AIM AIR team in Nairobi eventually did reach Art and explained the situation to him.

Art called a Pokot pastor who in turn called several people in the area. In fact, the son of the first person to become a believer in Orus had moved to the Saguta valley to graze animals. He agreed to immediately head over to find our aircraft.

In the meantime, our team in Nairobi organized a helicopter to pick us up. One of our passengers needed to be in the hospital, and along with the dubious security of where we were, arrangements came together to get all of us out of the remote sands and back to Nairobi.

We unloaded and then locked the airplane. I hoped the retrieval team found it still intact and undamaged.

A group came from a nearby town to guard the plane, and the Christian’s son joined them. Word got back to Art that he recognized the airplane from when it had often been parked at Orus for several days. He said he didn’t know the other guards, but he wanted to stay with the plane until it was recovered.

A group from our maintenance team joined up with a German mission group and their rugged Mercedes truck and recovered the plane just three days later.

Art already had plans to go visit Orus during this time. While he was there, several local church leaders talked to him about the plane. They expressed concern that there were no churches up in that area. In fact, near Orus and further south you can find at least one church every 20 kilometers. But up in the valley, there isn’t a single church for at least 50 kilometers.

Art told me he didn’t even realize that many people lived there. In the past five years, the contested area is now completely under the control of the Pokot people, and they have begun to settle there. They are all armed in that area, but entire families have moved in.

While the church leaders talked to Art, they expressed a belief that what happened in the desert was like a wake up call from God to reach out to this new community. So a small group of pastors, elders, Art, and Mike (another AIM missionary) went down into the valley.

They met with over ten different warriors and tribal leaders. They talked about the aircraft, and also the work that Art and the pastors do. Then the church leaders asked the warriors if they would like to have a church in this area.

They all answered enthusiastically, “Yes!”

Plans are under way right now, with a partnership with World Mission, to fund a church site, including drilling a new bore hole for a new church station. Someday soon, in that dry, sandy desert basin that I spent 6 minutes silently gliding down to, there will be a new church, led by a Pokot believer, reaching out to his fellow tribespeople in an area where most people didn’t even think there was anyone living.

It reminds me of Jesus’s words told in John chapter 12. Before Jesus went to Jerusalem and His time was drawing near, he said that unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a kernel. But if it dies, it produces much grain.

On September 10th, God planned a dozen miracles for us: training for emergencies the day before, diverting closer to the valley because of a rain shower, and having two pilots on board to deal with the emergency. The engine didn’t just stop running, it began tearing itself apart. Fortunately the propeller stopped before it actually completely destroyed itself. We had no airstrips within gliding range, but I saw a sandy clearing to my right, and that’s where we headed.

Maybe, just maybe, the biggest miracle was not the clearing God provided for us to land on. Perhaps it will be spiritual grain ready for harvest in a dry land where we thought nobody lived. Unless our engine died, it would have remained just an engine. But when it failed, it provided an opportunity for us to land in that exact spot. The vast number of communities without a church became known to the missionaries and church leaders.

In an area filled with tension, where every able bodied boy carries a rifle for protection, now there will be a church built, a beacon of hope amidst tension and fear.

And, the plan is to build a runway. A real one this time.