The sound was familiar. I had heard it before so my mind immediately began filtering… was this the first sound of an earthquake that so frequently shook our world? – No, that’s more like a rattle that just doesn’t end while your head spins as if you are in a fun house. The apartment shook with the boom, but now I was standing still and the air was eerily quiet. This was a definitely a bomb. And it was close! Next, I heard the distinct “pop pop pop” of gunfire. Bombs are one thing – if you hear them it means it’s happening somewhere in your town, but it could be miles away. It also means it’s probably a one-and-done situation. You shouldn’t hear anything else after the initial boom. But gunfire? You can’t hear that from miles away. If you hear gunfire you know it’s close, really close. And gunfire means it’s an attack, not a one-and-done, but a constant, intentional, directed attack at someone or something. Bomb. Gunfire. Close. Attack. These are all words I simply did not have bandwidth to process in this moment. It was 8pm on an early October evening. I was standing in a borrowed apartment in one of the world’s most dangerous cities after just evacuating our new home, trying to figure out what was really happening. Did they follow us? Are they right downstairs? Is this directed at me?! Why can’t I just feel safe?

The kids were in bed fast asleep. They had no idea what was happening. It had been a really rough three days. Our minds and our bodies were broken and in desperate need of mending, not more battering. We got in touch with our team mates immediately – “are you ok?” “what is happening?” “where is it happening?” We didn’t get details until morning, but we did get confirmation that an ambassador’s complex was under siege about a mile from where we were staying. We were instructed to stay put and stay inside.

The next 12 hours were full of constant booms and pop pop pops. I didn’t sleep a single second that night. I laid in bed, once again trying to process what in the world was happening in my life. I understood that this “attack” had nothing to do with me or my family. I was not personally being targeted, but I felt like my spirit was. I truly felt undone. Every noise pierced my heart and shattered my soul, reminding me of how exposed I was and how my life could end at any moment. I was at the end of what I could personally handle. I had nothing left in me to even begin to process all of the events of the last week. All I could think about was getting away. I needed to be somewhere safe. I needed to know that my world was not going to shake (literally) so that I could weed through all of my thoughts and emotions enough to be able to hear the still small voice of my Savior. In this moment I knew something was about to change.

When the morning call to prayer rang ominously through the air, the commotion of the previous night slowly dissipated. We touched base with our team leadership and requested to move further afield. We needed space. And David’s brother needed to get home. We knew that we would not be able to make a decision about going back to our village in this environment. We needed silence and sure footing. We needed to talk and pray and fast and listen. We need professional help.

Within 24 hours we had flights booked to Dubai in the United Arab Emirates. This was a place we often visited for meetings and vacations. It was familiar and safe. We said “goodbye for I don’t know how long” to our team mates. Honestly, I didn’t feel sad. I just felt anxious and ready to go. Looking back now, I wish that I had really captured those minutes in my heart and mind. Especially now that one of our very best friends on our team has gone on to be with the Lord. I regret with every ounce of my spirit that I didn’t invest my heart in those final moments with our team. It wasn’t intentional, I was just in survival mode. I wasn’t feeling ANY thing. But knowing what I know now, I am so saddened that I let those moments slip by without my full attention. I will never get those minutes back. I won’t be gathered with those same people again until eternity when we are worshiping at the feet of the Savior we served. That will be beautiful and whole and perfect, but the heartache of regret is my current condition.

When we landed in Dubai, we were introduced to a couple who flew in from Turkey to meet with us. Our organization has a fantastic counseling team who stands ready to meet you wherever you are, just to minister to your heart and mind. They helped us get checked into a “hotel apartment” – a fully outfitted apartment that you can rent by the night, week or month. We rented it for a week. The plan was to spend time that week just decompressing, talking through our experience and trying to come up with a plan for what was next. I don’t remember who took care of our kids or even where they were when we were talking to this couple, but it was SO life-giving and necessary! We desperately needed that time to breathe and just to verbally vomit every thought, emotion and experience. And we had professional counselors on the other side to clean it all up. Not only were they trained in counseling, but they themselves were once in a situation very similar to ours. The Lord gave us two people who could listen and completely understand what we were sharing. It was such a gift.

At the end of that week we all four decided staying in the UAE for a time was the best route. We needed more time to figure out if we would be able to go back to our village, or even our country. Our new friends would fly back to Turkey, but we would move about 45 min south to a town called Ras Al Khaimah. There was a wonderful international church and school there who would take us under their wings for the next month. We rented a car, rented a furnished apartment, connected with the church, collected borrowed items (like sheets, clothing, toys, plates), and enrolled our kids in school. Our plan was to spend the next month discerning the Lord’s will for us. With our oldest kids in school each day, we had focused time to fast and pray. And that’s exactly what we did.

At the end of that first month, we both felt so torn. I wanted to go back, but I also honestly knew that was was I wanted, not what I had heard the Lord say. I had heard “wait”. David felt pretty strongly that we were not to go back, but didn’t have clear direction on where we should go. As the final day drew nearer, we formulated a very difficult email to tell our team mates our decision. In the time that we had been waiting in RAK, we had received a sweet letter from one of our youngest team mates saying “everyone who ever comes and becomes my friend eventually leaves”. It broke my heart that we were doing the same thing to this sweet beautiful child. We had other team mates who volunteered to take over the most stressful parts of living there – investigating the security updates – so that David didn’t need to worry about those every day. Everyone was so kind and patient with us in our decision making, but when the time came we felt like we were letting everyone down. Our decision not to return was going to have ripple effects down the line that would impact everyone around us. But we had to do what we felt was right, not what was easiest or what we wanted to do.

We signed the apartment and car rental agreements for another 3 months. We would be spending Christmas in a new country. Our children would be continuing their education in their second school of the year. And David and I had A LOT of thinking and planning to do. We had to figure out where we were going to go. What were we going to do? And how would we decide?