We didn’t hear the tire blow, but we felt it.
The white 1975 Peugot and her nine unseatbelted passengers skidded crazily up the road, our driver desperately trying to bring her back under control. We were travelling home from Nyahruru Town where we’d visited one of the great natural wonders of Kenya: Thompson Falls.
I’d spent time talking with one of the saleswomen at the Falls, a Seventh Day Adventist named Sarah. We shared life stories as she taught me how to pick the leaves from a peppery tasting mustard plant. She couldn’t believe me when I told her that there were homeless people in America, the same as there were in Kenya.
“Miss Sarah,” I said, “the only difference between your country and mine is that mine has a little bit more money. We’re just as bad as y’all are at budgeting it.”
I was still thinking about Sarah when the tire blew. At first, I thought we were just going over a particularly bumpy patch of Kenyan highway, but as the ditch to our left got closer, I realized things were much more serious. Patrick was able to safely guide the vehicle to the side of the road, where we removed the tire and waited for help. The spare had—ironically—been lost on the way up to the Falls, so the only option was to wait.
On the side of the Kenyan highway. At six pm. In the oncoming dark. This was not supposed to happen.
After asking the local homeowners if anyone had a spare tire we could buy and coming up short, Patrick finally decided that he would catch a matatu (a cooperative bus that seats between 15 and 20 passengers) back to Nakuru—around an hour away—and try to buy a tire. There was no guarantee that any place would be open or that he would be able to buy a tire for the meager 1500 kenyan shillings (around $19 USD) we’d been able to scrounge up. It was starting to look like we might very well be sleeping in the vehicle we’d lovingly nicknamed, “the Limo.” He left and the rest of us settled in, for how long, we didn’t exactly know.
I was scared. This was exactly the kind of thing that had me worried about being on an all-girls team headed into Africa. We didn’t even have the money to get all of us home in a matatu. We were completely stranded. Caitlin turned on worship music and I put my head down and started to pray silent prayers of protection. Mostly, all I could think was
Jesus, please. Please, Jesus.
His answer came quickly. Jesus said,
No weapon.
I sat up. Pastor Mary, a lady we lovingly call “Mom”, prays this over us on a daily basis. She binds the Devil and his works, his demons, his plans and declares that “NO WEAPON FORMED AGAINST US WILL PROSPER.”
Jesus said it again,
No weapon, Heather.
In America, it probably wouldn’t have occurred to me to think of a blown tire as spiritual warfare, especially not when the objective of our travels wasn’t in the least bit ministerial. At this point in the Race, however, I’ve seen too many “normal accidents” caused by demonic forces to think for a minute that this incident could be anything but just that. I leaned my head against the window and stared up at the stars, the constellations bright in this moonless night.
Okay Jesus. No weapon. You promised us and you’re faithful to fulfill your promises. So this weapon will not prosper.
Someone knocked at the passenger door and I held my breath. A flashlight shone in. It was Micah, the only remaining male passenger, coming to tell us that the family up the road had offered to let us stay with them. We all piled out of the car and into their living room, a space complete with dark red couches topped with neon green doilies. On the wall hung a sign, “IN THIS HOUSE, THERE ARE NO STRANGERS, ONLY FRIENDS.”
Richard, Lucy, and their children prepared a feast of ugali, beef stew and cabbage for us. At the end of the night, as we were leaving, new tire attached, we held hands and sang
I am a soldier in the Army / I am a soldier in the Army
I am a soldier in the Army / I am a soldier in the Army of the LORD.
We left our blessing on the house when we left.
Richard, Lucy, Millicent, and the two youngest girls
I left the home amazed at the intricacy of the plots of the Enemy and the sheer big-ness of my God to combat them. He’d stolen our spare tire, put us in a life-threatening situation and riddled our team with spirits of fear and frustration. Those were his weapons. But my God of the Angel Armies had come in with a shield of protection and spirit of peace. The Enemy had sought to kill and destroy, but my God was a strong tower, impenetrable and unbroken. We were protected absolutely. The Enemy failed.
But then, he always will.
"No weapon that is fashioned against you will succeed, and you will refute every tongue that rises against you in judgement. This is the heritage of the servants of the LORD and their vindication from me, declares the LORD." -Isaiah 54:17
