I started writing this two days before our scheduled departure from Dubai. It was a sunny, beautiful day, and from my window, life looked normal. But with no exit ramp in sight for the U.S.–Israel–Iran war, and emergency alerts on my phone instructing us to find shelter because of potential missile threats, I knew it wasn’t. Our first flight back to the U.S. was canceled, and we entered our second week in Dubai since the war began. Surprisingly, those days became an unexpected gift.
I’ve always loved the idea of God’s sufficient grace, but I wasn’t sure it was sufficient for me. I used to wonder whether God fully understood the depth of my weakness. Now the words of 2 Corinthians 12:9, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness,” have come alive for me in ways I never anticipated.
If you had asked me last month how I would respond to the uncertainty of living in a war zone, I would have said I’d completely fall apart. I am a recovering worrier; my partner sometimes affectionately calls me the “human warning label.” While his life mantra is “What could possibly go wrong?” I’m usually the one performing a full SWOT analysis on what to have for breakfast. I’ve spent years trying to anticipate and prepare for every possible catastrophe, but I certainly never thought living with the threat of missile strikes would be one of them. It’s a stark reminder of how much I crave control, and how little I actually have.
Yet, in the middle of the what-ifs, I didn’t fall apart. Instead, I found a steady peace through a series of divine connections that proved His grace is indeed enough. The first was a visit to Alserkal Avenue, a creative hub in Dubai. I had wanted to go but had been too unsettled to do so once the war began. Troy and I then decided to make the most of our time in Dubai despite the circumstances, so when a friend invited us for a walk at Kite Beach, a place I’d also wanted to visit but had set aside, we went early on a Sunday morning. There were just a handful of runners and cyclists enjoying the sunrise with us, but two hours later, the beach was full of people, swimming, sunbathing, exercising, or enjoying breakfast at the boardwalk cafés. The normalcy was a balm for my spirit.
While we chatted over coffee at one of those cafés, my friend asked if I had been to Alserkal Avenue and urged me to go if I hadn’t. That was the nudge I needed. I checked whether it was near any embassies, since some embassies had been targeted by Iranian missile and drone attacks; Alserkal was not. We went that afternoon. My senses, once tuned to the signs of danger, drones, emergency alerts, loud booms, black smoke, and sirens, shifted to noticing small joys: art that made me smile and think, perfumes evoking the Silk Road, and artisanal chocolates infused with cardamom, dates, and rose water. Continuing along the avenue, I also found a shop that rescues old bicycle frames from landfills, refurbishes them, and uses part of the proceeds to buy bikes for children in refugee camps. Witnessing what humans can do to inspire and connect rather than destroy and divide filled me with joy, wonder, and hope. That hope made me feel unexpectedly bold. That boldness was tested the next day when I saw Awad, one of our favorite security guards. While I was walking laps around our complex, staying close to the hotel in case of emergency alerts, I smiled and waved at Awad. Instead of just smiling and waving back, he walked up to me and said, “Why are you just walking? You should run!” I had been thinking about running again, but was worried about re-injuring my ankle after a bad sprain. Despite my physical therapist’s OK, I had stuck to power walking. I laughed off Awad’s remark and kept walking. Awad said it again on my next lap, and the third time around, when he said it yet again, I decided to give it a go. To my surprise, my ankle felt fine, and my spirit felt even better.
I would need that courage in the days that followed as we got closer to our rescheduled flight: the alerts and loud booms increased, and activity around the airport led to more cancellations and delays. The day before we left, an alert sounded during my morning walk, and a sudden boom made me turn back; Troy, who had gone for a run, called from about 30 minutes away, and I told him I was headed to the hotel. As I rounded the corner, I saw a plume of black smoke down the street. I prayed no one was hurt. I was so relieved when Troy came to the hotel gym to find me. I was running on the treadmill after choosing the one furthest from the window.
On the morning of our flight, bleary-eyed after only a few hours of sleep because of the overnight alerts, I wondered if we were heading to the airport for nothing. Troy checked the app, and the flight was still on time. Alerts continued, and reports showed increased activity near our hotel and around the airport. After checking in, another alert went off, and an airline employee instructed everyone to move. There are large floor-to-ceiling windows in the terminal and a skylight above; we were asked to line up flush against the wall to maximize cover. The ordinary act of waiting felt oddly sacred and tense at once. I tried not to think about how I would feel once the plane took off amid so much missile and drone activity. My sister sent a news story about fighter jets accompanying each commercial flight upon takeoff. I tried to reassure myself that those in charge would make sure the airspace was safe. In the end, I just kept repeating to myself that God’s grace is sufficient and recalling some of the verses we had read for our Lenten small group.
Psalm 121:7–8 (NIV): “The Lord will keep you from all harm—he will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.”
Psalm 91:11(NIV): “For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways.”
We boarded on time, but then sat on the tarmac with the captain saying only that the delay was ongoing. I wondered if we would have been safer in the terminal. I wondered if the flight would be canceled after all. I once again kept repeating God’s grace is sufficient. Whether we took off or returned to the hotel, God was watching our coming and going and keeping us from all harm. As the hours ticked by, Troy and I resigned ourselves to missing our connection in Chicago and spending the night there. The captain came on again to announce at least another hour and a half delay. Flight attendants began taking beverage orders and bringing snacks. Just as Troy and I were sipping our cappuccinos, the plane suddenly started backing away from the gate and taxiing. The attendants scrambled to collect the service items, and we were taking off. Troy and I held hands, and I repeated God’s grace is sufficient. I found a good movie and focused on that. About four hours in, I looked at the flight map and finally felt like I could exhale somewhere over Alexandria, Egypt.
Sixteen hours after takeoff, we landed in Chicago and discovered our connection had been significantly delayed due to gusty winds. We cleared customs, rechecked our baggage, took the air train to the other terminal, and went through security again. The plane for our connecting flight was just landing when we reached the gate. We got home safe and sound about thirty hours after leaving our hotel in Dubai.
A few days after we returned, in the midst of a terrible thunderstorm, we received emergency alerts for a tornado in the area, instructing us to find shelter in the innermost room on the lowest level of the house. We’re in Florida, so homes aren’t built for tornadoes. As I headed for the walk-in closet on the ground floor, I thought about God bringing us through the storm in Dubai.
Sitting there, I remembered one of our favorite servers at a restaurant in Dubai, Ruth. Her name reminded me of the biblical Ruth, whose story shows how God’s faithfulness guides us through our darkest times. The night before we flew out of Dubai, Troy had gone to pick up takeout while I was packing, and Ruth had said, “I have a verse for Patricia.” We often traded favorite verses. In the rush of getting ready, I’d forgotten to look it up. Sitting in the closet, I read Psalm 27:13–14, and it was exactly what I needed: “I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.”
Once again, God showed me that His grace is sufficient. I’m still a little jumpy at loud sounds, and I still have moments where fear creeps in, and my mind wanders toward the what-ifs, but in those moments, I remind myself of the galleries, the perfectly chosen Scriptures for our Lent group, Awad, Ruth, and the delayed connecting flight. They are all evidence, both big and small, of the ways God has shown that His power is made perfect in my weakness.
Reflection question:
Where have I noticed God’s presence or His sufficient grace in my weakest or darkest moments?
Note:
Thank you to everyone who prayed for us while we were in Dubai. Your prayers sustained and protected us and made us feel deeply held. I also believe they helped form the divine connections we experienced.
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