Story By Aaron Rittenour

Airports are almost always hectic—people coming and going at every hour of the day and night. And yet, after all the travel we’ve done, they somehow feel like home to us. Airports have quite literally been our home for days at a time. To stretch every dollar the Lord has entrusted to us, we often end up sleeping in a quiet corner or beneath a row of seats once exhaustion finally wins.

Today’s story is about one of those airports—and about a moment when God intervened in a way that saved us more than $2,000.

It was nearly 1:00 p.m. on a Tuesday in Kampala, Uganda. A wonderfully blessed trip was coming to an end, and in just two hours we were scheduled to board our flight back home. We had followed the advice of locals on when to leave for the airport, but an unexpected traffic backup—likely from an accident—left us stuck far from our destination. As the minutes slipped by, anxiety slowly crept in.

Not only did we need to catch our flight, but I also had to make one last stop at the customs office on the far end of the airport. When we first arrived in Uganda, our drone had been confiscated. We had researched the rules carefully before leaving home, and according to the Ugandan government’s own website, drones of a certain size were permitted. But upon arrival, officials informed us otherwise. They took the drone and locked it away, giving us a paper slip so we could retrieve it when we left the country.

By the time traffic finally cleared and we pulled up to the airport, we were already in trouble.

We rushed inside and joined the ticket line—only to find it stretched on forever. We tried to move ahead, explaining our situation, but the agents wouldn’t allow it. When we finally received our boarding passes, our plane was scheduled to board in just 30 minutes, and we hadn’t even gone through security or immigration.

Lexi and I made a difficult decision.

She would go ahead and try to make the flight. I would run to customs to retrieve the drone. We both knew what that meant: I almost certainly wouldn’t make the plane and would have to rebook a completely new flight back to the U.S.—a costly and exhausting ordeal. But we couldn’t leave behind such an expensive piece of equipment.

With adrenaline surging, I ran.

First came a security checkpoint. Then a visitor badge. Then an elevator. Then two more security checkpoints, including one where my entire camera bag had to be searched. By the time I reached customs, I was sweating, breathless, and probably looked desperate.

A security officer led me to the locker, and I quickly retrieved the drone. When I showed my boarding pass to the woman working there, she laughed and said, “Well… you missed that flight.”

My heart dropped.

I blamed myself for not arriving earlier. This wasn’t just our money—this was God’s money. This was His mission. We live simply enough back at home, and a mistake like this would cost us dearly. Silently, I cried out to God.

That was when the security woman turned to a customs officer and said, “I’ll be right back.”

She grabbed my arm—and we ran.

Through security. Back up the elevator. A quick stop to return my visitor badge. Then through another checkpoint. She was moving people aside, calling out on her radio, clearing a path. A colleague told her that according to the monitors, the plane was still on time.

Still, she kept pulling me forward.

We rushed through security and then to immigration, where she actually got into a shouting match with someone we had cut in line. My last glimpse of her was after I was cleared—I looked back and saw her smiling and waving as I took off at a full sprint.

I rounded the corner toward my gate, fully expecting to see an empty terminal.

Instead, it was packed with people still waiting.

Then, over the loudspeaker:

Ding. Ding. Ding.

“Attention, ladies and gentlemen, due to a slight delay, we will now begin boarding for Flight QR9021.”

I stood there in disbelief.

The screens never showed a delay. The radios said the flight was on time. Everything suggested I was too late. And yet—somehow—I wasn’t.

I have no doubt that God held that plane for a few extra minutes.

Sometimes God’s guidance is subtle. Sometimes it is dramatic. But that day, standing in an airport in Uganda with a drone in my hands and a gate still open in front of me, I was reminded once again that God sees, God cares, and God is leading this ministry every step of the way.

“Are not two sparrows sold for a copper coin? And not one of them falls to the ground apart from your Father’s will. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Do not fear therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.”
— Matthew 10:29–31