Extraction Day

With Gratitude

Before I say anything else—thank you.

To the men and women who serve in the military.
To the families who serve alongside them.

You sacrifice in ways most of us will never fully understand. My background is not military. I don’t know all the terms or strategies, and I do not pretend to understand what you endure. I only borrow the language because it is the closest picture I have for what this felt like.

From the beginning, I knew God had called me into an assignment.
Boots on the ground.

There were battles while I was there. I can only assume there were more spiritual battles I never saw—protected by my Commander.

So perhaps I should not have been surprised when I received a message from America that morning:

“It’s Extraction Day. No one gets left behind. He’s bringing you home.”

Deployment

I had accepted the assignment.
Counted the cost.
Put my affairs in order.
Deployed.
Followed the Commander.

And now it was time to be extracted.

Debriefing would come.
Rehabilitation would come.
Another assignment would eventually come.

But first, I was being brought home.

In my naivety, I packed my suitcases, arrived at the airport in Johannesburg, and assumed I would sleep my way back to America.

Leaving South African airspace.
Crossing international airspace.
Re-entering American soil.

I did not yet understand what that crossing would require.

The Warning

I had been warned there would be a battle.

But I had also chosen not to fear.

What I did not know at the time was that people back home were fasting and praying specifically for my return. Special forces, if you will. Intercessors awakened in the night.

I boarded the plane bound for New Jersey. A last-minute seat assignment made me pause.

Good? Bad? Neutral?

I messaged the prayer partners.

When I found my seat, I discovered I had an entire row to myself. I could lie down. I could rest. I pulled out my journal and pen. I knew I would need them.

Throughout the night, I woke repeatedly from dreams and visions. Each time I recorded the details and the exact time.

If I was going to live the words “do not fear,” the enemy was going to test them.

The dreams were disturbing. A few were so intense I had to watch a movie before attempting to sleep again.

But each time I woke, I wrote—and chose peace.

4:30 A.M.

Later, I learned that multiple women back home were awakened at 4:30 a.m. to pray.

None of them knew the others were awake.

We would later discover that was the exact time my plane entered U.S. airspace.

The spiritual battle was real. And God, who could have handled it alone, invited others into it. He was training His special forces—regardless of geography.

The dreams were not random. They were demonic in nature. Designed to intimidate. Designed to frighten. Designed to reclaim something.

The enemy wasn’t just after my peace.

He was after my healing.

“All My Healing”

I have spent years walking through healing. Years learning how to live in freedom—and how to help others find it.

The threat in the dreams was clear: he wanted it back.

All of it.

But this was not a battle he would win.

God exposed what the enemy was attempting. Through prayer and deliverance, through repentance for any agreement I had unknowingly made, I asked for complete restoration and protection.

He was faithful to answer.

Debrief and Rehabilitation

It took weeks after landing on American soil for my body to catch up with what had happened spiritually.

While I was overseas, I felt sustained—strong even. But once home, exhaustion set in. It felt as though my body had finally realized it had been in a war.

God had carried me daily. And now He allowed me to rest.

There was debriefing. Processing. Unpacking the “intel” I had carried home. I asked the Lord when and how it would be used.

First came physical healing.
Then deeper spiritual clarity.

Prayer sessions revealed the layers of what had occurred. Freedom came again—not because I had lost it, but because God was sealing it.

The following weeks were marked by long stretches alone with Him. Sitting in His presence. Being refreshed in ways I did not know I needed.

Rehabilitation, in the Kingdom, looks like intimacy.

Called Back In

As I write this, I am preparing for another two months in South Africa.

Called back in.

No full briefing.
No detailed battle plan.

Just trust.

Over the years, I have built and stretched the muscles of faith. It was the best decision I ever made.

“Yes, Lord. I will go wherever, whenever.”

He is my Commander and my guide.
My protector and provider.
My friend and my shield.

Extraction Day was not the end.

It was proof that I am never left behind.

And with Him, I will go anywhere.