God’s Perfect Timing – The Rest of the Story

September 9–10, 2023: A Journey of Faith Part 3

As I read back through the blogs we posted in 2023, I found myself weeping halfway through. So many miraculous moments—some nearly impossible to express—came flooding back to my mind. And then I realized something: I had only told half the story from God’s Perfect Timing.

God's Perfect Timing

So here, with God’s help, I’ll attempt to finish it.

It started when we contacted Bro. Noa Kimaroh to confirm the name of the village and get directions. In rural Tanzania, GPS isn’t always helpful—especially when roads don’t have names. Bro. Noa reassured us:

“You can find the shortcut on Google.”

We couldn’t. He ended up sending a screenshot of the map and so began our journey of faith.

Only a mile or two into the drive, Michael pulled the truck over.

“This can’t be the way. This is the worst road we’ve ever been on!”

But the map told us to keep going. We called Jonas to double-check, asking about the “blacktop road.”

“Don’t worry,” Jonas said. “You’ll reach it soon.”

So we pressed on—singing, laughing, watching for that elusive stretch of pavement.

Three hours later, we reached a larger town and rejoiced to find a quarter-mile of paved road. But our celebration was short-lived—construction forced us to detour right back onto the dirt. We ended up driving alongside a four-lane highway under construction for the next two hours, repeating Philippians 4:11 to each other:

“In whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.”

Eventually, we reached Manghang—a tiny village with no accommodations. So, we kept driving. Still nothing. Then we remembered a missionary friend who runs a Bible college in Singida, two hours further.

“What’s two more hours?” we said.

When we arrived, we called Bro. Matthew—only to discover he was in Moshi. But here’s where God stepped in again. A young man named Tumaini George was there. He had been a child at Safe Haven Children’s Home where we volunteered in 2009. What a joy to reconnect! He even decided to travel back with us to attend the crusade.

The next morning, September 10, we left early and took a longer—but more reliable—route back to the village. We made it just in time for the 10 a.m. service.

The church was simple—a pole barn with tarps for walls—but the Spirit of God moved mightily. The altar filled quickly with people seeking the Lord.

Afterward, Bro. Noa took us to a nearby school building where they graciously served us lunch. Meanwhile, we tried to find transportation for Tumaini to return to Singida, but there was no bus that day. Tumaini began to panic—he needed to get back to his family.

Then, someone mentioned you could hire a car or a motorbike. And just like that—God made a way. Tumaini headed home.

Just as we were preparing to leave, Bro. Noa stopped us:

“You came to preach at the Crusade! You can’t leave now.”

Wait—what had we just preached at, then? It turns out the morning service was just the Revival. The actual Crusade would take place later that afternoon... in a field. A literal open field, with a makeshift platform and chairs arranged in a half-circle on dry ground. That afternoon, the Spirit moved again. Bro. Michael preached a powerful message titled:  “Who’s in Your Boat?”

Around 20 people responded, coming forward to accept Jesus into their hearts. A group of young adults from our ministry team recorded names and villages so local pastors could follow up.

As we packed up, we heard Bro. Noa’s voice again:

“No, no, Brother—you cannot leave! You need to preach the youth rally. I’ve already announced it.”

The rally wasn’t scheduled to begin until 8 p.m.

Michael and I exchanged a glance—we were exhausted, far from home, with no place to stay, unsure of the road back, and aware of how dangerous it could be to drive on unfamiliar dirt roads at night. But even in our human weakness, our hearts answered yes.

And I’m so glad we did.

That service was nothing short of amazing. The place was packed, and the young people responded in overwhelming numbers. The altar, the aisles—every space was filled with youth surrendering their lives fully to God’s service.

Around 10:30 p.m., we finally began the long trip home. Bro. Noa insisted on riding with us—he knew the roads better than we did, and they weren’t exactly well-marked… or paved.

About an hour and a half into the drive, we had a flat tire. It was pitch dark. We had no signal. No idea where we were.

This was exactly what Michael had feared.

He and Noa got out to assess the damage with our one flashlight. The truck was tilted so far on the peaked road that the jack wasn’t tall enough to lift it. They had to dig under the wheel with the tire iron.

And then... the wheel wouldn’t budge.

What now?

Suddenly—my phone beeped. A signal!

I called our daughter Glenna, who was at our home church. She immediately shared the need, and the church began to pray.

Within minutes, a group of men showed up to help. With some elbow grease and a very large rock, the wheel finally came loose. The tire was changed, and we were back on our way.

And oh—I almost forgot.

Remember in my previous blog how I mentioned the colorful wraps Michael frivolously purchased from some Maasai peddlers?

Turns out, it was freezing on that mountaintop, and I hadn’t packed a single jacket. I was totally unprepared.

But God wasn’t.

As I reflect on that whirlwind weekend—the roads, the unexpected services, the flat tire in the dark—I’m overwhelmed by God’s faithfulness.

What felt like detours were actually divine appointments. What seemed like delays were doors opening. What looked like weakness in us became space for His strength.

God’s perfect timing isn’t just about arriving at the right place. It’s about what He chooses to do on the way there.

We didn’t always know the road. But He never lost sight of the destination.

And through it all, we were reminded:

 He goes before us. Every time.