The night hours slipped by as we crawled along, stuck in a traffic jam, moving only a few meters at a time. The darkness as we wove our way around potholes and through villages was unnerving. Where were the lighted houses, the occasional lit up store, the other lights that trademark the villages? Blackout, that’s what it was. The thick darkness was a feeble effort at keeping Putin’s troops from spotting villages and towns to bomb.
And then through the darkness came music. Although it was five in the morning in Ukraine, it was evening in Washington and the night for _____’s closing program. The connection was poor and we could not connect at first. When our call finally went through, the first words we heard were those of intercessional prayer for us, for our country. Tears filled my eyes as I pictured the crowd of youth and the audience of listeners, all bowing their heads and praying for us. Then the singing began, each song a balm for our weary souls. The words took on new meaning as we listened to them from the position of refugees. As they sang “Chariots of Fire” I could envision the flaming chariots surrounding us. “This World Is Not My Home” was never so meaningful. Other songs they sang seemed picked for the occasion: “Master, the Tempest is Raging,” “Under His Wings,” and more. Being able to listen to the _____ chorus helped our brothers seem not so far away.
We miss them! We miss _____’s adventurous spirit and _____’s logical opinions. But we are grateful that they are safe in the States. I’m afraid the soldiers at the checkpoints would not be too happy to see them in our vehicle. The way it is, they give _____ a hard time. “Listen, I’m only fifteen,” he told them when they said he’s just the kind of man they need. “Who cares?” the soldier replied, “We need everyone.” We are so glad for _____’s presence though. He has the ability to see potential in every situation. He is doing a good job at putting up with his emotional sisters and being a real man. We have been taking high doses of the medicine of laughter these past days. It helps make up for our meltdowns.
The trip that normally took 7 hours, stretched into over fifteen, but eventually we arrived at the _____ House, weary and worn. It was a little after seven in the morning, and the church house was still dark. Benches were pushed together to make beds, and sleeping children lay on them. It was a glad reunion with church families and brothers and sisters from our other _____ churches.
The kitchen bustled with activity as families took turns using the stove to prepare breakfast for their children. One family prepared oatmeal and another cooked a pot of rice and fried some eggs. Still others made sandwiches. Our turn came to use the stove and we dug out eggs from our van and yogurt and cheese that had been made for the market. Ah, market, will our stand there ever be open again? What will our customers do without the milk products they depended on? I pushed these thoughts away, and helped prepare breakfast.
After eating, we gathered in the auditorium for a time of worship. Hope shone through the clouds as we sang and shared together. Brother _____ read and expounded on Philippians 4. What depths of encouragement are found in those verses: “And the peace of God which passeth understanding shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.” The peace that passeth understanding shone through the tear dimmed eyes.
Then we gathered outside to bid farewell to more of our brothers and sisters who were ready to head for the border. I could not keep back the tears as I hugged the motherless _____ girls goodbye. They were bravely setting out on their own. Their papa refused to leave home, but at least he had allowed his children to go. _____, only nineteen, but bearing the huge responsibility of her younger sisters; _____, twelve years old, sorting her way through the complexities and unfairness of life; and _____, the little four year old that I love like my own. Of all the dark moments of the last weeks, that one was the hardest.
Others were also making heartrending goodbyes. I saw the look of anguish on faces as they parted with loved ones, a grandpa to his grandchildren, mother to her daughters, siblings. Separation of loved ones is one of war’s greatest horrors.
The remaining brothers gathered for a lengthy meeting, discussing the various options and seeking God’s will for the next step. While they met, the ladies in our load went to one of the mission houses where four of our church families were staying along with some of their relatives fleeing with them. _____ switched back to her school teacher role. Over half of her students and their siblings were running around the house in need of entertainment. _____ pulled out the cookies they had baked on Wednesday, the last day of school, and they did the art class, decorating sugar cookies, that had been planned for Thursday. It was a ray of sunshine and normality in a time when life felt upside-down.
After lunch our family left for the mountains. The trip that should have taken three hours took seven. We went through five checkpoints, where the police had to see our documents, look through our luggage, and know where we are going. A few days earlier we had reserved a motel room in the area where we were planning on staying. At that time we had thought we would have church people traveling with us who would not be able to make it up the steep path to our hut. Well, the hotel reservation was a life saver. Several times the police/soldiers called the motel receptionist to confirm that she was actually expecting us. “You’re expecting a _____ of Americans? A family with children?” Thankfully she graciously accepted and claimed us.
Darkness descended long before we reached our destination. The thought of crossing the precarious foot bridge and climbing a steep, slippery slope to a cold hut looked daunting. We stopped at the motel and wondered if they would have room for all of us. The lady of the hotel was happy to show us a little cabin that had just been built. She offered that we could be her first guests. A warm, furnished, four bedroom cabin with comfortable beds and a kitchen felt like a gift. For the first time in days, I had a full night of restful sleep.
We started the next day slowly, savoring the comforts of shelter and warmth. We had a special Sunday morning service, a time of sharing and singing and finding comfort in the precious promises. “Keep me, Jesus, as the apple of Thy eye” became our family theme song, our daily prayer. “Hide me under the shadow of Thy wing. Keep Thine hand upon me lest I die.” The words took on a depth of meaning unknown before. “Keep me, Jesus, as the apple of Thine eye.”
After a Sunday dinner of potatoes and pork, we packed our bags and headed up the mountain to our little house. The lane down to the river was too snowy to drive, so we parked our van by the road and shouldered our belongings. The log foot bridge across the murmuring river was still standing and we inched our way across it and up the steep mountain path to the little house, our refuge in the mountains. Memories of last summer and our time spent here with _____ came flooding back.
It did not take long for us to feel at home and to settle our meager belongings in the tiny two bedroom house. _____ and _____ claimed the tiny summer kitchen nearby as their quarters. Dad and Mom took the small room and the larger of the rooms became a bedroom for the five sisters, the kitchen, and the living room. Each room has its own pechka, a wood stove. The fire in the pechka took the chill out of the air, provided a place for us to cook, and gives a place to dry our hand washed laundry.
Are we safe? I do not know. Is there any safe place in Ukraine right now? Likely not. But we do feel relatively safe here, way back in the mountains, in a little hut. Our only close neighbors are two elderly babushkas, widows who live here alone and are delighted for company. Several kilometers away is a store that carries the basics and, perhaps just as importantly, WiFi. The store owners graciously gave us their password, and we, in turn, did our share of shopping.
The threat of bombs and soldiers seem distant. Limited communication with the outside world has its benefits. But our hearts ache with the occasional news that filters through. It does not look good at all. I wonder how many lives will be scarred before this terrible war ends. In the shelter of our house in the mountains, I feel almost guilty for being safe when so many others are suffering.
We intend to make good use of our time in the mountains. Quality family times, singing and praying together, books to read, and prayer support letters to write, water to draw from the well, wood to chop, laundry to scrub by hand, fires to stoke, water to heat, school work for the students, and computer work for some of the others. The basics of living take long in such primitive conditions, but right now there is no hurry, except for the curfew. Martial Law commands everyone to be inside their houses from five in the evening until eight in the morning. Lights are to be dimmed and windows covered. Life takes on a slow pace, but that is alright.
Heavy on our minds is our loved ones still back in the village. We cheer them for their bravery, for being willing to stay behind to help meet the needs. Our hearts are back there with them. We receive phone calls asking for our houses to be used as lodging for refugees from other parts of Ukraine. We received a call asking for our van to be used to haul food and the wounded. We direct the requests back to the few who have stayed behind. Our school houses and some of the houses have been turned into refugee shelters.
We hold our breath as we wait for news of our loved ones trying to escape the border. Many have made it through as families, and we rejoice. But we cry for those who cannot go together. Unless a man has three dependent children, he cannot cross the border. One dear brother tried, but ended up letting his wife and adult children cross without him. He has only three more years until he’s 60, and then he could be safe from the draft. What will happen to him? What about our other brothers? The threat of draft is real. Will they be strong enough to stand against the pressure to fight? Join us in praying for them.
The Mennonites in Suceava, Romania, have been the hands and feet of Jesus to the weary refugees who have made it across the border. They have been providing for the needs of our brothers and sisters, giving them shelter, food, and a place of refuge. All of us wonder how long it will be until we can go back to our homes. When will this war end? When will we have peace?
And yet in the midst of this turmoil, we are finding peace for our hearts. Outside my window the snow blows and flakes fall, blanketing the world. I see God’s grace falling, as thick and fast as the swirling flakes. His peace covers our hearts, like the blanket of snow on the mountainside. I believe in miracles. Today our family stood in the snow and sang “There is peace in the time of trouble. There is peace in the midst of the storm. There is peace though the world be raging. In the shelter of His arms.”
Are we safe? Yes, we are. We are safe in the shelter of His arms. Thank you for your prayers. We feel them and we can’t thank you enough. The highlight of the day is when we go to the store and get WiFi. Your messages and kind words of encouragement are a daily boost to our morale. I never knew how many people cared about us. Tears of gratefulness fill my eyes as we read one message after another. The songs you send, the gems from the Scripture, the words of encouragement — we savor each one. Brothers and sisters that I never met have taken time to let us know they are interceding for us, for our church people, and for our country. Our hearts are humbled and blessed by the care and support we feel. Thank you so much!
I wonder what it must look like from heaven, the sweet incense of the prayers of the saints must be billowing into clouds. The angels must be especially busy as they care for the aching, the dying, and the seeking. And I can’t help but think that God’s heart must be touched as He sees people calling out to Him like never before. I’ve always believed that God doesn’t waste pain, even though I’ve often wondered why He allows it. As our country reels in pain, I know God is working behind the scenes. Already some good has resulted. As the war rages nearer and nearer, our hearts turn to God with a passion that was once lacking. Our prayers have found new fervor, and our bond as brothers and sisters in Christ has been strengthened.
Keep on praying, dear prayer warriors.
Sincerely, _____ for the _____
February 28, 2022
Notes from Mark:
- I anonymized this report for security reasons and present it here as a guest post with permission from the writer.)
- I present this, not for sensationalism, but to increase the human connection to what is going on in Ukraine and to give God’s people some specific prayer material.
- Want to help financially? How to Help Ukrainian Refugees Fleeing War