The frame of the couch in the great main room had already surrendered. Even though not one of the 61 “children” weighed more than 120 pounds, the wooden frame and cushions somehow had not been prepared for the weight of grief and trauma each soul would be carrying. I sat enveloped in the weary springs of it and watched as 6 year old Bokdonna observed the other children jostling around. I caught her looking my way several times and I could read her eyes, her body language. While I spoke only one word of Ukrainian at that point, my heart understood the language she was screaming with through her eyes.
I patted the wilted cushion beside me, inviting her close in what I hoped was a universal gesture. Her “childlike adventurous spirit for new places” circuit was blown by the bombs that had driven her mother to put her on a bus with strangers for a 9 hour bus ride to another country. She clutched a cell phone in her hand, her only link to her life in Ukraine. In the days to come I would come to resent those cell phones and the sudden wail of an air raid siren that would simultaneously pierce the air from each child’s phone, reminding them when their home town was under attack.
But for now, though she still would not meet my eyes, she timidly sat down close to me. I put my arm up offering to pull her close and she leaned in.
One month ago we had not one reason to ever meet each to her.
BUT WAR HAD COME.
I knew I was not dangerous, I knew I was safe. I knew the intentions of my heart. She did not. War had given her no options but to remain standing there alone or to risk my offer.
I could feel her muscles melt in to me, I pulled her whole body close against my side.
Then she just clung.
In the next 24 hours we quickly realized that each of the kids still possessed ONE thing that had NOT been taken away from them, ONE thing that was immeasurably personal and that would bring a smile to even the most distant of them…and that was the sound of their name. So for the next 2-3 days we worked hard to twist our tongue around their names and the importance to them of being pronounced correctly. Simply walking to the kitchen/meal hall became a test of memory…but each recall we saw their hearts and smiles crack open.
When we said yes to serving a few months in Romania near the Ukraine border, we were prepared for action, for manual labor in cold warehouses, for long drives into Ukraine to deliver thousands of food packages, we were prepared to GO, to DO, to WORK….and there has been some of that for sure.
Packing food bags and inventorying donated goods have left us dirty and tired and happy.
What we were not prepared for was the open door into over 200 little (ish) human hearts.
The organization we are serving here has found and created beautiful spaces for these children to wait out the war. Some are full orphans (whose entire Ukrainian orphanage has been temporarily relocated to these safe places) some are just children at risk who happen to be from cities that are in the occupied zone that are not safe AT ALL to live in.
From sun up to long past sun down we worked through translators and wove deep down into their hearts and stories. What a wide open door to share the LOVE of Jesus. War and living as a refugee opens doors that otherwise could take years to open.
THANK YOU to those of you who have made this trip possible through your prayers and financially giving to Relentless Hope.
