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Encouragement My "Refugee" Journal

How Long, O Lord?

About three months ago, we started a new family rhythm. Every morning, after we finish our personal Bible reading, we gather to share what we read. It’s not a deeply spiritual time with gracious words of truth flowing from the mouths of babes and infants. Usually, it’s more of a rowdy free-for-all, where no one is able to complete a sentence without someone else interrupting, and soft-spoken Mom struggles even to be heard over the noise of the six brothers. And if, against all odds, a good discussion does manage to get started, one of the teens is likely to roll his eyes and moan, “How much longer are we going to be?? Can’t we just finish already?”

But by stubbornly insisting that we all show up every day, week after week, I’m already seeing encouraging fruit. Our discussions are wide-ranging, since we’re not all following the same reading plan. Today we were in Genesis, Exodus, Deuteronomy, 2 Samuel, Psalms, Proverbs, and Matthew. It’s super fun to expand on the kids’ summaries to show how the sections they read fit into the overall story of the Bible, and now they are starting to make connections themselves.

The benefits extend beyond our morning discussions. Recently, my 17-year-old son and I got into a deep conversation about evil, justice, and the frustration we feel when it seems God isn’t judging wickedness the way we see in the Bible. Primed by our daily jaunts through the entirety of Scripture, we followed these themes from Genesis to Revelation and into our modern era. In light of Russia’s war of aggression against Ukraine, this is a deeply personal question for us.

In the end, we were profoundly encouraged to realize God hasn’t changed. Though it might seem like God was always judging evil in the Bible, drastic divine intervention to curb human cruelty has never been an everyday occurrence. The few righteous people living through the sixteen centuries before the Flood probably wondered if God was ever going to act. The children of Israel suffered for a century under genocidal oppression in Egypt before God sent ten dramatic plagues to force Pharaoh to let them go.

God says, “Vengeance is mine; I will repay.”

These waiting times were soul-crushing. People living through them felt hopeless. But God always stepped in, and from our vantage point, the final judgment takes center stage. We don’t consider how it felt to plead with God for decades or centuries. 

That conversation with my son reminded me that we are living in one of these waiting times. I shared with him some of the prophecies from the book of Revelation, and he was heartened to think that God will put an end to the injustice and cruelty in the world on an even grander scale than when he dealt with the evil Egyptian oppressors. Though we don’t see judgment yet, God has not changed. He has always given humanity lengthy grace periods before he steps in to alter the course of history.

God says, “Vengeance is mine; I will repay.” I love that. I don’t need to make anyone pay. That’s a burden too heavy for any human. It’ll twist you and break you. But God sees everything, and he will repay. Hanging onto that hope is the only way I can bear the injustice of this world.

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Inspiration My "Refugee" Journal

Reassurances

Four years, two months, and twenty-four days ago, I made a life-altering decision. It was the second day of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. My six kids and I were sheltering in a basement in Western Ukraine because of frequent air-raid sirens. Meanwhile, my husband was 230 miles away, trapped in Kyiv. 

I prayed but received no answers besides the assurance that Jesus would be beside me, no matter what happened.

I was paralyzed by fear. What if my husband didn’t survive? What if Russian bombs found us before he did? What if Russian troops swooped down from Belarus to attack Western Ukraine? I prayed but received no answers besides the assurance that Jesus would be beside me, no matter what happened. Not knowing what else to do, I took my children and fled.

Now we’re living in the EU, serving Ukrainian refugees all over the country of Hungary, and it feels like we could soon face a similar crisis. Once again, Russia seems poised to attack our region of the world. As Kremlin rhetoric becomes increasingly anti-NATO, once again, I find myself wrestling with sobering what-ifs.

It would soothe my spirit to know I and my family would survive whatever storm is brewing, but in my experience, God rarely grants such prior knowledge.

Today I came to Jeremiah 45 in my daily Bible reading. In it, God gives the scribe Baruch a promise. God says He will preserve Baruch’s life, no matter where he goes. Baruch had transcribed all of Jeremiah’s prophecies against the nation of Judah. He knew they were on a collision course with God’s judgment, and he may have been terrified of the future. It must have been a great comfort to know he would survive whatever hardships were coming. How kind of God to give him this reassurance!

I would love to have similar reassurance. It would soothe my spirit to know I and my family would survive whatever storm is brewing, but in my experience, God rarely grants such prior knowledge. But He has given me promises I can claim: His peace (John 14:27) and His presence (Matthew 28:20). I know to the depths of my soul He will be with us no matter what we face. His presence will carry us through everything—even death itself, if it comes to that. When I allow that truth to sink into my heart, it is deeply comforting. 

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Baby Joys Inspiration

My Fifth Birth Story, Part 5

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4.

Andrew, still in the NICU, but alert and responsive.

We had a very encouraging sign on Andrew’s second day in the NICU, which was his fourth day on intravenous antibiotics. On that day, he finally opened his eyes! Seeing his sweet brown eyes for the very first time moved me almost to tears. He was eight days old.

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Inspiration

Faith and the Ukrainian Medical System

This post first appeared on Assist News Service under the title “Medicine and Faith” in April 2015.

My first exposure to the Ukrainian medical system came early on. I moved to Ukraine to begin life with my husband, who had already been living here for ten years with his parents and siblings. At our wedding ceremony in Kyiv, one of the groomsmen, my husband’s 11-year-old brother Aaron, fainted. I will never forget the sickening sound of his head striking the tiled floor. He ended up spending about a month in the hospital.

During that time, my mother-in-law practically lived at the hospital with her youngest son, but I didn’t know why. Later I would learn that most nursing care in Ukraine only provides medical services. Nurses give injections, administer I.V.s, take blood pressure, etc. If a patient isn’t able to fend for himself, he needs a caretaker around the clock. My brother-in-law needed someone to feed him, help him use a bedpan, give him sponge baths, change his sheets, and even turn off his I.V.s when the fluid ran low.

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Inspiration

Peace and Safety

This post originally appeared on Assist News Service in March 2015.

After an absence of more than two months, we’re settling back into life in Ukraine. Once every three years or so, we take a two-month family furlough to the United States. With many traditional furloughs lasting a year, two months sounds incredibly short to some people, but to us it feels like a long time to be away from the work God has for us in Ukraine, which is church planting. However, we’ve found that it’s the shortest possible amount of time in which we can accomplish all we need to do when we visit the States, and we’re so grateful to our ministry team here in Ukraine and the wonderful people of the church who are able to keep things running smoothly while the pastor and his family are away.

When we returned from furlough this time, people were especially glad to welcome us back. Given the uncertainty, violence, and economic instability that have become the new norm for Ukraine, I think some wondered if we would come back at all. While there has been no fighting anywhere near where we live, it’s a heavy fact of life that Ukraine is essentially engaged in a war fought entirely within her own borders. There are constant reminders.

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Encouragement Inspiration

Humility and Grace

My mother-in-law, who is mom to nine children and one of the wisest women I know, is fond of saying that since God resists the proud but gives grace to the humble, she wants to be a humble person, because she knows just how much she needs God's grace. I'm with her 100% on that one . . . except that I'm not naturally a humble person.

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Encouragement Inspiration

Combatting Guilt . . . and Dirty Windows

It’s a beautiful spring day here in Western Ukraine. Nevermind that the temperature is hovering right around freezing–the sky is blue, and the sun is bright. It seems appropriate, as here in the Eastern Orthodox world, we’ll be celebrating Easter this coming Sunday, April 15. But as much as I love the celebration of Christ’s victory over death, this week always has the capacity to fill me with guilt. That’s because this Thursday is Chystyy Chetver, or “Clean Thursday,” in English. You see, at some point in the history of the Orthodox Church, someone decided that it was a sin to have a dirty home on the day of Christ’s crucifixion, and the tradition of Clean Thursday was born. This week Ukrainian women will labor feverishly to ensure that their homes are spotless by Good Friday, with the majority of this spring cleaning taking place on Thursday. If you took a walk in our neighborhood this Thursday, I guarantee that you’d see many people busy washing their windows. In fact, as I sit here typing, I can see one industrious neighbor already hard at work on hers, and it’s only Tuesday.

To help you understand my guilt, I have to let you in on a secret. I don’t do windows. I don’t mean that I dislike window washing or that I’m too lazy to do it or even that I’m too busy to make it a priority, although perhaps all those statements have an element of truth. No, what I mean is that at some point after having children, I made a calculated decision to stop washing windows. I still clean up the little fingerprints and wet nose art that appear on the inside of our windows, but I only wash the outsides of windows that open into our apartment or give onto a balcony, and in our current living situation, those surfaces comprise only about 50% of the total area of windowpanes. As for the other 50%? Well, I guess I just count on summer thunderstorms to keep them clean enough that they won’t become a complete eyesore.

Why do I do this?

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Encouragement

I Love My Boys

Sometimes I don't think that I can take the rampant testosterone flying about our apartment. On most days it seems like if someone isn't screaming, yelling, growling, or roaring, then something is being broken or hurled through the air.

Rather than being the serene and gentle mother I would like to be, I just feel vexed and grouchy as I scurry from one disaster-waiting-to-happen to the next, all while trying to cook meals, keep house, and manage to maintain a semblance of personal hygiene. I find a bit of consolation in the fact that none of our boys has figured out how to throw things out the window . . . yet. That's a good thing, because much of the time, my patience is about ready to exit by that route. I always considered myself a patient person―until I had kids. It's humbling, which is probably good for me, and it's forcing me to rely moment by moment on Jesus, and as far as I'm concerned, nothing could be better than that.

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Inspiration

Out of the Mouths of Babes and Infants

My husband's grandma died last week. My 4-year-old son overheard us talking about it. "She died?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. I held my breath involuntarily, wondering how to explain this to such a young child. "Yes, Great Grandma died," my husband said, "and now she's in heaven with Jesus." My son started to giggle with glee! I was shocked and disturbed, until he exclaimed, "How she got there by she's self??" (Translation: How did she get there by herself?) Then I understood.

Lately he has been preoccupied with heaven, often asking me when we can go there. When I explain that we have to wait until Jesus takes us, he says, "But I want to go now!" So when he heard that someone he knew had made it to that wonderful place, he couldn't contain his excitement, and he wondered, How did she do it?

My first instinct was to dismiss his irreverent laughter as merely the result of a lack of comprehension. He didn't really understand death, so he could be excused for thinking that this was a time to rejoice. But suddenly I realized that he understood the big picture much better than we did. In his mind, the specter of death was nothing in comparison to the joy of heaven. His thoughts were not of losing a great grandma but of her incredible good fortune to get to go where he so desperately wanted to be. I looked at his glowing face and smiled through my sadness. All of us adults with the long faces could learn a thing or two from the glee of my 4-year-old.


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Inspiration

Nightmare Inspiration

Not long ago I had a nightmare. In my dream the Nazis had taken over the country where we lived. Because my husband was Jewish (he isn't, but in the dream he was), we knew that he and our children were in great danger.

We were all taken to some sort of compound and left in a room with bunk beds. We slept, but in the middle of the night, a seemingly friendly official awoke us to tell us of the regime's plans to create pristine factories to be staffed by the expatriate Americans still left in the country. He seemed to be seeking our advice or approval for this plan, and we nodded our heads as he described how good the conditions would be and showed us pictures of a prototype. It looked wonderful. Everything was clean; even the floors were a gleaming white, and the workers were dressed neatly in starched white uniforms. But in our hearts we knew that it was all a ploy to gain our compliance; our captors did not intend any good for us.

Our fears were confirmed when this same official returned to our room to inform us that my husband and I would be taken immediately, and we were to leave our children behind. "This will be the last time you see them," he said, "so make it good." My two older boys, ages 4 and 2, were standing there, sleepy and a bit confused, and as I looked at them, my heart was in agony. I wanted to cling desperately to them and sob out my heartbreak, but I knew I needed to keep my emotions in check, because I didn't want to frighten them, and I wanted their last memory of me to be positive. Above all, in our final moments together, I wanted to impress on their young minds the importance of clinging to Jesus. He would now be the only one caring for them and our only hope of one day being reunited.

How do you communicate to such young children all that is necessary in such a short amount of time? I stood still, trying desperately to form my swirling thoughts into words that their little minds would understand and remember long after I was gone. The tension of the moment was too great, and I woke up.

Sometimes when you wake in the middle of a nightmare, your heart is pounding and your mind is racing. It takes a few moments for you to realize that it was all just a dream, but when you do, profound relief and sometimes even elation immediately flood in. This waking was not like that. My body and mind were calm, and as soon as I opened my eyes, I understood that I had been dreaming. But though I was relieved, the terror of the dream remained with me, and I lay in bed praying earnestly that, no matter what happened, my precious children would follow Jesus.

Hours later, the effect of this dream was still with me and was subtly affecting my interactions with my children. What if this were the last time I would see them? Had I taught them everything I could about the things that really mattered? Resolving their fights now centered more around teaching them that they were brothers and best friends who needed to take care of each other rather than finding out who was at fault. And I found myself frequently stopping what I was doing just to hug them and tell them that I loved them and that Jesus loves them even more.

This was a little over a week ago, and my eldest son already seems to be developing a different, more caring attitude towards his younger brother. And I think that perhaps I'm learning to enjoy my children more intentionally, even in the midst of the confusion and chaos that they generate. Though I would never want to revisit it, one day I may look back on this nightmare as one of the best things that ever happened to my parenting strategy.

—– —– —– —– —–

What about you? Has something extremely unwelcome ever turned out to be a blessing in disguise?


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