Chapter 8

July 18, 2014

Before I take the car out, I pray over the it.  I know that may sound strange to some, but living in a war zone, where people are stepping on land mines, where there are signs along the road warning travelers of ‘MINES’.  You never really know who or what may appear on the side of the road with a gun, demanding your documents, and possibly you and/or your car; it is basically foolish if not arrogant, NOT to pray.  God is here, but God has allowed this land to reap the consequences of decades of poor leadership, and turning their backs on Him.  This is what it looks like…not a pretty picture…scary at best.   

Today I needed to go to Novghovroske, aka, ‘New York’, but I can’t take the car there, it is too risky.  The separatists have constructed a road block, and everyone must stop and they have been known to just eject people from their vehicles, and just ‘take’ them.   I would use the word ‘confiscate’, but that would infer some sort of ‘right’ to take the vehicle, these people have no rights, and deserve no respect for this illegal, hostile invasion.  But, life goes on, and I need to get to ‘New York’ to pay for the internet.  I can’t risk having no internet due to ‘failure to pay’.  I decided to get up early in the morning, walk the ½ mile to the bus stop and take the bus.  I’m alone, no translator, and though I can navigate the bus, and the office that I’m going to, if the separatist stop the bus, I’m in trouble.  As the bus pulls up, it is packed with people, not a seat in sight, wall to wall people.  I squeeze in and end up standing.  As we travel down the once smooth road, now quite bumpy from the numerous tanks traveling back and forth to the front lines, I glance at the people around me. Wondering what they think of all this, how they are coping, no one dares to converse, we all know what is coming in 5-7 minutes…the block post, where anything can happen. Praying the entire way as the road is still blocked by separatists.  The bus slowly pulls up to the checkpoint, the ‘soldiers’ (a very loose term for these men) sit there all haughty, like they are ‘somebody’, with their stolen cars…like, it isn’t very difficult to take someone’s car, if you are pointing a gun at them; I can only imagine, if I was on the bus and I saw my car sitting there, I would probably jump out of my skin, wanting to go and GET it from them.  The driver comes to a stop, and a large shirtless man boards the bus, I look down, intentionally not making eye contact with him, as one only knows if he is a ‘local’, he may recognize me, and pull me from the bus. He ‘barks’ out a few things, but no one replies, and the he just backs off the bus. We get through the check point without further confrontation.  Thank you Lord.   

Standing the entire way to the bus station, we finally arrive, and most everyone departs. I get to the internet office and it was closed!!…there is a number on the door, so I calling them I am told that they moved their office to Dzershinsk.!   Waste of 2 hours and 6 ghrivas.  Back to the bus station, wait for the bus, get back on the bus, back to Dzerzhinsk, walk home, get the van and go to the local internet office.  Thank God for the safe travel, but a lot of time wasted.  Got to the office and paid the internet, then decided that while I was in town, better pick up a few things at the grocery. I usually do not venture out to the grocery in the middle of the day, as there are too many ‘soldiers’ on the streets, and most anyone in Dzerzhinsk that knows me, knows I’m ‘the’ American, that lives there. Entering the store, the first thing I notice is that what little there is on the shelves, most are bare, with little selection of any products.  Prices have sky rocketed, due to the delivery trucks not chancing the road and roadblocks to get to Dzerzhinsk.  Many times they are hijacked and products are taken for the separatists.  Many distributors have refuse to come out our way at all; merchants boosted prices in an effort to make what little money they can, but shelves are usually only one or 2 products deep. It is not uncommon to be at the grocery and ‘soldiers’ walk through just taking items and walking out.  They may walk in and go straight to the check out, taking a few beers, and several packs of cigarettes and walking out. Everyone just glares at them in disdain, but no one says a word. Sometime the ‘grannies’ will make unkind remarks to them about their behavior, but for the most part, everyone is quiet. Most of these ‘soldiers’ will walk in front of others even if they are paying; or enter the store, gather a few items, and walk out.  I have finally found a few things to purchase, and head for the check out. At the check out three men walked in front of me, I just glared at them, wishing to say something to them, but knowing that may have serious consequences.  Instead I prayed for their weak minds, that they would be enlightened some way to the truth of this invasion and leave the group.  Each of them had a machine gun tossed over their shoulders, 2 were shirtless.  That was probably the first time I was that close to a machine gun, basically inches from my body, and though I do believe ‘perfect love casts out fear’, it did spark a shudder in my heart, but not the men who carried it.  We have heard of people dying due to the lack of training given to the ‘separatists’.  Some boys, just 17, 18 years old given a gun that could kill 10-20 in seconds, in addition that most of their equipment had not been maintained, was old, and probably things like the trigger ‘safety’ may not even work properly.   The 3 in front of me were not teens, they were probably in their late 20’s, early 30’s. They had beer, liquor, meat, cheese and chips, and then grabbed some cigarettes from the check out area.  Two paid, one did not, and he was laughing at the other 2 for paying.

Before returning home, I headed over to the gas station to see if they had gas today. Since trucks are not able to get through, gas is in short supply. Praying on the way there, Praise the Lord, the station was open and allowing for just 10 liter’s. I was able to get gas for the weed eater, and a little for the car, then off the bank to exchanged money, as one never knows the future, and banks may be open one day, closed the next. My friends in Crimea said that their local bank closed, and they lost ALL their money, as they had a bank account with money in it. Separatists ceased the bank, and no one was allowed in to withdraw their money. They lost everything. Luckily, I closed my account before the separatists moved into Dzerzhinsk, I didn’t want to take any chances of that happening to me. But I still needed to exchange dollars for ghrivas, to be able to purchase things in town. The bank was exchanging today, so I was able to exchange and returned home. 

My task for the afternoon was to make apricot jam.  Made 7 – ½ quarts…not bad for only the cost of the sugar, since the apricots were all free from the local trees!!   Every night I take a walk to the end of the street and pick apricots.  Seems that someone may have lived there at one time, as the trees seem to be in specific areas and there is a clearing in the middle, like there could have been a house there at one time…   There are apple, plum, cherry, apricot, and berry trees all right there, and free for the taking!!!   I go every night a have picked buckets full.  I freeze them and use them in my protein shakes!  I started drinking protein shakes when food became so expensive and scarce.  I bought a little hand blender, and I’m fully prepared, if we lose all food products, I can survive about 2 months on fruit, yogurt and these shakes.  Thank you God for this wonderful harvest!!   

July 17, 2014

We had a quiet day today until 7 pm. When my oldest son, Dallas called from the U.S., sharing the sad news that a Malaysian Airliner was shot down by what appears to be the separatists using RU ‘land to air’ BUK missile.  The flight was traveling from RU to Amsterdam, with most passengers being Dutch, 294 people were killed on the plane. It was shot down over Toraz, a town we know very well.   This town is home to the Toarz ‘Rehabilitation’ Hospital, and an orphan Internot where we have served women, and children classified as ‘invalids’, since 2004.  I say ‘rehabilitation’ hospital, because children enter, but never leave, unless they are being transferred out.  In all the years of association with them, I never once saw any PT or OT work going on with anyone.  Our relationship with the facility was fractured when we were approached by The London Times to do an undercover story on the facility and the conditions that the residents are made to live in .  I escorted a group to the facility, where a photojournalist took over 3000 photos of the women, and children; the facility, the food, and care, or lack there of.  After the story hit the press, sadly we were told we could not return to the facility.  Though we have been to this town probably 60 times, provided thousands of dollars in aid, formed relationships with children; we were forbidden to return.   And now a plane has been shot down in the fields just kilometers from these facilities. We don’t have much news on this, as our new is controlled by russia. I must rely on my family and friends around the world to tell me what is going on… But, it is just shocking; it is like what is this world coming to at all.   And Syria invaded the Gaza strip…parallel it, RU and Crimea, it is like tanks vs., sticks.!!   Who will come to their aid?  Who will help them in their time of need?   Who will help us in our time of despair.??   We only have 5 stones to kill this Goliath! God help us!  It is an outrage!

July 12, 2014

Saturday, July 12, first full day back in Dzerzhinsk, I’m not sure what to expect, but it started out quiet… a good day, until the bombs started about 1:30 p.m..  Three loud bombs, one could hear in the distance.  I shutter, and wonder what this is going to be like.  Saying a quick prayer of protection, I go about my business with the kids at the center, playing games.   Then around 4 p.m. SEVERAL bombs went off close to us.  We ran outside to see what we could see, but saw nothing, but we could tell was close; and by close that means a-2 miles from us.  Kids called their parents to let them know they were o.k, and then they all headed home.   It’s amazing how this ‘war’ has effected us, one minute we are all playing, having fun, the next, we are terrified and running in all directions for ‘cover’.  This constant, fear of the next BOOM, when and where it may strike, is what causes PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). It is abundantly clear to me that I’m beginning to see the signs of this. The ‘unknown’ causes the stress. Things are calm, and then from no where, with no warning a bomb goes off. Children continue to show little emotion, unless the shelling is very close when the windows shake.  They seem numb to the chaos.

The center is quiet, as are the streets.  No one ventures out on the streets where they have an enforced 7:00 p.m. curfew.   I think about a plan…what to do ‘in the event’, that I have to leave quickly.  Most of what I brought in the suitcases was stuff to live on, if I had to, and a few clothes, and gifts for others, so I use one of the suitcases to pack a few things, get all my documents ready, something to eat…all things that I must think about, living in a war zone.  Everything is very unpredictable.    I hear bombs in the distance most of the night behind the closed windows.  I dare not to open a window, in fear that someone could jump the fence ad come through the window; I don’t even sleep with a fan on, so I can hear everything…I want to hear everything, as if someone is jumping the fence, I would not be able to hear much of anything with the fan on.  I lay there, thanking God for the safe journey, and reflect that just 48 hours earlier, I lay in the safe comforts of my bed in my U.S. home.  I think about my family, my life in the U.S., and how ‘this’ is 180 degrees different. But then there are many people living in such conditions around the world, we are just insulated to that in the U.S. I stay in close contact with my U.S. ‘connections’ to let them know what I am experiencing, not spying, but what is really going on here on ‘the ground….at the front.’ If possible, I stay in contact with my family every day, and sometimes 2x a day. They all have been here so many times, so when we talk they know exactly where I am, ‘who’ I’m meeting with, ‘where’ I’m going; but they don’t know the danger around me…and I only share what is really going on with my husband, as to not scare our kids.

7–14-14 – Chores

Regardless of what is going on, people continue to move through life.  Being gone took its toll on the yards.  I have so much work to do.  No one of those that are here ‘helping me’, do much outside, most people stay inside with their windows closed, blinds drawn.  But I have to deal with these yards, as if I wait too long, they will be unmanageable and we will have mice, and maybe rats.   The grass at the house is at least 3 feet high, but the center has more people moving in and out of it so I tackle the Children’s Center first, since kids may want to play outside, though I don’t see that happening, due to the unpredictable ‘noise’.…The weed eater isn’t working right, and I just have to stop and pray over it, ‘God, I NEED it to work’, that is the bottom line…I need to get this work done. As the condition of the yard, may or may not attract these DPR people to think that no one is living in this nice house and they may just come and try to ‘take it.’   Praying over a weed eater, probably sounds pretty crazy to any normal person, but when you live in place where things are changing daily; the condition of your yard and house matters.  Praise the Lord, the weed-eater starts, and I am able to get the center  yard done.  The center yard is about 1 acre, so cutting that with a weed eater, takes a little over 2 hours.  I’m exhausted, but I need to keep going, as I have this thing working, and I’m already dirty, so I must continue.  UGH!   Since our house and the center share a back yard gate,  I move over to our house and continue.  It’s difficult, as the grass is really more like weeds, and it is thick!   I’m hoping that the ‘string’ will hold out and cut through these thick ‘weeds’.   I get the front yard completed and move to the back, as it needs it…but I run out of gas.   I’m exhausted, my back is killing me, and I’m filthy, to say the very least.  I have no time to go and get gas to finish tonight, as the kids will arrive soon, and after they leave, everything ‘shuts down’ by the 7 p.m. curfew.  I’m glad that I have these abilities, to cut grass, but sometimes it is a lot to do, even for me.  The weed eater is big and heavy to help, but thankfully, I’m able to do this. Tomorrow, I will finish.     I run in to clean up, as kids will arrive to the center soon.

Lera, 13, a pleasant girl, arrives to the center at 3.  Her parents are divorced, mom in Russia trying to work, father in Dz.  She has an older brother, and wonderful grandparents that tend to take care of her most of the time.   I pray for her, as she is easily pulled by the world, and her family; she WANTS to believe, but they don’t want her to be anything but Orthodox.   Lera participates in Bible study, comes to the center every day we are open, and loves to be involved in our activities. 

Olya and Rada, sisters, 12 and 13 also arrive.  Olya and Rada have 2 brothers, Artur (10), and Bogdan (6), who is autistic, though the family won’t admit to that due to the stigma of that ‘label’.  Olya is nice, but both Rada and Artur are rude and arrogant.  They don’t appreciate the center, the opportunities that it affords to them, and that we are here to help them become productive citizens, growing to love God and serving those around them…instead of being served.  The sad part, is that they all CAN play nicely, but then at one word they are like oil and water…don’t mix well, start arguing and fighting, sometimes to the point of physical punching.    I’m praying God can use me in some way, even without a translator.    God only knows how this will go, as Lera and this family don’t get along 100%, especially Rada, Artur and Lera.  Lera really tries, but her fuse is short, and the stress of this war doesn’t make it any easier.   The kids tend to get anxious when they hear bombs in the distance, but then who wouldn’t?  Not knowing how to cope with the situation, they end up displacing their frustration on each other, which many times turns to shouting, crying and even punching.   

But, today, is a quiet day, and the kids all play nicely, having our afternoon tea and cookies, working on puzzles.   The ‘noise’ level outside is at a minimum, so our stress level inside is thankfully, low.

Chapter 7

7-11-14

After an uneventful plane ride, I arrived to a rainy Kyiv, and was met by 2 friends trying to talk me out of traveling to Gorlovka and on to Dzershinsk. All I could think, but didn’t say,  ‘like I came this far just to turn around?  O.K.’, so I boarded the train with some apprehension as to ‘who’ would be in the compartment with me…and it was a nice young banker from Krasnarmisk. .  We spoke a bit, but I quickly fell asleep, exhausted from no rest on the plane.  The train stopped may times, so the usual 14 hour train ride turned into 17 hours, but arriving around 10:45 a.m., I was met by Lena, daughter of Pastor Eugenia and Ludmila’s and a driver to take me to the bus station, where upon arrival at the station, seems I missed the last bus to Dzershinsk by just 20 minutes.   Ghorlovka is enemy occupied, thus I’m in enemy territory, the only American for miles and miles…it isn’t safe by any means.  We drove past the police station, the same one they threw the official from the roof while he tried to replace the UA flag, after separatist removed it.  Ludmilla calls trying to persuade me to return to Kyiv, Lena also tried to convince me to ‘RETURN to Kyiv’, I refused.  I felt calmness, I knew God was in control, though literally there was chaos surrounding me.   I could hear gun battles in the distance…hearing machine guns is very unnerving, especially when you don’t know where the noise is coming from, or going to.   You never really get used to this noise, regardless of how much or how long you hear it for.   The repeativeness of machine guns is seared in my brain.    I think about my life, how in the world did it ever go in this direction… then I remember:  “hear am I, send me.’

I made it clear to all the people trying to convince me to return to Kyiv, that I was not leaving, so Lena found a place for me to ‘hide out’.  This was literally like something out of some movie, my head was ‘on a swival’ and I was constantly making mental notes of my surroundings, civilians and ‘military’.  I was then taken to an empty house of a church member, whose son was working in Crimea, and offered the house to me to stay there.  Everyone again tried to talk me out of going on to Dz., saying that there were fires, no electricity, water, or gas.  I listened, but I allowed God to move me in this situation.  To me, it seemed that if I missed the bus and I had a place to stay, I should just stay there until another ‘door’ opened.  This is pretty much the way I operate, God will open and close doors when I need to move or stop…I just have to recognize that it is from God, and to use discernment and wisdom.  It seems I’m in a constant state of mediation to the Lord for direction and wisdom; trust God will make my way clear. 

So here I sit, in this empty house, alone, not knowing the plan, except that I was ‘stay there’, so I decide to call a few friends to let them know I arrived.  One of my oldest friends who I met on my first trip to Dzerzhinsk in 1998, is Tatiana, an official for the local schools and social department, is being treated for cancer; so I decided to give her a call and see how she was doing.  I know that she gets her treatments in Ghorlovka, but had no idea where she was at the moment.  Tatiana answered, but asked if she could call back, saying that she was completing her chemo treatment and that she is in Ghorlivka.   She and I had spoken prior to my arrival in Ghorlivka, planning to return to Dz. together Saturday morning on the bus, if it were going.   But with the ‘war’, the bus schedule is very unreliable. About 2:00p.m., Tatiana returned my call, saying that she was going by private taxi to Dzerzhinsk, and if I wanted a ride, to come along with her.   This was one of those amazing ‘God’ moments. With all the chaos around me, for this to fall in place, I thought, this is God speaking to me; I need to go ahead and go, while I have the opportunity.  I missed the bus, but God provided a safe way for me to get to Dzerzhinsk, with someone who speaks English.  No one, with exception to Tatiana thought me returning to Dz. was a good idea, but still, I felt that if God opened this door, I should walk through it.  I step back to that ‘movie set’, where my head is on the swivel, making note of my surroundings; the plan was to meet at the line of ‘yolka’ (cedar) trees along the road.  There is a traffic light, with a small ‘pull off’ on the road, so I could jump in her taxi there without a lot of attention being drawn to me, in addition, we didn’t want the taxi coming to this house, as if anyone saw me leaving the house, they would know that the owner harbored a foreigner. 

Having just about 45 minutes wait, I decided to take a quick shower, since I had been warned that there was no electricity, water or gas in Dzerzhinsk, and I had not showered for 2 days since I had left the U.S.  I was very thankful for the tepid water, thinking that this may be the last shower for quite sometime. 

Around 4 p.m. Tatiana calls me, signaling me to be at the road in 5-7 minutes.  I stop and pray, may angels go before me, and come behind me…then I drag 2-50lb. suitcases and a carry-on to the tree line to wait.  Praying that no separatists drive by seeing me and stop to question me.  God makes me invisible, or just doesn’t allow anyone to go past me, as Tatiana arrives, and we quickly load the luggage and pull away from the curb…all is well.  Prior to our meeting, Tatiana privately ‘briefed’ me by phone, as she did not want the driver to know he was transporting a foreigner, as he may refuse.  Additionally, she was able to prepare me for the checkpoints, instructing me to say very little, if anything.  From the time I reached the road with my suitcases, to the time we arrived our destination I was praying the entire way we drove though the first checkpoint, which is the worst; usually fully manned, each have guns, young and old, they look very unprofessional, some are even openly drinking beer.  Today there were just 2 men that were checking cars and documents and they didn’t even NOTICE us…invisible, praise the Lord…We continue to head down the road to Dzerzhinsk, passing the big car market , where I purchased my van many years prior, passing the ‘fork’ in the road that goes to Artomosk, veering to the left towards Dzerzhinsk.  We arrived at the second checkpoint, just in front of the railroad track overpass, which had been blown out.  DNR flags are flying, tents set up, and the road well blocked by a maze of tires, we are promptly stopped by a man with a machine gun.  He asks for our passports.  I did not even look at the terrorist, as I didn’t want to give him any respect, since I don’t respect what they are doing in Eastern Ukraine.  He looked closely at my passport, and then handed it back to the driver, telling us to ‘leave’, and off we went, taking the 45-minute detour due to the railway bridge blown out.  Thank you Jesus…The ride is quiet, and if I didn’t know better, the road seemed quite normal.  But then we arrive at the next checkpoint, and the stress starts all over.  Thankfully the checkpoint was basically unmanned, and we drove through, unstopped.  Thank you Jesus.  The final checkpoint we had to go through only looked at the drivers documents, so we were safe.  We finally arrived home to Dzerzhinsk at 5:30 p.m.  A 20 minute drive took 1.5 hours.  

I had the driver drop me at the house, instead of the Children’s Center, as if he saw that place, my fee would have been doubled.  I drag everything inside, not taking the time to unpack or really do anything, I notice that Pastor Sasha is in the Children’s Center yard having Bible study with a couple of kids.  Pastor Sasha, he isn’t really a trained pastor, but more like the only person that would step up to lead this group of people, who want to study the Bible.  We were all a apart of another church at one time, but tension, power struggles, and personality clashes, along with flat out ‘sin’, basically forced a group of us to make the decision to leave.  After 3 years of praying and trying to talk with the leadership of the ‘church’, 9 of us left, forming a small group, that meets at the Children’s Center.  The group has grown from 9 or about 15 +/-.  Sasha has Bible study Wednesday and Friday nights for kids and adults that choose to come, and then Sunday’s they have church at the building. 

Personally, I’m exhausted, I have been awake for approximately 30 hours traveling to get to Ukraine, but Pastor Sasha was having Bible study at the center, so I run over to find he, his wife, and 2 local children.  It was so great to see Marina, his wife helping, as this was a FIRST.  So a praise God for this.  Olya, a young 13 year old girl, the eldest of 4 gypsy children and Aloysha, who we have known since he was 7, an orphan, and invalid, he lives off and on with his grandparents or his sister and her 3 children.  They were listening intently to Sasha as he talked about false teachers.  It was great to see them, but great to see their interest in hearing God’s word.   After they finished up,  Sasha shared with me that the city center has no electricity, as the power sub-station was blown up, and there is no power.  We have power, water, gas and internet, so I’m glad that I came, and hopefully God can use me here to help those that don’t have.  But Sasha making this statement about the city center, tends to make me wonder ‘what’ he thinks, where he stands on all this.  I remember Ludmilla (one of the many people in Ghorlovka trying to talk me out of traveling to Dzerzhinsk)  saying all this, yet we are fine, we have water, we have gas and electricity…so what is all this ‘talk’.  They really had me concerned, but now I see that there is nothing to be concerned about.   Later, I was happy to be able to call Ludmilla and let her know I arrived safely and that all was fine.

Keeping in mind that Dzerzhinsk is under the ruling thumb of the DPR, I must be vigilant about where I go.  Though I made it back to Dzerzhinsk, it still is not safe here, and at any moment men could show up at my gate and demand something from me, money, food, my house, my car, or worse yet, take me.    God sheltered me the trip, I trust Him to continue, but I still must be wise with my actions.  

Chapter 6  

April 14, 2014 was a turning point for the town of Dzerzhinsk, about 300 people had gathered at the town square, in front of the ‘White House’.  Twenty to 30 shouted about the Donetsk People’s Republic (DPR), as many others, just stood there listening.  I even think that some were just out there to observe what was going on, not that they were ‘for or against’ something, but more for curiosity of the situation.  The 20-30 were waving flags, and chanting, and cheering as different city officials, and other overtly loud citizens took turns at the microphone spewing their diatribe about how the situation in Kyiv was terrible, people were losing their ‘rights’ as Russians, that the DPR was a good thing, and that the Ukraine flag should be removed from our ‘White House’ and replaced with that of the DPR.  People just stood there, speechless; not really believing what this radical woman with purple hair was spewing from her mouth.  Then, as under the authority of nothing more then a mob of people, as the mayor had basically excused himself from the podium, a man went running towards the ‘White House’ in the background.  Finding the steps to the roof, he ran to the front of the building, where he promptly removed the Ukrainian flag from our ‘White House’, throwing it off the roof, and a Donetsk People’s Republic (DPR) flag was raised.  Shocked at what I was seeing, but I knew that I could not speak up, though I have been in Dzerzhinsk for 16 years, still I’m considered a ‘guest’, and must act as such.  Additionally, not knowing ‘who’ was in the crowd, I needed to be careful of what I said, and how I said, and to ‘whom’ I said, ‘what’ to.  Watching this unfold before my eyes, I studied the faces of those around me, people didn’t know how to respond, or even ‘if’ to respond.  No one really knew how others that were also standing quietly and watching, felt about the situation.  I wonder to this day, had some resisted, if others would have followed their lead, or physically jumped on those people…but just what would have happened, if someone would have taken an initiative and said something.  I did notice that anyone that got to the microphone and started to question the mob, and those who spoke against the DPR, were quickly removed from the stage area. This, in itself, was probably indicative enough to show others that they needed to stay quiet or something could happen to them.   And of course, then basically the whole town knows ‘which side’ you are on, and anything could ‘happen’ to you, at any time or place in the future.  The people finally disbursed, and we went home, oblivious what this event meant for our future. 

Within days, the few barriers around our town were removed, and more and more separatists freely appeared, setting up living quarters in the local technical school.  If they needed something, they freely took it, whether it be a place to stay, or food to eat.  Vehicle check points to review everyone’s documents were set up around town, as they took over public governmental offices, some workers fled in fear, others tried to maintain their jobs.  Those that resisted, were just physically removed to the street.  Our local police did absolutely nothing, appearing to have relinquished all control and power to the uninvited ‘guests’; there was complete lawlessness in the town.   Some people, like our local dentist was kidnapped and held for 200,000gh ransom.  A wealthy man, he was taken from his office, with waiting patients aghast, no one had any idea if he was dead or alive.   The separatists needed money to fund ‘their war’,  for them, anyway to get it,  was fine.  Banks were taken over, and thankfully, we had removed all our money prior to the take over.  Our streets were filled with half dressed ‘soldiers’, flanking machine guns.  Many were rude, crude, and drunks…others were strangely polite, as though they knew what they were doing was ‘wrong’, but that they felt they had no choice. Possibly they got caught up in something that they had no idea ‘what’ exactly it was, and now they don’t know what to do.   I knew at least 2 men that were in the separatists group, both formerly from the orphan shelter, and now adults, I saw them on the street, they nodded at me, but, when they didn’t actually stop to talk to me, I took it as a ‘sign’ that maybe it was best that they don’t formerly acknowledge me, as that may draw attention to me and them.  I appreciated that, that they didn’t  bring any attention to me…the obvious ‘non-native’, yet in a potentially volatile situation.   I hoped and prayed that would help protect me from the harm the separatists were unleashing on others.    It was rumored, that ‘newbie’s’ initiation to the ‘group’ was to kill innocent civilians.  I shuttered to think if that was the truth, but kept to myself, and only ventured out once a week for groceries.  I did not go out after 7 p.m., as many nights we would hear arguing, shouting on the streets, and even gunfire.  Angela, the missionary that was there with me, and I hovered together, continuing to pray for that Godly hedge of protection surround us from all evil.   There was no predictability in the government officials, daily life, food, banks, schools; what would be open or closed.  Daily, we would conduct ourselves, as much as possible, as ‘business as usual’ kids would come to the center, we had activities, Bible study, Sunday church, though all the while, separatists would walk down our street, guns on the shoulders, seeking out men; for ‘what’ we didn’t know, but we didn’t want to ask either.   Door to door, or shouting a name from the road, as if to be ‘calling them out’ for ‘service’ or get their political stance on the situation, then they would either ‘join’ them, or beat them, or worse for resisting.  It was a terrible time.  We would walk children home after center activities, even with gun fire in the backdrop.  During ‘center time’ we kept our gates locked at all times, and children would need to ring the bell for entrance, instead of coming and going as usual.   We could see the behavior changes in the children, they were terrified when shooting in the distance would start, many would race out the door, running scared all the way home, not even waiting for us to take them home.    Some started to be aggressive towards one another, others withdrawn, quiet, sullen.  Adults would come to the center, and say, ‘I feel safe here…and I stay here while you are open’.  We would allow for this, as our center is incased with scripture, we have a Bible in our foundation; if people saw us as a refuge, we could not forbid.  Sunday services started to swell, some people seeking God, while others grew angry with the situation.  Emotions were all over the place as the chaos grew. 

After 3 months of the stress, I had to go home for a short break.  I could not leave Angela for more then 10-14 days, so I made a ticket for the end of June, returning July 11. 

March 15, 2014  

1 Samuel 17 :48- 50 48 “As the Philistine moved closer to attack him, David ran quickly toward the battle line to meet him. 49 Reaching into his bag and taking out a stone, he slung it and struck the Philistine on the forehead. The stone sank into his forehead, and he fell facedown on the ground.

50 So David triumphed over the Philistine with a sling and a stone; without a sword in his hand he struck down the Philistine and killed him.”

Saturday is a day for people to congregate in the town square and talk about ‘what’ is happening.  Seems there is a lot of confusion and misinformation floating around the streets.  Government officials aren’t communicating effectively and the right hand doesn’t necessarily know how the left hand feels about what is happening, or appears to be happening.  As the situation unfolds in Crimea, we sit watching and wondering how or if this is going to effect us.  The news talked about the lawlessness and chaos on the streets of Crimea.  People aren’t sure ‘who’ is military, and the strong hold outs are that it is NOT Russia, but some band of disgruntled Ukrainian citizens going by the title of ‘separatists’, which in time will just disband.  In our town, the banks are closed, and food prices are high.  I spoke with a friend who lives in Crimea, where the first insurgents illegally invaded sovereign Ukraine, they report to me that things are extremely uncertain for them.  As a couple, one is a Ukrainian, the other a foreigner.  They do not want to move.  They have a ministry helping orphans, and they have been established in the area for over 10 years.  To just pick up and move isn’t that easy, in addition to their children, aren’t legally adopted as of yet.  They were told by the new ‘officials’, ‘sure you may leave, but the children, they will remain here.’  Leaving ‘their’ 4 children behind wasn’t an option they wanted to think about.  Remaining in what appears to be hostile ‘russian’ territory, doesn’t seem to be the answer either.  With each day, new laws are birthed,  and somewhat like the Philistines people are waiting and watching to see who is going to step forward and try and stop the ‘Goliath’, but unfortunately, it is more like watching ‘this’ Goliath take what was once Ukraine.  It’s difficult at best, but the knowledge that this may be moving north to Donetsk region seems only impending. 

Chapter 5: 

Ukraine has a redesigned their landscape in the last 6 years.  Not just in the east, but all of Ukraine.  What has happened in southern and eastern Ukraine has impacted all of Ukraine.  I would parallel it to the metamorphosis of a butterfly backwards.  Ukraine was a beautiful country; lovely lush landscape, flourishing cities; much like a butterfly with their beautiful array of colors, Ukraine was in full blossom mode, with upward thinking for a positive future.   And then, like someone broadsided them with a 2×4, Valdmir Putin sent in an army of men to siege Crimea.  Ukrainians caught off guard by the unexpected invasion, most were scampering out of the area, not knowing they probably would not be able to return.  The Ukrainian military was even more caught off guard that their ‘brothers, cousins, and other forefathers’ were now attacking them.   Shocked and bewildered, they withdrew into their cocoon and ran to the mainland of Ukraine for ‘back up’.  Little did anyone know what was happening, or what the future looked like for Ukraine.  A well plotted take over was in place, and the unstable leaderless country didn’t have a good response plan in place.  Ukraine scrambled to pull in place a military to fight this Goliath (Russia); but on every turn, they seemed to be out numbered, and worse yet, out gunned.   They were in a ‘fight or flight’ mode, and many just left Ukraine, instead of being killed. 

After Russia took over Crimea, wreaking havoc on the locals.  Taking over banks, businesses, schools, demanding people pay large ‘taxes’,  change their passports or desert their homes, land, and belongings.  People who could leave, would leave, others could not leave, some due to physical issues, some due to financial reasons, some refused to leave, as an act of resistance.  MANY were killed, and/or jailed.  Many just disappeared, never to be seen or heard from again.  The gypsy population of over 60,000 was cast out to the wilderness, living in tents, as nomads.  No running water, no proper shelter, of course no electricity or restroom facilities, Russia didn’t care, they wanted them ‘out’, and out they were. Those who rebuked or tried to fight back may be shot on the street, or just vanish, never to be seen again. But Russia wasn’t done yet, seems they next set their sights on eastern Ukraine, starting with attacking regions closest to their border, Lughansk, and Donetsk Oblast.  Both beautiful lush, thriving cities, they carefully and calculatingly took the territory.  Invading government offices, they basically gave city officials one day notice to vacate the premises.  Many officials just left in the night, leaving only the towns people to wake up to new people in charge.   With those ‘new people’ having guns.  It was overwhelmingly unfathomable to see men with machine guns walking on the streets, knowing some had killed innocent civilians; many people who were shocked by their invasion, stood up to the RU army.  Some resisters were thrown from building rooftops; some disappeared and later found on the river banks with their throat slit; and still many disappeared, never to be found at all.  ‘Locals’ were numb to what was happening, bewildered by the aggressive attitude, questioning ‘what’, and ‘why’ this was happening to their beautiful Ukraine?   Everything was very peaceful, even during the Maiden days and the ousting of Victor Yanukovych , the former president of Ukraine.  Seems that many people didn’t like his stand against joining the EU/NATO; as that would bring among some things, homosexuals to Ukraine; whereas really what it would bring is a more liberal trade agreement with other NATO nations, military assistance, if they were ever attacked by a non NATO country; and it would allow for more progressive thinking people to express that via business, arts, talents, trade with more nations.   Little did anyone know the connection that Yanukovych had with Putin, and these ideas that the people of Ukraine wanted, were not aligned with Yanukovych and Putins ‘new russia’ plan.    November 2013 the Ukrainian people revolted protesting in the streets of the capital, Kyiv, where the Yanukovych police was unleashed on the protesters.  Day and day people gathered to protest what they described as ‘government corruption’  Yanukovych was not prepared for the backlash of the people, thinking that they would just agree to whatever he decided.  In late November, 2013 the government forces tried to disperse the group, which inturn increased the group.  Protestors and police continued to clash, and riot police were called in to disperse the massive crowds of angry civilians.  Riot police opened fire on the protesters, killing 100 people in Maidan.  Today in Kyiv, there stands a memorial to the men and women who were killed protesting the rights of the people to make a choice about joining the EU or not.  Yanukovych could see that he needed to ‘get out or town’, and with the help of his friend, V. Putin,, Yanukovych fled Ukraine to Russia, seeking asylum from his crimes.  Putin welcomed him and it was clear that the 2 of them conspired the events of Maiden, and the subsequent invasion of Crimea.    Putin sent his ‘unmarked’, ‘little green men’ to invade Crimea.  The local people were totally confused, with the Ukrainian military taken off guard to the invasion.  The military base in Crimea was surrounded by the ‘little green men’ in unmarked uniforms, and told to surrender, join them, or immediately leave.  Almost all decided to flee with their families.  Later when the towns people realized what was happening, some tried to show resistance to the invasion.  Shots were fired, people threatened, and even some just disappeared.  People fled in droves, with no idea of what, or the bigger question, ‘why’ was this happening at all.   We sat in Donetsk oblast thinking that things would be sorted out and this would all ‘blow over’.  Nothing was discussed, but the invasion grew and more and more of Crimea was taken over, but by who….’who’ were these men in unmarked uniforms?  No one would take responsibility for this.  Finally it was clear that this was a not just a disgruntled civilian group of people, but an organized invasion from Ukrainian alli Russia.  Confused and bewildered, the people didn’t know how to react, as the RU military seized banks, official government buildings, schools, and the military base.    As more and more ‘little green men’, as they were so referred to by the press, invaded the Crimean territory, more and more people fled the area.  

The inland aggression continued, and soon shooting began in Lughansk region close to the Russian border.  Slowly, but calculatingly, they moved to Donetsk oblast, seizing parts of the city, and trying to take the airport, with a strong resistance by Ukrainian backed military forces.

By March 2014, I was back in Eastern Ukraine, and there was a rally downtown, as our mayor was holding ‘behind close doors’ meetings with local politicians, the police chief, and some businessmen, where it was apparent that the mayor was siding with the ill operated group of ‘separatists’ (Donetsk People’s Republic) that threatened to invade Dzerzhinsk.  People rallied in the streets, though no one knew for sure ‘who’ was ‘for’ ‘whom’… One had to be careful, as if you spoke out too much, you may just disappear, which is what happened to the police chief of neighboring Ghorlovka.  Additionally, one man trying to stop the removal of the UA flag from the police headquarters in Ghorlovka was thrown from the 3-story building.   People were cautious, at best, as to ‘who’ they talked to, and what they said.  It reminded me much of what you read about during the time of rounding up the Jews in Germany, and how Hitler was able to convince people to turn on their neighbors, shopkeepers, friends.  ‘This’ was the climate.  One truly didn’t know who their neighbor was ‘for or against’.    After 16 years of working to establish relationships with hundreds of people, it came down to fear, and people not knowing what to do with that fear.  Fear of the ‘unknown’, fear of being hurt, fear to speak out, fear to take a ‘side’, fear of being hurt of worse yet killed…so people continued to act, ‘business as usual’, not talking to anyone about their thoughts on the situation soon to surround them. 

Every season I would go to Ukraine for 2-3 weeks, taking aid in suitcases, until I figured out how to navigate shipping boxes of aid overseas.  Each time I would go to Ukraine, more and more orphan facilities would seek me out and ask to be a part of our humanitarian aid program.  When we started in 1998, we served approximately 400 orphans in 2 facilities, and by the beginning of 2014, we were serving in 28 orphan facilities with over 5300 orphan children.   Over 5 million dollars in aid was shipped in to a variety of hospitals and orphan facilities to be given away to their residents.  Our policy is, and always has been that we do not provide funding, but we provide tangible aid to be given to those in need.  Despite all the hassles of shipping such large quantities to a foreign country, there is a level of accountability that a charity must have to be credible, so that donors know what you are doing with their funds, thus, when I would travel to Ukraine, items were purchased and taken to the facility, but money never given to any director or worker at any facility.   I have even had directors tell me, ‘please give me the aid when there are other people present, as I want people to see, I’m not taking this for myself.’  This type of accountability is important, especially in a country where people are selling used clothing and shoes at the open market, directors and workers could easily take aid designed for children, and sell it at the local market. 

Throughout the years we continued to help people in Ukraine, and assist with many, many adoptions of orphans, who would have never had a forever family. During those 16 years serving thousands of children, afforded me the opportunity to meet hundreds of people in Ukraine; orphanage directors, workers, pastors, mayors, chief of police, hospital administrators, political influencers, business executives, principals, teachers, and many more.  Lovely people, and wonderful relationships that would be the ‘glue’ that would bind us together when times got tough.  And did they get tough, and always in the back of our minds, was the knowledge that the Lord sent us to Ukraine, for the sake of 1….

Chapter 4

I returned to the US with intense fervor to find a home for this little girl.  I had a friend who was a publisher of the local newspaper, so I asked if he would do a story about her.  Choosing our local university’s homecoming weekend, when thousands would be in town for the big game, he ran the story of Alla, and her situation of needing a home.  We had 6 people contact us, one couple said they were very interested.  A few weeks went by, and the orphanage director and I were in touch, she was reminding me that Alla would soon turn 4, and she would be forced to move her to… Toraz… just the mere thought of that, made me sick to my stomach.  But if she was moved, the likelihood that she would be adopted from there was slim to none, as the Dr. there was against adoption, he would rather children die on their homeland, then be given any quality of life in another country.  We actually gave him the nickname, Dr. Death, for his complete emotionless demeander concerning the welfare of the ‘patients’ at his facility. 

After a few days, the couple called me, explaining that they felt Alla’s medical condition was too much for them to take on, and they were declining to move forward.  I can remember, assuring her that God had someone in mind to adoption this girl, and I would not give up; though after getting off the phone I silently wept for this child, praying God would reveal the special couple to adopt her. 

After months without success, the director tearfully told us she would be forced to move her to Toraz.  Since we had been there, and it was a horrid place, where children are left in their ‘waste’, fed terrible food, and are not able to ever leave, we decided to talk as a family about the situation.  Our other 4 children knew her, and as a family we prayed over this little girls future.  But this time, God pressed upon our hearts to adopt her,  making the family decision to move forward with the adoption.  We called the orphanage director and giving her the news, she was elated, sharing, she would do her best to ‘hide’ Alla from the inspector, until we could get there.  We quickly put our dossier together in 3 weeks, getting all approvals, leaving for Ukraine the 3^rd week of December.  Upon arriving, we  boarded the 15 hours train to the city of Donetsk, in Eastern Ukraine.  Arriving on the 24^th, we visited with our (hope to be) daughter.  Since Alla understood adoption, other families had come to ‘see’ her, we asked to visit with her in the office of the director instead of the ‘playroom’, which adoptive parents would go to visit with a child to see if they thought the child would be a good fit for their family.  For many children that room is a place of rejection, and we didn’t want that for Alla.  The director granted our request, and we met with Alla in her office.  Talking with her, she was hesitant to say much, but we specifically asked HER if she wanted a ‘mom and dad…and a big family?’, staring at us, as though she was ‘sizing us up.’ She replied, ‘yes, I want a family,’  and said, ‘I’m ready to go.’  Thinking that we were leaving right then.  We explained that we could not go ‘yet’, as there was paperwork.  She had heard that before, as 6 previous families came to meet her (in the play room), but ‘never returned’ for her.  Despite the remainder of the visit going very well, when we prepared to depart, her face was sullen as she walked off with the caregiver, deflated.   

The next day, was Christmas (2002), and we arrived to the facility mid-morning.  We anxiously waited in the visitation room, and as our daughter rounded the corner her face broke out the biggest smile, and she came running into our arms screaming, “my mama is here, my papa is here!!!”  Then proceeded to tell everyone in the room, over and over that ‘we were her family, and we came for HER.’  There wasn’t a dry eye in the room, and it was the best Christmas gift!

Chapter 3

It was a long 2.5 hours to Toraz, a trip filled with anticipation, hope (that things weren’t as bad as described), and lots of prayer, that God would give me the discernment and wisdom to do and say what He would want. When we arrived our vehicle was surrounded by what appeared to be teens and adults, who I could immediately see had some mental and physical challenges.  The staff quickly came out and ‘shooed’ them away, shuttling us to the director Alexander’s office where we were kindly greeted, and handed off to Larissa, the assistant director, who would take us on the tour of the enormous facility.  She was ‘open’ to receiving aid, and shared that most of the ‘residents’ would not ‘understand how to use the items we would offer, toothbrushes/paste, soap, shampoo, conditioner, lotion; and some of the people don’t or won’t wear clothing’; and it was best to leave with he and the other staff.  I kept  all this in mind, as we went from room to room, visiting hundreds of children and adults.  The smell was overwhelming to say the very least.  It was something equivalent to an open latrine.  Bedridden children and adults, I noticed were, thin, frail, many in trace like states, motionless,  lying in their own ‘waste’, interestingly the staff didn’t seem phased or disturbed by any of this.  ‘Patients’ were drooling, and many lay naked in beds with thread barren sheets stained with …well, not sure what… just stained.  Some were thrilled to see us, wanting a touch, a caress, but others were terrified of us, as though they had never seen others then the staff.  The staff stood in the back of the rooms watching us, most mortified that we were hugging the people. There were index cards taped to each bed with birthdates, and the date they arrived to the facility.  At each bed, I was doing quick math in my head trying to figure out their age, since so many looked very young, but all were older then 4, though not even close as I would calculate with the birthdates.  Calculations would be that a person was 19 or 22, and they looked to be 6 or 7 or maybe 10. We entered a room, where all were lying in beds.  I could see some of the people, but others were just a heap of blankets.  Carefully I walked down each aisle touching each person, saying a kind word, a blessing, a prayer.  When I came to the heap of blankets, staff discouraged me from looking, but I refused, and carefully lifted the blanket, out from the dark abyss peered 2 eyes…very empty eyes, scared eyes, eyes that were confused, completely alone.  I remember sitting on the edge of the bed, a very urine saturated bed, caressing the head of a child, though the card would say they were 17…their eyes studying me, they were very calm, clammy…I could smell death. This is what these 2 rooms smelled like, death. I never knew that smell before, though I had been with my father-in-law when he passed away, he was in a sterile hospital; this place was far from sterile, or even clean. I tried really hard not to cry, this boy had kind eyes, but I could see, he was dying, probably from malnutrition, though the staff all insisted he had palsy, and would die. I desperately tried in vain to explain that one doesn’t die from Cerebral Palsy, it is not curable, but people live long, productive lives with this diagnosis. They didn’t believe me. I had never seen anything like this in my life, inside I was weeping, but on the outside, I had to smile, try and show little concern, as if I showed on my face how this is criminal care for these people, I may be escorted to the door.  I could not even begin to fathom the amount of help this place would need, but my question would be, ‘what are they doing with the funds that they do receive….and how is this place called a hospital?’  Care was minimal, harsh, and inhuman to say the very least.  I saw little interaction with staff and patient, but what I see see was extremely harsh to the helpless patient.  There was even a room where children were naked, tied to beds.  All I could think about was the children I had already seen at other facilities that would end up here, and for those presently living in this house of horrors.  They told me I was the ‘first American’ to ever cross the threshold of the facility and they were thrilled I had arrived.  That scared me, if they were proud of the care that they gave these folks, it was just heartbreaking to say the very least.   

After getting through the 2 rooms of people bedridden, we slowly moved from room to room greeting children, young adults, and adults.  Many were in just underwear and flimsy t-shirts; most wanted to touch me, and I tried my best to touch them all, placing a blessing on them, just a touch, but never a tear.  I wanted to cry, but overwhelmed, and knowing that I could not show my true reaction to what I was seeing, I tried my best to be positive.  Some rooms had very cognicent people, they spoke to me clearly, I asked, ‘why do you live here’, (as I could not see anything ‘wrong’ with them), and some of the replies were, ‘I have heart issues, I have asthma, I’m a dwarf, I have palsy…’   It was unfathomable to me that these people would be warehoused for things like this, but then really NO ONE deserved to live like this, and those less able were entirely neglected.  This truly was the epitiome of survival of the fittest.   My mind raced back to the little girl, Alla, with no feet or fingers, and all I could think, is that she would have no way to defend herself from the older boys here.  Her mind was fine, it was her body that had challenges.   I had to find this child a home, she could not come here.  NO ONE should come here, I must find homes for as many children in those orphan facilities that aren’t 4…but how, how Lord, please help me.

As we ended our tour, we headed for the yard where there were groups of naked, or barely clothed women on the back varanda just sitting in the sun.  I greeted them, some tried to cover themselves, realizing that they shouldn’t be naked, but having nothing to cover themselves.  Slowly we moved to the side yard where there were 25 or so children probably 7-15 yrs. old.  They all just sat there in the grass in their t-shirts and naked from the waist down.  I asked ‘why’, and Larissa replied that ‘this gives them the opportunity go to the bathroom and they don’t waste diapers’.  I didn’t have a reply for that, just seeing the indignity on their faces was enough of a shock.  The staff almost seemed proud that they had come up with this solution for not needing to use diapers, or even the most basic solution, teaching them to use the restroom properly,  rather then just leaving them in the yard to use the toilet.    

We were invited back to the Director’s office where he was thrilled to have an American in his office.  I was speechless to give comment on ‘this facility’.  He literally wanted me to ‘stroke’ his ego and say how great it was; but I could not and would not do that.  I was polite, but questioned him in such a way that wasn’t offensive, but more like an inquisitive American that just didn’t ‘know’ the ways of Ukraine, and how children are cared for; when it was all but the opposite, my questions were such that it seemed he was in control, but really he was not; I was gleaning information that later would be helpful to help the people there. He called the facility a hospital, but no one was ‘getting better’, and leaving the facility….they proudly showed me a menu, yet basically all occupants were starving…he was proud of their medical supplies, yet I could clearly see medically neglected children and adults, and questioned him as such.  He was put off by my questioning, but I persisted.  We also discussed his ‘needs’ for the facility, and I asked if we could send clothing for the patients.  He agreed, and we began shipping aid to the facility, as the first US based charity to ship humanitarian aid to the facility.  We set up feeding programs that food would be delivered to the facility for the most underfed, bed bound patients.  We unfortunately had to go in that direction, as we found out later that staff took the other food, whereas the cereal that was fed to the bed-ridden was not something most would eat.  It was all very sad, but it was a bit of help.  The drive back to Dzerzhinsk was a quiet one.  I was emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausted.  We all needed to slowly digest what we had experienced, seen, smelled; it was all quite overwhelming.  The years ahead brought MANY more visits to that place, the website is full of photos and videos. 

Update on Toraz –  Fast-forward to 2019 – The vision continues to haunt me, even after so many years, and over 40 visits to that place.  Seeing what no person should ever experience, knowing that it continues today, pushes me to strive for even more justice for the voiceless in Ukraine.  This visit to this house of horrors was additional confirmation that I was to work in Ukraine, to be the voice for the orphan, the poor, the invalid, the neglected and the invisible; an advocate for their God-given rights as humans.  Seeing first hand the injustices to children at this facility, and after years of trying to help them from mere thousands of lbs. of clothing, diapers, vitamins, shoes, blankets, personal hygiene products, refrigerators, to bringing physical therapists from the U.S. to train staff to work with their patients; all falling on deaf ears, I reported as such in our charity newsletter, to be contacted by the London Times to do an undercover investigative story on the facility; I agreed to take a team to the facility to expose to the worked the inhumanities and virtual genocide that was occurring.  Risking my life to expose the conditions and lack of care, the story ran on the front page of the Times, Feb. 6, 2011 and millions in the UK and around the world were shocked by what they read and saw.   The facility was never closed, and as far as I know conditions didn’t change much.  2015 –  Approximately 10 children Toraz bound never made it, as we were able to find families to adopt them prior to their 4 yrs. old transfer, others had different outcomes: many of the children I met there have their wings now, and are out of pain; and some who were able to run away vanished  when the territory was invaded, others perished when the shelling began.  The facility sits in Russian occupied territory, though it continues to be on Ukrainian soil. We can not go to Toraz to check on any of our friends, all we can do is pray for their safety.