It is a hot summer evening. Sitting in a circle in my living room, with a glass of iced tea in one hand and a bunch of tissues in the other, ten refugee women are taking turns pouring their hearts out, encouraged by the safe space of our first trauma support group. While I might need translation to understand the words, I definitely do not need any translation for the pain. It is so real I can almost touch it; its language is universal. Story by story, I am once again reminded why the process of recovery after disaster is indeed a mission field in itself.

“I’m torn between my family who is back in Ukraine, and my safety that is here,” Masha starts her story with a trembling voice. “I finally decided that my family is more important to me. Yesterday I bought a suitcase to move back, but today I found out there was heavy shelling on our city again. I put the suitcase away for now. I’m tired of living this way and wondering whether I’m making the right choice to stay. Prayer is the only thing that brings me peace now,” she adds, finally showing a hint of a smile on her beautiful, tired face.

“See this painting right here?” Liza asks as she shows the group a photo on her phone. “ I painted it a long time ago. This, here, is my house.” Sobbing with her current assignment in hand, she reveals her attempt at a drawing. Everything is similar to the painting on her phone, except that the house is missing. “I can’t draw it anymore. I always get stuck at this point. Ever since my house was destroyed, I haven’t seen it once. I can’t visualize it in my mind anymore. I asked my friends not to send me photos of what’s left of it. I can’t bear the thought that I’m homeless now.”

“I was always safe here,” Xenia begins her testimony, “But I will never forget the helplessness and the panic that paralyzed me when the war started and my family was still back there. My sister lived in Bucha. They didn’t have a basement and, therefore, no way to hide. From inside their living room, they could see a soldier’s weapon pointed at their house. They wanted to escape but were afraid. Their neighbors had attempted to flee and were killed. Can you imagine what was happening in my mind every time my sister went off the grid for a day or two? It was unimaginable,” she recalls.

“I have lived through both wars,” Oksana starts her story. “I used to live in Crimea, which became a war zone in 2014. I then moved to Mariupol. The whole city was leveled to the ground in 2022. There’s nothing left. It’s like a curse that follows me everywhere I go. My family is away. My husband works at sea. I lost two homes, and right now, I’m all alone in a foreign country. I don’t know how much longer I can live like this,” she continues, finally letting her tears go wild. “No one understands my pain.”

“My daughter and I escaped from Kherson by car,” recalls Lilia. “The soldiers shot at the car in front of us. We said goodbye to each other, thinking we were going to die. We didn’t. But then it dawned on me that I did, in fact, get killed. Sure, not with real bullets. But that day, my life was taken away from me. The old me—the before-the-war me—doesn’t exist anymore. I would like to reconnect with that person somehow, but I don’t believe it’s possible.”

“They took everything from us. They are wiping away our country—our homes, our resources, our monuments, our books, our language, our culture. I have so much anger inside of me because of that,” confesses Lena, who had just made the discovery that even good people experience anger.

“I went to a priest. He took me out for a walk in the church’s cemetery. All I could think of during that conversation was death. I also talked to a psychologist. He told me it was all my fault for being depressed. It just traumatized me all over again. There’s not a lot of good support out there,” says Polina, who is now actively working to help fellow refugees find healing.

“Last week, I put some of my thoughts in writing and shared my pain in a few words on social media. I got hate comments from my fellow people who are still in Ukraine, calling me a traitor and informing me that I had nothing to complain about since I left the country. Now I feel like I don’t belong anywhere,” shares Aliona.

The journey from the stories of heartbreak to the testimonies of healing was incredibly enriching for all of us. I started counting the following blessings shortly after our meetings started.

“I prayed this week. For the first time in a year and a half, I can see things clearly.”

“I learned how to be a better listener.”

“I finally understand that it’s my right to grieve and have feelings without having to ask for permission.”

“The calming exercises are helping me relax and deal with stress.”

“I have realized that it’s time for me to focus on the good in my life. Now I am just thankful to everyone who has helped me go through this.”

“I never realized that heart wounds are just as important as physical ones and need the same amount of care.”

At the end of the six-week program, I felt immense gratitude. God had provided us with a Bible-based trauma healing program translated into Ukrainian. In a miraculous succession of events, He has brought us Natalia, a local and a citizen of Ukraine at the same time, who turned out to be not only a good translator but also a kind and wonderful human being who has helped facilitate the lessons when my language skills fell short. The group grew in friendship and trust and expressed a desire to continue discussing various topics.

We are humbled and honored to be a part of the healing journey of our much-tried brothers and sisters. Please pray they will all find Jesus, the only true source of freedom, healing and, most of all, hope.

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