Life in Kyiv moves in peculiar rhythms. Cafes are full, markets bustle, and children play in parks. When friends message me about news headlines, I tell them about my ordinary days - studying, doing ministry, walking familiar streets. The city has learned to breathe between air raid sirens.
Most days, the war feels like background noise.
Until suddenly, it doesn't.
Last night a family from our friend's church was torn apart by a drone strike. A father Oleksandr and his five-year-old daughter Nikol. They had already fled once, seeking refuge from Orikhov to Kyiv. Now, in what should have been their safe haven, the mother Alexandra finds herself alone - husband and daughter taken in an instant.
A Christmas photo sits before me. A decorated tree. Red bows. Pink roses. Smiles that will never be captured again.
This is the cruel lottery of war. One moment you're holding roses; the next, everything changes. There's no logic to it. No fairness. No explanation that could ever make sense of why little Nikol, a child in a princess tiara, becomes another statistic.
When we speak of war, we often talk in numbers. But numbers don't tell you about the empty chairs at church, or the Christmas decorations that will stay in boxes next year, or Alexandra who must somehow find strength to wake up tomorrow.
Today, I grieve with Alexandra. I grieve for the future that was stolen from Oleksandr and Nikol. For the bedtime stories that will remain unread. For the dance recitals that will never be.
And I'm reminded that although most days here are remarkably normal, normal doesn't mean safe.Peace remains fragile, and sometimes that fragility breaks through in the most heartbreaking ways. It's the difference between life and death; between a family celebrating Christmas and a mother mourning alone.
This is why we're here. This is why we keep working, praying, hoping.
Because every life matters.
Every story matters.
Every family matters.
And sometimes, that's all we can hold onto.
This story of Oleksandr, Nikol, and Alexandra breaks my heart. But they represent just one family among thousands affected by this war. Each day, innocent lives are cut short without warning - children who will never grow up, parents who leave behind grieving families, and communities forever altered by absence.
The randomness of these tragedies is perhaps the most difficult aspect to comprehend. People going about their ordinary lives - shopping for groceries, walking to school, sleeping in what they thought were safe places - when everything changes in an instant.
As we pray today, let's remember not just this one family but all those across Ukraine and other conflict zones who are suffering similar losses. Let us pray for those whose stories haven't been told, whose names we may never know, but whose lives matter profoundly to God.
