The Other Side of the War

The war in Ukraine is still raging, often hot, sometimes cooling as the word “truce” is whispered, and hope, in its fuller sense, has become rare. Not entirely gone – but distant, uncertain, and difficult to grasp.
Even for those who have left, that war persists just as powerfully, echoing within their hearts. It is the war of memory, of loss, of dislocation.

Over Easter, almost a hundred people gathered in Trondheim, and quickly it became clear that this would not be an ordinary evening. One after another, people started to open up. What began as simple exchanges slowly unfolded into something much deeper – moments of confession, grief, and honesty that had clearly been waiting for a place to be released. They spoke about fathers who would never return, sons who were gone too soon, friends whose absence still felt unreal. Some spoke quietly, almost afraid of what it meant to say these things out loud, while others could not hold it together at all, speaking through tears.

What struck me deeply was how, even in the middle of all this grief, life continued to demand something from them. They are expected to integrate, to learn a new language, to find work, to build something stable out of nothing – all while carrying a weight that would overwhelm most people. Survival is not a phrase for them; it is a daily, ongoing reality.

Yet, somewhere in the middle of all this, something began to shift. The atmosphere changed, and for a few hours, something lifted. They were not just refugees, not just survivors. They were people together, connecting in a way that felt almost unfamiliar. There were prayers, not out of obligation, but out of deep longing. There was laughter – real laughter, the kind that catches you off guard because you had almost forgotten what it feels like. It became a time of celebration simply because they were together, and hope felt real again.

And in those moments, something sacred unfolded in the simplest way.

One woman came up to me and said, “That felt like a moment of heaven. For the first time, I didn’t have to think about how to survive. I could just breathe.” Another said, almost in disbelief, “I haven’t laughed like this in years.” One person later described the evening as “a paradise in the midst of destruction,” and I have not been able to find better words since.

At one point, we took a “basin of water and a towel, and we began to wash their feet” – an act of love, humility, and presence. It was our way of saying, without words, “You matter. You are not forgotten.”

I remember speaking with an elderly woman who is barely managing, simply trying to hold things together. At one point, I told her gently, “There are many people in other countries who are praying for you.” She looked at me as if she was trying to understand whether I truly meant it, and then she broke down completely. She could not believe that anyone, anywhere, actually cared.

Toward the end of the evening, a young man came forward. “I can’t live like this anymore,” he said. “I just want Jesus.”

There was no need for explanation. The tears said everything. Right there, in that moment, he surrendered his life to Christ.

And as I watched him, I understood again what it truly means to love people. It is not about having answers for every situation or changing everything overnight. It is about stepping into their pain, standing with them in it, and creating a space where something different can exist – even if only for a moment. And in that moment, Jesus can step in.

One refugee family in Norway has found a different kind of struggle, protecting their Down-syndrome daughter, Alice, while navigating systems that seem unable to fully respond to the reality of their situation.

They were first settled in Kristiansund, grateful for the city’s natural beauty, calm surroundings, and the kind people who gave them hope for the future. It was there that Alice was born, a child with Down syndrome, whose health would soon become the central concern guiding every decision the family made.
Alice’s father was determined to provide for his family, and he quickly found a work placement, but no formal work contract, and stable employment in the area was difficult to find. Eventually, he was offered work on a farm near Ålesund, and the Norwegian Labour and Welfare Administration (NAV) coordinated between municipalities to arrange the family’s transfer while maintaining their social support. A house was rented for them in Stordal, and they began preparing for the move.

At first, the family was told that Alice would be able to receive all necessary medical care in Stordal, but it became clear that the specialists were elsewhere – Kristiansund, Jelset, Molde, Ålesund, and Oslo. The family chose to prioritize Alice’s health which, over time, became more complicated – two eye surgeries for cataracts and frequent illnesses – making long-distance travel for medical appointments challenging.

During this period, Alice’s father, Simon, received an offer of permanent work in Trondheim, and he presented this opportunity to NAV Kristiansund with the hope that the family would be allowed to relocate there while continuing to receive support, particularly because having treatment in one city would allow for better coordination between specialists, but the request was denied.

As the situation continued, he made the decision to go to Trondheim first in order to establish a stable base for the family, where he found housing and secured kindergarten places for the children, including Alice, and he supported the family financially during that time. In Trondheim, Alice began receiving treatment in one location, where communication between specialists improved. Alice was also attending kindergarten, and she began to show progress.

Odette, Alice’s mother, began looking for work, but was not able to find employment, and the family applied for her to participate in the introduction program in Trondheim, though this application was also denied.

Alice’s father then lost his job, and the family applied twice to NAV for social assistance to cover essential needs such as food and rent, but the application was denied both times.

At the same time, Barnevernet, (Norway’s Child Welfare Services) opened a case and strongly recommended that they return to their previous place of residence, despite medical assessments that such a move would not be advisable for Alice’s health. Even Doctor Lana from the handicapped-baby orphanage in Odesa, whom we helped evacuate to Trondheim two years ago is lobbying the authorities to allow the family to move from Kristiansund.

This situation has left the family in a position of uncertainty, where they are trying to care for their child, follow medical guidance, and find a way to meet their basic needs, while facing decisions and circumstances that are difficult to reconcile with those priorities.

If their government support is not granted in their move to Trondheim it is going to cost this family $2,500 per month to live. We have decided to support this family in their move to Trondheim so that Alice can get the best necessary medical support for her Down Syndrome condition. If you would like to help us, your gifts will be greatly appreciated.

What this family is going through is not an isolated story, and it is not something that ends with them, because every single day we meet families who are facing similar situations and trying to survive under the same pressure while caring for children who need stability, treatment, and protection, and yet in the middle of all this, it is their faith in God that continues to sustain them, giving them strength to endure what would otherwise feel unbearable.

This is why we continue to walk alongside these families, helping, supporting, and advocating for them, because behind every case there are real people struggling, and we believe that God sees them, that He strengthens them, and that He can open doors that no system can close. We ask you to stand with us, to pray, and to support, so that together we can continue to be there for those who are in urgent need of help and who cannot face this alone.

Thank you again for the encouragement you are to us, and thousands of needy people through us. Please continue to stand with us in prayer and support for these needs. We appreciate you immensely.

Yours in the Spirit of Rescue,

           Dave and Margurita

“The love of Christ compels us.”

If you would like to donate to help these needy families and children, please use link above to make a safe donation by credit card or PayPal.

May the glory of your name be the center on which our lives turn.
Manifest your kingdom realm, and cause your every purpose to be fulfilled on earth,
just as it is in heaven. Our Beloved Father, dwelling in the heavenly realms,
We acknowledge you as our Provider of all we need each day.

Matthew 6:9-11 [TPT]