Sasha’s Report from Norway
Norway seems to be the country to which the most refugees are coming. That suits our Norwegian team, led by Sasha, and his wife, Vera, who have worked with me for the last 30 years, starting with the care of orphans in Latvia. Now their children are working with me as well – as interpreters and drivers for refugees needing medical attention and transport to refugee legal-offices and church meetings. Orphan children and teenagers need care all the time in a foreign country. Sasha says, “With the ministry we are doing, our lives often feel pulled in two directions at once. One part remains with the House of Hope, near Odessa in Ukraine, and the other is here in Trondheim, Norway, where Vera and I walk alongside those God sends our way. Some days, it feels as if our hearts are stretched across a map, torn yet still beating.”
Changes in Ukraine.
A new law has just been passed: men aged 18 to 22 are now free to leave the country after almost four years of strict border controls. Some say it is to protect the young, keeping them out of harm’s way. Others suggest it is a political move, intended to prove to the West that Ukraine values its youth. Perhaps it is fear of another youth revolution. Through the Orange Revolution in 2004, it was students who filled the streets with strong voices. Today they are tired, angry, and frustrated with war, mobilization, and no future. Perhaps this is a way to silence them.
And then the unthinkable: what if Ukraine surrenders land to Russia for peace? The longer the war drags on, the more this question creeps in. Would it bring peace – or only deeper wounds? Soldiers are feeling betrayed. Families uprooted again. Children are growing bitter.
At the House of Hope, the vision remains, though the need is endless. People arrive weary and hopelessness. Our rescue vans are battered and are daily in need of repairs – carrying people to safety, delivering food to grandmothers and single mother families, thinking they have been forgotten. Every trip says: “God remembers you.”
There are daily meals, so no child goes to bed hungry. After-school care and trauma support help young minds heal. There is Bible teaching so faith grows stronger than fear, and community outreach so families can come to Jesus. The rope is stretched tight, yet still we hold on.
In Norway
The need looks different, but the hunger of the soul is the same. I do not believe in co-incidence. God brought Ukrainians here. Four years ago, we began in the smallest basement we called “The Cave.” There were just a handful of people with broken stories, tears, and prayers. Today, nearly a hundred gather. We run language cafés, Bible studies, prayer meetings, deal with paperwork, and supply food, but more than anything, we create a family, but there are nights just sitting with loved ones who tremble, waiting for news of sons crossing safely through the woods, and across the border.
The media shows war as facts, but when you see it in the eyes of a mother, in the trembling hands of a father, in families who aged ten years in a few months, it’s different. People cling to us, sobbing, “Thank you for being here. Thank you for not letting us be alone.” These are moments I will never forget. Even when I close my eyes, I see theirs.
It is the young people that are hungry for more of God. Thirty-five to forty come each week for what we call “Chosen Generation Hangout.” Many never thought about God. They came only because they were lonely. But now, their hearts are awakening. For many, it is the first time they have ever known love like that. God has given us the grace to listen, to provide for their needs, and to walk with them.
This summer, we thought we would just have a small picnic – just a few hot dogs in the park with the people we already knew. But word spread and many more came. Some were hungry; some were lonely; some came simply looking for hope. We had no programme, just food, blankets, and open hearts, but God was there. You could feel it. People laughed. Some cried. Others just sat quietly, breathing for the first time in a long while. Out of that simple evening, something new was born. From a small picnic, hearts awakened. It was not about hot dogs in the park. It was about God showing up in the middle of troubled lives.
And then the faces.
Elaine – She fled from Eastern Ukraine, with no money, no support, and only a small backpack. She didn’t know she needed funds for border crossings. She sent an urgent message, and we scrambled with funds and transfers, and she crossed the border. When she reached Trondheim, we pleaded with the refugee-placement officials, praying, and God placed her near us. And then, something she calls “a kiss from heaven on my weary soul.” A young man noticed her and showed her kindness. Love blossomed. Today she is preparing for marriage. From humiliation on the roadside to a wedding dress.
Olaf and Alice. Alice was once a respected cardiologist in Kyiv. Olaf was a simple man with strong hands and a servant’s heart. Both were wounded and weary. They fled. For Olaf the risk was great – at 53, he could still be conscripted. At the border, fear gripped him. “All I have is faith,” he whispered, “maybe God will help.” The officer studied his papers, paused, then returned them, saying quietly, “Have a good journey.” Trembling, they left Kyiv, hardly believing what had happened – their freedom.
They reached Sweden, but peace did not follow. So they drove north until they arrived in Molde, Norway, where we met them. Helping them was a gift of grace. They came to visit us in Trondheim, driving nearly five hours because they had heard about what we do. That day, Alice surrendered her heart to the Lord. Her previous marriage was abusive and painful. She was broken. Here they found not only safety but also Christ. Alice, radiant at 52, was baptized this year. She wept, saying, “God had to bring me to Norway to meet Him. That is the best thing that has ever happened to me.” Oleg also gave his life to Christ. Now they are preparing for marriage in mutual faith, love, and blessing. From trembling at the border to joy in baptism – that is their story.
These are the reasons we keep going. The reasons we drive long distances. The reasons we hold on. Here is proof that God still turns ashes into beauty.
The work is heavy. Our cars are stretched to breaking. Week after week, they transport people to Bible studies, appointments to secure residence, and deliver food and medicines. We are praying for a nine-seater van and a seven-seater car. Not luxury, just wheels of mercy.
The world grows darker, but together, we shine His light.
Germany
Georgie comes from a small town in the Odessa region of Ukraine where the war pressed its way into every street and home. She and her younger sister were adopted by a family in Ukraine, but where her younger sister was accepted and adopted into the family, Georgie was always “too much,” always “not enough.” She was a believer at heart, longing for God, but in this “home” she was not part of the family.
Four years later, when the family fled to Germany, Georgie came with them. Where hardships can bring people closer together, the opposite happened. The whispers started: “She doesn’t belong to us… We can’t handle her… Maybe we should just send her back to Ukraine.” For a girl of fourteen, those words cut deep.
At the Cologne church Georgie connected with Esther, our House Mother, who listened and made Georgie feel understood. The pain was undeniable, and her behaviour reflected it, but Esther also saw something else: resilience. A fragile yet living spark that could be fanned into hope.
The journey ahead is not easy. Healing will take time. Esther and others are working carefully with Georgie – helping her face the patterns of pain, guiding her to understand her worth. The choice to place her in our youth home in Cologne where she can be nurtured and supported may become part of her new chapter. It will allow her to stay in Germany, close to her sister, yet free from the crushing rejection of a home that never accepted her.
Georgie is not the only child marked by war, abandonment, and betrayal, but she is a name, a face, a heart – the rescue of one child at a time. Every package of food, every prayer, every hand stretched out is not just “aid.” It is redemption. It is rewriting the story of children like Georgie, who otherwise would be lost, discarded, and forgotten.
Ukraine
In a remote village outside Odessa, a grandmother, her two daughters, and seven children share a small home. For months, their table has been filled only because of the rescue packages from the House of Hope. And always, with each visit, came the Word of God – a Children’s Picture Bible, with the message of Jesus spoken into their hearts.
On our most recent visit, the grandmother finally opened up, as they spoke about the shaky future of the children. The grandmother’s son is at war, and each day she waits for news. The daughter’s husband was also at the front, but months ago he was declared missing. The pain of not knowing has carved deep lines of grief into her face.
We sat together for a long time. The words came slowly, heavy with tears. Yet in that moment, the Holy Spirit descended, filling the room with His peace. As we prayed – simple, desperate prayers – their fear gave way to an assurance that the Lord had not abandoned them. God’s presence was tangible, filling their broken hearts with comfort.
This family continues to walk through struggle, hunger, and fear. Yet they walk with gratitude too, thanking God for every loaf of bread, every pair of shoes, every touch of love, and most of all, for the presence of Jesus who visited them that day.
This is the busiest and most exhausting time our teams have had in the nearly four years of this devastating war. The sick are needing a lot of care, physically and mentally, with the terror under which they are living all the time.
