Hope in a cup of coffee and a bag of chips.

“They were hiding,” I heard one of my new German friends tell me. 

 

We were sitting in the office in the heart of Craiova. Brit and I welcomed two young women from Germany into our daily life here yesterday. Their names are Adina and Joanna and they’ve come through an organization called the Bible Mission. 

 

Adina doesn’t know much English but Joanna is pretty fluent. They both speak Russian so Raul asked if they would help us with some of the refugees because many of them speak Russian.

 

“These women were hiding underground,” Joanna continues. “The Russians were bombing the cities to the right and left of where they were staying. A few days ago, they were able to finally get out and get to safety in Romania.”

 

Underground, God? 

 

I look in the eyes of these elderly women. There is deep, deep pain, yet true gratitude.

 

“How old are they?” I ask Joanna.

 

She translates, “Between the ages of 60 to 85.”

 

Oh, Father, how do I give hope to these women? They were HIDING for weeks on weeks.

 

Suddenly, the 85 babushka (grandma) looks at me “Coffee?”

 

Immediately, I get up and grab coffee for her and her friends and family.

 

This beautiful woman just survived an attack from Russia and the only hope I can give her is a cup of coffee? 

 

Lord, help me. I cannot bear the load of this.

 

We hand out the coffee and she winks at me and smiles.

 

Oof. I guess there is hope in a warm cup of coffee. 

 

____

 

It’s Thursday morning. My alarm goes off at 5:30am. Immediately, I’m on my feet. Today is the day that I step foot near Ukrainian soil. 

 

I walk to the bathroom, splash water on my face and brush my hair into a messy bun quickly. I pull on my leggings and a big t-shirt. My muscles are sore from the night before. We try our best to workout every night with the energy we have left after 9 hour days. 

 

I pull on my socks, tie my shoes, and slip my jacket on. I put a book, water bottle, and dry oatmeal in my backpack.

 

I walk down the stairs.

 

“Are you ready?” Raul asks at the bottom of the stairs.

 

“Yes, just a little tired.”

 

“Ahhh, first, we get coffee,” Raul says.

 

Pastor Raul knows my heart so well. Coffee is a necessity for a 12-14 hour car ride.

 

Slowly behind, Paul comes running after us with eggs in his hands (greaaaat time management, Paul) and we are off.

 

(By the way, Paul is an alumni racer here helping us with the Ukrainian crisis.)

 

For the next 6.5 hours, we speed through fields, cities, and landscapes. We watch as the sun rises and Raul asks me to write down a “to-do” list for the next couple days. My main job on these car rides is to make sure Raul stays awake.

 

Eventually, we get to the church we partner with which is very close to the border. Our two vans are filled with pasta, jams, fruits, cleaning supplies, and toilet paper. We drop the supplies at the church and the family provides us with soup, bread, and pickles for lunch. 

 

I’ve said it many times but the hospitality here is astounding.

 

“They’re here!!” We hear the mother exclaim from the other room. 

 

The new refugees have arrived at the house. We walk outside and immediately, I fall in love with these new friends.

 

Liudmyla: a 68 year old babushka that immediately starts hugging me and tells me about how she accidentally wet her pants and starts laughing about it. I’m still not quite sure why or how that happened but she got everyone laughing

 

Sasha: a 12 year old girl who immediately grabbed my hand.

 

Rinat: a 16 year old boy (cousin to Sasha) who is incredibly shy but is a true gentleman.

 

Tetiana: Babushka to Sasha and Rinat and showed up wearing a sweatshirt that said “Eat. Sleep. Football. Repeat.” Tetiana has a constant sparkle in her eye.

 

Iryana: a 34 year old woman who befriended Liudmyla a few weeks ago and hasn’t left her side since. She speaks a little English and constantly tells me “spacibo” (which means thank you and pronounced “spuh-seeba.”) 

 

We get them loaded up and immediately, Liudmyla starts throwing oranges at me, Paul, and Raul to eat. She also speaks to Rinat constantly and gets him to open up.

 

We stopped at a gas station and ordered our new family dinner. 

 

I see little Sasha eyeing some chips but Tetiana tells her no.

 

When no one is looking, I grab Sasha’s hand and walk her to the chip aisle and translate “Pick anything you want. My treat.”

 

Sasha’s eyes grow so wide as she points to the sour cream and onion truffles.

 

Immediately, I grab the bag that costs 10 LEI (about 2.19 USD.) I know I’ll only have 12 LEI left in my budget for food the next two days. Do I care at this moment? Absolutely not. Because I wanna give hope in any form I can.

 

Sasha hasn’t stopped yelling my name and giving me hugs since the gas station. 

 

Hope. In a bag of chips. 

 

(BTW: The Lord provided food for the next two days for me.)

 

Father, I will give any small token of hope that I can. So that just maybe, they may see You and know You.