Imaginary Friends in Real Life by Wil Triggs

In a discussion earlier this week, a person commented on historical books (his favorite) as reading about “real things” as opposed, I suppose, to reading fiction. I enjoy reading history and memoir. But the subtext to comments like that is the idea that fiction cannot be real. He may not have meant it that way, but it’s easy for us to say that fiction is not real and historical writing is.

I am sensitive to this kind of language because years ago, a colleague at another workplace made an even more horrifying comment on theater and acting. The person said to me that all acting is a form of lying because the actor is pretending to be something he’s not. I thought at the time that he had to be joking. I looked at his face for the beginning of a grin that would signal that he was playing with me, but no. He was serious.

As a lifelong theatergoer this was unimaginable. Going to plays has been an important part of my life. I love doing it and spend time checking what is playing in London, New York, Stratford, Chicago. It was a triumph of God’s Spirit that I did not get mad at that man.

And as a reader whose life has been shaped by some great pieces of fiction, I cannot say that the imaginary people of fictional works are not real.

Never mind Raskolnikov or Hamlet or Gandalf. What about Atticus Finch or Ebenezer Scrooge or Sherlock Holmes? When we read good books, we easily embrace the people in them one way or another. Either we see in them ways to live, virtues to aspire to, or bad choices that we don’t want to make. Sometimes we see both good and bad in one character and read through the suspense of what’s going to become of him. I want to be Scrooge at the end of the book, not the beginning, but the “real” me right now might not be there just yet.

The characters in Jesus’s fictions are so real that we easily forget that they, by definition of the people I’ve quoted, weren’t real. They’re fiction.

So maybe they’re hyper-real. In some ways, we can become them.

In real life, we can take on their roles like an actor becoming Hamlet or Willy Loman, but with these Scriptural characters born from the mind and mouth of Jesus, they may not be us at all, and yet, they could be pointing us to the way we might be, even should be.

We are like a sower who sows seeds that grow over time--as we did last weekend at the Cream of Wheaton when we gave away Bibles to people. Or when we teach in Kids’ Harbor we’re sowing seeds that will grow over time.

We can be the Prodigal Son’s brother or his father. We can be jealous of our brother or kill the fattened calf and throw a party. We can bandage and house the wounded man, taking on the role of the Good Samaritan, but not in some theoretical fiction, but with living, hurting people who are not at all like we are. We can knock on the door of prayer and not stop. Or we might need to play the part of the shepherd who drops everything for one lost sheep.

When we take on these roles like actors playing parts written by playwrights, it may not feel like us, but that doesn’t mean we’re lying. Perhaps we’re moving closer to heaven than earth, living as members of a kingdom that has come and is yet to come.

Consider Abraham and his promised descendants—they auditioned and got the starring roles as strangers and exiles on earth (so-called real life). They played the part, because “as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.” (Hebrews 11:16). Abraham was not a fictional character, but he went to places he never dreamed and God gave him a new name.

What role will you act today? Sower, father, Good Samaritan? Stranger or exile? Sometimes acting, like fiction, can be a pathway to truth and becoming a new you that’s more like Jesus and less like the natural men and women we are so accustomed to being.

A Manageable Yes by Judy Hulseberg

The STARS ministry needs summer volunteers again. This announcement took me back to a conversation I had with one of my sons years ago. During a busy season for our family, he asked me why I chose to work in a STARS classroom on Sunday mornings. 
 
He knew I loved to volunteer in most classrooms. He just couldn’t understand why I would add one more activity to my weekends at that time. As a hermit-level introvert in a lively family, our weekly marathon of activities left me practically comatose by Saturday night and ready to knock myself out with a frying pan for some alone time. In the years after having children, I had learned to welcome any solo activity. A trip to the DMV was heavenly with a good book or a daydream. Ditto for any delay in a doctor’s waiting room. And occasional MRIs and root canals have provided some of the best opportunities for napping and thinking in the last two decades.
 
As a matter of survival during that season, I became adept at the art of saying no: to work advancements, volunteer opportunities and social activities. I even told myself that it made sense to keep saying no to Sunday ministry commitments for a little while longer. But the Holy Spirit kept nudging in that area, so I looked for a manageable yes.
 
That summer, a call for STARS classroom aides seemed to promise the kind of limited commitment that even I could handle, both in scope and in the skills required. It seemed sufficient to possess a willing heart, a smile, and the ability to hand out snacks and worksheets while other volunteers did the heavy lifting. That was about all I had to offer, so I figured a summer in STARS would be a way to serve without dropping any of the other plates spinning in the air. So I said yes to a tiny commitment.
 
That first summer passed, and something entirely unexpected happened: I discovered that being in a classroom full of animated STARS was actually energizing rather than draining, a small miracle for the extreme introvert. Before I had time to think it through, I had signed on to serve year round, and—even more surprising—STARS Sundays became a favorite activity on my calendar.
 
I shouldn’t have been surprised that a grudging little yes would turn into a great blessing and joy. I know that following God’s leading works that way. I had just forgotten to trust what I knew was true.
 
During those Sundays in STARS, God began reminding me of this and other spiritual truths. “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” (Isaiah 55:8-9) And “But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise and what is weak in the world to shame the strong.” (1 Corinthians 1:27)
 
God’s living and active Word seemed to tumble into my mind each week, and the STARS classroom began to feel like a master class on the reliability of God’s Word and the wonder of his ways. 
 
Watching the students patiently listen to each other’s heartaches and concerns reminded me of moments when I talked more than I listened. Hearing them express gratitude for being together each week brought to mind times when I grumbled and complained while ignoring countless blessings. Observing their absolute confidence in prayer revealed to me the solidity of their faith and the flimsiness of mine. Through those deemed weak in this world, God humbled and convicted me over and over again, demonstrating his brand of wisdom and reminding me that his ways are infinitely higher than mine.
 
God also revealed glimpses of something about how life ought to be—not the struggle and pain of a life with disabilities, of course—but something about God’s values and heart.  In a world that prizes accomplishment, abilities, and advancement, the STARS classroom was characterized by simple but transcendent moments: The wonder and awe when a student who hasn’t spoken for months suddenly laughs at a joke or sings an entire verse of Jesus Loves Me. The delight when an ordinarily detached student holds your hand or shares a secret. The unabashed joy and enthusiasm of praising God in song without worrying about pitch or key. I walked out every week with a refreshed view of what is really important.
 
And then there was the unexpected laughter. It seemed that we were always laughing at something—inside jokes and good natured-teasing, humor skillfully woven into every Bible lesson by wise and funny volunteers, and a stream of unfiltered comments and observations. My favorite came one day when A., who never misses a detail, couldn’t stop looking just above my eyes and finally announced, “You really need to take care of that.” That was my unruly hair, which on that morning could have starred in its own episode of the “Alaskan Bush People.”   
 
This type of candor and a genuine warmth permeated our interactions. We received enthusiastic greetings and hearty hugs just for showing up. Of course, the most exuberant affection was reserved for the veteran teachers and volunteers. The students adore them. They are greeted like rock stars, and it strikes me that this is as it should be. Faithfully serving and loving the STARS for decades warrants rock star status in my mind, and it is wonderful to be in a place that gets it right.
 
When I cautiously agreed to invest a little time in STARS, God took that miserly investment and began paying generous dividends in regular lessons about his character and ways. Each week with the STARS, someone reminds me again that the wisdom of this world really is foolishness with God; and through the very ordinary tasks of “helping” the disabled, God continually demonstrates his extraordinary ability to reveal something about himself in and through each of us.
 
Sometimes a parent or ministry coordinator thanks me for serving in STARS, as if I am kind or altruistic to be there. I’m never sure what to say because volunteering in STARS doesn’t feel like service at all. It is neither a sacrifice nor a burden. It is a privilege and a joy to be with the STARS, and I’m grateful that they warmly welcome me, bad hair and all.

The Last Breakfast by Wil Triggs

Back from LittWorld, Media Associate’s International’s triannual conference, there is much to think about. But the last breakfast keeps me hungry for more.

I’m thinking about Byato. He had sat in front of me in a workshop on publishing books, but we hadn’t spoken until that last morning breakfast. He pulled out a chair at the same table where Lorraine and I were sitting.

He described Mongolia, his homeland, as a culturally Buddhist country. He didn’t grow up knowing much about religion. Mostly what he knew was terror at home. His dad had been abusive, so much so that he and his brothers plotted to kill him. He didn’t go into detail except to say that the plot did not work out. All it did was end his childhood. I could hear the regret.

As a young adult, he fell into bad habits. His mother suffered. Already living with the difficulties of her husband, she was now seeing her beloved son make bad choices.

He saw this, too. Byato tried to stop them to ease her pain. He described trying to wash the smell of tobacco out of his clothes without much success and the subsequent pain of not being able to either stop or successfully hide his habit from his mom, which he knew caused her pain. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop all the bad habits. He could not get the smell out of his clothes.

When he went into a church for the first time, he heard people singing as he approached. It drew him in. The people were singing about the cleansing power of Jesus’ blood, how it could make a person truly clean. It wasn’t just the smell of tobacco on the surface of his clothes, but the utter failure in his soul that they were singing about—cleansing from the inside out. Somehow, by the Holy Spirit, he knew it was true and, in that truth, change and life came to him. We talked more about his work as a Christian broadcaster.

Then breakfast was over. Time to go our separate ways. There was so much more I wanted to know.

Every year, I tell the story of Hudson Taylor to the Kindergarteners--a similar story of faith in curriculum I inherited from Linda Murphy. Mr Ni was an idol worshipper. Yet he never could get over his sense of sin. One night he heard a bell ringing, and he followed the sound and found people in front of a building. It was Hudson’s home.

One of the people told him that a man was in the building who would tell them about God. Curious, Mr. Ni went in and sat down. Hudson told of Jesus and the forgiveness of sins. Mr. Ni raised his hand and stood up in the middle of the message. Hudson shared more and Mr. Ni believed.

A few days later Mr. Ni asked Hudson how long it had been since they had first heard about Jesus in his home country. Thinking he would hear 20 or 30 years, Mr. Ni was shocked when Hudson told him that it had been hundreds of years.

Mr. Ni thought of his father, who had died never hearing about Jesus. “Why did it take you so long?” he asked.

In his good and loving sovereignty, God directs our paths. Working now on our Cream of Wheaton display, I’m praying for opportunities this summer, that we might have the courage to sing the song and ring the bell.

Ashes on Beauty by Lorraine Triggs

Aunt Kay and Uncle Don were fixtures of my childhood. Their Christian counterparts were our Uncle John and Aunt Betty, neither couple were actual family, but family formed from community—one in the household of faith, the other in the houses of South Kenwood Avenue.

During the summer, after the afternoon soap operas and before the dads came home from work, Aunt Kay would walk across the street to our house, cigarette in hand, to join my mother on the front porch for conversation and neighborhood gossip. But first things first, my mom would instruct us to get an ash tray for Aunt Kay.

We didn’t own ash trays. What my mother was asking was for us to choose the prettiest teacup from her small, but treasured collection, and bring its saucer out for Aunt Kay—you guessed it—to tap her cigarette ashes in it. Gross. Disgusting.

By far, the prettiest teacups were from Aunt Betty, who would bring back a cup and saucer from her trips to Scotland to visit her family. We would purposely choose one of Aunt Betty’s cups, hoping our mother would ask us to put it back—they were too perfect, too much of a treasure for cig butts and ashes.

Well, that was a non-starter, and we were indignant at my mother’s careless attitude toward her fine bone china. What prompted our childish indignation was the house rule that the teacups were off-limits for our al fresco tea parties. Mother did not want us to ruin her lovely teacups with hose water, sticks and mud. Come on, Mom, really? But it was okay for Aunt Kay to ruin them? My pharisaical leanings were showing, and at such a young age.

Jesus had a similar careless attitude, not to fine china, but to alabaster flasks. The disciples, like me and my sisters, knew better. In Mark 14, sandwiched between the chief priests and scribes plotting to kill Jesus and Judas Iscariot’s betrayal, we see Jesus, not on a porch, but reclining at the table in the house of Simon the leper. Then an anonymous woman walks into the room, breaks an expensive alabaster jar, and pours the oil on Jesus’ head.

Talk about the indignation flying around that table—why did the woman waste the ointment? Why did she ruin the flask? We could have sold it all to give to the poor. Mark says that they scolded her.
Then Jesus says, “Leave her alone. Why do you trouble her? She has done a beautiful thing to me.” Her act of ruin became a gospel proclamation as she anointed Jesus’ body beforehand for burial, and beauty would come from the ashes of betrayal and death.

We adored Aunt Betty, but my mother knew her better than we did. She would not have minded the burning cigarette finding rest on her bone china gift. In fact, if she were on that porch, she probably would have made Scottish cream scones and served tea in the now saucer-less cup for Aunt Kay, as my mom dumped the ashes in a beautiful display of grace.

Ashes on beauty, beauty for ashes.

Unforced Rhythms of Grace by Stephen Rigby

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace [Emphasis added] I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” Matthew 11:28-30 (The Message)

My wife, Karis, recently said, "I am learning to pray for strength not only to do what I need to do but also to be okay with all that I cannot do." Margins are not high in this season of little ones and family sicknesses, losses in our family and community, and other shifting sands of transition have taken us to a place where we simply cannot get everything done. So what to do? I often have a tendency to want to just keep going, desperately trying not to let anything drop so I endure late nights and early mornings. And while there are seasons that I can function this way, the current pace of this is not sustainable to me right now. We ended the year tired and in want of rest, yet God has brought us into other seasons of heightened care for others.

So Jesus' words in this passage are an encouragement, a prayer, and a seemingly allusive hope. I am encouraged by Jesus’ simple invitation to come to him. Find rest in him. That he will teach and guide as I learn from his example. I am drawn into the life of Jesus in these verses. I marvel at the way he still loved people so well when he was tired. Whether it is the woman at the well in John 4 or the many ways you see him looking at the cares of others on his way to cross, when his life was squeezed, love poured out. This encourages me that in my limited capacity he is also pouring out love for me as he shows me the unforced rhythms of grace.

This is also a prayer. I am acutely aware of how desperate I am for God to show up. I pray for healing for friends and family that are going through deep sorrows, I pray for provision for those who have exceeding needs that we cannot meet, I pray for grace upon grace for my children as I hear my tone come out harsh toward them at the end of a long day. God, have mercy and teach me … I need help!

And yes, this passage also speaks of a hope … to live freely and lightly. Can this really be? I feel the weight of so much of the brokenness that surrounds me, yet these words are such a deep longing in my heart. God, can this be true? Can one live freely and lightly while knowing the deep wounds of loved ones? In a season where we have experienced many losses I see glimpses of his light shining through. In a meeting with our Ambassadors team the other week one of our staff, Samson, was talking about some of the hardships that he has witnessed within our office community and then, in a turn of a word, he asked a question about God’s purpose and whether these hard things were preparing us for something we had not imagined before. In that moment I felt a flame of hope light inside me. My gaze shifted from the brokenness and onto my heavenly Father who knows me, loves me and is with me always. In that moment, I was free and light.

Playing Moses by Wil Triggs

Our Kindergarten class has been wandering in the wilderness for several weeks, and we are about to enter the promised land. A few weeks back, I dressed up like Moses to tell the story of me/Moses striking the rock to get water for the complaining people.

As I walked from the back of the room to the front in my Bible-costume garb and staff in hand, one of the boys in the class raised his hand, stood up and whispered to me loud enough so most everyone could hear, “I know you aren’t really Moses. You are one of our teachers dressed up like him.”

No fooling him.

A couple weeks later, I walked to the front of class without a costume, just my normal clothes. The same boy, with the same whisper and a smile, said, “I remember when you dressed up like Moses.”

There’s a certain element of fun at play in Kindergarten. Fun for the kids and fun for us teachers. It’s a great age because we can do most anything—puppets, dress up, pretend, flannel graph, picture books, games, video—it’s all good. Lorraine and I joke with each other that we’ve never really grown up anyway, so let’s play as we teach. This week we’re going to cross the Jordan River together. Having fun together makes learning a joy. I've enjoyed playing Moses.

One of the visiting pastors from Ukraine shared a different sort of play he engaged in with his children. After he got home from his time with us at College Church and before he moved them to a safer place, they were together in the basement of their home. When the air raid siren would go off, it was a signal for them to play a game of Hide ‘n Seek.

Watching coverage on various news channels, I heard another person in Kyiv say that every time the air raid sounds, she used it as a signal to play a game with her children. These attempts to preserve children in the midst of terror are moving for a Kindergarten teacher like me.

Anita Deyneka (College Church missionary serving with A Home for Every Orphan/Mission Eurasia) has been updating us this week of work to rescue children in Ukraine. Her upcoming prayer letter adds special perspective on the tragedy of Mariupol:

“Mariupol is one of many Ukrainian cities especially close to my heart, as it was a cradle of the movement that began twenty years ago, and then swept across the country, as Christians reached out to adopt and foster orphans in their country. After the collapse of communism this happened as never before, and thousands of parentless children found caring Christian homes in their own country. And now there are more orphans and children injured and dying, casualties of this brutal war.”

That movement spread from Ukraine to other countries and churches and Christian homes around the world. What a remarkable movement of the church to deliver children and bring them into their homes and now even across war zones, becoming hands and feet of deliverance, playing Moses in modern-day Egypts.

Then, as I work on the persecuted church prayer sheet for this week, the Barnabas Aid prayer calendar for Sunday, March 13, reminds me that such needs are not just in Ukraine. Here is the prayer:

“Lord Jesus, we thank you for your unfailing love for children and how you affirm that the kingdom of God belongs to such as them. We pray especially for Christian children who have suffered much through persecution. We lift up 12-year-old Alina and her family from Iraq as she adjusts to life in the UK. Please bring her comfort following the loss of her mother, who was martyred, and after the months of hardship moving from country to country. Please draw near to Alina and other Christian children and establish them in their faith as they face such challenges. May they grow in resilience and learn to trust you more and more."

The unfailing love of Jesus . . . for children, but also for grown ups like you and me.

Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.” And he took them in his arms and blessed them, laying his hands on them. Mark 10:15-16

It's a blessing for Jesus to use people like you and me to reach and care for children in big and little ways. Somehow, too, in the darkness of this adult world, we receive God’s kingdom like a child and point others of all ages to the profoundly simple gospel, even a child, especially a child, can come and Jesus will take them (us) in his arms.

Let’s give thanks today that we are all children of God. Today we can come to him like children. Our steadfast loving Dad will take us in his arms.

Sleeping Through Kyiv by Lorraine Triggs

I was sound asleep when our overnight train from Moscow to Odesa pulled into the station at Kyiv. My husband woke me up, so I could look out the window into the night at Kyiv. I promptly went back to sleep.

That was twenty-nine years ago this month. I might have missed seeing Kyiv, but I didn’t miss out on the kindness of a Ukrainian father and his daughter who sat across from us in the open car on that train.

Technically, we weren’t supposed to be in that open car. There was debate among our friends about whether or not we should even go. but the tickets had been purchased. We assured our ministry friends that we would be fine. And we were, thanks to the father and daughter. They demonstrated how the wooden seats opened like a trunk, where we could store our luggage and valuables, and if you slept on the top of your seat, “the hooligans” who roamed the open cars at night wouldn’t be able to steal your belongings. The twosome also made sure we had mattresses and quilts to keep us comfortable on the wooden seats.

They were right about the hooligans—loud and drunk they marched through our car, until the father decided he had had enough and stood up to them. These young men were an embarrassment to Ukraine and to themselves. If they had to walk through our car, they were to remain silent and not disturb the Americans. Every time one of us woke, the father was awake through the night guarding us and our stuff, ensuring we had a quiet night. And when my quilt slipped to the floor, he picked it up and put it over me.

Now, hooligans and worse have invaded Ukraine, and I would give anything to stand guard to ensure peace and even one quiet night for my Ukrainian brothers and sisters. Sadly, I can’t do this for them anymore than I can for myself and the hooligans that march through my mind and heart.

Hooligans of worry and fear invade my mind and steal a restful night. Hooligans like discontent loudly remind me of what I don’t have. Hooligans that whisper the ancient lie, “Did God really say?” and work hard to convince me that God isn’t good. After all, Ukraine is imploding; situations almost too difficult to bear remain unresolved; family members deconstruct their faith. Really? God is good?

I am not falling for the ancient lie. God is good, and like the Ukrainian father who watched over us that night on the train, God stays awake and is our keeper according to the ancient truth of Psalm 121—the Lord is my keeper. Back in 2019, Marshall Segal wrote an article for Desiring God called, “The Lord Can and Will Keep You.” In his article, Segal explains that God’s people traveled rough and uncertain roads to Jerusalem for one of the three major feasts. There would be unpredictable threats and dangers, but instead of worry or fear or falling for lies, they sang the song of Psalm 121 with its confident refrain:

• the Lord will keep you

• he who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep

• the Lord is your keeper

• the Lord will keep you from all evil

• he will keep your life

• the Lord will keep your going out and your coming in from this time forth and forever more

I don't think Segal knew three years ago what we read today in his words “no weapon of man, no weapon of Satan, no danger in nature can keep God from keeping you," or that he would be describing our Ukrainian brothers and sisters who despite the real fears of weapons or Putin are opening their churches as shelters to keep their neighbors safe and point others to Jesus and his Word in the midst of terror and chaos. As for me and my hooligans? They are in serious danger as I trust the One who keeps my going out and coming in to guard my heart and mind.

Global Reflections on Ukraine from Greg and Debby Nichols

It is not a secret that there is a war going on in Ukraine. As most of you remember, Greg and I spent 10 years in Odesa, Ukraine. We have many Ukrainian friends--some who have come through the seminary, and other friends who currently live in Prague. So this has impacted us in a rather personal way. We know the people that are being targeted and pushed out of their homes with the fear for their lives.

Someone in Kyiv wrote the following which is worth pondering:
Do you know Ukraine is the main missionary-sending country for Eastern Europe and Central Asia? One missiologist said, “The church is very strong. As far as Europe is concerned, the Ukrainian church is perhaps the strongest and is doing the most for education, training and sending out workers. A director at Kyiv Theological Seminary said, “Even in the midst of this kind of uncertainty, this kind of ominous threats, (students) are trying to keep their focus on Jesus.”  An invasion by Russia is Satan’s way of disrupting this.

Our hearts and our prayers are continuously with them. 

I have listed some ways you can pray for the people and the situation. But first, I want to encourage you with these words from the Sons of Korah. They give testimony of the great power and might of their God, who is also our God.

God is our refuge and strength,
    an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
    and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
 though its waters roar and foam
    and the mountains quake with their surging.

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
    the holy place where the Most High dwells.
 God is within her, she will not fall;
    God will help her at break of day.
 Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall;
    he lifts his voice, the earth melts.

The Lord Almighty is with us;
    the God of Jacob is our fortress.

 Come and see what the Lord has done,
    the desolations he has brought on the earth.
 He makes wars cease
    to the ends of the earth.
He breaks the bow and shatters the spear;
    he burns the shields with fire.
 He says, “Be still, and know that I am God;
    I will be exalted among the nations,
    I will be exalted in the earth.”

The Lord Almighty is with us;
    the God of Jacob is our fortress. (Psalm 46)

Now, how you can pray for Ukraine:

Pray for the Ukrainian believers to be safe from all harm. As a Ukrainian friends said "those bullets do not need to really come out of the guns."  Pray for their hearts to be full of courage and love as they reach out to their fellow Ukrainians and as they interact with any Russians they encounter. Pray that God would supply all their needs.

Pray for the Ukrainians who do not know Jesus yet--that they would find comfort in his redemption of their souls. 

Pray for the missionaries who have chosen to stay in country. Pray for Sasha whose American wife and children are on the west side of Ukraine currently in safety, but he has chosen to stay in Odesa to help people in need. We have ways to getting funds to them if you are interested. 

Pray for the Ukrainians who are working with organizations that are helping others. Pray particularly for Serigey and Dyna who are working with young women at risk. They are in need of financial help. If you are interested in helping them keep afloat during this time, we can put you in touch. 

Pray also for Ukrainians who are being trained to be missionaries in Kyiv. Pray that they would be able to use their training among their own people either in Ukraine or in the neighboring countries. 

Pray for the refugees that will be pouring into the west, Czech Republic included. Pray for us as Greater Europe Mission and Dignity try to understand how to help with that effort. 

Thank you for praying. Your prayers are a huge part of all of this. The prayers we speak to our Father are heard and I believe he is acting already.
To God be all glory and praise.

Thanks to Greg and Deby for helping us pray.