Feeling somewhat familiar with the needs at the train station, I pray about where would be the best way to offer my help since I could not speak a word of Ukrainian. How could I use my unique "gifts that I have received from God to serve others, as a faithful steward of grace?" (1 Peter 4:10).  And the Holy Spirit directed my path. In the afternoon,  I made my first solo trip to the train station.  Entering a room with tables and chairs, I notice a pretty ten-year-old girl drawing a beautiful landscape with crayons and being an artist and art teacher, I was immediately drawn to her (no pun intended).  Was she painting a memory of the Ukraine prior to the bombs or a vision of hope for her future?  I am frustrated, because I have no way to communicate with her except through facial expressions of amazement and joy.  Then, a lightbulb goes off in my head and I know how I could serve.  Sister Veronica who was in the room translates my request and the young woman shyly says yes.  I could draw her.  

Watching me intently as I sketch with a black crayon, I draw her eyes first because I could almost see into her spirit; the strength, the innocence and oh, the beauty of this child of God.  Others in the room come to watch. When I complete the sketch in about 10 minutes, the child's mother insists that I sign it, so her daughter will have a joyful memory of this time.  Holding her portrait, the girl lit up the room with her smile as she runs around showing the picture to everyone.  A young boy wearing a headset declares he is next.  When I complete his portrait, he becomes my agent gathering other clients and instructing them on how to sit, pose and be still.  He is especially tough on his little brother who keeps fidgeting.  Even one of the older volunteers from Caritas (Catholic Charities) lines up to have his portrait done.  For a time, all of us could forget and escape together into the renewing and healing process of creation.  I loved giving others such joy and it strengthened me for the challenge of the evening.

On our nightly visit, several Sisters and I wait at the station for the trains to arrive from the Ukraine.  We are looking for a mother and child because we only have one bed to offer. This is not an easy task because most refugees travel in large family groups and we are tired from our day.  Sister Christine finally spots a young woman holding a baby and asks if she has a place to stay.  With a relieved look on her face, she says yes to our invitation, but can't go immediately because she is waiting for her younger sister, little brother,  and mother. to return from the WC. With a sigh and great difficulty, Sister Christine tells her that we do not have the room for them, and the girl begins to beg.  Our hearts are moved.  How could we refuse her pleading? Sister Christine calls the Superior to see if the Sisters could find some room for them to stay.and thankfully they did. 

While we wait for another convent car to arrive, the family filling in each other's descriptions or talking at the same, begins to tell their story. Their animated faces, gestures and rapid pattern of speaking bare the trauma of their escape from Kyiv. They speak of the constant wailing of the sirens, the bombs striking targets, the shooting in the streets, waiting their turn for the train, squeezing together like sardines and standing for a three day journey without the relief of a bathroom.  Hearing more of their life journey, we know that they are poor in many ways: a 40 year old single mother of four children including a 6 month old baby and a nineteen year old whose baby was taken away by the father trying to survive on public assistance. The nineteen year old's first question of us is where she could find work.  

Most of the Ukrainians arriving in Poland ask the same question with such hope and expectation.  They had heard from "someone" or read on the internet about the abundance of work and are terribly  disappointed when they find out that jobs are difficult to find. My own nephew and niece from Poland are living in England because of the scarcity of employment here in this country.  Like the Israelites in the desert during the Exodus, some Ukrainians upon hearing this begin to lament leaving the Ukraine.

This night reminded me of another story of a mother, father and baby who were looking for room at an inn and were told that they were full. I am so grateful that this time there was enough. Jesus, revealed through this family, received an extra cot, an air mattress, a bathroom with a shower and the safety of a room without bombs.

Tomorrow, I will travel with the Sisters to one of the entry points for  the Ukrainian refugees where they walk into the warm welcome of Poland.  The town of Przesmyl where I am staying is about 20 minutes from the border.  

Enjoy the pictures of the portraits!