One Painting, One Incredible Rescue Story
She has lived almost half her young life beneath the dark clouds of a senseless war. More than a million souls have been lost on the fertile plains of Ukraine. Yet long before the world was paying attention, we were already there.
Years ago, returning from Moldova with Chrissie, an immigration officer stopped when I told him where we'd been. While stationed in the Caribbean, he said, they had intercepted a forty-foot shipping container. Inside were thirty-eight Moldovan girls — loaded into that steel prison near the port of Odesa, Ukraine, and bound to be sold and exploited around the world. Chrissie finally broke the silence: “Philip, does this mean we're going to Ukraine?” She already knew the answer.
One of those precious girls is Ana. Recently she approached Chrissie during a visit to one of our homes, holding a small canvas, her face half shy, half afraid someone might laugh at what she had painted. Ana comes from the abyss — a father trapped by alcohol, a home ruled by fear, a broken family in a broken country. But what she held in her hands was not broken. It was beautiful.
On that small canvas, Ana had painted the story of her life. The dark buildings are the institutions and orphanages that felt more like prisons than homes. The flames are the missiles and drones that still rain down on her country. Yet in the center stands something stronger than fear: a hand, a home, and hope — the home you helped create.
When I saw her painting, I was deeply moved. I had it made into a card to share with you; on the back, the other girls wrote messages of their own, because they know this home exists only because people cared enough to act. Place Ana's card somewhere you'll see it often, and let it remind you to pray for the many girls whose lives are being rewritten by love instead of fear.
As many of you know, I recently underwent open-heart surgery after doctors found five serious blockages. I'm recovering well, though not yet cleared to travel — and the needs of our children have not paused. Recently one of our house parents, Pavel, sent me photographs that brought tears to my eyes: he and our boys were building a chicken coop. They had worked out how many eggs our homes use each week and decided the way they could help carry the burden while “Dad” recovers was to raise hens. “Let's help feed the family.”
It is more than a painting. It is a rescue story. It is proof that darkness does not have the final word.
Will you help us keep the doors of hope open — and ensure that Ana and her sisters never have to return to the world we rescued them from? A gift of $50, $100, or $500 makes a tremendous difference; a gift of $1,000 or more provides critical support for our homes, summer outreaches, and the young missionaries serving these precious children. Every gift becomes part of the picture Ana painted: a hand reaching into darkness, a home standing against fear, a future where hope wins.
