Evacuation Day

 March 7, 2022 - The Polish-Ukraine border

    These are updates throughout the day.   I’m just writing when I have the chance.  That’s why my tenses are all over the place (I know Janna and my dad will notice).  

    We left Hradec, Czech Republic at 6:00 am to head to the border to pick up the Safe Haven group.
    Last night, I went to bed at 9.  But thanks to jet lag, I became wide awake at midnight.   I checked my emails, and found out that today was Vitalik’s birthday.  The war started on his daughter, Zoya’s, fifth birthday, and now he is sending his wife, daughter and friends to another country on his birthday.  I don’t doubt that those blows feel extra personal.  I wrote him a short message telling him I look forward to celebrating another birthday in their new home with all of our friends.  
      We had two Czech guys drive more than 8 hours just to pick up 11 women and children.  I am forever grateful to them.  Jenda, our driver, said that he was happy that he could do something to help after watching everything on the news.   Then he had a few choice words for Putin.  

     At 1:00 p.m., Anya wrote us that they were standing in line at border.  We were still fifty miles away, but we arrived at 2:30 and they still hadn’t crossed.  The people are just trickling through this border crossing.  I ran up as close to the border as I could to wait for them.  I’m next to a fire writing this now.  I just asked a family that crossed, they said it took 3-4 hours to cross.  It is barely above freezing today.   We had a snow flurry for about 10 minutes, while we waited.  

     The Safe Haven crew started at the same time as us.   They drove more than two hours to Lviv. There they said their goodbyes and the women and kids got in with a guy from Czech, who is transporting people the final two or more hours to the border for free.  The line at the main border crossing was reported to be a 9 hour wait, so we adjusted and went to a more out of the way point.  The driver dropped them off and they crossed on foot.  
  There are free busses and food and strollers for Ukrainians.  People are offering hot tea, soup and polish sausages.  There is even baby formula and dog and cat food. There is a long tent with all kinds of things someone might need.  It’s all free.  We passed so many trucks hauling in humanitarian aid. Where I am standing, there are Poles and Czech and Danes waiting to help Ukrainians get settled.  It’s amazing to see so much generosity from so many people around the world.  
     This feels a bit like when Jesus would talk about the Kingdom of Heaven.  It’s surreal to think that just on the other side of the border, so many people are living in a version of hell.  

     We are surrounded by people on this side of the border.   Most of them, like us, are waiting for someone specific.  Many are here just to help with food and goods.  But there are some who came because they had space in their car and wanted to help people get further into Poland so that they can get on a bus or a train to their final destination.  Some people don’t know where they are going.  I have seen a few people patiently talk to someone and tell them how they can help, while the Ukrainians just say, “I don’t know, I don’t know.”  Eventually they hop in a car and ride into town.  They are able to travel by bus and train for free anywhere in Poland.

     I’m standing here looking at a boy who is about Oliver’s age.  He’s pretty lethargic.  I really miss Oliver, and I’m really glad he didn’t have to go through this.  
     There are a lot of mom’s with their kids.  Fathers are only allowed to leave Ukraine if they have three or more children, but it’s obvious that many are like Bogdon and chose to stay.  I have seen so many kids; from newborns up.  They have all had to wait in line for 4-8 hours, but none of them are crying.   They are barely making any noise.  They eat, they stay close to mom.  
    One of the drivers, Jenda, notes how quiet everyone is, even as groups finally cross the border and see people they have been waiting for for hours and days. It is very quiet and subdued.  It is haunting.

      We are still waiting.   They have been in line for eight and a half hours.  We’ve been waiting for 6 and a half hours.  Two of our drivers went back to the cars, about a half mile up the road.  They are going to try and take a quick nap so they will be fresher tonight.  
   
     It took them 9 hours to cross the border.  We were all too tired to show a lot of emotions.  But there were some serious hugs.  Ira even handed off her coffee so that she could have both arms to hug me.  
      Everyone is so tired, and we still have 8 hours on the road.  We won’t get home till after 5 in the morning most likely.  
     I have Pasha, Nastia, Danya and Andrei with me, and I’ve been desperate for news.  What happened the morning Russia invaded?  What did they know about our friends?  Was there fighting near their house?  Did they know anything about fighting near our apartment?  We talked for about thirty minutes, before they said they needed to rest. 
    There was an accident on the road, and we slowed down.   As soon as she felt the brake and saw flashing lights, Nastia tensed up and started to run through what Anya told them to do when they were stopped at an army checkpoint.   It was reflexive.  She and Danya remembered that Anya had told them that they weren’t going to feel safe ever.  They are already seeing that this is true.  
     We made a bathroom stop at 1.   Nastia asked about Oliver, and I told her how hard it was to leave him.  She said, “I know, but I’m so glad you came back to get us.”   Then she told me how hard it was leaving when her granddad and younger brothers were still in Ukraine.  Today is her youngest brother’s birthday.  
      As we were leaving the gas station, I see a guy in front of us who looks kinda like my friend Johnny … His car is the same as Johnny’s, too … And he has Ukrainian plates.  I pop my head out and holler.  It’s Johnny!   I run over give him a hug … then tell him that I can’t talk, we have five hours ahead of us still, but it’s crazy that we saw each other here, 1000 kilometers from home in the middle of the night.  

  We pull up to their temporary apartment at just after 6 am.  Nastia has already reminded me that this isn’t home, when i just used a common phrase.  But this place will be safe.  

It was a very long 24 hours.  Everyone will be feeling the trauma of having to leave their home for years to come. But for now, everyone is safe and can sleep.  

All day long, and since the war began, we have received message after message from people who just want us to know that they are praying.  Thank you.  We see it and feel it.