Light for Ukraine Field Notes from Sep & Oct 2025
From Yulia Clack
“Even in the sound of sirens, life doesn’t stop. Faith doesn’t stop.” Serhii Guts
Arriving in Kyiv
After almost 35 hours of travel - crossing the border and taking trains that are supposed to be high-speed but now pulled by locomotives because parts of the energy infrastructure have been hit - I finally arrived in Kyiv to meet with Pastor Serhii, our partner in Ukraine.
We sat down in his office to talk about how churches across the country are holding up after almost four years of war. We hadn’t been sitting for more than five minutes when an alert sounded, a ballistic missile was heading toward Kyiv.
It caught me off guard. They glanced at their phones and waited a moment before carrying on, a quiet reminder that this is simply part of daily life here. Our time together was so valuable - hearing in person how God is using them to serve their communities, care for the displaced, and bring both practical help and spiritual hope to people across Ukraine.
Kyiv Region
One of the most moving moments for me happened in one of the Light of Gospel churches, where we met youth volunteers preparing food bags. At the beginning of the war, they had lived for weeks in their church basement, hiding from shelling; some had spent months under occupation. Now they were packing bags for families in other liberated regions.
They’re 16 to 20 years old - already familiar with the reality of war. Their hearts were hurting for others, and that’s why they came to serve. That day we packed nearly 600 food bags, which we later delivered during our trip.
In the Kyiv region, we helped with a food distribution at a local church that had been damaged by artillery during the occupation. The windows and walls are now repaired, and the church gathers again.
The room was full; we kept bringing in extra chairs and benches to make sure everyone could sit.
Outside, two little girls were playing near the door. When the air-raid alert sounded, their mom called them inside. Another missile was on its way. No one panicked; people just waited, then carried on.
After the service, we handed out bags of food. It was clear this church offered more than help, it offered hope.
Trip to Southern regions
The next day, we drove farther south.
In Odesa, we joined a church outreach where hundreds of people came. They listened to a local pastor’s message of hope, then received food bags.
Many were displaced people, once they had stable jobs, homes, and lives they’d built over decades. Several said they felt sorry to be in need, though it wasn’t their fault. Still, they came and not only for food, but for the community they had lost along with their homes.
On our way out, we stopped at a care home for the elderly, where a local pastor hosted a short service. Most of the residents have no family left, that’s why they ended up there. During the war, these state-run institutions often lack resources, and visits are rare.The church’s presence brought life into that space; it reminded them they weren’t forgotten. Many can’t leave the building, so the church comes to them - bringing prayer, songs, and the sense of being seen.
The next day, we visited the first liberated village in the Mykolaiv region, where people are slowly rebuilding - young moms, elderly couples, families staying in tiny container homes while trying to repair what’s left of their houses.
When they heard the church bell ring, they came from nearby houses and gathered in the yard of their church, which had been damaged by a missile earlier in the war and is now closed for repairs. Nearby, there was a small playground, partly damaged, where moms still brought their kids to play. It was moving to watch from the side - life going on right next to homes that had been destroyed and a small memorial to civilians killed during the occupation.
We worshiped and prayed together, then handed out food bags before driving to the next stop.
The road to the second village in the Kherson region had only recently been cleared of mines. The sides of the road were marked with red warning signs. When the occupiers retreated, they mined nearly the entire area, even the fields that once fed the community. Now, only three families remain. The rest of the homes are gone or mined.
Those we met said they’re eager to rebuild. One man thanked us for the food, but especially for coming - “for visiting, and for praying with us,” he said. It was a simple but powerful reminder that they are not forgotten by God or by people.
The Night of 50 Missiles
We made it back to Kyiv. That night is one I’ll never forget.
Around 2 a.m., the first explosions sounded - over 500 drones and 50 ballistic missiles were launched at Ukraine. We spent hours sitting in the hallway (the rule of two walls), checking news updates, texting family and friends, and praying. The sounds outside were ongoing — explosion after explosion through the night.
By morning, people still came to church.
That Sunday was Harvest Sunday, the day of thanksgiving for the year’s harvest at all our partner churches. Serhii’s church had a small display of vegetables, fruit, and beautiful Ukrainian palyanytsya (bread). It felt almost ironic. During the same night, several bread factories were hit.
One pastor’s home, a man we know personally, was destroyed. His wife and three sons survived by a miracle.That very morning, their congregation gathered on the ruins of their home to worship.
Nothing could describe that sight: people standing among broken bricks, singing.
It was the most powerful picture of faith I’ve ever witnessed.
That evening, we joined a youth gathering held in a rented space. Earlier in the month, a nearby blast had shattered all the windows, now covered with plastic sheets. Still, it didn’t stop anyone from coming. The room was filled with young people, worship, and a quiet will to keep going.
The pastor said the windows would be replaced soon, just in time for winter.
Displaced Pastors
Throughout this trip, I met many pastors who had been displaced themselves, once forced to flee, now serving the same kind of people they once were.
One pastor from the Donetsk region told me he and his family had lived under occupation for months before escaping. Now he leads a church made up mostly of internally displaced families from that same region, now finding shelter in the Kyiv area. They come to him for food and prayer, and to find a sense of peace in the middle of uncertainty.
Across Ukraine, churches have become centers of both aid and healing.
In many towns, pastors deliver bread, patch windows, and pray before preaching.
Their congregations, smaller but stronger, have grown deeper, filled with people who understand what war means.
You’ll read more of their stories in the following newsletters.
Kyiv to Lviv
Toward the end of my trip, I traveled west to Lviv, since the only way to enter and leave Ukraine now is by crossing the border through a neighboring country.
Unlike the southern and eastern regions close to the front lines, Lviv is in western Ukraine, bordering Poland, far from active combat. Yet, even here, safety is never guaranteed.
That night, I woke up to dozens of air-raid alerts on my phone.
It was the largest attack ever on Lviv, with 140 drones and 23 missiles striking civilian areas.
There were moms with children running to shelters, kids holding stuffed animals, and shop owners quietly locking their cafés before returning the next day to help clear debris.
The next morning, church bells rang, a simple reminder that life goes on.
War Is a Time of Contrasts
In less than a month in Ukraine, I saw so much - destruction and rebuilding, fear and courage, weariness and faith.
In that short time, I witnessed:
Three large-scale missile and drone attacks across different regions.
Churches growing while caring for displaced families.
People who survived occupation now serving others.
Faith communities worshiping in damaged buildings and courtyards.
Life here is full of contrasts - danger and peace, exhaustion and gratitude.
Every family I met carries loss, but also quiet hope.
During those weeks, we drove more than 700 miles - from Kyiv to Odesa, Mykolaiv, and Kherson regions, reaching villages just 12 miles from the front lines. I experienced 122 air-raid alerts in that time. Each one was a reminder that this is the reality people live with every day.
Being there mattered - to see, to listen, and to understand what it really means to serve.
Because serving isn’t about where you are; it’s about meeting people where they are - in the middle of their reality.
After one of our food distributions, I got back in the van, drove back to our hotel room, and eventually flew home to sleep in my own bed. The people we served went back to temporary housing or small container homes shared with other families. The pastors I met can’t return home but keep serving faithfully in the cities where they now live.
That’s what stayed with me - realizing that faith isn’t just words; it’s showing up, staying present, and bringing light where it’s needed most. And I saw that Light for Ukraine is exactly that - light for Ukraine.