So that children may sing.
For many folks, Easter weekend is a time to gather with family and friends in celebration of shared faith, often highlighted by dying and hunting eggs, eating copious amounts of chocolate bunnies, and debating, “what exactly is a Peep?!”.
For me as a kid growing up in middle Georgia, Easter was like the Met Gala of fashion events. My Mom would take me to buy a new Easter dress and my M.O. was the bigger the better – bows, floral prints, ruffles, shoulder pads, polka dots, and a matching hat if we were lucky! Fast forward 30+ years and my Easter 2022 looked remarkably different.
Wearing blue jeans, tennis shoes, and a pullover, I spent Easter morning at God’s Light Church, a Ukrainian Church in Lublin, Poland, with the newest member of our team, Mike King (who just happens to be my Father). As we sat amidst new friends and Ukrainian refugees, my thoughts swirled around events from the last 2 weeks.
The reality is there is so much to share – more than I can write about here without this becoming a competitor for Homer’s epic! So, I’ll tell you briefly about this Easter weekend that was so beautifully different than any before.
Newly retired, my Dad, Mike, arrived into Warsaw on Saturday, bringing several thousand dollars’ worth of medicine and trauma aid donated to us by Deborah Gale, Pharmacist and Owner of Habersham Drug. This Father/Daughter duo sat at the small kitchen table in my apartment, inventorying items and repacking supplies before strolling to the Old City of Lublin for dinner.
As we approached the cobblestone streets that mark this part of the city, we heard music. The sound of children singing. Rounding a corner, we saw a small crowd of people as the X that marks the spot for the source of the music. We turned to join them and beheld a small group of children singing.
Bundled in beanies and winter coats, the faces of these children were solemn. Some held handmade signs, some held small Ukrainian flags, and most held black and white photos of apartment buildings turned to rubble. Images of their hometown in ruin. One photo in particular caught my attention: the side of a car, riddled with machine gun fire and a baby doll laying on the ground beside it.
We stood there in silent reverence. My eyes affixed to the audacity of innocence and violence colliding. My mind unable to reconcile the two. I said a prayer – a plea as those sweet voices finished their song and then dispersed. And back down the cobble streets we went.
But the sound of children singing didn’t stop there this Easter weekend. Yesterday morning, as my mind floated over the memory of those children from the night before, children in attendance at God’s Light Church made their way to the front of the room. They lined up, microphones were handed out, music started, and the children began to sing.
Little voices carrying melodies of hope held hands with timid smiles as these children sang. Scanning the crowd of adults, I saw smiles emerge on tear-stained faces, looks of resolve that this is why they fled their homes. To protect these voices. To give these voices a future.
And that is why I am here. That is why our team is here. We are following a calling bigger than us. One that asks us to embrace different – different language, different culture, different history – so that we can be reminded that, deep down, we really are all the same. United to defeat evil and tyranny. To defend freedom. To spread hope. And to ensure that children everywhere continue to sing.
