Tears and Prayers
for Ukraine
This painting is on permanent display in the Chernobyl National Museum in Kyiv, (Kiev) Ukraine.
It has been there for 22 years and I painted it and dedicated it to the Ukrainian people who have
suffered so much over the years. It especially spoke to the horrific nuclear accident in 1986. I awoke
on February 24, 2022 to the invasion of their country with heartbreak, as I have been following this
build up for some time. My husband, Marty had just returned from Ukraine where he ministered to
troops on the border with Sasha, a Ukrainian chaplain who we have known for over 20 years. He
traveled the countryside with Jeff and Paula Thompson of Mercy Projects and other Ukrainians to
deliver gifts, supplies and emotional support to those with special needs children and families in the Chernobyl region.
Our hearts go out to the Ukrainians, as we have so many friends there! Please pray for the safety of
these dear people as this war is not what they want or deserve. Also for the Russian people, because
just like the Ukrainians, they will lose loved ones too. Their young soldiers do not want to do this.
The present unspeakable atrocity is being done by governments, not by the innocents who want to live
in peace and raise their families without fear. (On both sides.)
The poetry that follows is called "Uprooted." The painting is created from the words of this poem.
It speaks so clearly about what is happening right now in the country of Ukraine, just as it did when
I wrote it about the Chernobyl nuclear disaster:
Uprooted
If a man's thought dye his soul
What kind of stain do his deeds leave?
A hazardous spill on himself and upon the laps of others
Who share the same air, breathing in and out, in and out
Now there is bitterness that abounds in the breadbasket to the north
Uprooted family trees and forgotten people in yellowed photos dangling down
Wooden cradles set ablaze in the forest
Where blue light sprang from place to place
Luminescent, deadly beautiful, reminiscent of sparklers
Crackling at a May Day parade
The rain has become hot tears pouring down
Falling down, dropping to the earth
The fragmented rivulets on a musical score
Splash on these paper lives, fragile and all too brief
The muffled sobbing is a melody, but only to the ears of Him unseen
It is the aria of the heart that sings a Capella
The high pitched notes of pain
Yet he who suffers much speaks a wordless language
That can be understood, although the tongue is mute
It transcends dialects, country lines, political ideologies
Uprooted, yet not alone
I have seen lives irrevocably changed in one moment of time
From one thoughtless choice, a careless decision
Leaving ancient villages empty, doors swinging on empty hinges
For all eternity, plus seven years more
And plastic dolls of stolen youth sit on dust covered window panes
Vacantly gazing at the loss
Uprooted, yet not alone
Heartbreak and tragedy are no respecters of persons
Traditions, religions or plans
It is blinded by skin color and the coins in one's purse
I have been told that fear is like rust that eats away hope, little by little
Corroding all confidence
This invisible acid obliterates desire
Until we are mere shells with nothing left inside
Uprooted, yet not alone
I believe love is a salve
To be spread on the wound to heal and to soothe
Able to mend the uttermost places that are hidden from men
Faith causes that page to turn
Just because today's sunshine is blocked out by the clouds
Doesn't mean the sun is gone
If God seems silent, it doesn't mean He has left us
Or doesn't hear our cries
Perhaps we are the ones who are not listening
To the voice that is gentle and low, tender and always near
We must be quiet and still
He is here and anxious to woo us to Him like a lover
He will be revealed once more
Uprooted, yet not alone
There is a day that dawns upon all of our broken lives
That we are able to see clearly, if we look with unjaded eyes
We can see that we are all people with ruined dreams
With unrealized plans
Yet somehow they can fit perfectly into His bigger picture
And will be breathtakingly beautiful in time
Uprooted, yet never alone
From these strange ashes-hope will arise!
©Launa
This is how it looks in the museum installation today.
I created this piece, "Hungry for Love" in 1998.
It features a mother and her three children in the Chernobyl region.
It was sold to benefit a home for children who had been rescued from living
on the streets of Kyiv called, "Father's House." I feel that because of today's
invasion of Ukraine, it is appropriate to share this image and poem as well.
Hungry for Love
I asked for vision
To see them through the eyes of God
I received more than I expected, more than I wished
That day, I viewed them with indescribable clarity
Seeing not just their faces, but their souls
Hungry for Love
Thirsty for Truth
Blinded by darkness, longing for Light
I saw the young women with broken dreams
Because of husbands who had severed vows
I saw lonely widows
Whose partners had been cruelly snatched away
By bitter waters and poisoned air
I saw grandmothers
In bright red babushkas
With hot tears streaming down
Who were left to raise the orphans
To find a way to make nothing
Stretch into something
So their little bellies
Wouldn't growl from enormous need
Hungry for Love
Thirsty for Truth
Blinded by darkness, longing for Light
I have been broken open
To be a fragrance throughout the earth
So that the tender aroma
Of True Bread can be sensed
And all who are hungry for love
Will be filled
And will never feel famished again
And to drink
From the Source that is clean and pure
Streams of Living Waters
From this day on
They will never be thirsty again
©Launa
This is a photo of an elderly women in her 90s who lives in a freezing home in the Chernobyl region. Marty took this photo while he was in Ukraine in January 2022. Pray for vulnerable folks like this precious one!
This is a photo of Sasha ministering to the Ukrainian soldiers on the eastern border.
Marty and Jeff Thompson are also shown. The faces of the soldiers could not be
photographed, due to security reasons.
To hear Sasha's recent report from the front lines:
