February 2022
Hundreds of suitcases roll on the pavement, and it sounds like jets zooming past the window. The sky lost its color six days ago — leaving only an eerie gray haze in the air. The line of stagnant cars stretches for miles, each containing Ukrainian citizens desperate to flee from the violence that struck overnight.
Anna Slabetska, a 2021 Union University graduate and native Ukrainian, watches the families pass by her car window with their jet-like suitcases dragging behind them — believing it quicker to flee to the border by foot than by car. She sits in silence, listening in frozen anticipation, wondering if the Russian bombs will hit them next. She sees fathers playing with their children and husbands kissing their wives one last time before having to return to defend their country from the Russian invaders.
This is the second day Slabetska and her mom spend in their car, hoping tomorrow will be the day they finally reach the border to Poland. It was only six days ago when a single message reverberated through the Slabetska household like a chill running down their spines.
"Please wake up. War started. They are bombing Kyiv, Kharkiv, Odesa, Mykolayiv. I can't reach Sasha, please call..."
At 6:57 a.m., the explosions reached Slabetska's house. The disoriented memories feel like knees hitting the cold cellar floor, sirens blaring outside like a never-ending scream, the very ground beneath them shaking and lips fervently mouthing nearly silent whispers of the Lord's Prayer.
When the Russian bombs ceased, Slabetska and her mom packed what they could into her car to become one of the over 7 million Ukrainian refugees who have fled the country since February 2022.
"We'll be back in three days," the women cried as they clung to Slabetska's dad — unable to leave with his family due to the Ukrainian army draft restrictions. "The war will only last for three days."
No one imagined that those days would be spent sitting in a car, trying to reach the border. Afraid of more bombings, the two women spent the night at a friend's house before getting up the next morning to continue their journey. For Slabetska and her mom, sleep that night was like a distant memory; rest was certainly unimaginable.
Slabetska's phone lit up to a text message from a dear friend. The text contained a screenshot of Union University's most recent Facebook post, which had nearly 800 reactions, 37 comments and over 90 shares.
"We're praying for 2021 Union graduate Anna Slabetska, a Ukrainian native and resident, her family and the entire Ukrainian nation," the post read. "May the Lord cause peace to prevail."
Slabetska turned to her mom and said, "We're going to be able to sleep tonight; we're being covered in prayer." She would later realize that moment was the tangible intercession of God's people right before her eyes.
The following morning, the women finally passed through the border into Poland, where they continued traveling until they reached the Czech Republic.
As winter slowly turned into spring, the hope of returning home stretched further and further away, and with it came time for Slabetska and her mom to officially declare to the Czech government their temporary protected status. Looking down at the mounds of paperwork, the Czech government official stamped the women's visas.
"You're now a war refugee here," he said handing the women back their documents.
Refugee. The word reverberated off the walls as the two women sat in silence. Slabetska could feel her mother's shoulders shaking as she stifled a silent cry, but the only thing Slabetska felt was vulnerability — realizing that her own home was no longer safe to return to.
October 2022
The downtown streets of Tuscaloosa, Ala., come alive with bustling weekend crowds. It's homecoming week at the University of Alabama, and people push past each other on the wide sidewalks with giddy excitement as they prepare for the football game.
A group of college girls hops from one boutique to the next hoping to find the perfect game day outfit. Three men laugh and embrace each other as they reunite with some old college buddies at the local sports bar. A mom and dad treat their student and his roommate to lunch at one of the many steakhouses as a break from their usual cafeteria cuisine.
At the same time, Slabetska walks past them and pulls out her phone, checking the news to make sure Russia has not bombed her parents' home.
Slabetska moved to Tuscaloosa in August — six months after her home was attacked — to pursue a Master of Arts at the University of Alabama in teaching English to speakers of other languages. There is no handbook for how to live as a Ukrainian in America. There is certainly no handbook for how to be a graduate student when the worries of war fight for constant attention.
Despite this, Slabetska believes it is for a divine purpose that she is continuing her education. Prior to beginning her master's degree, Slabetska spent the first few months of the war living in the Czech Republic and teaching English through Zoom to students still living in Ukraine. During one of the online lessons, Slabetska heard a loud noise through the computer when the student stopped and said, "I think something is flying at us."
At the same time, Slabetska received a notification on her phone that an air raid had been detected in the student's city. As the noise got louder, the student began panicking, and Slabetska insisted that they hang up and resume the lesson another day.
The student looked up with pleading eyes through the computer and said, "No, I need you to stay with me."
That was the moment Slabetska realized her job meant much more than simply teaching English. By showing up every day with lessons, homework and writing exercises, she was actually providing care, companionship and a sense of normalcy to students who needed it most.
"If coming to Union and getting my degree was just for this one moment, I think it was worth it," Slabetska said.
Slabetska hopes to use her degrees to return to Ukraine and help provide quality, Christ-centered education — like the life-changing educational community she experienced at Union University. She believes that nurturing Ukrainians' love of learning through the lens of Christ's redemption can help care for and counsel people living with post-war trauma. While her heart remains back home in Ukraine, she knows that the Lord has nevertheless divinely orchestrated her to be in Tuscaloosa. So, even when the guilt of living away from her people weighs on her heart, she still chooses to invest in a community that could never imagine the kind of pain she has felt because she believes that life is most cherished when it is shared with others — a lesson she said she learned at Union University.
June 2022
Slabetska was raised in western Ukraine, a place of breathtaking natural beauty. Most of her childhood memories take place in the rolling green hills and luscious forests of her hometown. An old airfield sat just miles behind her house. She would climb over the tattered fence and play in the fields of overgrown wildflowers for hours before the old security guard chased her off.
After four months of living in the Czech Republic, Slabetska and her mom made the difficult decision to return to their home in western Ukraine — despite the progress of the Russian army.
Driving through her Ukrainian hometown, the lights of shops and street lanterns were replaced with silent darkness. Soldiers set up multiple checkpoints throughout the city to validate each passerby's documents. Stacked sandbags barricade the front of each home and business to block stray bullets.
As they reach the airfield, they see the land that was once full of vibrant wildlife now covered with dug-up trenches and steel blockades to prevent enemy tanks from breaching its borders. Black craters filled with old ash lie sporadically around the field — revealing the scars of the bombings it has endured.
"It was one of those moments I realized that everything was out of my control," Slabetska said. "Usually, when things in your life or family are out of control, you can still trust that at least your city and even your country is still in control, but now, I had to realize absolutely nothing was in my control."
Slabetska urged people to stay informed about the war and to read stories of the Ukrainian survivors — even when it is difficult to comprehend.
"I wanted to stay quiet because I thought to myself that there is nothing I could possibly say that could be worthy or even good enough," she said. "But, I think anybody can speak truth when they realize someone is actually, truly listening to them."
Personally, she said the Lord has used the friends and community she gained at Union University to help heal her heart during wartime.
"Seeing the pain they felt reminded me that the Lord restores healing to those who share their suffering with one another," Slabetska said. "I don't know how the war would have gone for me if I didn't have those friends, and I just praise the Lord for giving me that kind of treasure."
Even as evil presses forward through an unjust war, Slabetska believes the Lord is using the Russian invasion to work in the hearts of Ukrainians.
"I think [Ukrainians] have realized we are the most alive that we've ever been because our life is wanted by someone whom it doesn't belong to," Slabetska said. "It feels like we're awakened to realize the freedom of human life is God's gift."
