"You have brought many troubles and distresses upon me, but you will revive me again and bring me up again from the depths of the earth," thus King David once spoke to God. These words, recorded in the world's masterpiece, the Bible, remain relevant to this day for every person living on earth. These are words of truth. And these are my reflections.
They are about how suddenly ordinary life is cut short, how in mere moments you lose everything, how you try to gather yourself piece by piece. And how in the pitch darkness of a new shocking reality, having lost the will to live, you meet God. About how God Himself finds you where you seemed to be in complete solitude. About how, leaving many questions unanswered, He gives Himself.
I have recounted three such meetings here. There were more. But these three became pivotal, leading from the dark depths of the valley toward the exit and light. Each changed me. Each taught me to know God anew. Each led to new healing.
Some of you, my readers, right now are walking alone through your own valley, seeing no glimmer of escape. Some have already come out of it. But if you haven't passed through it yet, you certainly will. My hope is that these three chapters will help you find God right in the heart of your circumstances. There will be a way out. I pray that you find God along the way.
In the beginning there was pain... (Reflections on Psalm 5, verse 4)
"Lord, hear my voice in the morning; early I will prepare for You and wait." Psalm 5:4
More than five months have passed since I entered the valley of the shadow of death. In a very short time, my life was subjected to terrible blows that came one after another, until I was stripped of everything that formed my identity. I didn't expect it, didn't plan for it. I wasn't prepared for it. The blows caught me off guard. They suddenly knocked the ground from under my feet and rained down on me with crushing force. I still bleed, still experience sharp pain, though already much easier—precisely because of what I will reflect upon below.
There is no point describing these blows so that my reflections on more significant questions don't seem distant to my reader. My desire is that anyone can find for themselves what might become a life raft in difficult times or at least a patch of solid ground beneath their feet. I am still in the valley of the shadow of death. As I write this, I know that new losses await me soon. But I am no longer afraid; I have grown strong enough to turn toward them and look them in the eye...
The valley of the shadow of death—an expression long in common use—has biblical roots. In the Psalms, King David writes of his relationship with God during deep life upheavals: "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me" (Psalm 22:4). In the literal sense, he describes a deep ravine between rocks through which a shepherd leads sheep to good pasture. High rocks overhang the path, blocking out sunlight. In the darkness, it's easy to stumble, fall into a pit, step on a scorpion or snake, or encounter a hungry lion. David poetically projects this dangerous path onto the deep pain and suffering through which he must sometimes pass. But even in the dangerous darkness, he senses the invisible presence of God with him, walking beside him and protecting him. The valley of the shadow of death today remains an understandable description of our painful life experience: for who can escape pain, suffering, and loss! We all enter our valleys at some point, most often completely unexpectedly and against our will.
For many years I have been walking. I don't like running, but walking suits me perfectly for conditioning my heart and lungs. Additionally, when I walk, I think a lot, analyze, pray, and simply dream. Walking switches my consciousness from problems to finding solutions. I like to say: "I walk to clear my head and switch gears." Having settled in Bratislava, I mapped out a route 8.5 kilometers long. This is slightly more than the required 10,000 steps. And I try to follow this routine every day for many years now.
Since the war began in Ukraine, since we had to flee our hometown, the book of Psalms became my favorite. It is a recognized masterpiece of world literature. It is a collection of 150 magnificent prayers and songs that never lose their relevance with time. And now anyone can find in them something that will deeply touch them, that will make—in minor or major key—the strings of the soul resound. This book today will not leave you indifferent. I read it every day, one psalm per day, and reflect on how it relates to my life, to my pain, my suffering. Like my walks, I don't abandon this routine for a single day.
The deprivations and sufferings brought by war, even without any additional ones, are enough to plunge a person into the swamp of despair. Every day you follow events at home, understanding that the situation is spiraling downward... I don't think I was the only one who clearly imagined how my wandering should end. I had five specific goals, requests, by receiving which I would have exited the valley and regained the fullness of life and happiness. That's how I saw it. I was genuinely convinced of it. And I prayed earnestly about it and asked others to pray. I still pray for them... Only the focus of my prayers has shifted radically. The object of my prayers became completely different. Pain, the valley, and the psalms taught me this. Pain became the beginning of my transformation. And wonderful, strong people who had passed through their own valleys helped me consolidate this understanding. They turned out to be walking beside me all this time and, like experienced guides, directed my steps and my gaze to exactly where I needed to look for healing and the acquisition of new strength and life prospects.
My five requests, like a broken record, were all I could ask for—constantly, incessantly, daily. "God, give... God, don't allow... God, what if... God, let..." After all, I'm not alone in praying this way? Moreover, sincerely, with complete faith, in the Lord's name, without a shred of doubt. But days pass. Days turn into weeks. Weeks into months, and months into half a year. And there are no answers. And from heaven—silence. And the Father doesn't send an answer even by the combined persistent prayers of many for me. I wait, I endure, and every day I bring them to God again, and again I wait, weep, and endure. But there is no answer. And without an answer comes despair. Already no strength. Already I don't even know what else to give to God, what else to offer Him. Is there anything left in me that He hasn't taken? Sometimes it seems that for any glimmer of hope, God points from above and says: "Give it!" I give. I wait. I endure. I plead. Unanswered. Despair grips even tighter. How long, Lord?!
Yes, I already knew specifically, had planned in my mind where and how to end this journey, and clearly imagined the process, and what I would write in the final note... I just wasn't sure when...
And I wasn't sure because every day I read the psalms, and they are saturated with hope, despite the pain. And because there was still someone to live for, and I understood this responsibility. And because there was the daily routine of "clearing my head" during walks. And because faithful friends walked beside me, who love and care, who asked specific questions and boldly spoke sobering truths. Having passed through their own valleys, they never tire of telling me: "Look at God! Keep your eyes on God! Don't doubt! Let not your heart be troubled! Wait for something greater than just answers to your requests. Here, in the valley, there is you and God. Trust God. Allow Him to fill your every moment with Himself. Don't cling to your requests. Give Him the steering wheel and the transmission!" I understood and didn't understand. I understood with my head. I understood well—after all, I had two decades of pastoral experience. But truly I didn't understand. But I am beginning to understand, and I'm growing in this understanding. And already I have the strength to write about it. And I've reached this because in the beginning there was pain.
In the process of emotional healing, daily routine is very important. It gives something to strive for and expect during the endlessly long and painful day... By maintaining a routine, you can structure time and create a sense that life hasn't stopped. Recently, continuing my routine, I finished reading the Psalter and began re-reading it. The fifth psalm touched me deeply. It wouldn't leave my mind. And while walking my kilometers, I prayed much and reflected on it. Usually, when walking, prayers and thoughts are somewhat chaotic: I see something on the road and get distracted. But on that day, thoughts aligned one after another in order. Arriving home, I immediately sat down and wrote everything in my prayer journal so I wouldn't forget. I'm sharing this discovery—or revelation.
In the fifth psalm, David says: "Lord! hear my voice in the morning; early I will prepare for You and will look up to You, and will wait."
Everything in this verse spoke about me: my morning routine of reading the Bible and praying. I rise early, cry out to the Lord, even with tears, and wait! Oh, how I wait! I have my five requests—my guides out of the valley to freedom. My diary is filled with them. I repeated them like a mantra thousands of times a day. My acquaintances pray about them! But it's been almost half a year now, and there's no answer. Something didn't take... Reflecting, I understood that living in anticipation of something in the future, placing all my hopes on exactly this being fulfilled and returning me to my former peace, is unbearable. It exhausts. It dries you from within. It absolutely robs every day of joy. Days lose their meaning. I'm just aimlessly dragging out an existence, waiting for my ideal conditions. And each day of waiting becomes torment.
I walked, reflected on the psalm, and asked the Lord to teach me how to live: to live today, to live now, to live in this moment. To live despite my expectations. To live and rejoice even if there will be no answers to my five requests. I so wanted to understand if this was possible. Could there be another way out of the valley besides my requests? I wanted there to be a breakthrough in my soul. So that rare good emotions wouldn't return to the darkness of melancholy like through a revolving door. I wanted to get out, to break free from the embrace of depression and find joy in every moment of each new day!
Three wonderful friends help me walk through my pain. I often compare them to the friends who brought a sick man on a stretcher to Jesus and broke through the roof of the house to lower him at the feet of the Savior. Each has their own fate. Each was in their own unique valley. Each was taught by God through trials. Pain preceded their joy in God. For them too, in the beginning there was pain... I walked and thanked God for them—without their care, I wouldn't be here. I remembered and analyzed their advice. And I understood that they, each in their own way, independent of each other, and each based on their own experience in the valley, spoke to me with one voice about one and the same thing: I need to start living—now, in this moment, in every moment of each day. But I didn't understand this because my requests weren't being fulfilled. And then I began to understand!
Jesus Christ compared the truths of God's word to seeds. A seed falls on soil, but it needs time to sprout. It needs work to become a stalk and bear fruit. So my friends patiently planted seeds of God's truth in my torn soul, carefully tended it, and watered my wounds, patiently awaited me. What they planted didn't sprout instantly. It took time, but it began to sprout.
I walked and remembered the words of my friends, that our God fills our emptiness with Himself, and that I am not abandoned. That I need to start living now and accept from God what He gives now, and He will lead me out of the valley Himself. That joy in God makes each moment meaningful. And finally, in my inflamed mind, thoughts began to fall into place.
"Lord! Hear my voice in the morning; early I will prepare for You and will wait." David calls out to the Lord and waits. Waits for what? Perhaps David awaits some action from the Lord, results, fulfillment of his desires. Perhaps. Because that's exactly what we await. Because I expect from God only the fulfillment of my five requests. And therefore we lose heart and become disappointed in God when we don't receive from Him what we asked for. We grow tired of waiting. We despair because we base our joy on unfulfilled dreams. But David was a man after God's own heart. If so, what if he awaited from the Lord not the fulfillment of his desires, but the Lord Himself?
Let me explain. When two hearts are united and fused into one, you no longer expect the other to do something for you. That would be selfishness in its worst form. When two hearts are fused into one, you expect all of them, all of them, wholly, completely. And when they come, your heart and entire life are filled with the deepest joy and praise! You possess the fullness of each other. And then each one's deeds for the other are not selfish but a manifestation of the highest sacrifice. You give yourselves to each other completely; you don't expect conditions in return. You fear becoming an obstacle to the other's joy, their communion with the Creator. You wait for each other because only thus is fullness attained.
So perhaps David—a man after God's heart—didn't wait for God to fulfill some request. "Early I will prepare for You and will wait"—to wait for the Lord Himself, His fullness, His presence. When the Lord Himself, through His love and mercy, fills all of David, his every moment, his every emptiness...
Now it becomes clear why almost all the psalms, though filled with pain, end in praise. You've probably noticed this if you've read the Psalter. It becomes clear why the entire Psalter, this entire beautiful collection of prayers, ends with psalms of praise! The Lord comes into our waiting and fills our emptiness with Himself.
We, as humans, understand the depth of joy of the beautiful Shulamite from another world masterpiece—the Song of Songs: "I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine." This can be understood literally, as a relationship between lovers. Or it can be understood figuratively, as God's relationship with people—His beloved creation. In any case, we understand the picture: she belongs entirely to him; he belongs entirely to her. And there is no one and nothing else—neither between, nor beside, nor outside. They possess the fullness of each other, and every moment is filled with this fullness. So too can we completely belong to God, and He—fill us with Himself! To be united with Him, even despite pain. And then every moment gains meaning and purpose. Then in every moment there appears value.
For me, this became the most important revelation. This became a real breakthrough. No longer to base my joy in God on the fulfillment of my five requests. No longer to be enslaved by this silent idol that deprives me of freedom and joy. But to expect God, to find Him, all His fullness, in every moment. And my day, usually sluggish and depressive, now consists of an endless succession of such moments, now the main ones. It is filled with meaning and purpose. And wandering in the wilderness and waiting no longer become tormenting! Because in every moment there is all of God's fullness. God's fullness with me has made me free even in the valley. I still wander through it. I still don't see a way out. The sun still hasn't risen over it. But for the first time in almost half a year, I begin to feel peace, hope, and even joy in it...
In the prologue to his Gospel, John says: "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." The fullness of relationships between God the Father and God the Son. This fullness was so all-encompassing that even becoming human, the Lord could say: "I and the Father are one." All of Christ's earthly life, which first after Adam showed people what it literally means to be in the image and likeness of God, was filled with unity with the Father. They were bound so inseparably that people saw the Father's glory, power, and love even in the human Jesus. Only on the cross of Golgotha, when the Savior took upon Himself the sins of the entire world, was this fullness temporarily absent: "My God, My God! Why have You forsaken Me?" No longer the Father, but God—distant, judging, avenging. Jesus entered His own valley, not of shadow, but of death itself. He entered to conquer death, to destroy all our debts. To make accessible to us the fullness of relationship with the Father, such as He possessed. To make our valleys not valleys of death, but merely its shadow!
...And here I began to understand something else, very important and practical. This became another revelation. While expecting all of God, all His fullness, I can still receive answers to my five requests! Because "He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things?" This is exactly what the apostle Paul prompts us to consider in his letter to the Roman church. Only the difference is that my five requests are no longer idols. They don't affect the fullness of all of God, which I have already received. But here's what's interesting: when the Lord decides to give us answers to our desires—the specific answers we wanted to receive to our requests—each such answer from Him becomes an additional gift, a gift of love, which, in turn, fills us with even greater joy and praise.
Here is the key to the fullness of joy of which Christ spoke! To wait for and receive God Himself, to allow Him to fill every moment with Himself, to fill every emptiness and heal any pain with Himself. Even while in the valley of the shadow of death, I gradually attain all of God and with tears in my eyes say: "I will fear no evil: for thou art with me"!
Yes, I'm still in the valley. Still wandering through it. But I'm not alone. How long the seeds planted in my torn soul by my friends were sprouting. How long and patiently they watered them. How long I journeyed toward this, despite years of pastoral service. I know one thing: my joy no longer depends on the fulfillment of my five requests. If God gives, I will only be more grateful. The pain of the valley taught me not to wait for the fulfillment of desires, but to await Him!
This is what I understood and what I want to share... Perhaps my words, which I write in my valley, have met you in yours. Perhaps, like me, you are in despair waiting for the fulfillment of your requests. May I tell you what my faithful friends tell me? There will be a way out: you will change. Only you must decide what to do with the agonizing moments of each day: await an answer from the idol of your requests or await a meeting with God Himself. I can only remind you of what a man after God's own heart did in the valley: "early I will prepare for You and will wait." To wait for all of God, to live in Him every moment that makes up life. To find meaning in your wandering. Not to waste your pain. He gave you this pain. And that's already the beginning.
**The Trigger** (Reflections on Psalm 20, verse 3)
"You have given him his heart's desire, and have not withheld the request of his lips." Psalm 20:3
This morning I wept, though there had been no tears for ten days before. Emotions are still unstable; they can unexpectedly surge in response to some small detail—a "trigger," as it's now called, something that provokes a reaction. Today that trigger was the third verse of Psalm 20.
Every morning I begin with prayer, journaling, and Bible reading: a cup of hot, surely brewed coffee, God's open Word, and colored pencils with which I underline words and verses. This is the foundation that the Lord did not allow the tremors of suffering to destroy. Then, six months ago, came that fateful day from which you can start a new count of life. Life before and after. And although I was literally on the other side of the world from the epicenter—I was on a missionary trip to Africa—this earthquake demolished to the very foundation everything that made my life humanly normal. The first tremor instantly threw me into the "valley of the shadow of death." The second and subsequent tremors methodically erased everything that still somehow stood. All that remained to me was a bare, wounded life from which everything that previously made me myself was irretrievably seeping away. Or rather, half of it remained. The other half was ripped from it, leaving the torn flesh to bleed. As if God said: "but spare his life" (Job 2:6). Now, as I write this, my wounds are scarring over but still weeping. I hope the major tremors are behind me. The numerous aftershocks are becoming less frequent, and their magnitude is gradually decreasing...
Psalms strengthen me in a special way. They resonate with my soul. I find comfort and promises in them that help me take small but confident steps forward. Every morning I read one psalm—a simple discipline that doesn't require much time or effort. Then I photograph the verse most meaningful to me, add a few reflections, and send it to friends, whom I also try to support. Interestingly, even during such pain, God brought some people into my life whom I can still serve. We comfort each other with the comfort by which God Himself comforts us.
Those long familiar with the Bible will find many triggers on its pages. The longer we know Scripture, the more verses will be connected in our feelings and memory to different turning points in life. Each such special verse instantly returns us to the past, making us relive what happened again and again—joyful or sorrowful. Each such verse resurrects in memory pictures and emotions, not letting us forget victories and defeats, gains and losses. It's a spiritual time machine, and we need to learn to manage it.
Over decades of Christian life, my Bible is full of trigger-verses. In deep autumn of 2001, the Lord called me to pastoral ministry in a newly born community, which I named "New Hope." Then I struggled with the dilemma of whether to continue serving in the large and stable church "Grace" or dedicate myself to serving a small group of people. But through the verse "A double-minded man is unstable in all his ways" (James 1:8), God showed me which choice I should make.
Did I know then that twenty years later our "New Hope" would become a unique community working with international students from dozens of countries?! Now this verse returns me to those past experiences each time. Another trigger: "...and you will be witnesses to Me... to the end of the earth" (Acts 1:8)—this verse radically changed my ministry as a pastor and mentor, showed me that even in Kharkiv, we could reach numerous nations with the Gospel. Then we changed everything our church did to follow this calling. There are many more such verses. All of them are highlighted in my Bible and recorded in my spiritual journal; each reminds me of God's unique work in my life.
And today I wept. I read: "You have given him his heart's desire, and have not withheld the request of his lips" (Psalm 20:3). And the trigger fired. In memory, bright as day, came alive a sunny June day of 2022. Kharkiv. A front-line city. Every day "Hail," "Tornado," "Hurricane," "Hyacinth," and "Iskander" missiles arrive. Every day explosions shake the lives of people. You can't get used to these sounds. Their low frequencies make even bones vibrate. They fill the heart with fear and weigh it down. Rumors of new offensives on the city. Curfew. Blackouts. Air sirens. Every day destruction. Utility workers quickly clean up the rubble and clear the debris. The city amazes with its cleanliness. But in apartment buildings, thousands of blown-out windows gape with black emptiness—a reminder of those who once lived in these apartments, of broken fates.
I settled with my parents on Holodna Hora. This southern suburb hadn't been reached by rockets, and despite the sounds of departures and arrivals, life here gradually revived: shops, cafes, gyms opened, and there were more and more people. We rejoiced at every new opened store, especially the "Kulinichi"—Kharkivites will understand me! Living with my parents was easy. I quickly fell into their daily rhythm. Most importantly, we were together. And although war and the closeness of death pressed on the psyche, the very fact that we were beside each other gave the necessary sense of stability and peace. I continued to actively engage in ministry—in the first half of the day with my students worldwide. In the second—church and people remaining in the city. Throwing myself into work, I could completely forget what was happening around. And only sirens and artillery regularly returned me to reality, reminding me that war was still ongoing.
But no matter how good it was with my parents and in ministry, I understood that only half of me lived. War had torn apart millions of families, scattered wives, husbands, and children across the world. My family was no exception. The summer before the war, our daughter left to study at a university abroad. A month after the invasion began, my wife flew to her. For us, this was a matter of survival. We understood then that one of us had to survive for our daughter and be with her in one country. I remained alone. And although I was calm for the safety of my women, without them I was lonely; I was only half of myself. No amount of frequent phone calls or correspondence could replace face-to-face communication. I missed them. My soul was tormented by longing for them. Most terrifying, I understood the full difficulty of the situation—trying to leave the country was hopeless.
How much I begged God for a miracle to see them again, to embrace them, to look in their eyes and hear their voices. How many tears I shed. How many hours I spent in pleas and dreams that one day I would see them, that war would one day end, and they would return to our apartment in Saltovka, which, by God's mercy, was still intact. I remember how earnestly my students from different countries prayed for this miracle. How they worried for my life and raised their pleas to the Father that our family would be together again. It seemed impossible. For this to happen, nothing less than divine intervention was needed.
Until the recent upheavals in my life, I loved listening to recordings of sermons, books, and the Bible. I tried to make maximum use of my time. Every time I went somewhere, drove, or did sports, I listened to something edifying. I had re-listened to hundreds of audiobooks and sermons. Once a day I listened to the podcast "Bible in a Year." On that warm June day, the podcast played Psalm 20: "You have given him his heart's desire, and have not withheld the request of his lips." It was like electricity struck through all my nerve cells. I stopped walking, put the podcast on pause, and quickly found this verse online. I re-read it several times until it was firmly fixed in my memory. I repeated it again and again. It resonated in my consciousness, blossomed in my heart, seized me, and filled me with enormous hope and joy. It strengthened my faith. It became one of those verses that change spiritual life. It became the foundation of my subsequent prayers for a miracle. "Lord, give me the chance to go to my family. Give me to see my wife and daughter again. Give me what my heart so desires and do not reject my prayer!"
I don't know how to explain what began to happen after. I continued to pray this verse daily, repeatedly. And in response, with incredible speed, information, advice, solutions, and actions began to come. A whole month flew by in conversations, meetings, trips to the military enlistment office, submissions of various documents, filing of applications and certificates, awaiting decisions. A train to Lviv. A bus to Warsaw. The border. A meeting with an officer in a separate room, deep checks. And here I'm driving through Poland—only hundreds of meters from the border with Ukraine, and what a different life! Peace! No explosions, no sirens, no destroyed apartment buildings. Cafes are working, people walk peacefully, children play in playgrounds. I look out the window and cannot stop weeping: I made it out, I'm safe, in a few days I'll see my wife and daughter! God performed a miracle. God answered my prayer, the fulfillment of which seemed impossible half an hour ago. God gave me what my heart desired, and did not reject the request of my lips! It was a real miracle...
And today, almost two years later, I was listening to "Bible in a Year" again, and again this verse sounded in my ears. But today, onto the joyful memories of the past, new layers of emotions from recent months have settled, events that turned my life upside down. Two years ago I was waiting for a miracle from God, but I was whole. Now with enormous personal effort, prayers, and the work of faithful friends, we are gathering the scattered fragments of my life, like a puzzle, into something new. Perhaps one day, like the ancient art of kintsugi, it will regain wholeness and even greater worth. But while the wounds bleed, and the deep seams are still not healed, the golden adhesive in them hasn't yet hardened. As two years ago, I continue to wait for God. As before, I continue to pray this verse. Only this time the miracle didn't happen. There were no quick answers. Answers to what my heart so desired and what my lips requested—there were none at all. On the contrary, God not only failed to answer my specific requests, but took away every hope. He taught me to bring my requests
