In eastern Poland, planting seeds of hope for Ukrainians orphaned by war

We left Warsaw early this morning for a two-hour drive southwest. Along the way it felt as if we were in eastern North Carolina. The land is flat, fertile and forgiving. Pine trees clump together near the edge of the road with the evergreen reminder that spring is not yet in full bloom. Cattle crossings, quaint houses and silos make us feel at home. Billboards want our attention. The message – in different letters and words – jolts our reality and points out, “Yes, you’re in the south ... of Poland!”

Our destination is Zelow. It is a small town, and again, it feels like home. Family businesses on the main street are separated by a community center and a community of churches. The largest, St. Mary’s Roman Catholic Church, hosts a statue of the only Polish pope, John Paul II. There’s also a Lutheran church nearby. What was a synagogue before the Holocaust is now the town post office, a sad and terrible reminder of the ethnic cleansing that removed 90% of the 3 million Jews who called this country home before the hell of Hitler.

There’s also a small Baptist church. This week, a North Carolina construction team from the mountains is adding a structure on the church grounds that one day could be home to Ukrainian orphans.

Two weeks ago, it looked as if the idea born of the dream might never happen.

Forty-three year old Grzegorz Skobel was assigned to the church in 2019. There were three members. Now, as Zelow has learned to manage COVID-19, the flock has grown to 25.

Greg, as he is known, was notified by Baptists On Mission that they were coming to build his building. He quickly reached out to a member with the expertise of excavation. The estimate for the work was well beyond his meager budget. He called a friend who agreed to do the work.

It didn’t seem major. Clear an area. Set the forms. Pour the concrete. A solid foundation from which the dream would grow.

Well.

Before the day was over, the one area to be cleaned became a hole. Then another. And another. The backyard of the church was a mess. An existing building, a gift from an older church member, was mistakenly demolished. The friend who agreed to help was unprepared and a bit naïve.

What began as a day of promise ended with a lesson of what can be a huge difference between intent and impact.

The Baptists were coming at their own expense to give of their talents, for free. The young pastor, husband and father wept. He walked into his small study and collapsed at his meager desk.

“I just cried,” he said.

Skobel told me that at that moment he’d had enough and felt like walking away.

“With all that is going on in the world, the heartbreak of the refugees, Ukraine at war and all God had provided me and my family, why this (sic) so wrong? I felt like I was in hole (sic) and surrounded by wall," he said.

His faith told him to get up and get going. He walked outside and began work. Shoveling one spade at a time, he filled the holes and smoothed the plot of land.

The wall of doubt did not crumble, he dismantled it.

“We have a mission here,” he beamed. With a loud and animated voice, he looked me squarely in the eyes and added, “I could not do any of this without God. Nothing.”

While not officially part of the membership rolls, three Ukrainian refugee families attend weekly services at the church.

“We are open to everyone, especially the children," Skobel said.

Skobel has traveled to his native Chelm, Poland, just inside the border with Ukraine. He has seen the anguish of families separated, some destroyed by war.

His tears may have given the seeds in Zelow moisture they need for the dream to become reality.

“We are small, but we remain here to serve. And yes, one day we will have orphanage to care for refugee children and others with no home.”