Fred “Mister” Rogers recalled that when he saw scary news on TV as a boy, his mother would say: “Look for the helpers.” Down at the U.S.-Mexico border, you see them from across the country — helping Ukrainian refugees find safety.
In addition to local religious and cultural groups, you find people who dropped everything at home to come to San Diego, answering an inner call to act.
Some traveled more than 2,000 miles, including as far away as Indiana and North Carolina.
Here are their stories.
Offering Hoosier Hospitality
“I just wanna help,” said Pastor Rod Penrod, 60, of Berne, Indiana, as tears welled in his eyes. “I think all of us just want to make a difference.”
President Joe Biden announced last month that the United States would accept up to 100,000 Ukrainians fleeing Putin’s war. Thousands have already entered the United States. More than 4 million people have fled Ukraine to neighboring countries including Poland since Russia invaded Feb. 24.
Penrod, representing “Friends with Ukraine, Change the World” and his Common Ground Church of Nazarene in Berne, walked into a Spring Valley refugee hub Saturday to offer housing care of generous Indiana families.
The insurance agent, along with two fellow Hoosiers, said they came to meet with a Nazarene church district superintendent and have refugees referred, so they can house Ukraine families with no place to go.
“We’re trying to assess and understand how to best meet their needs,” Penrod said. “We’re in Indiana and we’re going to do what we can to give them Hoosier hospitality … in the name of Jesus.”
Twenty to thirty people of different religious denominations in his Midwest community of 4,200 so far are ready to welcome the families, and the pastor figures if 50 people in the church give $20 a month, that will take care of host expenses.
Once people are settled, “We want to bring them all back together occasionally so they can have fellowship. … We don’t want to isolate them,” Penrod said. “The purpose is community.”
He said he’s been told that over 3,000 Ukrainians are still in Tijuana, with 80% expecting to travel to specific host locations.
“They have a ticket to go,” he said. “But the 20% [who don’t] is what we’re trying to help.”
Sadie and Florian Steciuch of Porter, Indiana, accompanied Penrod. Sadie, whose husband is from Ukraine, were last in that nation three days before Russian bombing started.
Asked why they’re in San Diego, a choked-with-emotion Sadie said: “Wow, I can’t even talk. We have a lot of friends in Ukraine … We can’t go there. … They’re coming here; they don’t know the language. There’s no one to talk to. They’ve been through hell.”
The Hoosiers’ role is to comfort people and give them hope, she said — “Tell them it’s going to be OK.”
Before the war, the couple traveled yearly to Ukraine, sometimes semiannually, to help in orphanages and bring food to the elderly as they worked with local churches.
Former Refugees Pay Back
“We feel the pain of the people,” said Oleg Volkov, who along with his wife, Yelena, came from Sacramento. “Somebody help(ed) us when we came here, so we want to pay back. That’s what we’re doing. That’s what Jesus told us to do.”
The 46-year-old man affiliated with Genesis Church in Roseville added: “Love on people. How are you going to love God if you don’t love people?”
Yelena Volkov, 41, said she was amazed at the Ukrainians’ personal faith — “most of them are just coming to nowhere.”
The couple were at the Pedestrian West border crossing Saturday at San Ysidro speaking with refugees in their own language and giving them rides to one of at least four San Diego “hubs” that act as transition stops before they unite with friends and relatives.
At the crossing recently opened to speed the immigration process, people sat in small groups. Children played with an array of toys, and the newly arrived quickly got some pizza and snacks from a volunteer table.
Others stared off into the distance with exhaustion visible, waiting to be picked up by relatives or strangers giving them rides to shelters or the San Diego airport.
“We can communicate,” Oleg Volkov said. “We can reach them somehow. Sometimes yes, sometimes not.”
Volkov said he spoke to an older man from Bucha, the site of horrific violence. “His story is sad to hear… We were able to kind of talk to him, minister to him a little bit” before he left for Oregon, he said.
Yelena, experienced in missionary work, said: “It’s kind of sad how we know these peaceful people are going through this much pain, trying to save their lives, save the families, save their kids. It breaks my heart.”
Yelena explained that the refugees flew into Tijuana, are given a number at the airport and then taken to the city’s Sports Center, where they stay up to three days, awaiting their numbers being called and being taken to the border.
Not only are mothers and grandmothers arriving with children, but in some cases fathers also have joined them. Yelena explained that Ukrainian guidelines allow fathers to leave if they have three or more children or have a health condition that keeps them from fighting in the war.
Most Ukrainian men ages 18 to 60 have been barred from leaving the country, in anticipation that they may be called to fight.
Golden Opportunity to Help
“We saw the pictures of what was going on in Ukraine, kind of sitting there helpless,” said Vadim Blyshchik, noting how they themselves are “in comfort.”
“When this opportunity came up, we thought we could still contribute somewhat directly but still be safe and be able to do that,” he said.
Both from the Seattle area, Blyshchik, 24, and his brother, Slav, 37, heard about the refugee hub at Spring Valley Community Church — which offers a shower trailer, food and a chance for Ukrainian travelers to catch their breath before the final leg of their journey.
“Ukrainians helping Ukrainians. That’s for sure,” said Steve Babbitt, the church’s pastor.
Coming to the Spring Valley church to help “was a golden opportunity for us,” Vadim said. “Right when it came up, we jumped on it.”
The brothers, along with their wives, provide van transportation for a “smooth transition,” and translate for church personnel. Others from their group, Cornerstone Mission of Sulamita Church, will rotate in to help after the brothers leave in a week.
Vadim said one person he picked up at the border recently said he had an Instagram friend who invited him to stay in his house in this country.
“As soon as something comes up, we’re there to help,” he said. “We’re not a big organization, but we help when we can.”
The brothers received texts from their own family members early in the war. But with Russian soldiers occupying their neighborhoods now, the relatives mostly give very short responses, such as “Dangerous to text” or “We’re safe,” Vadim said.
Some refugees left in late February and early March and are just now arriving after traveling from Poland to other European countries and then to Tijuana, he said.
During his stay, Vadim said the refugees’ endurance amid hardships impressed him.
“What has affected me is hearing the stories and just how strong people can be,” said Vadim, a U.S. resident for 20 years. “Mothers are here with their kids and (with) the journey of a month and a half, going through all of the airports, not knowing English, making their way here, most of them are still positive.”
Chance to Recharge
Samaritan’s Purse is an international Christian relief organization based in Boone, North Carolina, and run by the grandson of Billy Graham. Members traveled to San Diego from across the nation to do their part.
They assess refugees’ needs when they cross the border, which often meant letting them charge their phones and giving them Wi-Fi access to buy tickets to their final destinations.
Some have no U.S. connections, a spokeswoman said, but a network of churches across the United States is “willing and hoping to resettle them and welcome them into their communities. We are hoping that if they don’t have a place to stay, we can connect them with somebody who can connect them and get them back on their feet.”
Their work at the border is an extension of their work in Ukraine, providing basic medical care.
“We give them a hug and say welcome and help meet their physical needs, providing a sense of hope, shade, food and water, so that they can feel like they are not on their own,” the spokeswomen said.
If the refugees don’t have a place to go, they have an application process and a network of churches at the ready to welcome them.
People cheered as refugees, often with small children in tow, walked out of the port of entry into San Ysidro, and volunteers from all corners of the nation began offering them hugs, food and a way forward.
When asked how the refugees were holding up emotionally, volunteer Yelena Volkov said some arriving now escaped before the violence erupted.
Those coming in the next few weeks, she said, are more likely to be from the war’s epicenters.
First of two parts
