A Few Photos From the Road

This mission trip came to me through images: faces around tables, old churches in Northern Spain, immigrant stories in Southern Spain, and quiet moments of faithfulness in Azerbaijan and Georgia.

In this update, I want to share a few photos and reflections from the road — the places I visited, the people I met, and some of what God has been teaching me along the way.

Northern Spain — Basque Country

The first part of the trip took me to Northern Spain, where I visited James and Carolynn in the Basque Country.

They serve in a beautiful but spiritually complex region. They also run a guest house connected with the Camino walk, welcoming pilgrims and creating space for conversation, rest, and gentle gospel witness.

The Basque Country is stunning. Green hills, stone streets, old churches, mountain air, and a deep sense of history. Catholicism is very visible — in buildings, symbols, festivals, and culture. But visible religion does not always mean open hearts.

In many parts of Europe, Christianity is part of the cultural memory, but not always part of people’s living faith. The Basque Country in particular has a strong local identity, a painful political history, and a very secular younger generation. So for many people, religion can feel like tradition, institution, or something from the past — not necessarily good news for today.

That helped me understand why mission is still needed in places like Spain.

Sometimes we think of mission only as going to places where people have never heard the name of Jesus. But there are also places where the church buildings are old, the stories are familiar, and yet the gospel itself feels distant. There is a need for patient presence, long-term friendship, and humble witness.

While I was there, I had the opportunity to share some of my own journey with the youth group and the church. I shared about how God has led me through different cultures, through questions, and through this ongoing process of discernment

Southern Spain - Eyeopening Encounter

From Northern Spain, I travelled to Southern Spain, where I met Chloe and David. Their ministry is among North African immigrants.

This part of the trip was very eye-opening for me.

Southern Spain sits close to North Africa, so for many migrants it becomes one of the first entry points into Europe. Some come looking for work. Some flee instability, poverty or hopelessness. Some arrive through official pathways, while others come through very dangerous journeys by sea.

I met two immigrants there, and one of them shared with me how he arrived.

He told me that the journey took four days. Four days in the dark. Four days not knowing how long it would take. Four days not knowing whether they would arrive safely.

I had heard stories like this before in the news, but sitting with someone who had actually lived it was very different.

Many immigrants face enormous challenges when they arrive: language barriers, legal uncertainty, work insecurity, loneliness, cultural adjustment and the pain of being far from family.

But I also saw how ministry can begin in very simple ways: a meal, a conversation, practical care, language help, friendship, listening and prayer.

Azerbaijan and Georgia - A Different Landscape

The last part of the trip took me to Azerbaijan and Georgia, where OM is involved in Muslim ministry.

This was a very different landscape for me - culturally, spiritually, and geographically. I was mainly there to observe, help where I could and get a sense of how ministry works in that context.

I helped Ramil and his wife with some social media content for their English conversation ministry. Muslim ministry is still relatively new to me. I am still learning how to understand the culture, the assumptions, the questions, and the deep spiritual sensitivities involved.

But one thing moved me: the missionaries themselves.

I met people who had travelled across the world, left behind comfort and familiarity and chosen to live in places where they can feel quite isolated. Some of them serve in contexts where there are not many workers, not many visible results, and not much recognition.

It reminded me that mission is mostly not romantic. Sometimes it is lonely. Sometimes it is slow. Sometimes it is simply choosing to remain faithful in a place where few people see what you are doing.

But God sees.

Five Weeks In — And Deeply Grateful

It has now been five weeks since I moved to Sydney to begin studying at Sydney Missionary & Bible College.

Before anything else — thank you.

Thank you for your immense encouragement, your messages, your prayers, and your generosity. I genuinely feel carried by a community far bigger than myself.

And these first five weeks have been full.

The Community I Came Here For

One of the main reasons I moved to Sydney was for community.

I wasn’t just looking for good teaching — I was looking for people. Brothers and sisters to walk with, learn with, pray with, and serve alongside.

And only five weeks in, I can honestly say: I’ve found that.

There is a big, vibrant, and generous community here. I’ve already formed meaningful friendships — with brothers like Chris, James, and Josiah — and I’m looking forward to deepening them over time.

Some days are filled with:

Taking selfie in the library

Work duty

Serving Coffee - I’m yet to refine my latte art skill!

Parkrun with the gang on Saturday mornings

Other than the mundane things above, there is a lot of talking. It’s so much, in fact, that I even forget to take any photos. Sometimes it feels overwhelming. But more often, it is precious. Slowly, friendships are forming — it takes one coffee at a time.

This is what I came for.

"It's Good to Survive the War, But It Might Be Better Not To"

An elderly grandmother in the village Lukashivka said these words to me the other week, tears beginning to form in her eyes. She was almost 90, she told me, and wasn't sure she'd live to see justice done.

Her words haunted me.

They capture something raw about the human condition - that sometimes the weight of living can feel heavier than the prospect of not living. Here was a woman who had survived decades of hardship, witnessed injustice upon injustice, and now found herself caught in the crossfire of yet another war.

What do you say to someone like that?

I wanted to tell her about hope. About the hope I've found. But facing her tears, her decades of disappointment, it felt almost insulting to offer easy answers.

So when she shared her heart with me - about survival feeling like a burden rather than a blessing - I had no words. All I could do was meet her gaze and all I wanted to tell her was I feel her pain.

When War Comes Home

The last three weeks have brought the reality of this conflict closer than ever before. Russia has intensified its attacks, shifting from targeting infrastructure to targeting civilians. The headlines you read in the news became personal when a stray bullet that missed its target fell through the roof of our YWAM base.

It struck our friend Luda in the thigh.

She was in shock, walking around the room seeking help. By God's grace, the bullet missed her artery by inches. She's out of hospital now, but the experience shattered any illusion of safety we might have had.

The danger felt closer and closer.

Life in the Margins

We spent two weeks in Lukashivka, a small village that had been occupied for 21 days. I thought there might be some peace there, away from the major cities. But even in that forgotten corner of Ukraine, the war followed us. One night, a loud explosion reminded us that nowhere is truly safe.

The living conditions were challenging. We stayed in a house abandoned for two decades. The pit-style toilet made daily life practically impossible for me personally - though I suppose that's the least of anyone's worries when missiles are falling from the sky.

Behold: the lowest bar I'm willing to set for what technically counts as a loo (toilet).

Only the elderly and the children remained in the village.

We visited households, did practical work, tried to help where we could. But often, I felt utterly powerless. Still, what do you say to those who have seen too much, lived through too much, lost too much?

The Choice to Stay

I've been getting text messages from friends asking how I am, whether I feel safe, suggesting I should leave if I don't. I have to be honest - I do feel nervous at times. The threats are close and real.

Last night, for the first time, I slept in a bomb shelter.

But here's the thing - if safety was my primary concern, I wouldn't have come to Ukraine in the first place. There's something bigger that brought me here and keeps me here.

The Ultimate Hope

The grandmother was right about one thing: survival alone isn't enough. But what if survival isn't the point? What if there's something worth living for that transcends even our own safety?

I think about Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane, just hours before his crucifixion. He knew what awaited him - the torture, the abandonment, the excruciating death on the cross. He faced his own moment of questioning whether it might be better not to continue. "Let this cup pass from me," he prayed - asking if there was another way to avoid the suffering ahead.

He understood the weight of suffering, the temptation to give up.

But he also understood something else. He prayed, "Not my will, but yours be done." He chose to go forward, knowing that his suffering would serve something greater than his own preservation.

It's the hope that changed my life completely. It's why I'm here. It's why I can look into the eyes of those who have waited decades for justice and somehow believe that their pain isn't the end of the story.

I can't promise that justice will come in her lifetime. I can't guarantee that the missiles will stop falling. But I can offer something else - a hope that doesn't depend on our circumstances changing, but on the certainty that someone greater than our circumstances holds us.

That's not powerless.

That's the hope I've chosen to cling to - the unshakeable promise that love wins in the end.

Even when we're 90 and still waiting.

Even when bullets fall through roofs.

Even when survival feels harder than surrender.

From Giving to Receiving: Unexpected Lessons

Two weeks ago, our Discipleship Training School transitioned from the Teaching Phase to the Outreach Phase in Rivne. Outreach means living, traveling, and working in tight spaces with your team. You learn quickly about genuine community - how to adapt, bend without breaking, and find your place. Some days are beautifully chaotic, others are profoundly peaceful.

Lessons Beyond Expectations

At the local school, my presence created a bit of a stir. Being Asian in this small Ukrainian town meant I was an instant curiosity. Many children had never seen an Asian person before. Selfie requests became a frequent occurrence during our two days there.

But amid the attention, I felt that this shoudn’t be just about me being a novelty - it was an opportunity. While basking in their fascination, I sensed an inner urge to redirect their curiosity towards the reason why I am in the country. So, I decided to share Jesus' story.

My limited experience with children made this challenging. I wasn't sure how to capture their imagination or hold their attention. But something remarkable happened. Their genuine interest, their wide-eyed wonder, drove and propelled my sharing. They taught me to narrate faith with a simplicity - stripped of theological complexity, told with the pure excitement of discovering something miraculous.

Echoes of Shared History

At a local ministry serving the less fortunate, I met elderly Ukrainians who had lived through the Soviet era. Knowing we both wore the red scarf and joined the Youth Pioneer team in our respective countries, I used this shared experience as an entry point to my testimony.

Here, my testimony "From Communism to Christ" wasn't just a story - it was a bridge. These individuals, who had survived systemic oppression, listened with an intensity that spoke volumes. Our shared experience of communist life created a mutual understanding that transcended language and individual experiences.

When I spoke about my journey from a system that taught collective identity to finding personal value in Christ, their eyes reflected recognition. They weren't just listening; they were remembering, comparing, understanding. In that moment, our different paths intersected - a testament to how personal stories can become universal narratives of hope and transformation.

Hands Open, Heart Full

Two weeks feels both like a moment and a lifetime. As a foreigner, I've been overwhelmed by the love Ukrainians have shown me. Their generosity in the midst of war shows a resilience that humbles and inspires me.

I came thinking I had something to offer, but I'm leaving with my hands and heart full of gifts I could never have anticipated.

Kyiv Trembles: The Sacred Refusal

Last night, Kyiv trembled.

It began with a single explosion. Not just heard, but felt. A shockwave that seemed to shatter the very fabric of the night. Then another. And another. For an hour, our world was reduced to waiting for the next boom, the next tremble of walls, the next moment of wondering: is this the one that finds us?

Fear, raw and electric, run through me. Not the abstract fear of something distant, but the simple truth that death flew above us, picking where to strike next.

I tried to sleep through it - a strange human response to terror, perhaps. To close your eyes against what you cannot control.

It wasn't until morning, when everyone talked about what happened, that I grasped the gravity of what had happened. Around 30 drones had targeted the city. Ukrainian air defenses intercepted 16 of them, but debris from the fallen drones sparked fires across Kyiv. The closest damaged residential building stood less than 2km away. Even our most seasoned staff members called it the worst attack they'd experienced.

As they spoke, snow began to fall outside our windows. Heavier and heavier. Each flake sending chills down my spine. The contrast felt cruel - the peaceful beauty of snow against the backdrop of a night of destruction.

Then it hit me. This was one night. One terrifying night for us.

But across this vast country, countless Ukrainians have lived with this reality for years. The constant vigilance. The midnight sirens. The knowledge that any day could be the day a missile finds your home, your loved ones, your life.

Tears came then. Not just for our frightened night, but for the collective trauma of a nation that wakes each morning to the same possibility of horror, yet still makes breakfast, still goes to work, still finds reasons to laugh.

In moments like these, when human strength falters and hope seems distant, there's something profound about finding light in darkness, not because the darkness has gone, but because something stronger holds us through it.

Whether through faith in Christ's unfailing presence, the embrace of community, or the remarkable resilience of the human spirit - I've witnessed how people here find ways to carry on. Not because it's easy, but because they refuse to let fear have the final word.

And in that refusal, I see something sacred.

When Reality Hits Close

Life in Kyiv moves in peculiar rhythms. Cafes are full, markets bustle, and children play in parks. When friends message me about news headlines, I tell them about my ordinary days - studying, doing ministry, walking familiar streets. The city has learned to breathe between air raid sirens.

Most days, the war feels like background noise.

Until suddenly, it doesn't.

Last night a family from our friend's church was torn apart by a drone strike. A father Oleksandr and his five-year-old daughter Nikol. They had already fled once, seeking refuge from Orikhov to Kyiv. Now, in what should have been their safe haven, the mother Alexandra finds herself alone - husband and daughter taken in an instant.

A Christmas photo sits before me. A decorated tree. Red bows. Pink roses. Smiles that will never be captured again.

This is the cruel lottery of war. One moment you're holding roses; the next, everything changes. There's no logic to it. No fairness. No explanation that could ever make sense of why little Nikol, a child in a princess tiara, becomes another statistic.

When we speak of war, we often talk in numbers. But numbers don't tell you about the empty chairs at church, or the Christmas decorations that will stay in boxes next year, or Alexandra who must somehow find strength to wake up tomorrow.

Today, I grieve with Alexandra. I grieve for the future that was stolen from Oleksandr and Nikol. For the bedtime stories that will remain unread. For the dance recitals that will never be.

And I'm reminded that although most days here are remarkably normal, normal doesn't mean safe.Peace remains fragile, and sometimes that fragility breaks through in the most heartbreaking ways. It's the difference between life and death; between a family celebrating Christmas and a mother mourning alone.

This is why we're here. This is why we keep working, praying, hoping.

Because every life matters.
Every story matters.
Every family matters.

And sometimes, that's all we can hold onto.

This story of Oleksandr, Nikol, and Alexandra breaks my heart. But they represent just one family among thousands affected by this war. Each day, innocent lives are cut short without warning - children who will never grow up, parents who leave behind grieving families, and communities forever altered by absence.

The randomness of these tragedies is perhaps the most difficult aspect to comprehend. People going about their ordinary lives - shopping for groceries, walking to school, sleeping in what they thought were safe places - when everything changes in an instant.

As we pray today, let's remember not just this one family but all those across Ukraine and other conflict zones who are suffering similar losses. Let us pray for those whose stories haven't been told, whose names we may never know, but whose lives matter profoundly to God.

A ‘Cold’ Welcome - Finally in Kyiv

After nine days of waiting in Warsaw (and countless cups of coffee later), my visa was finally granted. I arrived in Kyiv last Sunday (23 Feb), stepping into a world painted white.

Thank you, truly, for your prayers and replies. They carried me through those uncertain days.

Winter here isn't just cold - it's a different kind of beautiful. The river has frozen solid enough that I can walk on it - see the proof below. There's something poetic about standing on frozen water, isn't it?

Home Sweet Dorm

My new home is a humble dormitory - the first time I've lived in one since my university days. The squeaky beds and shared spaces bring back memories, yet everything feels new.

When I'm not in class or helping around the base, you'll find me here:

This couch has already witnessed countless conversations in broken English, Google-translated Ukrainian, and universal laughter.

Building Hope - Literally

This week, we've been renovating the bomb shelter. There's something deeply soothing about painting walls that might one day protect lives.

Breaking the Ice - Quite Literally

On my first day, my DTS journey jumped straight into action - a skit about hot climate meets cold climate cultures. There's nothing quite like acting out cultural misunderstandings to forge new friendships.

The Rhythm of Community

Our days are punctuated by worship sessions that fill the halls with melody and prayer.

In this main hall, boxes of supplies wait to be distributed where they're needed most. A reminder that even in times of war, hope finds its way through simple acts of giving.

These first few days have already taught me so much about community, resilience, and finding joy in simple moments. Thank you for continuing this journey with me through your prayers and support.

Embracing the Wait - My Path Back to Kyiv

Greetings,

As many of you know, I returned to Australia in January. Over the past month, it’s been wonderful catching up with old friends and making new connections. I’ve really treasured the moments we’ve spent sharing stories and laughs. Your friendship, support, and encouragement have meant the world to me. For those who live interstate, I’m sorry we haven’t had a chance to meet in person yet - hopefully we can make it happen soon! Thank you all for continuing to pray for and think of me.

What’s Next? A DTS in Kyiv

After much prayer and consideration, I’ve decided to do Discipleship Training School (DTS) with YWAM Kyiv. For those unfamiliar with YWAM (Youth With A Mission), it’s an international Christian missions organisation that provides training programmes to equip people for missionary work around the world. A DTS typically involves a few months of biblical teaching (the “lecture phase”), followed by practical outreach, which can include a variety of mission projects.

This particular DTS is themed “Wave of Hope,” focusing on building homes in regions that were previously occupied and are now liberated. Over the course of these five months, I’m looking forward to:

·    Deepening my relationship with God, learning to listen more closely to His voice and guidance.

·    Investing time in learning the Ukrainian language.

·    Getting to know the local community in Kyiv more intimately.

·    Better preparing for future ministry opportunities.

Waves of Hope actually welcomes volunteers from other countries, even during this time of war. They run these short-term projects three times a year. This year, the dates are 8 - 15 June and 3 - 10 August. If you feel led to make an unusual trip, it’d so special to see you here! For more information, visit:

Waves of hope

Waiting in Warsaw

I’ve been in Warsaw since last Monday (12 Feb), waiting for my visa to enter Ukraine. Initially, I was told it could be processed in just 1 day, but reality has proved otherwise. It might take up to 10 business days. As of today (20 Feb), I’m on day 9 - if I don’t hear back by the end of the day, I may be here for another weekend.

So, waiting. A lot of waiting, then even more waiting. It can be dull and frustrating. After all, we spend so much of our lives waiting: for the bus to come, for a new life to arrive, for a situation to change. In the Christian worldview, we talk about “waiting on God” and trusting in His timing. In the Bible, we see people waiting - Abraham waited for his promised son, Joseph waited in prison for freedom, and David waited years to become king. The challenge in all this is trusting in something bigger than ourselves, because in the waiting, we meet God. And at the end of that waiting, He meets us.

Here’s how I’ve encountered Him lately: this is the view from my Airbnb window - sunshine on the snow.

How beautiful.

I hope you see that too.

Prayer Requests

1.  Visa Approval
Please pray that my visa will be granted soon

2.  DTS Journey
Spiritual readiness, open ears to God’s leading, and the ability to learn Ukrainian well!

3.  Safety & Provision
Both for myself and the communities I’ll be serving, that we may experience God’s protection and peace.

A Year of Hope and New Beginnings

As my Bible school wraps up and Christmas arrives, I want to take a moment to wish you all a joyful holiday season. This has been an incredible journey, filled with moments of challenge, reflection, and hope. I spent my Christmas in Germany with my dear friends and it was a much-needed time of rest and celebration.

A Shiver of Reality - Nuclear Threat

On hearing the news that the U.S. Embassy in Kyiv had closed and Russia threatened the use of nuclear weapons, I’ll be honest - a shiver ran down my back. The thought that I might not wake up tomorrow suddenly became real to me. We often live as though we have forever, but that moment shifted my perspective. All my little worries and stresses seemed so small. Yet, funny enough, I quickly slid back into "I-live-forever" mode. Humanity is strange that way.

A Moment of Light in Kherson - One River Apart from Russia

One of the most profound experiences during the school was our visit to Kherson, a region previously occupied by Russia and now only one river from Russia. The stress weighed heavily on our team as we worked with children there. The area had been without electricity for three days, but as we sang with the kids, the song "Nadia, Nadia, Nadia" - which means hope in Ukrainian - filled the room. Suddenly, the lights came on. One of the mothers broke into tears, and the moment deeply moved me. In times of despair, I often wonder if prayers make a difference. But in that instant, I had no doubt: there is hope, and God does care. I pray that I can carry that hope in my heart every moment, and I continue to pray that this war will end as soon as possible.

Andrii and Borya Need Supporters

My Ukrainian friends Andrii and Borya, both of whom I’ve mentioned before, are preparing to step into full-time ministry. Andrii, 21 years old, and Borya, 28, each feel a strong calling to serve their communities and share God’s love. Both of them have created short videos introducing themselves and sharing their hearts for ministry.

If you feel led to support Andrii or Borya - whether through a one-off gift or regular giving - please reply to me, and I’ll see how I can connect you with them directly.

Looking Ahead - Prayers Needed

I’ll be back in Australia in mid-January and am looking forward to catching up with each of you in person. As I plan for the new year, I ask for your prayers. I know in my heart that I want to return to Ukraine, but there are many questions to answer about how. Please join me in seeking God’s direction for the future

Bomb Shelter Needed

Night falls as I wait in the queue for the bus. The air raid siren sets off. I look around. No one even flinches. I zoom in on their faces, searching for signs of panic, but there is none.

This scene sums up life in today’s Kyiv. People have become numbed to the potential danger. It’s difficult to explain, but the quiet acceptance is palpable, and it leaves me feeling a bittersweet kind of sadness.

Over these past few weeks, I’ve learned to adapt to this state of numbness myself. Some days are louder than others. When I hear the familiar rumble, I pause, listening, but fear doesn’t take hold. In fact, just as I write this, there’s a sound outside - perhaps an explosion. I stop for a second, then simply continue typing.

“I’m more interested is finding ways to connect better with the people” - I think to myself.

In the midst of this, we’re taking tangible steps for safety. We’re building a bomb shelter at the base - yes three years into the war. We still need USD 14,000 to complete this project. If you feel led to support, please consider giving via the button below.

DONATE

Despite the noise and the backdrop of uncertainty, I find myself living with profound gratitude for God’s unwavering love and grace. Each day is a testament to resilience and faith, and I’m continually reminded of the strength in community and the small moments of peace we cherish.

From Peaceful Shores to Unforgettable Night

I lie on the base beach, soaking in God's presence. For a few moments, I had some thoughts on how this peace I'm enjoying comes at a price. Just a few hundred miles away, soldiers are losing their lives daily. It makes my heart ache. I cry out to the Lord - have mercy!

This sums up the first week—peaceful, yet filled with reflections.

Until one night, machine gun shots rang out, loud enough to feel like they were right outside our windows. The wind howled as spotlights pierced the skyline, and distant gunfire echoed. Even the soundest sleepers woke up. It was the first time many of us were so close to something that felt truly life-threatening. I shed a few tears, overwhelmed by the fear and emotions, much like the Jesus’ disciples on the boat during the storm. We prayed and tried to find peace again.

By morning, the news broke - there had been a large-scale drone attack (78 drones), yet miraculously, no lives were lost, and no buildings were damaged. Long-term staff said it had been a while since last time they had something like this.

So why am I here? Why choose this? Like what you’re probably asking, I’ve had the same question from the very beginning of this journey - it’s unnecessary, and it doesn’t seem to make sense.

I met Andrii and Borys, two Ukrainian boys I’m studying with. So young and full of life, yet knowing they can be called to the front line at any moment. They don’t have a choice—but I do. It’s unfair, and it breaks my heart. I seem to start to see why I’m here. And I want to make this choice - to be with them a bit more, to know them a bit more, to love them a bit more - because that’s how Christ changes my life. Forever.

Despite this incident, my dearest friends, I want to reassure you that we don’t feel like we're in danger moment to moment, as if living in a real war zone. On the contrary, I’ve been loving every single day. Every conversation we have, every connection we build, and every moment when people are willing to open up and let me in - it’s been such a gift. There have been far more laughs than tears.

Thank you again for your warm replies and prayers. They truly mean the world to me, knowing there are so many people back home praying and caring for me.

And I always remember - missions don’t just happen on the other side of the world; they start from the person sitting right next to you. The love you’ve shown me while you were sitting next to me has given me the courage and strength to go to the other side of the world to love the person sitting next to me.

For that, I'm eternally grateful.

This is where I enjoy the peace and ponder over those deep questions

Tobias from Germany and Nathanael from England are enjoying the fishing although they are yet to catch anything

Russian drone captured at the base from another day- not much different from the photography drone I fly

Borys - he’s got much on his shoulders

Andrii - we often use Google Translate to do some profound communication

I have the luxury of having two flags representing me - I love both countries

Telling my story - interestingly the common communism ‘heritage’ makes it somewhat relatable to my Ukrainian friends

I love this bunch - I’m keen to know a bit more about each of them in the following months

In Kyiv Now

Hi all,

Just a quick note to let you know that I’ve arrived in Kyiv this morning (20th Sept) after a week-long journey—yes, in one piece! Thanks for all your prayers.

For those curious, here are a few photos from the trip. Since there are no commercial flights to Ukraine (for obvious reasons), I hopped on an 18-hour train from Krakow, Poland. Quite the ride!


Here’s how I play the 'disability' card along the way - numerous kind souls helped with my luggage!

Krakow, where Schindler’s List was based, is also not far from Auschwitz.

Most of the passengers in line to board the train were Ukrainians

Train to Kyiv - The drop between the platform and the train itself was huge!

I couldn’t be more grateful that God put this bunch in my cabin for the funniest few hours - two from London, Liverpool, and a Ukrainian maths professor!

After that, I had the cabin to myself and managed to get some good sleep for the remaining 12 hours.

Arrived at Kyiv train station at 5am.

Here’s the building where I’ll be spending the next three months.

YWAM Kyiv is located on the outskirts of the city, giving us the luxury of a river beach - perfect for my morning quiet time!

Spain. Surgery. Ukraine.

Dear Friends,

I hope this letter finds you well. It's hard to believe that seven months have passed since my last update. Time has flown by, and I want to share some of the incredible experiences and challenges I've faced since then.

Spain: A Journey of Learning and Serving

Earlier this year, I had the privilege of serving with YWAM Costa Tropical in Spain. My role involved capturing the life and energy of their Discipleship Training School (DTS) through photography and videography. It was a time of immense growth, as I immersed myself in new cultures and built connections with amazing people. This experience has deepened my understanding of ministry and the diverse ways God is at work across the globe.

Photo taken during our team's time in Morocco

A Short Visit to Ukraine: A Connection Felt

Towards the end of my time in Europe, I had the opportunity to visit Ukraine briefly. During my stay, I felt a connection to the country and its people, and I sensed a growing need to return. As I continue to pray about when and how to go back, I've decided that participating in a three-month Discipleship Bible School (DBS) could be the next step. This program will allow me to delve deeper into the Word, get to know the community, and discern how I might serve there in the longer term.

Photo taken during my stay in Kyiv. The tanks are just for display— it was actually very peaceful while I was there.

A Timely Miracle: The Knee Injury

While in Spain, I unfortunately injured my knee, which required surgery upon my return to Australia. Despite the setback, I experienced what I can only describe as a miracle. The surgery was scheduled and completed just in time for me to recover enough to join the DBS program in September. I am incredibly grateful for how everything worked out, from the timing to receiving the best possible treatment with practically no cost!

Enjoying some gourmet hospital cuisine - courtesy of Mum's kitchen, of course!

Prayer Requests

As I prepare for the next chapter, I would deeply appreciate your prayers:

  • Healing and Travel: I'm now about five weeks post-surgery and will be flying out on 10 Sep, which is very soon. While I’ll soon be able to get rid of the crutches, managing my still-recovering leg during the travel will be challenging. Please pray for strength and safety during this time.

  • Ukraine's Uncertainty: The situation in Ukraine has become increasingly unstable, especially with the US election in November potentially affecting the dynamics. I feel apprehensive about how I might react to scenarios like bombings or the sounds of bombing. Please pray for peace in my heart and wisdom as I navigate these challenges.

  • Discernment and Love: The main purpose of this trip is to explore and find where God is calling me to serve long-term. Please pray that I’ll be able to love the people He loves and discern His will for my future mission field.

Thank you again for your continued love, care, and prayers. They mean the world to me.

New Chapter

My dear friends,

I trust this message finds you well and rejuvenated after a wonderful holiday season.

I am writing to you with a heart full of gratitude for the special place each of you holds in my life. Whether it's sharing a coffee, a meal, a walk or a trip, I cherish the moments spent together. Each face brings back a unique story, insight, or simply a delightful joke, and for that, I am eternally grateful.

As many of you may already know, I am stepping into a new chapter of my life, dedicating my photography skills to full-time mission work. While this journey brings immense excitement, it also comes with its share of uncertainties in this fairly uncharted territory. I am relying on prayer and seeking God's wisdom and guidance.

I would like to invite you to join me in this endeavor by keeping me in your prayers. Your support through prayer is immensely valuable as I navigate this exciting yet challenging journey.

In December, I took my first step on this new path, traveling to Vanuatu. The Family Care Centre, a Christian-run medical centre, graciously allowed me to contribute to their cause through media production. During my two-week stay, I had the privilege of getting to know a group of inspiring young people who have answered God's call to dedicate their lives to this beautiful yet needy Pacific island. I have been deeply moved by their stories and the light they bring to the community.

I've also created a short video featuring the centre's director, Anna, who spent seven years building the ministry from the ground up.

After a month-long break in China with my family, I am now on my way to Spain. Over there I will be working with YWAM Costa Tropical, eager to learn more about ministry, connect with people, and witness the incredible things God is doing in their lives.

Lastly, I want to emphasise that while photography has been a significant part of my journey, I am calmly aware that my true passion lies in connecting with and caring for people. I aspire to bring Christ's peace, joy, and love to a world in need. In the upcoming year, I am committed to dedicating time to learn, explore, and discern how God intends for me to fulfill His plan.

Again, your prayers would mean a great deal to me during this time – prayers for the right individuals to cross my path, for the wisdom to make discerning decisions, and for a joy that propels me forward on this journey.

Thank you all.

In Jesus’ name,
John