Perhaps the most defining characteristic of a great man is how they handle adversity. When times get tough, and we’re stretched to our natural limits, the true character of a person reveals itself. As a part-time missionary and full-time traveler, I’ve been blessed to have three lifetimes’ worth of experiences in my short 42 years. However, many of those memorable encounters were not joyful in nature. I’ve served in some of the roughest places on the planet and witnessed true tragedy more than once, but the thing that always blows my mind in these inconceivable situations is the strength of the human spirit.
When Russia dropped the first bombs on Ukraine in 2022, my wife and I were gallivanting around Finland, playing in the snow. Long story short, we decided we were close by and had the experience to help, so we volunteered to lead an American crisis relief team that was coming over.
Over the next ten weeks, we encountered unspeakable evil, enough stress to give us gray hairs, and some truly remarkable people. As I look back on my time there, one outstanding human keeps popping up in my mind. About mid-way through our trip, we visited a small village that had miraculously fought off an entire brigade of the Russian army with just their household weapons. The town was destroyed though!
We wandered carefully through the rubble, cautioning each step as active landmines were still a possibility. We stepped over shell casings and moved piles of what used to be someone’s home. We listened intently to story after story of terror and heroism before landing at the home of an elderly couple.
Stepping through a green picket gate, my eyes landed on a hunched-over man laboriously shoveling bits of brick into a disheveled wagon with a broken shovel. His outhouse had been hit by a mortar, and shrapnel had dispersed through their home as they were sleeping. He greeted us kindly, and we quickly found out he was our interpreter’s grandfather. He led us all in to meet his wife, who was very obviously suffering from PTSD. She wept and shook as she showed us the chest-high shrapnel holes in her treasured furniture. The whole scene was heartwrenching.
We quickly left her space and returned outside, where my wife wisely changed the plans for the day, opting to stay and help this man clean up the carnage…
In the next few hours, eight American volunteers fell deeply in love with one Ukrainian grandpa. This man was a slap in the face to forces of evil. He was jovial, hell-bent on repairing what was broken, and absolutely hilarious!
Firstly, he introduced himself as Arnold Schwarzenneger (accent and all) and then announced proudly, “I’ll be back” as he pulled his 3-wheeled decrepit wagon around the corner to his dump site. That was the first time he made us belly laugh that day.
We began sorting bricks from bits and shrapnel and making piles for him. A few minutes later, he scolded us in his jovial way for throwing away his “good bricks.” It became very obvious that our idea of a usable brick and his were very different. He barked, “I have a shop to repair, ya know”… pointing to the giant mortar hole in his garage. It was at that moment we all realized that this 80-ish-year-old man had every intention of putting each brick back, one by one until his home was whole again.
Our hearts swelled for him…
Barely able to walk, the victim of the terrible effects of war, and the husband of a broken wife, he was the epitome of iron in the fire. His will was unconquerable. In the face of the worst thing any of us could think of, he was pure light. You could tell that this wasn’t his first rodeo with tragedy, and he wasn’t about to let it win.
Before we left that day, he wanted to give us a gift. While he had nothing monetary to give (which we obviously wouldn’t have taken), he said, “I have a song.” In his broken English and thick Ukrainian accent, he began to sing an old rhyme about the moon. It was one we didn’t know, but it had a jazzy tune reminiscent of the 30s, and with that performance, he took another piece of our hearts.
As we loaded onto the bus that day, he followed us, stuck his head in, and declared that we were the “best first responders.” We laughed, and we hugged him. The door slammed, and in that instant, as we drove away, him waving in the rearview, there wasn’t a dry eye in the van.
I will never forget his broken body dancing in the rubble as he sang to the moon. I’ll never forget him disappearing around the corner, carrying load after load of his busted possessions. He was a pillar of strength and inspiration. After weeks of intense situations and more heartbreak than most of us could handle, we had been feeling drained. It was getting to that point in a hard trip where you feel you just don’t have much more to give.
We went to his home to pick up rubble, pray for his family, and offer some comfort, but we received so much more than we gave that day. We were saved by a little old man in a blue toboggan, with a broken shovel, and a 3-wheeled wagon.
Constantine gave us the strength and motivation to finish the job before us. He was truly an inspiration, and I can only hope that if that level of tragedy ever strikes me, I will follow his lead. He was a man of indestructible character, and I will hold the memory of him dear for the rest of my days.