An Unexpected Homecoming
Ukrainian missionaries George Markey, Jr., and his wife Sharon never thought they would leave their beloved adopted country. In Part 8 of this 9-part series, Sharon and the boys cross into Hungary and arrive exhausted but safe to a place well known to the Markey family. The comfort and familiarity of Pam Markey’s—Sharon’s mother-in-law—old apartment at the CC Conference Center in Vajta, Hungary, was a welcome homecoming for Sharon and the boys.
As the sun sets on the Ukrainian-Hungarian border and darkness falls, Sharon and the boys cross into Hungary on foot in the cold, biting wind. [Photo by Sharon Markey]
No Man’s Land, Dzvinkove Border Crossing
February 25, 2022, 6:00 p.m.
The sun went down on us as we waited to cross the Hungarian border. The sky slowly faded to black, and still the single-file line of cars stretched far in front of us. Eventually we reached a place where we could see the Hungarian checkpoint. It looked so close, but we knew that it could still take hours to reach it. Even though it was now in sight, I was reluctant to leave the cozy atmosphere of the van to go stand in line with the other people crossing on foot. But eventually I could put it off no longer. We knew that our ride was in position on the other side, and by calling and watching to see who answered a phone and began talking, we were able to identify our driver and his van. I gathered my kids and grabbed a blanket or two to ward off the cold, and we walked to the end of the pedestrian line. Like the line of cars, it was much longer and moving much slower than its counterpart on the Ukrainian side of the border.
This Ukrainian boy (right) arrived at Zichy Castle—a CC conference center in Vajta, Hungary—in a makeshift sling after breaking his arm just before he and his father fled their country. The late Pastor Chuck Smith of CC Costa Mesa, and founder of Calvary Chapel, purchased the 35-acre, 45,000-square-foot facility in 2000 to establish a new CC Bible College (CCBCE) in Europe. The large number of rooms and land would not only serve as a space for ministry training, but it was envisioned by Pastor Chuck to be a “great place to reach Eastern Europe with the Gospel of Jesus Christ.” [Photo by Billy Rutledge]
By this time, it was fully dark, and the comfort of the sunny afternoon had given way to the darkness of a night with a bitingly cold wind. My 3-year-old son Isaac started to cough—an awful, wrenching sound that made me wince each time it wracked his tiny frame. I unzipped my coat and tried to pick him up and wrap him in a blanket next to my body, but wanting to be free and independent, he struggled and protested until I was forced to put him down. I draped the blanket around his shoulders and tried to hold it closed in front, but his coughing continued. Anticipating a long wait in the wind and desperate to protect him, I rallied his five older brothers to stand side-by-side with me until we formed a ring around little Isaac, shielding him from the wind with our bodies. He accepted this compromise, and our human fortress slowly moved forward in the line with the other refugees.
A few of the people in line near us started to make conversation. We shared where we had come from and tidbits about how we had experienced the beginning of Russia’s full-scale invasion. One man told me where I could go to find a place to sleep for the night with the kids. I thanked him and explained that someone was waiting for us with a van to take us farther.
Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all, especially to those who are of the household of faith. Galatians 6:10
A Ukrainian widower is comforted by the smile on his daughter’s face for the first time since the Russian invasion. On his cell phone in the background, Szilard Markus, pastor at CC Bekas in Budapest and director of Zichy Castle, keeps up with the needs of those arriving to the conference center turned refugee center. The facility that was once used to send the Gospel to the far reaches of Europe now had a new purpose. The far reaches of Europe were coming to Vajta in the form of Ukrainian refugees. [Photo by Billy Rutledge]
I was so thankful for our Calvary Chapel family in Hungary who had found us a place to stay and a way to get there. During the day as we drove, not only had they organized transportation from the border for us, they had also arranged accommodations at the Calvary Chapel conference center in Vajta, Hungary, since our friend Cara’s apartment in Budapest was hardly equipped to sleep fifteen extra people. Looking around at the other people in line with me, I wondered where they were going. I couldn’t imagine what I would do if I were in this position with no one to call and nowhere to go! At least not many of my fellow evacuees had kids.
After a while, the people around me told me that I should cut to the front of the line because I had kids. Maybe they had heard Isaac’s coughing and were as concerned for him as I was. Even though it’s common practice in Ukraine to let parents with small children go to the front of the line, I almost never take advantage of it, and when others suggest that I do, I always feel really uncomfortable doing so. But they were insistent, and I did want to get Isaac out of the cold wind as soon as possible. So I thanked them and apologetically started to make my way forward in line. I didn’t get very far, however, before another mother loudly protested.
“I have kids too!” she snapped at me.
It was true. She had two kids, maybe ages 8 and 10. They looked like they were dressed to go on a skiing expedition, compared to my kids, who had been dressed for spending a day inside a van. But I had neither the confidence nor the forcefulness to argue that my 3-year-old needed to get out of the cold sooner than her kids did, and so I meekly fell into line behind her. My boys and I reformed our protective circle around little Isaac and prepared to wait as long as it took.
A young woman arrives in Vajta with her son and baby girl after her husband was taken at the border to fight in Ukraine. Exiting the bus, she was greeted with a warm welcome by a volunteer from CC York, England, and directed to a hot meal and given a private room for herself and her children. Once inhabited by over a decade of Bible college students, the center was now being used as a midway station for refugees on their way to countries unknown. [Photo by Billy Rutledge]
However, soon the people around us started to murmur and grumble at the mother in front of us. Then several of them became more insistent, taking up our case and advocating for us in a way that I could not. Before long, they shamed this woman into letting us go ahead of her. I felt a little sorry for her as we moved past, but I also felt the need to get Isaac into the waiting van as soon as possible. So after about 40 minutes in the pedestrian line, we found ourselves handing our passports to a Hungarian border guard. I don’t remember what language he spoke (it could have been English, Russian, or Ukrainian), but I remember gentleness, compassion, and concern as he told me there was transportation and a place where we could spend the night, if we needed. I assured him that we were okay, and soon he handed me back our stack of passports. We were through! It was just after 11:00 p.m., Ukrainian time. It had taken us seven hours to cross the border. It was the longest we had ever waited at a border, but considering that refugees were spending over 48 hours at the Polish border, we were thankful for our relatively short crossing time.
Because I had delayed so long getting into the pedestrian line, Jon and Stephanie and their kids had made it across the border shortly before we did. Now they were parked beside the van that was waiting to pick us up. We walked quickly over to them and were welcomed by two Hungarian men whom I had never met before, the driver of the van and another man. They were from a Calvary Chapel near the border. The second man had dinners neatly packed in gallon-sized zip-top bags that he passed out to all of us. In broken English, he told us that his daughter had made them. Each contained a sandwich, a banana, a drink box, some snack foods, and a square of yellow paper with either a happy face or a heart drawn on it, his daughter’s way to extend comfort to us across the language barrier. As I held that bag in my hands and looked at a simple happy face smiling at me, I felt the love and compassion, the human kindness behind it, and I nearly broke down crying.
We had made it. We were safe. And we were not alone.
Two men from CC York assist an 82-year-old Ukrainian woman traveling alone to Zichy Castle after her grandson was conscripted for military service. Although her home was spared, she witnessed the destruction of her neighbors’ homes. In preparation of the long journey ahead of the weary travelers, the staff and volunteers at the conference center serve the refugees, praying that they will be filled with the merciful love of Jesus, who sees them and meets them where they are. [Photo by Billy Rutledge]
The kids and I climbed into the waiting van, grateful to get out of the cold. The kids exclaimed excitedly over the various goodies in their meal bags as the two vans pulled out and headed into Hungary together. At this point, I hadn’t slept for 42 hours. Despite the fact that I usually can’t stay awake on road trips, during all the hours on the road that day, I had never even felt drowsy. But now, my mission accomplished, I could barely keep my eyes open. I didn’t know the men I was with, but I trusted them instinctively. The burden of being responsible for getting my children to safety lifted, and I relaxed.
The remainder of that trip is a blur. I remember being half asleep with my forehead leaning against the back of the seat in front of me, feeling the gentle swaying motions of the van as it traversed the darkened Hungarian countryside. At some point, I was aware that the van was stopping, and then the sliding door beside me opened. Disoriented, I blinked hard several times and looked around to get my bearings. We were at a rest stop. Jon’s van was there too, along with a third van. Someone made me understand that we were supposed to continue on in this new van. The new driver would take us the rest of the way.
I roused myself enough to transfer all my drowsy kids to the second vehicle and make sure they were all buckled in. I thanked the two men who had picked us up at the border, and they said goodbye and headed home. Overwhelmed by the events of the last two days, I didn’t even think to ask their names or find out what city they were from—and then they were gone. I have forgotten what they looked like, but I will carry the memory of their extraordinary kindness with me for the rest of my life.
Are they not all ministering spirits sent forth to minister for those who will inherit salvation? Hebrews 1:14
Joel Brown, pastor of Living Water Mukachevo, Ukraine, and his wife, Katya, rest after a long day of work. Joel’s church of 65 parishioners became a 500-person refugee center almost overnight. Neighboring four countries in western Ukraine, Mukachevo is a prime location for evacuees to rest and recuperate before journeying on. [Photo courtesy of Joel Brown]
We didn’t stop again after transferring to the second vehicle. It was dark and silent, and I think everyone but the driver was either asleep or dozing. I was vaguely aware of the trip, a long and monotonous affair experienced through a fog of exhaustion. In lucid moments, I texted my family to update them on our progress. But then the moment finally came when the van slowed almost to a stop and made a right-hand turn, followed immediately by another right. I briefly heard the crunch of gravel under the tires, and then we were standing still.
I knew exactly where we were, and I couldn’t believe it! This conference center had served as the campus of the Calvary Chapel Bible College Europe (CCBCE) for many years, and my mother-in-law had been on staff there for over a decade. Instead of taking us to the dormitories in the main building, as I had expected, our driver had instead taken us to a very special parking space that our family had used many times—the spot right outside my mother-in-law’s old apartment! Jon and Stephanie’s van pulled in right beside us, and we started to emerge from the vehicles, all except for the youngest children, who were fast asleep. It still felt like the middle of the night, but we had arrived in the early hours of a new day.
A Ukrainian couple takes refuge in Pastor Joel’s church. Millions of Ukrainians have left the world they knew so well—the familiar, the normal—leaving behind their homes, their pets, and in many cases, their loved ones. Where would they end up? Most had no idea. [Photo courtesy of Joel Brown]
The conference center staff had prepared two apartments for us in a building with three units that had once served as staff housing for the CCBCE. One of them was the apartment that had housed my mother-in-law for all those years. I was thrilled by the prospect of staying in her old place, but I didn’t want to take the privilege away from Jon and Stephanie and their family. As we awkwardly started to discuss who would stay where, I hesitantly said that we’d love to have “Mom’s” old apartment, but that if they would prefer to stay there, I totally understood and would be fine taking the other apartment. They were visibly relieved and immediately told me they didn’t think they could handle staying in her old home with her gone. So it was settled.
My kids and I climbed the exterior flight of stairs to reach the entrance to the beloved upstairs unit. This had been one of our favorite destinations for many years. How many times had we arrived here late at night after a long day of travel, made our way up these very stairs, and climbed into our waiting beds? The kids were so excited to be back in “Grandma’s house”! Of course, it would have been infinitely better if Grandma had been there to welcome us, but these walls held so many wonderful memories that her presence still seemed to linger on. It felt like a homecoming of sorts, something we all desperately needed.
We got our meager belongings transferred upstairs from the vans. I located all the toothbrushes and got everyone ready for bed, then we figured out where each person would sleep in the cozy two-bedroom unit. It was hard for everyone to settle after everything we’d just gone through, but eventually all six of the boys were quiet in bed. Calm descended on the apartment as I set about getting myself ready for sleep.
A Calvary Chapel volunteer (right) prays for the father of the boy who broke his arm before leaving Ukraine. Pastor Chuck and the Hungarian CC pastors had a big vision for Zichy Castle in living out the Great Commission. CCBCE eventually moved to Calvary Chapel Budapest and, in 2020, relocated to Tbilisi, Georgia, to be closer to students coming from farther east. After Pastor George Markey Sr’s., death in 2007, his wife, Pam, joined the staff at CCBCE in Vajta to teach the next wave of missionaries. She now serves as director of the college. [Photo by Billy Rutledge]
As I located my toiletries and arranged them in the bathroom, I thought about how wonderful a hot shower would feel. I needed to relax a little. I started getting out my shower supplies, but I couldn’t find my shower cap or my shower mitt. And then it hit me. I had used both on the night before the beginning of Russia’s full-scale invasion and left them hanging in the bathroom to dry. In that frantic half hour of packing on the morning that we fled, I had forgotten to retrieve them from the communal bathroom on the floor below us.
The shower cap I could easily replace, but I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach as I realized that the treasured Moroccan exfoliating mitt that a dear friend had given me was gone. I felt stunned and tearful. It was just the first of many such realizations that would hit me unexpectedly over the coming months. Random experiences would trigger memories of special things that we had left behind, and I would be yanked out of the present moment, forced to relive the pain and trauma of fleeing our home with little warning.
You number my wanderings; put my tears into Your bottle; are they not in Your book Psalm 56:8
Once I was finally ready for bed, I had an even harder time settling down to sleep than the kids had. It was daytime in California where my family and some close friends were waiting for news from me, and I knew I needed to update them on how the kids and I were and on George’s progress. So it was around 6:30 a.m. when I finally lay down in the queen-sized bed in the bedroom that had once belonged to my mother-in-law. The furniture in this room had been rearranged since she had moved out, and it felt strange compared to the rest of the apartment. I lay down on my side on the large bed with my back to the empty half where George should have been. A forlorn feeling was lurking at the edges of my consciousness. I tried to banish it by focusing on the positive. It was 7:30 a.m. in Ukraine, and George was on his way out of Ternopil to come to us. If all went according to plan, we would be reunited in about 24 hours.
Sharon and the boys can now rest, knowing they have reached a safe, familiar haven among family. In the next installment, while awaiting her husband, George Markey, Jr’s., arrival, Sharon is overjoyed by news of the unexpected arrival of cherished family members.
Follow this series at:
Part 1: The Looming Reality of War
Part 2: Alone in a Country at War
Part 3: As Missiles Fall, Kyivans Flee the City
Part 4: The Invasion Begins
Part 5: Saying Goodbye: A Difficult Decision
Part 6: The Journey to Hungary
Part 7: Ternopil: A Way Station
_______________
Sharon T. Markey was a Calvary Chapel missionary in Ukraine for 19 years prior to the full-scale Russian invasion. Her husband George served there for 30 years as a Calvary Chapel church planter. Since evacuating to Hungary with their six sons, they have been ministering to Ukrainian refugees all over the country. Sharon is writing a book about their experiences. You can connect with her at MommyJoys.com
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