Christmas behind the lines

Christmas at the frontlines looks different from civilian celebrations. No warm homes. No family gatherings around laden tables. Just soldiers in uniform, far from everything familiar, trying to remember what peace feels like.

Oleg Usatiuk visits them anyway. He travels to dangerous places, brings greetings, prays with men and women who face death daily. The soldiers respect him because they know: he risks his life to be here with them.

“These soldiers are ordinary people wearing military uniforms,” Oleg explains. “Former teachers, builders, engineers.” Men and women who will return to peaceful professions when the war ends, if they survive. But many already carry mental trauma that will follow them home.

That’s where Oleg’s presence matters most. These conversations, these prayers, this human connection during the worst moments of their lives, these give soldiers tools to process trauma instead of drowning it in alcohol when they finally return home.

One soldier shares his story while Oleg listens. Another accepts prayer, closing his eyes briefly against the weight he carries. A third simply sits near Oleg, soaking up the presence of someone who cares enough to come.

“Thank you, Our Daily Bread, for helping us with this work,” Oleg writes. Simple words that carry the weight of countless conversations, countless prayers, countless moments of human connection in the midst of inhuman circumstances.