04/13/2026
This year Easter came twice, and I didn’t quite know where I belonged.
In Canada, it had already passed. Back home, in Ukraine, it was just beginning.
Somewhere in between… I felt a little disconnected. From the celebration, from the meaning, even from the moment.
We had plans. Kids, noise, friends and a full house.
Life shifted, as it does. Things fell through.
And I found myself feeling quietly sad… like something I was looking forward to just dissolved.
I didn’t feel like celebrating.
But my husband gently started anyway.
He didn’t say much, just began preparing, laying things out.
And somehow, that small act and his invitation pulled me in.
At first, I didn’t really care what I was creating.
Like starting from a blank page when nothing comes.
You just move your hand… and see what happens.
And then something shifted.
The process slowed me down.
The wax, the patterns, the care it takes...you can’t rush it.
And without noticing, I dropped into this quiet, almost meditative space.
What came through wasn’t perfect or traditional.
It was softer. More intuitive.
Angels, hearts, “Христос воскрес”…
and then, simply peace.
Not as a word. As a feeling.
Warmth in the chest.
A sense that, somehow, everything is held.
Like still water you can look at forever.
Quiet. Whole. Enough.
And I realized…
this is what my heart has been longing for.
Not just for me.
For my family, friends scattered across continents.
For people I know, and people I don’t.
For everyone, wherever they are, whatever they’re going through.
Maybe peace doesn’t come from the outside.
Maybe it’s something we touch in small, unexpected moments…
when we allow ourselves to slow down and feel.