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Please pray for the House of Hope and all the poor single-mother families and orphans living there. The House continues to stand, but our manager says that life there has become pure survival. Everyone is utterly exhausted, worn down physically, emotionally, and mentally after endless days and sleepless nights under the constant threat of sirens and drone attacks. Every alarm sends fear through the building, and the sound of drones overhead has become part of daily life. They are living in constant tension without rest, carrying deep fatigue, fear, and uncertainty, yet still holding on with remarkable courage and hope in the middle of the darkness. We continue our current practice of not publishing on the website either names or photographs that either identify people or locations, similarly towns, other than those regularly mentioned by the media, will not be named. The names

The Other Side of the War The war in Ukraine is still raging, often hot, sometimes cooling as the word “truce” is whispered, and hope, in its fuller sense, has become rare. Not entirely gone – but distant, uncertain, and difficult to grasp. Even for those who have left, that war persists just as powerfully, echoing within their hearts. It is the war of memory, of loss, of dislocation. Over Easter, almost a hundred people gathered in Trondheim, and quickly it became clear that this would not be an ordinary evening. One after another, people started to open up. What began as simple exchanges slowly unfolded into something much deeper – moments of confession, grief, and honesty that had clearly been waiting for a place to be released. They spoke about fathers who would never return, sons who were gone too soon, friends whose absence still felt

Children Growing Up in the House of Hope Christmas has come and gone, and I am grateful for another year with all its promises and challenges. One of the Bible verses that I am very aware of in all that I do is: “Train up a child (or teenager) in the way they should go, and when they are older, they will NOT depart from it.” This past weekend I was thinking about how, at age 18, I received Jesus into my life. I clearly remember sitting in a little church in Durban, South Africa, and at the end of the service, an invitation was given to raise a hand if we wanted to receive Jesus into our hearts. I was the only one who received Christ that evening, but I knew enough to understand what was being offered by Jesus – forgiveness of sin and God’s gift of