Originally shared in my newsletter on October 7, 2026.
When we left Ukraine four and a half years ago, everything was chaotic.
There was so much to do and so many people who needed help. Phone calls, driving, raising funds, evacuations. And four and a half years later, the needs haven’t gone away. If anything, they have only grown.
I’m also a visionary. I naturally see what could happen next and want to move toward it.
So I kept moving.
Our family resettled in Budapest. Our kids grew. We built a life. From the outside, and often from the inside, it was easy to think, We’re doing okay. We’re moving forward.
But lately I’ve been slowing down and listening more.
And I’m realizing how much has been going on inside my children that I didn’t know was there.
Some of what I’m hearing is painful.
Recently, in a conversation with one of my boys, I realized how little fun it feels like we’ve had together lately. He’s naturally fun-loving, and something about hearing that stopped me.
I found myself grieving. What has childhood felt like for him through all of this?
There have been other conversations where I’ve had to face ways I’ve gotten things wrong. Some of those things won’t be corrected by one good conversation. They will take time.
That’s one of the harder parts of slowing down and listening. Sometimes you hear things you would rather not hear.
But I’d rather know what’s actually going on inside my children than keep moving forward assuming we’re all okay.
We went through the same four and a half years as a family, but we didn’t necessarily experience the same four and a half years.
I think this can be especially easy to miss in families whose lives cross countries and cultures. We may share the same move, the same country, the same ministry or work, the same losses and opportunities, and yet experience them very differently.
If I could go back, I think I would slow down more. For my kids. For my wife. And for myself.
I’m also having to ask myself a harder question: How much of my rushing was about the very real urgency around me, and how much came from something inside me that felt like I couldn’t stop?
People need me. My family needs me. The people we’re serving need me. My team needs me. What happens if I slow down? Will something fall apart? Will I have done enough?
So you keep going. Keep helping. Keep carrying.
And the difficult thing is, the needs really are real.
We found ourselves in the middle of a war where people we love were losing homes, being displaced, suffering, and dying. There were people who genuinely needed help. There still are. This wasn’t a season when I could simply sit back and do nothing.
Maybe that’s part of why slowing down has been so difficult.
But I’m realizing there is a difference between being faithful to what God has given me to do, within what I can realistically carry and influence, and living as though I can’t stop because too much depends on me.
And in responding to the enormous needs around me, I don’t want to miss the people closest to me. I don’t want doing something deeply important to cause me to neglect something else deeply important: being present as a husband and a father.
So I’m learning to ask more and listen more.
What’s been difficult for you?
What are you hoping for?
What do you miss?
What’s important to you right now?
What do you need from me?
I don’t have to give advice, make sure everybody’s okay, or get everyone on the same page.
Maybe being on the same page isn’t as important as really hearing the page each person is on.
And strangely, hearing our different experiences seems to be bringing us closer together.
It’s also helping me understand myself. And as I slow down, I think I’m hearing God differently too, including through my wife and children.
Life after displacement gives you plenty of reasons to keep moving. So does life between countries and cultures. Often the next transition begins before everyone in the family has had a chance to make sense of the last one.
But I’m learning that sometimes we need to slow down in order to move forward. If we don’t understand where we’ve come from and where we are now, we may carry things with us that eventually slow us down anyway.
Maybe one of the best things we can do for our children is listen to them. And perhaps, as we listen, we can help them slow down enough to listen to themselves, make sense of what they’ve lived through, and choose a path forward that is life-giving and true to who they are becoming.
Maybe slowing down isn’t keeping us from moving forward. Maybe it’s part of how we move forward well.
What is it costing you, and those you love, not to slow down?
If something comes to mind, leave a comment below. I’d love to hear about it.
George
P.S. I’ve been thinking more about families whose lives have crossed countries and cultures: missionary families, expat families, humanitarian and NGO families, and others who have lived through significant cross-cultural transitions. I’m especially interested in what happens when a family slows down enough to make sense of those experiences together rather than simply moving on to whatever comes next.
If this is part of your family’s story, I’d especially like to hear what resonates with you.