It’s very late here in Budapest, but I need to tell you about what happened tonight.

My friend Ed is visiting me from Alabama, with his 11-year-old son Bo. Tonight I took them to Fono, a Hungarian folk music venue and dance hall. On stage tonight was a youth band, playing traditional music while a couple from the national folk dance ensemble led a large group of kids in practicing traditional dance. It was an amazing and beautiful thing, which I will write about on my Substack later. But that’s not why I’m writing now.

I met Ildi, a Hungarian American who lives here, and whose sons play in the band. As we were sharing drinks at a table, she mentioned that a friend of hers was hosting a young refugee from Ukraine, whose name is Annetta. Annetta is 25, and has been here since shortly after the war started. She is headed, she hopes, to Toronto, to start advanced photography studies, if she can get everything sorted. Ildi said Annette was there at Fono. Can we meet her? I asked. Sure, said Ildi — and her English is very good.

Shortly thereafter, Annetta came over to our table. She sat down, and we asked her to tell us her story.

She’s from Kyiv. She lives there with her mom — her dad is not in the picture. Her mom got her out of the country, but is staying behind to care for her elderly grandmother, who can’t leave. The two older women told her to leave and not to look back. Grandmother gave her all the money she had been saving for her burial. But the money is not convertible, as nobody wants Ukrainian currency. She is penniless, and dependent on the kindness of strangers. Annetta is leaving on Tuesday for France, where she will be staying with friends of friends, and sorting out her passage to Canada.

Two weeks ago, she said, everything was normal. “Now I wake up every day, and the most important thing I think about is whether or not we have survived,” she said.

Annetta said that nobody in her world expected the Russians to invade. Yes, they knew the Russians were massing troops on the border, but they didn’t think anything would come of it. And then they invaded. Her mom and grandmom moved to a country house they have in the Kyiv suburbs.

Annetta was surprisingly composed, telling this story, then she suddenly burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” she said, then again: “I’m sorry. I thought I had finished crying.”

Don’t be, we said. When she gathered her emotions, she said that she never had any hatred for Russians before this invasion. She had affectionate feelings for them. “After this, we will never be brothers again,” said Annetta. “It’s over. I would strangle Putin with my bare hands if I could.”

We talked for a while. She was so friendly, but also modest. It was shocking to be in the presence of a young woman not much older than my own oldest kid, cast out into the world by this war. She told me about how she had been to the United States once, to Los Angeles, where she worked for a short time before her visa was revoked.

“L.A. is my city,” she said. “I want to be in a place where everybody speaks English all the time. I love English. It sets me free.” She went on to talk about how free she felt in America, especially in Los Angeles.

“I love the ocean,” she said.

We talked for a while, and I was so moved by Annetta’s story. I think we all were. Ildi’s mom and dad escaped from communist Hungary decades ago, and settled in New Jersey. They have a place here in Budapest, where they spend some time. I met Mom and Dad. When I told them I am from Baton Rouge, they said they know the wife of a famous LSU basketball coach of my youth, from folk dance circles. Dad went off to the dance floor, but I bought Mom a pálinka shot, and we talked about Annette. If I understood correctly, Mom and Dad are helping support Annetta here in Budapest these days, paying her rent at a hostel. They know what it is like to flee from oppression, and want to help.

At the end of the evening, I told Annetta that I wanted to help her if I could. She’s broke, and has no idea how she’s going to support herself if she makes it to Canada. I have some extra euros, I told her; may I share them with you? No, no, I can’t, she said. That’s very kind, but I can’t take your money.

It’s not my money, I said. It’s God’s. He has blessed me, and I want to pass the blessing on. I had to work hard to convince her. She’s proud, and doesn’t want charity. But I told her to please consider that maybe God brought us together tonight in this Hungarian dance hall, a place she didn’t even know existed two weeks ago when she was happily at home in Kyiv.

We made plans to meet after church tomorrow so I could give her this gift before she goes to France. I see now that I’m home that my attempt to e-mail myself her contact information failed. I’m going to write to Ildi right now to see if we can rectify that. I can’t stand the thought of this sweet young woman going to France with nothing in her pocket. I also told her about Go Fund Me, and asked her to consider whether or not I could set up a Go Fund Me to ask readers of my blog to donate to help her as she makes her journey to freedom. She told me she would think about it. She also said that all she can think about now is her mom and grandmother back in Kyiv, facing the invading Russian troops. They want her to face west and to keep moving.

How many times in history has something like this happened?

I want to ask you readers to pray for Annetta and her family back in Kyiv. If I get her permission, I will establish a Go Fund Me account for her, and then ask you to consider donating to it. Watch this space for details. It could be that she decides she doesn’t want it, or perhaps I will lose touch with her. She kept saying tonight, “I don’t deserve this. There are so many people in worse shape than I am.”

That is true, I told her, but you are here, and so am I, and so are my readers.

Whatever you think about this war and its roots, here we are faced with one of the war’s victims: a young woman cast out into the world by the actions of men, and by the compassion of a mother and grandmother who see her escape as the focus of their lives now, as Russian soldiers encircle her hometown.

This is when the abstraction of war became flesh and blood for me. Annetta has fallen into a circle of loving Hungarians who are doing their best to help her, even though they are all afraid of what might be coming next, and even though people in this country are facing skyrocketing prices and an uncertain future. By the grace of God, the Hungarians brought me into Annette’s life tonight, and therefore you as well.

I will have more to report in the next day or so, if I am able to see her again. For now, keep her and her family in your prayers. If I am able to establish the Go Fund Me, I will give you the information needed if you care to donate. If you live in Toronto and are able to help receive her and get her established there, please e-mail me at rod — at — amconmag — dot — com, and put “ANNETTA” in the subject line, and I will reach out to you once she is on her way. She told me that she would be living with kind strangers in Marseilles until things can get worked out with the Canadians.

Two million Ukrainians are on the road, running away from the war. I met one of them tonight. We can’t help them all, but here is one that we might all be able to help. Talking to Annetta, this sweet young woman who thinks Los Angeles is paradise on earth, I didn’t think about what the West had done to lay the groundwork for this war. I didn’t think about Russia’s aggression, and the wickedness of Vladimir Putin. I didn’t think about anything but: how can we help this poor girl get to safety? I don’t need to think beyond that. Do you?