Skip to content
Call Us Today! 212-533-4646 | MON-FRI 12PM - 4PM (EST)
DONATE
SUBSCRIBE
Search for:
About Us
Publications
FAQ
Annual Report 2022
Annual Report 2021
Projects
Advocate
Educate
Cultivate
Care
News
Newsletters
Sign Up For Our Newsletter
Join UNWLA
Become a Member
Volunteer With Us
Donate to UNWLA
Members Portal
Calendar
Shop to Support Ukraine
Search for:
Print
Print Page
Download
Download Page
Download Right Page
Open
1
2-3
4-5
6-7
8-9
10-11
12-13
14-15
16-17
18-19
20-21
22-23
24-25
26-27
28-29
30-31
32-33
34-35
36-37
38-39
40
“НАШЕ ЖИТТЯ”, ЖОВТЕНЬ 201 3 WWW. UNWLA.ORG 17 Yet even in its present state the Garrison Church inspires awe. One cannot help but admire its rich gilded decorations and masterfully carved sculptures, of which the wooden crucifix by one of L’viv’s most talented 17th - century sculptors, Jan Pfister, is the best. Its high vault ed ceilings invite the visitor to look up and forget the mundane problems of everyday life. Oddly enough, even the damage itself, visible on the walls and the ceilings, adds to these feelings of awe: it reminds one of the centuries - long dramatic history of this Churc h and of the resilience of faith, which endured d e- spite forceful attempts to eradicate it. Olesia Wallo ____________________ ___________________ _________________________________ I Love You, the Town of Ivan Franko by Tania Kuzyshyn A native of Ivano - Frankivsk and a recent high school graduate, Tania Kuzyshyn has moved away from her beloved native town to pursue studies in clinical psychology. The move prompted the young author to write this heartfelt essay, which we are pleased to sh are with the readers of Our Life in an English translation. Did you ever feel an intense heartache, a devastation of your soul? If not, then you have never felt a profound loss, did not lament the things you were trying to forg et, did not shed tears seeing em p- ty spaces where once there were things, did not feel the biting cold in places where once ringing laughter and sincere joy reigned. We open the doors to the groping hands of time and bottomless bags of losses because we do not realize that everything tender and gentle has a place in our heart. Those who travel across the sea change the skies above them, not their soul. I have changed the place of my residence (to be sure, not because I wanted to), but a part of me has remain ed with all of those whom I know and who are dear to my heart. Outside the window an unknown horizon looms, but in my thoughts there are the familiar comforting streets of my native town. Many times while walking on the timeless cobblestones I fel t a sense of great happiness and, at the same time, an incredible sorrow. We are surrounde d by the products of ages past : buil d- ings which reach for the sky, thanks to the work and desires of people; trees that spread their branches wide bringing not only joy to our eyes but also preserving our health; monuments which echo the times past, and institutions of culture, education, and entertainment. We have given birth to them and we shall destroy them. Once this town was a fortress. Today it does not need high walls to protect its borders; it only dreams about the flames of love and desires good things made by people who live this side of the barr i- cades. The love for one's place must be expressed not only by fleeting promises but with every ind i- vidual action directed to ward the well - being and the renewal of one's cradle. One must pay homage to the earth upon which one walks. The people of the town look handsome when they smile. Unfortunately, they forget to smile, everyday problems weigh heavily upon them. It is most ple asing to hear the melody that caresses the deepest recesses of one's soul: that melody is our Ukrainian language which floats from all the corners of Ivan Franko's town. Memories are a paradise which no one can take away from me. I do hope that in the f u- tu re I will have a chance once more to dive into an ocean with a familiar current. It is wrong to value only things that we have lost, but it is never too late to draw conclusions, to love, to hold dearly and to remember the words of George Gordon Byron―"He who does not love his country, cannot love." Translated from Ukrainian by Dr. Irene Rudnytzky (Philadelphia) Wooden crucifix by L’viv sculptor Jan Pfister, Sts. Peter and Paul Garrison Church
Page load link
Go to Top