A Northern Kentucky nonprofit and a Ukrainian orphan ministry have sustained not just survival, but belonging, for war-orphaned children in Kherson. Their story shows how local devotion, faith-rooted resilience, and narrative ownership can heal when everything else falls away.
Shane Armstrong, president of Master Provisions in Florence, carried truth in his eyes when he spoke about My Home in Kherson. For over 30 years, Master Provisions has shipped clothes, food, and care across continents. When bombs fell, they didn’t abandon them. And today? They’ve handed the story back to Ukraine. Not because Kentucky couldn’t do more, but because Ukrainian voices deserve the microphone.
War doesn’t just destroy buildings. It severs bloodlines. In Kherson, families have been broken by death, displacement and silence. Over 30,000 children are now orphaned, and many will never be reunited with their biological parents. In a region where official systems are overloaded or collapsed, it is often orphanages that catch what the war tries to discard.
My Home, a Ukrainian orphan ministry, chose to stay. Even during shelling. Even when the region was flooded and communications failed. And Master Provisions, their longtime partner in Florence, Kentucky, continued to support them as best they could. The relationship began in 1994, when a missionary-farmer in Ukraine asked for help clothing communities in crisis. What started as a container of donated clothes grew into hundreds of shipments and decades of shared commitment.
According to Roger Babik, the founder of Master Provisions, the partnership with Ukraine began after the fall of communism. “We started sending used clothing to help create jobs and share our faith in Christ,” Babik said. Over time, they connected with My Home, helping fund orphan placement, family support and trauma care.
Some of those early stories never left Babik. One child abandoned in a public outhouse and left to die, was found by a passerby and placed in the care of My Home. “She was one of our first adoptions,” he said. “Her life was truly saved.”
Babik’s personal draw to Ukraine came through his best friend and mentor, who had started a farming operation there after the fall of communism. “He encouraged me to get involved when he saw the tremendous needs including clothing shortages, food lines, bread lines,” Babik recalled. “At first I said no. I had four kids and was deep in church commitments. But a year later, I said yes. And that yes changed my whole life.”
After visiting Ukraine in 1994, Babik left his corporate job and launched Master Provisions as a full-time nonprofit. “God gave me ability and an amazing wife,” he said. “I promised the Lord, whatever you want for the rest of my life, I’ll do.”
Over time, Master Provisions shifted its primary focus to local food insecurity. But they didn’t cut ties. They reimagined them.
When war breaks families, faith holds them together
In 2024, the Kentucky nonprofit made a strategic decision: step back from leading fundraising or public promotion for My Home, while still continuing their role as a trusted financial conduit. This shift wasn’t abandonment, it was a handoff rooted in respect.
“We realized we were becoming a lid,” said Armstrong. “We were unintentionally limiting their growth. They were ready to lead. We needed to step back.”
Today, while Master Provisions still forwards designated donations to My Home through its 501(c)(3) status, they have encouraged the Ukrainian team to establish their own U.S.-based nonprofit. This would allow them to fundraise independently, communicate directly with American supporters, and control the narrative surrounding their work.
“We’ll always support them spiritually, emotionally, and logistically when we can,” said Babik. “But we want them to have the autonomy to grow beyond us.”
The Florence-based organization is now focused on food insecurity in the Northern Kentucky region, serving over 270 partners through a 30,000-square-foot facility. Yet even with a reduced international footprint, their ties to My Home remain personal and committed. Volunteers like Babik and Rob Amen continue to call former donors, assist with messaging, and connect the Ukrainian team with new American partners, including disaster relief agencies like Matthew 25.
This evolution from founder-led aid to an Ukrainian-led agency embodies the very spirit of post-war resilience; handoffs, not handouts. Trusting others to lead. And making room for a future shaped by those living it.
Since 1994, Master Provisions has shipped over 600 containers overseas, initially focused on international aid and now centered in Northern Kentucky where they address local hunger needs. Even as they scaled back international shipping, they maintained a monthly connection with My Home’s team. Their encouragement has helped push My Home toward establishing their own nonprofit in the United States, which would allow direct fundraising and deeper engagement with American supporters.
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(CIDEIPS)Trained staff at Kherson’s Resilience Center kneel beside children on an illustrated space-themed rug. Intentional care includes non-threatening, engaging toys and adults close enough to offer safety, but never crowding.
On the ground in Ukraine, My Home has placed 323 children in Ukrainian Christian homes since 2002. Their outreach spans six regional care programs, supporting nearly 100,000 people through orphan placement, trauma-informed childcare, family centers, veteran support, and aid to widows and survivors of conflict.
Trauma-informed care is not a checklist. It’s a philosophy of proximity. Ms. Anna Titkova is the coordinator of the newly-opened Resilience Center in Kherson, Ukraine’s first under the national mental health program “How Are You?” initiated by First Lady Olena Zelenska. She spoke with Soapbox directly via the Center for International Communications of Ukraine.
Titkova said. “Children live in constant stress, often in fear, and lose their sense of safety. This can manifest as withdrawal, anxiety, sleep disturbances or regression.”
“There’s a significant difference in how children respond to trauma depending on their early life experiences,” she continued. “Children raised in stable, loving homes have emotional buffers. But those who were institutionalized, especially where emotional needs weren’t met, struggle with trust and regulation. Healing is possible. But it takes consistency, patience, and a sense of belonging.”
Her center, which provides group and individual consultations, creative workshops, and first aid training for both civilians and emergency workers, has served over 120 Kherson residents since May. “We see children rebuilding their ability to play, to dream,” Titkova said. “That is resilience. That is healing. But they need a steady presence, not just aid.”
Yuriy Maranchuk, executive director of My Home, echoed this sentiment adding that trauma is etched into the routines of childhood: “The children can name the exact weapon from its sound; they know when a drone is near. This trauma may leave permanent or irreversible consequences… like PTSD from Vietnam, but these are young minds still forming.”
Pavlo Anatoliyovych Smolyakov, a program coordinator at My Home, described their long-term commitment: “We welcome families… they accept this child consciously, not out of pity, but as a ministry.”
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(CIDEIPS)Ms. Anna Titkova gently engages a small boy in play. The Center is clean, contained, safe, and designed for children navigating stress responses and interrupted development. She is not simply supervising; she is co-regulating.Babik emphasized that children are “magical little beings” whose resilience outpaces most adults. “They aren’t jaded yet. They carry real trauma, but they haven’t lost their wonder.”
Faith-based care remains a pillar in both places. In Kentucky, Master Provisions distributes reclaimed food to 270+ nonprofits. In Ukraine, My Home runs a multi-faceted care center for children orphaned by war, for widows whose husbands were killed, and for veterans returning with trauma. They're also working to open a second child care center near the front lines, in a church basement, offering education, meals, and a slice of normalcy amid the shelling.
“There’s still daily drone attacks,” Babik noted. “It’s not on the news anymore, but the danger hasn’t gone away. They’re building hope in a basement while bombs fall above.”
There is no replacement for a parent. No amount of donated goods can heal complex trauma without emotional care, community, and sustained attention. My Home’s team is stretched thin. Political polarization has made Ukraine a lightning rod, and donors are fatigued. Without an American 501(c)(3), fundraising remains a challenge. But what they have is heart. And that still carries weight.
When war breaks the first family, the second must be strong enough to hold. My Home and Master Provisions built something that didn’t collapse under fire. And now, as Ukraine moves from pure crisis into long-haul resilience, it matters that local voices speak first. This isn’t just about charity. It’s about trust, transition and proximity.
Not everyone can go to Kherson. But showing up in the ways that matter? That’s still possible. And right now, that means letting those who stayed tell us what they need next.
To learn more about Master Provisions, visit masterprovisions.org.
To support My Home directly or assist with their 501(c)(3) journey, visit https://myhomeministry.org.ua/en/.
This story incorporates interviews, photographs, and detailed reporting provided by the Center for International Communications of Ukraine (CIDEIPS), a leading organization dedicated to documenting the humanitarian impact of the conflict.