"A good name is better than precious ointment, and the day of death than the day of birth." (Ecclesiastes 7:1, ESV)

Last month in Rakhiv, we laid Dima to rest.

An orphan from Zaporizhzhia. No parents. No family.
No bright past, and no clear hope for the future.
His life before the war resembled a horror film: hardship, orphanages, loneliness, silence—not the healing kind, but the kind that wounds.

But everything changed.
 At 24, he signed a contract with the Armed Forces of Ukraine.
 His first battle—and right away, he was defending his homeland.
 And right away—came a brave death.

Neither he nor his boots had ever stepped into Rakhiv, this small mountain town.
 The only thread connecting him to us was his aunt, a member of our church.
 And yet, here in Rakhiv—thanks to the goodwill of the City Authorities and the local Military Recruitment Office—we were able to say goodbye to Dima with honor, as to a true Hero.

The short Gospel liturgy was especially moving.
 It wasn't just a farewell. It was a heavenly service on grieving ground.
 Hundreds of caring people from Rakhiv. A sea of flowers. A live military orchestra.
 A powerful, spirit-filled sermon from the pastor.
 An emotional speech and farewell letter from the chaplain.
 The whole city on its knees…

And instead of the burden of hopeless grief—hope.
 Instead of suffocating silence—unity.
 Instead of emptiness—awareness: the name of God was glorified.
 And we, the community, became closer. Stronger. More real.

Now his family is all of Ukraine…

We will long remember the funeral of a soldier none of us knew in life.
 But that is the very point: the day of this young man’s death became more meaningful than the day of his birth.

By the way, two days before his body was brought to us,
 he turned 25.

To be a warrior—is to live forever.