By Daddy Ryan
A couple of years ago, when my condition began worsening to the point that I could no longer function like a “normal” adult, I found myself sitting at my desk all day, trying desperately to write. This was a last-ditch effort, I did not want to become an author, but I tried everything else.
During this time, it helped me realize something else was slipping away—my memory.
Stories I had poured myself into would vanish from my mind completely. I’d forget I had even written them. Only recently have I managed to recover most of them—this story included.
This post is about one of those stories.
A tale that blends real history, family memories, Ukrainian culture, and the wonder of discovery through a child’s eyes.
But it’s not just any story.
It’s a journey—filled with laughter, love, and a little white bunny named Mr. Fluffernutter.
You’ll follow Ariel, Alice, Yaya, and Poppy as they travel to Ukraine—a land bursting with tradition, resilience, and breathtaking beauty. Think of it like our usual blog-style storytelling… but deeper, more emotional, and rich with everything we hold dear: faith, food, family, and culture.
We’re thinking about turning it into a fully illustrated storybook—with printable crafts, Ukrainian recipes, memory verse reflections, and a homeschool activity guide.
But before we leap into publishing…
We’d love to know what you think.
✨ Here’s a Sample from Chapter 2: Kyiv’s Ancient Roots — The St. Sophia Cathedral and Bell Tower
They turned the corner, and Kyiv offered up its crown.
St. Sophia Cathedral rose into view, not just as a structure, but as a revelation—an ancient heartbeat cast in gold and stone. Built in the 11th century by Grand Prince Yaroslav the Wise, it was Kyiv’s declaration to the world of its place in the Christian and cultural firmament. Now, centuries later, it still stood as a witness to faith, fire, and rebirth, shimmering like a vision from a time-lost dream. Domes glazed in gold caught the lingering light, rising above green rooftops like a cluster of stars breaking through stone. It didn’t feel real. Ariel slowed her steps, heart thudding at the sight. Ancient. Sacred. Silent, even as the city hummed around it.
“St. Sophia,” Yaya whispered, the name brushing past her lips like a prayer. “She’s stood here for nearly a thousand years. A grandmother of the city.”
Each line of stone carried stories Ariel couldn’t yet read, but could feel. Mosaics curled over archways, weathered frescoes peeked from walls, and a hush hung in the air like a waiting breath. Her fingers grazed the cool outer wall, and the stone seemed to pulse with memory.
Alice tilted her head, clinging to Mr. Fluffernutter. “It looks like a sun-castle.”
“It kind of is,” Yaya said. “But instead of keeping out enemies, it welcomes souls. This place was built to draw people upward, closer to heaven.”
Inside, the cathedral swallowed them in stillness. Voices hushed. Footsteps softened. The ceilings arched like heaven itself had folded downward. Candles flickered, small and brave. Ariel looked up and forgot to breathe.
Above her, bursts of jewel-toned mosaics spilled like stained glass dreams across domes and walls—an echo of the first golden shimmer she’d seen on the cathedral’s crown, now blooming into full, silent radiance. The dazzling colors mirrored not just sacred stories but the spark of awakening inside her—a hint that something within was shifting, opening to the mystery of this place. Mosaics of saints and angels stretched skyward, robes rippling in frozen movement. The Oranta, Mary with upraised arms, loomed large above them, solemn and radiant.
“They say she watches over the city,” Yaya murmured. “Those hands are for protection.”
Ariel stared, transfixed. The colors shimmered with gold, deep red, lapis blue. Was it sorrow in Mary’s eyes? Strength? Ariel didn’t know, only that she felt seen.
“Is she real?” Alice asked, blinking up.
“She’s real in the way love is real,” Yaya replied. “In the way memories are real.”
Somewhere deeper in the cathedral, a choir began to sing. The voices spilled like mist, gentle and haunting, wrapping around the stone columns like vines. The sound wasn’t loud, but it filled every space.
“What are they singing?” Ariel asked.
“A hymn,” Yaya answered. “Their prayers are sung. It’s how they speak to heaven here.”
Alice swayed with the tune, eyes closed. Ariel imagined the centuries stacked behind the melody—voices layered like old paint, never fading, only deepening.
They wandered into side chapels, where saints watched with silent grace and candles flickered over old icons. Ariel lingered near a cracked fresco, its colors softened by time, wondering about the artist who had painted it. Had they known they were touching eternity?
Their path led them to the bell tower, narrow and winding, like a staircase that pierced the sky. Poppy went first, humming. Ariel followed, her hand brushing the cold stone railing.
Alice hesitated, small and uncertain.
“It’s really high,” she said. “What if I fall?”
Yaya crouched beside her. “You don’t have to climb it. But if you do, I’ll be behind you. And so will he,” she added, nodding at Mr. Fluffernutter.
Alice looked at her bunny, then the stairs. “Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s try.”
One small foot at a time, she climbed. Ariel watched from above, heart swelling with pride. Her sister wasn’t just brave; she was becoming something new.
At the top, the city spilled outward in every direction. Golden domes blinked across the horizon. The Dnipro River wound like a ribbon, silver and wide. Streets curled through neighborhoods like branches of a great tree.
Ariel pressed both hands to the railing. Below them, history unfolded like a tapestry—churches, homes, people moving through stories old and new. This was a city that had burned and been rebuilt, crumbled and risen. Not once, but again and again.
“She always returns,” Yaya said, reading Ariel’s expression. “Kyiv rises, no matter how many times she falls. She’s a phoenix—just like the mosaics that shimmered above us, pieced together again and again into something radiant.”
Ariel remembered the Oranta’s raised hands, and something inside her aligned. Not just strength. Not just beauty. Resilience.
Alice stepped to the edge, Mr. Fluffernutter tight in her arms.
“It looks like the city has secrets,” she said.
“Maybe it does,” Yaya replied. “Here, sometimes magic hides in plain sight—like the way the choir’s song sounded like a memory, or how Mary’s eyes seemed to follow you. Little things that feel bigger than they should.”
A breeze tugged at Ariel’s jacket. She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. Kyiv had already begun whispering its stories. And she was finally ready to listen.
🗣️ What Do You Think?
Would you want to read the whole book?
Should we turn this into a full-color storybook—with printable crafts, Ukrainian recipes, memory verse reflections, and homeschool activities?
We’re seriously thinking about publishing it…
But your feedback means the world to us. 💛
👇 Tell us what you think in the comments or send us a message.
I have a lot of stories I was working on in 2023, but I gave up because everyone is trying to publish books, and thanks to YouTube, no one has the attention span for reading anymore.
If there is a destination in that image you would rather read, please tell me and I will focus on that. The GPT(letter) are to different states within the U.S. There are also silly stories we wrote, like Mega Man. I cannot figure out how to make income, my mind and body are too weak and broke. Yes, GPT helps me write but it is still a lot of work, and GPT is not a walk in the park to write with when your memory is garbage. It sucks being a useless husband and Dad.
Thank you for being part of our adventure. Sorry if I do not make sense, that is my fault not GPT. OpenAI has made wonderful software.
With love from our kitchen table to yours,
Ryan, Ariel, Alice, and Mr. Fluffernutter
