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ST. LOUIS — The region prepared this week for a wave of Ukrainian immigrants as refugees, including friends and family of residents here, fled the Eastern European country.

A church called a prayer vigil. A family raced across borders. And the region’s immigration hub braced for newcomers.

“We will make sure they find St. Louis a welcoming place to call home,� said Arrey Obenson, president and CEO of the International Institute of St. Louis.

By Friday, tens of thousands of Ukrainians had fled the country to escape the Russian invasion that had already killed scores, shelled cities and sent tanks rolling toward the capital of Kyiv. United Nations officials said the war could displace millions of Ukrainians.

The International Institute last fielded an influx of Ukrainian refugees here eight years ago, after Russia invaded and annexed the Ukrainian peninsula of Crimea. Since then, the institute has resettled a few dozen in St. Louis and in the Springfield, Missouri, area. A couple hundred refugees have landed in ÁñÁ«ÊÓƵ over the past decade, according to federal data.

The institute said it could, if necessary, settle hundreds more this year.

Meanwhile, Ukrainian-Americans in St. Louis grieved, prayed, and, in some cases, fought to get family home from the war-torn country.

Eugene Logusch, a deacon at St. Mary’s Assumption Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church in south St. Louis County, said it hurt to watch his parents’ homeland invaded. They immigrated after World War II, he said.

“It’s extremely upsetting,� Logusch said. “But I’m not surprised at all.�

The turmoil hit close to home for St. Mary’s parishioner Tetiana Mouzi, who was frantically trying to set up arrangements to get her husband and son out of Ukraine.

Mouzi, 52, and her husband, Yuriy Safronov, 54, met and began dating in Ukraine, and immigrated to the states in the early 1990s.

Safronov had taken their son to visit his grandmother this week in western Ukraine for her 80th birthday. She lives near Lviv, where they thought the family would be safe from war. Many Ukrainians thought Putin would not advance this quickly into western Ukraine, Mouzi said.

Safronov planned to stay in Ukraine until Saturday. But Wednesday night, Mouzi, still in St. Louis, saw the beginnings of the bombing on TV and called Safronov in Ukraine to wake him.

The sun hadn’t come up. She told them to gather family and get out of the country as soon as possible.

It was a long, sleepless night for Mouzi.

She began making arrangements for her husband, their son, her sister-in-law, Natalia Balandyuk, 43, and niece, Veronika Balandyuk, 9. Safronov could not convince his mother to leave her home in a 12-story apartment building, Mouzi said. The couple hopes she will at least opt to stay with a friend in a house.

The group of four caught a ride toward Poland. After two-and-a-half hours, they were dropped off more than 4 miles from the border, Mouzi said. ÁñÁ«ÊÓƵ walked through the snow to the crossing.

There, they waited 10 hours in a line of others fleeing the country, then took a six-hour train ride to Warsaw, where Mouzi said United Airlines helped her secure a flight to Chicago.

“The minute I said they were crossing the border with Ukraine, they were very, very accommodating,� Mouzi said of the airline representatives who helped her.

Her family is set to arrive in Chicago on Saturday evening.

Mouzi can’t wait to see them back in St. Louis. “It’s so nice and peaceful,� she said. “It’s a gorgeous city. We love it. We love it.�

For those who remain in Ukraine, the prayers flowed at Mouzi’s church on Friday night. Logusch led more than 50 people — some who belonged to the church, and some who did not — in a service held in the brightly lit worship hall that was lined with photos of saints and ornate tapestries. The air smelled of incense and sage.

In the pews, people bowed their heads, clasped their hands and followed Logusch’s lead in singsong Ukrainian prayer.

Zoia Kostenko, 37, walked out of the service comforting a friend who was crying. Kostenko, who moved to the U.S. from Ukraine five years ago, checked her phone for messages from family in Kyiv.

Kostenko felt strongly that she needed to be at a church service. She sometimes attends orthodox services with Russians and Ukrainians, but didn't feel comfortable on Friday, she said — she just didn't want to hear people casting blame about the conflict. So Kostenko and her daughter, Viktoria Goncharenko, 13, attended the services at the Ukrainian-Greek Catholic Church instead.

“I think in this situation, only God can help,� Kostenko said.

Editor's note: This story has been edited to clarify testimony at Friday's prayer vigil.