Ukraine

"Heaven on earth
We need it now
I'm sick of all of this 
Hanging around
Sick of sorrow
Sick of pain
Sick of hearing again and again
That there's gonna be 
Peace on earth"
 - Peace on Earth, by U2

The woman on screen had a beautifully angular face and hair cropped so short it was nearly buzzed. She held her five-month-old baby and spoke rapidly to the camera as she showed her surroundings; the basement of an apartment building in the city of Kyiv crammed with people and holding a meager supply of food for an unknown length of sheltering. 

"Have you heard from your husband?" the reporter asked, and the woman's eyes filled with tears. 

"Yes, he came by for maybe only ten seconds. He dropped off a note for the children," she said, kissing the top of her baby's head and showing a young girl and boy sitting nearby. She regained composure quickly and continued describing the situation and all of the fear and unknown which was a part of Russian's invasion of Ukraine. It was day three into the attack, day three of explosions and tanks, of civilians arming themselves to fight, and of families fleeing across the border with only a couple of suitcases between them, not knowing if they'd have a home to return to or not. 

I believe it was 2008 when I visited Ukraine on a mission trip. We flew in to Kyiv; I don't recall how much time was spent there versus elsewhere. What I recall is the general feeling of gentleness from the people there, inhabitants of a country which is small yet proud. 

An anecdote: at one point, some team members and I were sitting outside with the two women who were our guides. A pigeon landed near to us and caught our attention because he was moving a little jerkily, tilting his head strangely. One of the guides said something to another in Ukrainian, and we didn't need translation to understand.

"You just said that pigeon must be from Chernobyl, didn't you?" a companion asked. The women laughed and nodded. We all chuckled; it was encouraging to see that enough time had passed to allow something which had been a national tragedy to be taken more lightly. It showed resilience and hope. The Ukrainian people had suffered loss and shame yet had come out of it whole, able to make light-hearted, self-aware jokes about the abandoned city. 

I thought about those women as my husband Andy and I watched the news, wondering how they were doing. At different times while watching, Andy and I were moved to tears. We imagined if we were Ukrainians, and how I, pregnant, would likely flee - if possible - while he would be asked (and would chose) to stay and fight. It all feels so barbaric, so unlike what you expect from today's world, so childish to invade and attack and make up lies as to why. I am angry and heartbroken. I am cheering for President Zelensky, cheering for the hero fighter pilot (whether entirely real or exaggerated to give hope) dubbed "The Ghost of Kyiv", cheering for the Russians who take to the streets in protest, cheering for the Ukrainian civilians who pulled an elderly man out of his car, miraculously alive, after a Russian tank ran over his vehicle. 

Day five arrives, and we see the woman with the short hair interviewed once more. Once more she speaks with passion yet evenness, stating what is happening with a strong and utterly aching courage. Her name flashes across the screen; Olena Gnes, a travel guide who curates a vlog where she showed visitors the sights and traditions of her beloved country. Since the invasion, her backgrounds have changed from colorful to stark as she documents the current events, unwaveringly. 

We see reporters stumble upon bodies abandoned in the rubble, their shock palpable. We see grenades versus molotov cocktails. Into the evenings and throughout the weekend the news runs in the background. We watch, and though in one sense the watching is a kind of fear porn or doom scrolling, it's also vitally important. Ukraine, we see you, we are moved for you, we are hoping and cheering for you. We didn't know of your president before last week, but now we speak of him with admiration. You, country the size of Texas, are mighty. You are resilient. You are not alone. 

May fathers be reunited with families, and families with their homes. May conflict end in peace. May small countries not be underestimated. May we stand against dictators, united. May we be heartbroken, never apathetic, for the afraid and oppressed, and find a way to stand with them.* Please; may there be peace. 

*NPR recently listed organizations which are reaching out to offer aid to Ukraine. We made a donation to The International Committee of the Red Cross.