Photos

 March 1, 2022

This evening as I opened my iPad to write, a photo from three years ago popped up at the top of my screen—one of the apps that happens to run on these machines. I clicked on it and was treated to a slideshow of photos of the grandkids, from winter sleigh rides after breakfast at one of the area sugarbush pancake houses to the Easter egg hunt at our son’s. Intermingled were pictures of friends in Cuba, people I’ve been unable to see for two years, people like family to me, Christian brothers and sisters who have suffered much through the pandemic that has been mostly inconvenient to me, but tragic for them.

Halfway around the world, memories like this are being buried in the terror of bombs and artillery, parents trying to shelter their children in the midst of an invasion they were unable to prevent and may be unable to stop. They fight in whatever way they can because it isn’t political to them; it’s personal. The old saying is true: “Rich man’s war; poor man’s fight.” However hopeless it may seem, when defending one’s own home and family, the gloves come off. 

I look at these photos and see people I know and love, and know that in the Ukraine, parents and grandparents see and pray for people they know and love. Even in Russia, mothers and grandmothers are praying for their sons sent to the frontlines by men who will not themselves taste the bitter tears of their decisions.

It was not my choice to be born here, to know the advantages this country and my family provided me. I am blessed beyond measure, and thank God every day when I wake up for the breath that gives me life, and for the people who give me joy. I thank him for the sacrifice he made for me in the giving of his Son for my salvation; his going to fight a war I could not win against an enemy more powerful than I. He was bloodied for my sake as he stood in the gap and took the blows meant for me. 

Just a few months ago, Ukraine was being pilloried for its corruption. Today it is elevated almost to sainthood for its resistance to Russia’s aggression. Both then and now, those who bear the brunt of the decisions made by the upper echelons are ordinary people who like me, look with affection at photos from years ago, and pray for those whose faces they see. May God hear those prayers and answer in his mercy.