How is Ukraine?

This week, I returned from my second humanitarian trip to Ukraine. People ask “how was it?” and I have no quick and easy answer. Here goes my attempt at answering that question for real.

But first, you should understand why I went in the first place. It’s a long story that started with running and leaving a worldwide, remote software company.

Why Ukraine?

At the beginning of May, I got a Facebook notification from a neighbor who’s posts I hadn’t really seen before. I don’t usually spend time on social media, but this post from Mindie reached straight into my heart and could not be ignored:

Today I lost it! I lost It emotionally and somewhat physically. I’m tired, my heart is broken, and yet I feel like I have so much I need to do, but don’t know where to turn.

The overwhelming need in Ukraine is so high, yet donors, supporters, and organizations, are starting to turn to other causes.

I am begging with everything I have, PLEASE don’t forget Ukraine. The bombings have been worse this last week than ever before. The people need YOU & we need YOU!
Mindie Packer from Hope Across Borders

She was talking to me.

Now for another backstory. For almost two years before the war started in Ukraine, I worked with Yaro as our graphic designer. This meant Steve and I spent at least an hour a week in one-on-one meetings with him. Designers deal with a lot of high expectations that are difficult to meet, especially since we often struggled to verbalize what we wanted.

I think he got a lot more grief from us than is normal, but I couldn’t say for sure. He took every change and 360 we made with a cheerful smile. We met his baby daughter in meetings and he met our kids. He showed us the view from his Kyiv apartment and got the truest glimpse into our lives than most other team members. We celebrated when he moved into his house outside the city. He became family.

A few weeks later, the war started. Each week, he seemed more and more worn down but didn’t complain. It made everything we were working on together feel insignificant to all of us. He worked hard but a year into the war, he no longer had enough left to give. His four hours of electricity a day needed to be spent preparing for the hours without it. Time was also stretched thin after he volunteered to join the military and began training. He felt he had no other choice than to resign.

Letting him walk away, trapped in a war zone where I could do nothing to save him broke my heart. You see, my team members feel much more like siblings that need to be taken care of rather than employees that need to be paid. I couldn’t bear to officially let him out of our Slack team for months. That felt like giving up and abandoning him. I kept hoping and praying the war would end and his life could go back to normal.

But it didn’t. He let us know he was impatiently waiting to get mobilized as he watched many others leave. And finally, he was mobilized too. After that, Steve’s emails went unanswered for months. We held onto hope but began to fear the worst.

Finally, a response came. Yaro was back home. A missile attack had put him in hospitals and rehabilitation for months. But he was alive.

Survivors and Fighters

So Mindie’s Facebook post was not only a plea to help, but I also saw a small chance to get to Kyiv to see Yaro and meet his wife. So just maybe, if she needed help, she would ask. In that moment, I was determined to go to Ukraine. To help, to give, to share, to learn, to see.

The pieces fell naturally into place, and I was undeterred by Mindie’s warnings of air raid alerts and drone attacks. Unrelenting when Yaro advised me not to come while the war continued.

At the end of August, I was on my way. I didn’t really understand what I was walking into. The expansive fields of sunflowers rolled across horizons. Military flags adorned every cemetery we passed, no matter how far from the front lines, indiscriminate of the size of the town.

The war had touched everyone we met. Fathers, sons, nephews, and brothers lost to the military. Families torn apart by bombs. Schools proudly raising money for drones. Mothers sending any extra money they could come up with for gear to protect their sons the best they could. A father pulled from his car and forced to join the military to help replace all those who had already been lost.

Despite the grief and loss and the disappearance of normal life, time and life move on. Most live without power for large parts of every day. Those forced to leave their homes are separated from loved ones by front lines, choosing sides, or death. Despite it all, people smile and laugh, tell their stories and cry.

Kids who made it out of Russian occupied territories without any family.

And nothing I can do feels like it could ever be enough. I am powerless to stop a war, unable to offer homes to replace all those that have been lost, limited by time and distance to meet and love everyone who is lacking. Then there are moments that feel like they were waiting just for me.

One of my superpowers, you see, is real hugs. I’ve been told since I was little that I give great hugs. I feel like I can absorb a bit of pain and anxiety through an embrace. Take a little weight off a heart. And in those moments, that is the best thing I could do. To show someone they matter. To funnel a little bit of love from God and straight into them, like a magnifying glass focusing a ray of sun. A superpower like that, in a country torn by war, where I don’t speak much of the language, is a gift.

The harder part is returning home and being even more limited in the ways I can help. To make connections with people I want to take care of and be left deciding who to help and who not to.

What if we could all join forces and send our love? To offer battery backups so shelters aren’t left in darkness, blankets and winter clothes to keep out the cold. To give a little of the old life back and replace some of what has been left behind. To provide extra gear and protection to help soldiers return home. To help build new lives instead of waiting for the old ones to return. A world like that, where we all show love and affection rather than building anger and walls sounds like the world of my dreams.

So How Was Ukraine, You Ask

So if you ask me “how was Ukraine?” I’ll tell you it was good. And if you’re lucky and I think I might be able to speak without crying, I might tell you it was good to find people that desperately needed us, even in the moment they say they have what they need. Good to have taken on a little bit of someone else’s pain. Good to be able to understand a little more what life is like, in order to better love and support them. Good to meet those who have survived and are strong and resilient.

Ukraine both warms and breaks my heart all at once. People give and share all they have, even if it’s the only thing they saved from their destroyed or abandoned homes. The thing they value the very most. It’s a place where people don’t give up. They continue fighting and hoping for a brighter day.

Ukraine is full of people who don’t take life for granted and work hard to support each other. Who appreciate what they have and ask for nothing. And where strangers become like family in a few short moments of deep connection.

But what will become of them if America turns toward Russia? What about the people who have nowhere to go and no resources to leave? Can we sit by and let it happen without a fight of our own, just because we live comfortably in the safety of our own homes? Can we watch as our own country is torn apart from the inside while trying to keep them out?

I cannot. I hope you cannot either. That we can band together and be the welcoming America we once were. The America that was built by immigrants. The America that was a refuge. The America that offered love and hope.

From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore,
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
Emma Lazarus – November 2, 1883

Why Ukraine?

Survivors and Fighters

So How Was Ukraine, You Ask