by Lynn Mandaville

An unusual thing happened for me this past Monday night when my husband and I went to the ballfield to watch our 9-year-old grandson’s little league team.

It was a beautiful, warm, breezy Arizona evening at twilight. 

As we drove to the ballfield, we were listening to NPR in which a symphony orchestra was playing the Ukrainian nation anthem.  (If you’ve not heard it, it’s quite lovely, and, somehow, haunting.)

The melody still played in my head as we watched the little boys take the field in the fading daylight.  And as I watched my grandson Jack, strapped in his catcher’s gear as he squatted down behind home plate, I began to cry.

It wasn’t full-on sobbing, ugly crying.  It was the kind where big tears just begin rolling down your cheeks, and they won’t stop.

As a rule, I try not to show strong emotions in public.  But this took me completely by surprise, and I realized that I was crying for Ukraine.

I was crying because so many people in this country take for granted these so very simple joys as sitting in the last glow of evening watching little boys play our national game.

I was crying because we were just beginning to get the horrid news of criminal acts by Russian soldiers against Ukrainian civilians in Bucha.

I was crying because we had been told early on in this illegal act of war that many, if not all, of these young Russian soldiers had been told they were going on a peace-keeping mission to Ukraine.

And I was crying because the balance of all things in a global community and economy were being thrown into chaos because one man, with seriously twisted delusions of himself, was waging war on a peace-loving people who wanted nothing more than to continue to be a sovereign nation.

We must now face up to what sacrifices we are willing to make as citizens of what is arguably the greatest nation on earth.

Not just will we, but are we able to, absorb the rising costs of fuel, food, and other material goods?

Already many — too many — Americans are struggling with two or more jobs to afford shelter and groceries for their families.  Will the rest of us, who are of means, be willing to make our own financial sacrifices for them so they can survive the coming recession?

I would put to you that this is no time for partisan politics, but for what we used to refer to as good old Christian human kindness.

There is plenty of Scripture to point us to this calling, but regardless of one’s religious beliefs this is the decent thing to do, to donate to charities and organizations that can help the Ukrainians directly (through UNESCO, the World Central Kitchen, and the international Red Cross), or to other organizations that can get out the truth to the Russian people about this act of terror being directed toward a peaceful country (Radio Free Europe and the like).

We have not been attacked directly by Russia, but what’s to say that just such a thing might not happen sometime in the future?

We cannot take the war into our hands, but we can certainly, and sensibly, help arm the Ukrainians with tools that will further help them push back the Russians.

We can provide food and medical supplies for the short-term, and we can begin to plan to assist them in rebuilding their country when they are victorious against the Russian terrorists.

It is time for us to involve ourselves in deep thought and consideration.

How will we react to this terrible time in history?  How will we respond to the needs of our fellow human beings so far away?

Tonight, my husband and I will once again be off to the ballfield to watch grandson Jack pitch against the other team of 9-year-olds, as they engage in a contest that teaches them sportsmanship, basic skills, and sheer joy of the game.  In our nation where we are comfortable, and safe, and have enough (maybe too much?) of everything, including freedom.

The news tonight before we leave home is no better than it was on Monday.

The stories are filled with more atrocities, more sadness, more human tragedy.

As we take our seats at the edge of the ballfield on another sweet, warm, breezy Arizona-at-twilight evening, I hope my eyes will contain the tears that confounded me two days ago.

Even though on the inside I might, again, be crying.