Woke up at 5 am unable to sleep anymore to a newsfeed of Ukrainian friends who are facing explosions in their hometowns. How do you message old camp friends—people you had water balloon fights with, did skits with, and roasted marshmallows with—when they are in a war zone?
I have no idea, but I messaged anyways. To ask if they’re safe, to ask about their families, to see if there’s fighting in their neighborhoods, to know where they are taking shelter. I want so badly for them to know that I care.
And the messages came flooding back.
Pictures of my friends and their kids in basements. Pictures of their brother’s apartment that was hit with a shell when he was out. Stories of how the power to their homes was lost or of how they couldn’t get to a shelter with their elderly parents.
They are scared. And so courageous. They are bursting with pride for the bravery of their armed forces and the normal men and women who are fighting for their country.
On the news I see people throwing molotov cocktails and standing in front of tanks. Over and over again, Ukrainians are faced with impossible odds, and just not giving up.
Katy took the girls to her sister’s house this morning, and I stayed in an eerily quiet home, painting the window frame to our girl’s bedroom, while I prayed for my friends who cannot safely stand beside theirs.
Thank you all for your prayers.
Joel and Katy