Finding the words.

I’ve wanted to write sooner – share with you all the compelling details of our first official trip as The IBC and the incredible work we’re doing to help those suffering from this war, but -deep sigh- man!!   

I’ve just…I’ve just not been able to find the right words.

While heart-filling, this last trip was very different than my two previous trips.  This trip was harder.  Heavier. More difficult to process, especially when considering it was my first trip 100% solo.

I spent the month of October visiting with our partners in Lublin, Poland, and made to two separate trips into western Ukraine to meet with our partners there. 

Spirits remain hopeful that Ukraine will be victorious, but the toll of living under the oppressive curtain of violence for 9 months is taking its toll on the entire society.  People are beyond exhausted - mentally, emotionally, physically – and that is a difficult thing to see firsthand. 

As relationships with our partners deepen and friendships are forged, what was once a war on the other side of the world, has become a war against people I love and cherish.  And, quite frankly, that has had a profound impact on me.

My resolve has been strengthened, my commitment deepened, but it wasn’t until I found myself on the receiving end of such violence, did I really begin to understand the plight of the Ukrainian people, of my new friends:

It was just after 8:00am on October 10.  I was sitting cross-legged in the floor of my small hotel room in western Ukraine, putting the final touches on my make-up as I pondered what the day would hold.

I took a slow sip of coffee and was mid-mascara stroke, when my cell phone alarm went off at a deafening volume. 

Visibly startled, I thought the alarm sounded like an AMBER Alert, but before I could get to my phone to turn it off, I heard the long wail of the air raid sirens begin to fill the air…

A few days before, my Urkainian friend, Dima, instructed me to download an app on my phone that would alert me when there was an active threat of missiles, bombings, or violence in the area.  I downloaded the app – aware of how surreal it was to actually download something like a war app – but genuinely never thought I would need it.

But I did need it, because as I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and began deciphering the Cyrillic warnings, I learned that Russian missiles were raining down all across the nation, and we – I – was under imminent threat.

I stood looking at the map on my phone in stunned belief.  Texts from our Ukrainian partners came in one after another, telling me to stay safe and to take shelter in the basement of my hotel. 

But looking out the window of my room, with the sirens growing louder, I thought, “my hotel doesn’t have a basement.”

As I stood there motionless, time came to a slow stop.  My mind contemplated what I should do next…

The reality was there was no one I could call, nothing I could do, and so I made my way to the door, opened it, and walked out into the hallway. 

The hotel was quiet and I made it a few doors down before stopping. 

Standing there, alone, in the hallway, a guttural fear unlike anything I’ve ever experienced curled its way from the pit of my stomach. I felt scared.  

I took a step to the left and stopped. 

And then a step to the right and stopped.

And then, I stood there - staring down at my feet as my brain desperately tried to reconcile what was happening.

It was then - in that moment – I realized I was absolutely powerless to prevent the worst from happening.  Powerless to save myself. Powerless to save anyone. 

And so, I did the only thing I could do: I took a deep breath, whispered a heartfelt prayer to God, and went back to my room and finished getting ready. 

The impact of that experience on October 10 was compounded by the remainder of my time in Ukraine.  Every day the air raid sirens wailed through the skies, bombs landed in nearby cities, and yet, life continued. People went to work, children attended class - I even went to a local school and visited with kids and their teachers sheltering in the underground basement during a threat alert...

It’s a weird pseudo-normalcy, because there is nothing “normal” about life during war.  But there is great comfort in maintaining some sense of routine and structure - it takes back an element of control in a situation that is uncontrollable; the proverbial middle finger to a tyranny hell-bent on destruction.

And so, that, is what this last trip was for me. 

It was a peek behind the curtain into what life has been and continues to be for the people of Ukraine, and it is why I can tell you with absolute certainty that what we are doing matters. 

Offering hope and support in the face of such devastation, matters - and that’s what we’re doing at The IBC.

Every dollar donated, every social media story shared, every connection made, is a reminder to people impacted by this war that they are seen and heard and not forgotten.  And that, my friend, is powerful.

In just a few days we’ll be launching our holiday giving campaign with ways for you to join our efforts.  We hope that you will join us and help give the gift of impact this holiday season. 

With love and gratitude for your support.

Lauren