It had been a tough few weeks and Eloise was finally napping, so Brian and I were scurrying around the house to do a quick cleanup. As I was loading the dishwasher, Brian paused what he was doing, looked at me, and casually threw out a question.
“What is our own trigger point? When would we consider fleeing Estonia if Russia invaded?”
It is a question we were privileged to even be asking ourselves without being already in the middle of conflict. Our home here in this tiny Baltic nation is as far from Ukraine as New York is from Florida. And Estonia being a part of NATO means a military invasion is quite unlikely. So neither of us were feeling any fear when Brian threw the question out there.
My answer came fast. “We wouldn’t,” I blurted out. “Our people are here, and if we fled, for example, to the US, we would just be worrying about them from far away. Better to at least be near them and be able to see and worry about them here than there.”
It seemed simple. The answer almost too easy. We agreed. Case closed.
We moved on.
(And before we go on, the cover image is a picture I snapped during the Estonian independence day parade in Old Town Tallinn in February 2013. No violence is happening. It isn’t meant to strike fear, it was just the most fitting photo I had.)
Then, yesterday another friend asked on social media, “Why won’t NATO close down Ukrainian airspace? Is there a law? I just don’t understand.”
And that changed everything.
Her question got me thinking, really thinking. If a NATO country responded with any sort of force to any part of Russian military, then it is essentially all of NATO declaring war on Russia. I gasped. How had I glossed over this? Closing down Ukrainian airspace could very well be the beginning of World War III.
Suddenly, I could imagine an all too clear future where Eloise’s life was in danger.
That prospect was sobering. Very sobering.
So, after we put Eloise to bed, I realized both Brian and I were unusually quiet with the weight of what was happening to our southern neighbors. I turned to Brian and blurted out, “I don’t want to go. But maybe we really should thinking about what we would do in case of emergency — in case of invasion.”
It wasn’t a question I wanted to ask. It wasn’t a thought I wanted to have. Facing this, facing ourselves, might mean coming up with answers we really didn’t like or imagining scenarios we really didn’t want to see. The feeling of dread was palpable in both Brian and I. My stomach was in knots; I could feel a sense of panick welling up inside me.
So we did what we often do in hard times. We closed our eyes, took a deep breath, and then prayed to ask for insight.
Thankfully, a thought came quickly and, when it brought a sense of instant peace to my body, I labeled it as probably-from-God.
“Taking care of the Ukrainian people is my responsibility.’ the probably-from-God thought started, “And so is taking care of the Russian people. Your responsibility, Mallory, is to take care of Eloise.” In those words, I also felt the immense sadness and deep care he had for all the people being hurt right now.
It felt true. I could not carry the weight of Ukraine’s sorrows on my shoulders, it wasn’t a burden I was able to handle. Instead, my job was to carry the weight of Eloise. And the real reality was that, in her harder moments, Eloise was a load so heavy I was not always convinced I could carry it.
I felt a little lighter, so I opened my eyes.
Brian’s face was still serious. And, as I paid attention to my own body, I realized I, too, still felt somber. As we talked, it became clear we were both concerned with the prospect of an ever-changing world with threats we never saw coming. I mean, who predicted the September 11 terrorist attacks? Who really saw the worldwide 2008 recession coming? Who imagined a pandemic would shut down nations around the globe for years to come? And who in their wildest dreams imagines having a kid like Eloise, missing 19 million lines of DNA?
So, sure, as our precious 13-month-old slept in our bedroom next door, we could sit at our dining room table and plan mentally for a possible Russian invasion. We could brainstorm a bunch of scenarios and come up with the exact trigger point at which we’d consider fleeing our beloved Estonia. But, far more likely is that whatever next crisis we face won’t be one we could have never imagined as we brainstormed at our kitchen table. We knew there really wasn’t any way to prepare.
But even if we knew we couldn’t predict the future, that still left the question at hand. When would we or should we consider leaving? Very few people get the privilege of just fleeing a warzone.
Suddenly, though, the answer was crystal clear.
If Eloise’s life is in danger — for example, if we couldn’t access her anti-seizure medications — then we’d have to go.
We finally had our answer.
Still, the air felt heavy.
Eloise has no idea there is a war raging on. If we continued our days, filled with the deep sadness for all of those innocent humans scared for their lives, Eloise won’t go, “Hey, totally understandable that you’re sad, parents. I mean, the war going on and all.” Instead, her little brain would think, “Wait, parents, why aren’t you happy to be with me anymore? Did I do something wrong? Am I bad?” That thought broke my heart.
Brian glanced at me for a moment before staring straight ahead. A look of concern covered his face. “So do we just keep scanning the news, trying to read into every little thing to decide when or if an invasion is imminent here? Or do we wait for the US embassy to call us and say, ‘You’ve got 6 hours. Pack your bags and be at the port or you’ll be left behind.’? I hate both options.”
Silence hung in the air between the two of us.
“Brian, there has to be a better option. Some angle we’re not thinking of that will bring peace.” There just had to be.
Again, we prayed and then paused to listen. “Jesus, how do we face this? What do we do?”
The-voice-that-was-probably-God cut through my own racing thoughts,“Mallory, how have you made your other major decisions in life? You’ve always waited until you and Brian suddenly know an option is right. And that is how you will continue to make decisions. Currently, neither of you feel any peace or pull to leave. So, listen to that.”
And, then, a familiar Bible verse also popped up in my consciousness.
Trust God from the bottom of your heart;
Proverbs 3:5-6, The Message version
don’t try to figure out everything on your own.
Listen for God’s voice in everything you do, everywhere you go;
he’s the one who will keep you on track.
A feeling of peace washed over me. That — all that — felt true. We didn’t have to figure it out now. We’d know if or when it was time to go. This God we followed was bigger.
I turned to Brian. He also looked lighter.
Brian had his own thought. “What have we already been doing over the last months since having Eloise? We have been going through all of our stuff, all of the things we have collected in life, all of the stuff that weighs us down. We have been working to decide what is important to keep, and what we need to get rid of to make mental space in our lives. That is what is like us to do, and that is what we are ALREADY doing. And, if we continue to do that, IF there comes a time when we need to suddenly leave, we will be far more prepared. Because we will know what is important to take with us and what we can leave behind.”
That felt true. And, relievingly, it was also concrete — something we could do. We weren’t sitting ducks, driven by fear, just waiting for something awful to happen. We were active participants in our lives, moving forward in a way that made us proud.
That’s my job. That’s our job. To take care of our precious Eloise, it is our job to face ourselves. To reduce the things in our life that drag us down — that bring us death — and increase the things in our life that build us up — that bring us life.
And, coincidentally, if we ever need to suddenly leave this country we love, we’ll be far more prepared because of it.
Brian and I looked at each other, relief clear in both of us.
Especially in these next few months, while an unprovoked military invasion will likely drag on, and while we will need to prepare for one or both of us to go back to work, we will just be facing our stuff.
It seems like something so trivial, but I think it is far more important than we realize. Facing our stuff is facing our selves.
Today, I took another step among what will be many.
Weeks ago, I’d already signed up for a 30 day virtual minimalism challenge. A group of us in Tallinn will be meeting weekly via zoom and focus on downsizing a different area in our lives. Today was the first gathering.
One thing the organizer said really struck a chord. “To get rid of your stuff is painful. Because it means you have to face yourself. You have to face your priorities. You have to face parts of yourself you don’t want to. But that is exactly why it is so important.”
That rang especially true.
So, in these next 30 days, in these next few months — heck probably for the rest of my life — I’ll be facing a lot of myself. And though right now Estonia’s eastern border has never been so empty of its usual Russian military presence, it is probably more important than ever that I face the hard stuff. In me. In our world. In life.
Don’t misunderstand me, though, the hard stuff I’m facing cannot be compared to what so many are going through right now. I’m not facing down tanks. I’m not creating molotov cocktails to fight invaders. I’m not terrified that a trip to the grocery store might end in death. Those aren’t the hard things I’m facing.
But, sometimes, not always, but sometimes, facing the scary things inside ourselves can actually be harder than facing an external enemy. And I’m willing to bet that if I can face the tough stuff inside of me, then, if the time comes, then I can hopefully face the tough stuff outside of me.
Because, really, Eloise deserves parents who not only protect her, but will face themselves rather than run away when things get hard.
Our hearts are with Ukraine, and yet our hearts will be doing all we can to stay present with this incredible gift of a child.
All our love,
Mallory, Brian, and Eloise
Eloise The Tiny Fighter 