I will return to Ukraine in less than two weeks for my sixth trip since November 2023. As much as I look forward to seeing people I’ve grown to love, I carry a heaviness that’s hard to describe.
I’m not afraid of the journey, even though I’m very aware that traveling to a country at war carries risks. I’ve spent many hours in Ukrainian air raid shelters and have sat across from many Ukrainians who carry deep stories of loss, hurt, and grief.
I’m not unprepared for that type of suffering. As a professional counselor who has specialized in trauma for over 40 years, I’ve spent my career helping people navigate experiences that have profoundly altered their lives.
Explaining America to People I Love
Yet this is different. I keep wondering how I’m going to explain what’s happening in my own country to people who are fighting and dying for the very freedoms America has always said we stand for.
For the past three years, I have had the privilege of working with educators, pastors, counselors and students at the Ukrainian Baptist Theological Seminary in Lviv. Much of my work there has been helping people understand trauma and find ways to heal from the terrible toll this war has taken on their lives.
When I first went to Ukraine, I believed God was calling me to use my training and experience to help people who were suffering. I had no idea how much those people would come to mean to me, or how deeply their lives would become woven into my own. These are no longer simply students or colleagues. They are people I know and love.
I’ve listened to their stories of loss, displacement, fear and exhaustion. I’ve witnessed their determination to continue educating students, caring for the wounded, supporting grieving families, and serving their communities despite the extraordinary demands of living through a war themselves.
I’ve personally seen the toll that prolonged exposure to danger takes on the human nervous system. I’ve also seen remarkable courage—not in large, impressive gestures, but in the small, ordinary decisions to keep living each morning and caring for others.
I remember my first air raid. We spent a couple of hours in a basement shelter, where I kept teaching, all the while knowing the country around us was under attack. When the all-clear finally came, I suggested we take a 15-minute break.
What I didn’t tell my students was that I needed those moments. I had managed to keep teaching despite everything happening around us.
But once things settled, I realized how shaken I was. I needed a few minutes to pull myself together.
I sat alone in the classroom, trying to slow my breathing and praying for enough calm to finish teaching. That’s when I heard singing coming from the hallway. A group of students had gathered outside.
One of them had a guitar and they were singing in Ukrainian. As I listened, I realized I recognized the song: “Goodness of God.” Students sang about God’s faithfulness and goodness.
I sat there listening and quietly crying, deeply moved by the voices of these young people who had just spent hours sheltering from an attack. They weren’t singing because their lives were easy or because they had been spared suffering. They were singing in the midst of it.
I went to Ukraine to teach about trauma, resilience, and healing. But that day, I learned something.
I listened to those students, knowing what so many of them had been through, and was overwhelmed by their faith and courage. Even now, I can’t think about that moment without tears coming to my eyes.
When I hear Ukraine discussed in American political debates, I think of those students. I can still hear their voices. I remember their faith, courage, and the pain they were carrying.
The people of Ukraine are not abstractions in a foreign policy debate. They are mothers, fathers, teachers, students, pastors and counselors. They are people whose lives have been disrupted in every way by an invasion they did not choose. And they are my greatly loved friends.
American Allies?
Recently, President Donald Trump issued an executive order waiving the implementation of significant new sanctions against Russia that Congress had approved. For some Americans, decisions like this might become more of a political debate subject or the focus of international relations.
For Ukrainians, it isn’t a distant political debate. It is what they live with every day.
Russian attacks continue to threaten their homes, schools, hospitals and power supplies. And with winter coming, losing electricity or heat isn’t just an inconvenience. It can be a matter of life and death.
I recognize that diplomacy is complex and full of competing interests, and reasonable people can disagree about the most effective means of ending a war. I understand that the issues surrounding this war are complicated. But I don’t believe that permits us to look the other way.
There’s a difference between a country fighting to protect its people and its freedom and a country that has invaded its neighbor. We can want peace desperately and still be honest about that difference.
When our government’s decisions appear to weaken the international response to aggression, I believe Americans have a responsibility to ask difficult questions. These questions are not simply whether a decision benefits our country in the short term, but whether it reflects the values we claim to hold.
Following Jesus
But for me, this isn’t just about politics. This comes down to my faith and what it really means to follow Jesus.
I can’t think about that without thinking about the people I’ve come to know and love in Ukraine. I’ve seen their suffering and I can’t just set that aside.
Micah 6:8 tells us to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God. I’ve always believed those words matter, but my time in Ukraine has made them even more personal. We’re called to live them out, even when doing so challenges our own political views.
Some of the Christians I’ve come to know in Ukraine have experienced terrible loss. They’ve buried loved ones, lost their homes, and watched their lives change in ways they never could have imagined. Still, they pray, worship, and care for their neighbors, even as they struggle themselves.
I know they’re afraid at times. I’ve talked with them and heard their stories.
But what stays with me is how they keep living out their faith amid all that suffering. They’ve challenged me to think about what courage really looks like and what it means to follow Christ.
It’s one thing to talk about loving our neighbors. It’s another to actually do it, especially when it costs us something.
I’m not looking forward to the questions I’ll be asked or trying to figure out how to help my Ukrainian friends understand that not all Americans support these actions.
These are people I know and love. They are people who have endured unimaginable suffering, buried loved ones, lived through relentless attacks, and continued to demonstrate extraordinary courage in the face of aggression.
They look to America as a nation that has historically stood for freedom, democracy, and the right of people to determine their own future. How do I explain what is happening in our country to people who are literally fighting and dying for those very principles?
I love my country. But loving my country does not mean blindly supporting its leadership or remaining silent when its actions contradict the values we claim to hold dear.
Patriotism is not unquestioning loyalty to a political party or an administration. It is a commitment to the principles on which this nation was founded, even when defending those principles means speaking out against our own government.
When I return to Ukraine, I want my friends to know that there are still Americans who see their suffering, who stand with them, and who have not forgotten that freedom is worth defending. I just wish I didn’t have to explain that distinction at all.
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Sandra Fields is a professional counselor with more than 40 years of experience specializing in trauma and helping individuals navigate difficult life experiences. Since 2023, she has traveled regularly to Ukraine, providing trauma-informed training and support to those affected by the war.