My Anywhere But Here Blog

Kindness in a Time of Conflict

Today my heart feels heavy.

Like many of you, I woke to news that our country has entered into conflict overseas. Hearing words like attack, punishment, and war can leave an ache that settles quietly into the heart. Not because I understand every detail of what is happening — but because I understand what conflict can cost in human lives.

• Somewhere in the world today, mothers are holding their children a little closer.
• Somewhere, elderly parents are remembering wars they thought were long behind them.
• Somewhere, families are facing uncertainty they never asked for.

When I hear of conflict, my mind does not go first to politics or policy.

It goes to people.

• Children who did not ask to grow up in the shadow of fear.
• Elderly men and women who have already lived through so much.
• Everyday families who simply want to live, work, love, and be safe.

My mother once said something that stayed with me all my life. She lost a brother in World War II, and the grief never quite left her. She would say, “If countries want to fight, let the top brass meet in a field and settle it themselves — but don’t make our children carry the cost.”

It was not strategy she remembered.

It was loss.

My mother lost her brother at age nineteen in WWII over Cologne, Germany. His plane was badly hit with shrapnel, and he was the only one who did not survive. The rest of the crew made it back to England safely. But it was war, and it was a catastrophic loss for her family. There was no body returned to them, no true sense of closure — only an emptiness left in her heart.

Even today, on days when the world feels heavy with emotion, fear, and uncertainty, those memories come rushing back. She grows quiet, withdrawn. And I know she is remembering… just as I am, recalling her story as her daughter.

How many must be lost before we learn the deeper lessons of war?

Not how to aim missiles — but how to avoid putting holes in hearts that never fully heal.

Because war does more than release aggression.

• It steals lives.
• It steals love.
• It steals the very lessons we could be teaching one another about kindness and compassion — about being part of one human race.

War, for my mother, was loss.

Perhaps some would say it is naïve to long for a world where kindness prevails. Perhaps it sounds childlike to wish we would treat one another not as enemies, but as fellow human beings.

But I don’t believe longing for peace is childish.

Children, after all, are not the ones who start wars.

Maybe what feels heavy today is not confusion — but compassion.

A heart that does not want to harden.

A spirit that refuses to accept that “this is just how it is.”

I cannot stop nations from colliding.

But I can decide that my own heart will not become a battlefield.

• I can choose kindness in my conversations.
• I can choose gentleness in my responses.
• I can choose to see people as part of one human race — not divided categories.

If the world feels loud, I can still live quietly with love.

Today, that is what I choose.

— Susan Beth Thomas

My Anywhere But Here