Yesterday, I felt as low as I can remember feeling. It was the battle of so many Ukrainians who were willing to fight and die for their country in what most people feel is a hopeless struggle against a vastly more powerful and vicious army. Today, I prayed and meditated. I feel stronger.

I did need to write about it today and then get back to my business. I was sinking too fast. I couldn’t stop thinking of it and reaching for my phone. That is never healthy.

Young male and female Ukrainians are rushing to get home and fight the Russian invasion while hundreds of thousands flee the country, and thousands more are being butchered.

I read one story about a grandmother who stood in front of Russian tanks, shaking her fists and throwing rocks. The tank ran her over. I read another story about a young man who threw himself under the wheels of Russian military transport and died trying to stop the truck. Teenagers are charging Russian soldiers with handguns and rifles.

Thousands, if not millions of Ukrainians, are lining up to get rifles, learning how to make Molotov cocktails, preparing for a long and brutal – and deadly – conflict. One of the many awful ironies of this invasion is that the Ukrainians are fighting the Russians in almost precisely the same way many Russians fought the Germans (and won) using sticks, rocks, and bodies to stop a different powerful and vicious, and undefeated army.

And this, I am aware, is also the way the Viet Cong and the Taliban fought us and won. They can crush and conquer cities, but that is just the beginning of a long and bloody war.

Many of the Ukrainians sat they were willing, even eager, to get the chance to die for their country. Am I? I can’t help but think about it.

Aside from being severely depressing and upsetting to me, the images from Ukraine made me wonder if I  would ever be willing to die for our country.

America is going through some agonizing, perhaps necessary,  growing pains; I sometimes think millions of Americans are much more willing to fight and die to hate their country than to save it as I know and love it. And they call themselves patriots, just as I like to do.  We each are learning to stop listening to the other.

I’m inclined by nature to consider all sides of something and look for something good to come from it. I can’t find anything in this conflict to think or rationalize it or diminish it or to make me hopeful. I can’t lie about it.

Our world has turned upside down.

I can’t say whether I would die for my country. How could I know that now?

I would die to protect my family,  I think, and I hope I can fight for my freedom peacefully rather than die for it. I’m 74 years old and no warrior. My fights are usually with my mind and soul.

But so many people in my family have been killed fighting for freedom, sometimes here, sometimes elsewhere. So many gave their lives.

For many years, dying for one’s country was considered a privilege and noble thing among Western and European countries. Those were very different times.

“To die for one’s country is such a worthy fate that all compete for so beautiful a death,” wrote French Dramatist Pierre Commelle.

Yet there have always been thoughtful people who remind us that it is inhumane to kill others, or even, in most cases, oneself. Living is better than dying, they believe.

“Patriotism is not dying for one’s country; it is living for one’s country. And for humanity. Perhaps that is not as romantic, but it’s better,” argued Agnes Macphail.

Ernest Hemingway, who went to Spain to fight against the Russians decades ago, was one of the first famous people I know of to say that modern mechanized warfare took the honor and glory out of fighting or dying.

“They wrote in the old days that it is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country,” he wrote. But in modern war, there is nothing sweet nor fitting in your dying; you will die like a dog for no good reason.” That sounds like the Ukraine horror to me, on both sides. I am also moved by the poignant messages dying Russian soldiers send to their mothers.

What is honorable about lobbing missiles and bombs into the homes of families with children?  What pride could anyone take in that? As always, the mothers are wandering the streets and government offices, looking to know if their sons are dead or alive. They will never give up, they never do.

Mothers are the world’s leading pacifists. Few can bear seeing the sons and daughters they brought into the world slaughtered by horrific modern weapons.

I am 74 years and living in a free and powerful country. I doubt I will have to decide whether to die for my country in a war. I do imagine I will have to fight in other ways to keep our freedoms and values secure. I think we all will, but not, I think,  with guns.

There are many ways for freedom to die, including by a thousand cuts rather than an invasion or civil war. The most deadly enemy is perhaps the ones within. I have a lot of faith in my country, and I believe it will right itself; there is a deep and solid core of excellent and honest people in America. They are used to being free and value it.

I will work hard to listen to the complaints and concerns of other people and try to hear and understand them.

We are not Russia, and we do not have Russia at our borders. But the founding fathers were clear that freedom and democracy are fragile things and need to be sustained and supported. Perhaps the noble thing is that many Ukrainians are dying, so we learn that lesson. I can’t say it makes me happy, but it does make me grateful to and proud of the people who are giving their lives for their country.

I became a Quaker when I was a teenager because I am a pacifist. But I bow my head to these brave heroes in prayer and admiration.

If there is a sound coming out of the Ukraine tragedy, it may be that more and more people realize what it means to be free and value it. They will fight for it, and I believe they will win over time.

I will fight for it, but not with guns. With my fingers and soul.