The smartphone camera has changed how we see the face of war.

We don't see slick propaganda images of smiling young men in spotless uniforms marching into the fray. Instead, we see the actual face of war on our TV sets, Twitter and Facebook.

There we see images of newborn babies lined up on a subway floor where nurses shelter them from rockets.

We see a rocket pummel into a high-rise apartment and a defiant young woman sweep up broken window glass while singing the Ukrainian national anthem.

We see images of mothers seeking safety while lugging infants and children. We see a modern city turned into rubble.

We see the face of evil.

As we struggle to wrap our minds around these images and try to figure out what they mean, some seem to ignore them. Others settle back into their own political closet and assign blame.

It is not all one-sided by a long shot.

We see folks blame the former U.S. president for his supposedly cozy relationship with the Russian dictator.

We see folks blame the current U.S. president for his failure to confront the Russian dictator.

We see others blame the former, former president, or the former, former, former president, and his father, for doing this or failing to do that. Don’t forget to blame Bill and Hillary, somehow, they must be at fault. Right?

Others pick and choose this tidbit, or that scrid of information, to argue it could have been avoided in the first place.

Few can imagine the next act in this murderous modern morality play.

For instance, what might happen if someone makes a mistake? Those who have spent time in a war zone know mistakes happen. Some are big, others not so. But young men and now young women, brave but untested, control deadly weapons, from small arms to God knows what else. They can and do foul up. These mistakes can compound, giving birth to disasters that no one wanted in the first place.

For example, we hear cries urging us to partner with NATO and jump into the fray and hammer the Russian invasion.

Understandably, leaders mention that could trigger World War III.

Some reports suggest the Russian dictator is unhinged. That he is irate that his walk in the park invasion turned into a slog through the swamp.

As the Russian elites see their bank accounts, their London high-rise apartments, and prized 400-foot-long yachts confiscated, will they suggest it is time for regime change?

Will the Russian generals make a change of command the order of the day?

Will an embittered dictator lash out by unleashing the one weapon no one wants to see used ever again?

Ponder the words of Sheldon Harnick’s ditty called “The Merry Little Minuet."

“But we can be tranquil and thankful and proud,

For man's been endowed with a mushroom-shaped cloud.

And we know for certain that some lovely day,

Someone will set the spark off and we will all be blown away.”

It is a sobering thought. Might this time give us a chance to think about what we are and what we want to accomplish? Will we think rather than tweet? Will we realize we have more in common than posts that shove us into this camp or that?

Or will we realize the fear-mongers who beat the drums (on all sides), are just trying to say outrageous things to grab a few more rating points or a few thousand more likes?

And will we figure out that the hair on fire pundits are doing it so they can charge more money to snake oil peddlers plugging goop guaranteed to help us cure cancer, sleep better, look younger, lose 50 pounds, or grow hair?

Do we want to let these fools splinter our nation just so they could grab a rating point or two, or a few thousand more likes? Really?

Once, someone asked if there was something this paper could do to generate more buzz. Sure, I replied. Just run nude photos on Page 1. But is that what we want to do? Of course not.

Maybe, just maybe, this time, instead of arguing, should we spend our precious time enjoying God's grand geography instead of ranting about the supposed politics of our neighbors, or even an old scribbler?

Maybe I ought to ignore it all, turn off the phone and the TV, then go out to the garage and try to start the snowblower a neighbor lent me to replace mine.

Makes sense to me.