Around 11am on December 30, 2021 I looked out onto our back patio and announced “Either Jesus is coming down on a cloud or there is a fire nearby.” Without looking up, my husband suggested that perhaps the wind was kicking up dust. Not in our wildest imaginations did we really believe it was a fire. Yet within minutes I would receive a text from a friend, sharing information on the fire and warning me of incoming smoke.

The rest of the day is kind of a blur. At some point I recognized that things were getting serious. I hurriedly took the ornaments off of our Christmas tree. I wanted them packed up and in the back of the car; the history of our family is found in those decorations. I collected photo albums, journals, and notecards from friends; words mean a lot to me. My husband was practical and suggested we grab some important papers. And then suddenly it was no longer “just in case”. We realized that we really had to leave. The fire might actually reach our home and we could not be there if it did.

It is a strange feeling to drive away from your home, not knowing if it will still be there tomorrow.

We were lucky. Our home survived. And all of the things within it are still available to us. Practical things like a toothbrush and shampoo. The things that hold our memories are still there too. The penis statue survived (don’t ask) and so did our collection of Calvin and Hobbes books that are so well read that the spines are pulling apart.

But 991 other families lost everything. Items that hold value, not because it would cost much to replace them but because they were laughed or cried over. They reminded someone of life that has been lived.

Today I drove by the neighborhood of a woman I love dearly. She died years ago but I still get tears when I drive by her street because I miss her. Her neighborhood no longer exists. There is nothing left but ashes. And my heart breaks because I have memories of her etched in my mind that are connected to that place.

There is much ahead for my community. Many good people have organized and are creating collection sites, creating ways to donate and thinking through the practical ways to help. I’m so grateful.

I am learning that I cannot move too quickly through the grief. Today we cannot know even the full measure of what we have lost. Last night I got panicky at the sound of the wind. My feeling of “safety” is forever changed.

This is true of the fire but also of our combined lived experience of the last two years. We have all experienced great loss and sadness is inevitable. It is okay to be sad.

I am ALWAYS reassured by Isaiah 43:1-3

But now, O Jacob, listen to the Lord who created you.
    O Israel, the one who formed you says,
“Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you.
    I have called you by name; you are mine.
² When you go through deep waters,
    I will be with you.
When you go through rivers of difficulty,
    you will not drown.
When you walk through the fire of oppression,
    you will not be burned up;
    the flames will not consume you.
³ For I am the Lord, your God,
    the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.

God has never promised us that we will not experience hardship. He just promised that he would be with us IN it. And that he knows us…he knows our name. I felt God’s presence as I drove away from my home on Thursday. It is the feeling that I keep coming back to as I reflect on all that has happened.

I do not know what is in the future, but I trust that God is good and that he loves me more than I could ever imagine. As my world shifts, as my definition of safety is transformed, I am continually reminded that he is WITH us in it.