When I thought about coming home, I was concerned about the impact of the devastation on our daily life. It’s disturbingly small. Some people in our circles lost everything while our pocket of the city was spared by a four lane road and a stop light. When I look at the mountains out my window, the deep evergreen color has turned two shades darker to black, but it almost seems as if a cloud’s shadow is passing over.
It doesn’t seem fair, does it? I know that I said that I wanted to accept God’s provision in my life even if it meant simply the ability to cope—and I do. So, why am I having trouble accepting God’s provision for the little girls in my daughter’s class who have lost their homes? Why do I doubt that He will provide for them as He will for me and my family? Why should I doubt that He will be faithful to draw them to himself for comfort?
I sat down to my desk this morning to work and I couldn’t. My work as a writer is to make sense of life, and life doesn’t seem to make much sense. A few days ago the light of the afternoon sun was snuffed out, the air chokingly thick and ash littered the few belongings we crammed in the van. Now I’m back in the same house, breathing fresh air with invisible pain all around me.
I got a whiff of campfire smell and immediately felt irritable. How am I supposed to continue meeting deadlines, having meetings, shopping, and facilitating social engagements as if nothing happened at all? I suppose I can’t. Not by myself. I guess even though the fire skirted us physically, it impacted us emotionally and we need to acknowledge that, give ourselves room, and ask God to use it in our lives.
Oh God, show me what you’re doing in my life and in the lives around me. Make sense out of this chaos and help me to rely on you for not only my own needs, but the needs of others. I pray that you WILL work all things together for good (Romans 8:28). Amen.