Proof The Bible Is True

I was out on a walk,my eyes downcast, trying my eyes downcast, trying to sort through my thoughts. A few days ago, my husband, Russ, and I had lost our house of Russ, and I had lost our house of 28 years to California’s Camp Fire. We’d had to move into a hotel. It was all so hard to process.

 

An emergency phone call had alerted us early in the morning a few days prior. “Wildfire,” the robo-call repeated. “Evacuate immediately.” We sprang into action. Our next-door neighbor came over to check on us and helped Russ wrestle our four cats into carriers, while I tossed a few changes of clothes, blankets and the family photos hanging in the hall into a bag.

 

We dashed out to our car, following a caravan of our neighbors along winding back roads. We drove for hours until we were finally out of danger, but we couldn’t find a place to stay. That night, we had to sleep in the back seat of our Subaru, parked in a Walmart parking lot. The next morning, we drove three and a half hours to the nearest hotel that still had vacancy. Only later did we see photographs of the destruction. Our house had been consumed by the fire along with most of our neighborhood.

 

Our insurance was covering food and lodging until our claim went through and we found a new house. Still, I felt totally unmoored. Exhausted emotionally and physically. Grateful to be alive and safe, for sure, but lost. Not only had we lost our family home, our beloved fixer-upper into which we’d invested countless hours of sweat equity, but so much of our lives had disappeared overnight: family photo albums, my wedding dress, priceless memorabilia and heirlooms.

 

How are we going to rebuild after this? I thought, rounding a corner in the sidewalk on my walk back to the hotel. Is it even possible?

 

I noticed something up ahead. Something glimmering on the pavement.

 

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