There was a fire in the mountains close to our house last week. The smoke clouds billowed both beautiful and haunting overhead, and we all held our breaths as we watched the helicopters dash back and forth over our neighborhood. It’s an unnerving reality that comes along with copious blue skies and rare days of rain here in southern California.
I posted a heavy hearted passion here in this space several days ago, and it’s created all sorts of difficult and good conversation.
Like a wildfire, the charred remains that we’re fumbling through leave my soul a little bare. But the potential for new growth makes my mind run wild.
It was an unusual gloomy morning when I drove to work yesterday. I rounded a corner to look up and see that the only ray of sun boldly breaking through the clouds was beaming down on that burnt part of the mountain.
“That’s pretty,” I thought, and turned the corner.
This morning, burdened and deep in thought, I once again saw the same scene at the same corner.
Ray of sun shining down brightly on the ash-covered part of the mountain.
Apparently I hadn’t gotten the message the first time.
“Don’t forget: I see the ashes,” my heart heard that still, small voice. “I will shine my light on the burnt places too.”
My soul sighed, my grip loosened, and I grinned, grateful for the small reminder that it’s not my job to rebuild what has been destroyed, only to look for where the light shines.