Cycles | Fire Season

The Earth orbits the Sun and the seasons change. The cycles of the world come and go, as do cycles of loss, grief and recovery.

The summer season is again upon us and with its hot, dry weather and the possibility of wildfires. Last year’s fire season was one of the worst in a long time in the McKenzie Valley, destroying many homes and businesses. I remember those days very clearly, even though our home wasn’t in danger, some of my coworkers did have homes in areas of evacuation that crept closer and closer as the days went on. Finally, two of my coworkers had to stop work and get ready to move as their area was elevated to “Be Ready” status, meaning they could be told to leave their homes and belongings at any moment. We wished them well and prayed that they would be okay.

I later learned that one of the casualties of the fire was a resort in Blue River where I had spent many writing retreats over the years. In fact, most of the town of Blue River had burned, leaving burnt out cars and charred chimneys standing alone.

In the midst of this year of destruction, I received a phone call. My son had died. Alex was not my biological son, but I dated his mother for several years and he had started calling me dad and so I called him son and, so in my heart he was my son. And now he is gone. We had not spoken to each other for a long time as we had drifted apart, but now there was no hope of reconciliation on this side of Heaven. I pray that I will meet him there someday and we will have our chance to make broken things right.

As the fires burned through our forests, they also burned through my life, my heart and my mind. I, too, am left with charred remains inside my soul, some with lonely, solitary chimneys left standing to remind me of the structures that once stood there.

When the Holiday Farm Fire was finally contained and the area deemed safe, my wife and I went up the McKenzie both to escape our confines during lockdown and to see the remains of the resort. Some of the buildings were gone, but others still stood in the capricious way that good things can also happen in this world. People were working to tear down the wreckage and build anew. Many trees still stood and were still green, and the river still flowed nearby. These were signs that all was not lost and of hope for the future.

Now that the fires of that season have ended, I, too, feel hope and love building in my heart. I feel the support of my wife and family and friends and the love of the Lord to repair that which was lost to me and I hope resides in a better world to come. Wildfires can be healing as well as destructive as they clear out the dead undergrowth and give the trees room to grow and be healthier.

I pray that the fires that have burned through my soul will also be able to help me heal and grow in spite of the pain and destruction that it feels like this past year has wrought. I pray that you also can feel the healing and growth for yourselves in the coming new season.

Psalm 107:1
Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; his love endures forever. 2 Let the redeemed of the LORD tell their story— those he redeemed from the hand of the foe,3 those he gathered from the lands, from east and west, from north and south. 4 Some wandered in desert wastelands, finding no way to a city where they could settle. 5 They were hungry and thirsty, and their lives ebbed away. 6 Then they cried out to the LORD in their trouble, and he delivered them from their distress.

---

About the Author

Mark lives in Oregon with his lovely wife, Darla and enjoys reading, writing, playing games and working to make the world a better place. He currently serves CitySalt church as a sound engineer and on the church council.

Emotional Well-Being | Good Grief (and The Art of Being Human)

We are taught to be our best. To succeed. To learn quickly, sidestep mistakes and achieve. And no matter what, we learn to put on a happy face in public. But when we struggle with deep emotional pain (and we all do), this inauthentic social dance becomes doubly hard with the isolation it brings. And there is always unreasonable pressure to fix brokenness quickly - and move on.

We are all human, as God created us - in HIS image, and sometimes I feel that in our attempts to be better people, and better Christians, we send and receive a message that our humanity is inherently dirty and an automatic source of shame. Our attitudes and actions can certainly be sinful, but are we inherently bad?

We all love to label, and “mental illness” (or the more vanilla--depression or grief), are tossed around to help us try to understand. But it can be viewed as personal failure. Stigmas are an unfortunate byproduct of our social and religious systems, and because of that, I fear most of us don't seek help.

Even in an environment of compassion, making space for someone suffering in our midst can be clumsy and awkward, like the classic - what do you say at the funeral? Sadly, too often that conversation is avoided all together.

Speaking of grief, I used to think of it as an emotional health subset of a subset, applying only to the death of a loved one. Now with my Mom’s recent passing, it seems a lot bigger. Maybe a starting point for real personal change, not just a result of loss. Grief carries with it a lot of extra baggage - guilt, fear, anger, a certain disorientation, and certainly sometimes resignation (depression). But is there any good in it? I believe there is!

I am realizing that my sadness and bouts with depression stem from grieving over something lost. I yearn for something to be returned to its rightful owner. Or it goes even deeper, and farther back in my life, to things promised by friends and family but not received. This has led to gaps in my human experience, a feeling of "have I missed something?”

So beyond our creation story, made in God's image, to our redemption - can we learn something about grief from the life of Jesus?

I find it fascinating that his ministry covered the last three years of his time on earth, but why did the Father bring him here for three decades prior? To simply be human? Since Jesus was God, did he need to be raised and trained as a human child? Did he really need a spiritual apprenticeship in the temple?

All food for thought, but I suspect it had something to do with him leading us not just by word, but by example. He started sharing and modeling to his Jewish culture, then his legacy branched outward to the world. But he wasn’t just a hired actor. He didn’t “put on a show.” God lived his own humanity!

(Whew!)

Yes, Jesus was the absolute ultimate paradox - both God and human, and he experienced and displayed all kinds of human emotions. But did he grieve? In the Garden of Gethsemane, and with his disciples sleeping, he was alone in the night's darkness with his emotions as he anticipated his suffering. In a surprising display of his humanness, he asked the Father for another choice.

And later, on the cross, he cried out in the ultimate agony--separation. Why did the Father leave him alone?

Maybe Jesus wants to show us it's good to grieve. Maybe it's just part of our road back.

Sin and our fall from grace robbed us of many things. Our typical reactions are a misguided substitute for what was lost. It seems our social expectations and shame have diminished us so much that we’ve almost lost the art of being human. We don't like pain, but pain alerts us that something isn't right - for our own good. It's an authentic reaction.

I am learning to view grieving as an organic and positive process, a slow unlocking mystery, to a new level of wholeness.

---

About the Author

Terry is a man in constant motion to explore new horizons. He has a thirst for new places and faces, and a deep love for the natural world - with a weakness for waterfalls and sunsets. All of this venturing out helps to both ground and inspire him, because it opens him up to people, with their vast, collective array of experiences, outlooks and responses.

He finds all of this fascinating and sees that it has encouraged the growth of something crucial in his Christian development: empathy and compassion toward his brothers and sisters on this planet.