Fire and Water: The tension between Destruction and Creativity

Fall has officially graced the Northwest with its chilly nights and cool, foggy morrnings that gloriously morph into sunny afternoons. I actually really love the bi-polarity of the grey, melancholy morrnings and the cheerful, azurine afternoon skies. The sunsets during this time of year are a like a delicious nightcap to a textured day woven with blues and reds. I walked the short distance to Safeway last night in a search for drink to complement our Pizza dinner and needed to shield my eyes from the blazing sun at 6:30 in the evening. The sun appeared strong enough that it might leap down onto earth and bring both light and destruction. Perhaps it was a foreshadowing...
I made the walk back from Safeway, arriving home to a deliciously smelling kitchen full of Italian sausage aroma, and began cutting up broccoli, with my Safeway purchase of Hansen's diet root beer in hand when I heard blood-curdliing screams coming from outside. I tuned my ears and listened closer, as I tried to distinguish whether the cries were one of joy or one of terror (the threshold between the two can often be narrow). After a few seconds, it registered that it was a scream of terror, and I quickly opened the door to our porch and heard a woman's desperate shrieks as she stood by the side of the road with her Golden Retriever, watching her home go up in flames. I quickly alerted Joel, who was on the phone, that we needed to call 911.
We ran out to the sidewalk, as there were many neighbors already responding to her hysterical shrieks. She had just emerged from her house and was limping away from it at the encouragement of the nextdoor neighbors. She was convulsing and gasping for air, as the shock and utter terror was too much to take in.
My eyes filled with tears as I watched in horror the angry orange flames consuming her house. Less than 10 minutes ago, I had walked by and there had been peace. Life has a way of turning in on itself within seconds to reveal its destructive underbelly.

There is something about fire that deeply disturbs me. It always has, since I was young. Burned out houses have always intrigued me in a dark sense. There is something haunting about them. After the immanent destruction, only bones are left: the life and spirit that reside are vanished. Apart from the obvious loss of keepsakes like photos, for example, there is something symbolic about fire that is so disturbing. I felt so deeply for the horror that was taking place in front of this woman's eyes. All I could do was say a prayer for her, as several people were already gathered around her. I can only imagine how overwhelmed she must feel. Life is so fragile, no? There is so much that can easily slip from our perceived control. May we have a secure peace in spite of the precariousness of life. Praise to Christ in whom all things hold together. In the same breath, though, I must say that I do not understand how this can be when there is so much destruction.

Yet I find hope in that often destruction can give way to life. Destruction is never the final story. That is what I praise God for, yet I weep for the woman who has must find the strength to begin again. She is without a home. It must feel so disorienting to have life stand still; to have to locate oneself in the midst of the void that is created when belonging and memories and place are ruined. God, may you be near to her in a tangible and experiential way. Be near to all of us who constantly walk the tension between destruction and creativity, each one flowing into the other. May we pay attention to our own destructive tendencies that lie dormant, like dry grass so vulnerable to the stray flame. Be our water, Lord, in the midst of this dry land.