I loved that neighborhood. It was home.
Lightning.
One bolt came down from the sky, hit our fireplace, and punctured a hole in the gas line.
Homeless.
I sat on the front porch steps of my neighbor's home that night, glancing over to mine every few minutes. My face would return buried in my hands, between my knees. Family and friends would take turns sitting on those porch steps. Offering words of comfort, prayer, and some just plain silence.
Hopeless.
A friend, full of Jesus, living in her own dark days since losing her nephew just weeks before, said to me on those porch steps, "Home is where your family is."
Selfish.
My family was safe. My children were at their aunt's house, unaware of the terrifying scene I was witnessing.
We are blessed because we were not home. I have friendsand know of community members, however, that do not have the same ending we have. What they lost in their fire or other tragedies can never be replaced. God did not bless them any less. He does not love them any less. We each have a different story that will bring Him glory.
Grateful?
Yes. I am forever grateful for God's mercy that we were not home at the time of the fire.
Neighbors and friends retreated back to their homes. At 1:00 am we went to JP and Brooke's, Tyler's sister and her husband, home. The smoke lingered on my body, my hair was tangled , and black mascara stained my face. Brooke lent me her pajamas and showed me where all the toiletries were before I showered in her bathroom.
I was reminded again, I had nothing.
After washing the away the remnants of the horrible night, I went the bassinet that Heather, Tyler's cousin, had brought over, picked up my baby and got in the bed where my husband and Emary Kate lay. I wrapped my arms around my family and wept.
I realized then, I had everything.
"Home is where your family is." In JP and Brooke's master bedroom, I was home.
I did not sleep that night. Questions and fear consumed me once again. I prayed and my heart burned and pounded in my chest.
The next morning, my mom and dad brought me a t-shirt, yoga pants, and old sneakers. I put them on and drank a few sips of the tasteless coffee. I tried to eat, but as I chewed the food grew in my mouth. The lump that had developed in my throat after the phone call forbid me to swallow.
It was Sunday. I had planned to take the girls to church for the first time since Ellie's birth. Tyler was scheduled to fly out to California. Instead we were going to our home, which was mostly ashes and soot covered bricks, to see the damage in the light and rummage through what we could salvage.
The morning sun painted the September sky as it peeked over those familiar treetops, just like it did every day. The entrance to our neighborhood looked exactly the same. For a moment I thought it was all just a nightmare. As we turned the bend of the road I saw the same frightening scene. Except this time, it was worse. The dark shields so much, but in the light we see everything. The place where we once welcomed family and friends now greeted us with a red condemned sign and caution tape.
I was scared at first to go in the house. I was afraid something would fall on me. How can your fear your own home? Tyler finally convinced me to go in. I went in to the kitchen. I loved that room. And there, beneath ashes and broken glass, lay that misfit blanket I had tossed on the counter the day before. I took everything for granted.
My feet led me to Emary Kate's room. Her room was mostly water and smoke damage. Her favorite doll, Molly, was still sitting on her bed. She was hardly recognizable, covered in soot. As I picked her up, her eyes blinked (it's the kind that does, I'm not going crazy... at least until you read the next part), and as her eyes blinked a single tear of water came from her eye. Of course she's not real, but in that moment, I felt as though she was. The firemen worked fervently to put out the fire while saving pictures from the walls and anything that looked of value to us. Molly was never brought out. I grabbed up that doll and hugged her like she was my child. That precious doll, slightly discolored, still sits in Emary Kate's room today. It's the little things we take for granted.
Ellie's crib, where she slept for the first time the day before, was buried where the roof had fallen. Fear. "Oh God, thank you for your mercy, God. My baby was just sleeping there. You are a mighty God." I screamed out.
Our master bedroom room was next on my disastrous tour. I loved that furniture. I found it at a "yard sale". The lady was an interior decorator and it was a deal too good to pass up. It was the heaviest furniture. Tyler promised me that if we ever moved, it would go with the house. Well, it did. The bed was completely burned, but my bedside table looked nearly untouched. It's crazy what fire does to an inside of a house. On that table sat my Bible. It was covered in soot and it was damp. But as I opened it I was surprised to see the pages were untouched. God. His sacred Word. It can not be altered. It is eternal.
We salvaged a few things. Little things that I never really thought about what it would feel like to lose, felt so good to hold again.
My dear friend and her husband came over. She always teases me on being Mrs. Polished. So of course the first thing she noticed was a streak of black soot on my makeup less nose. She has a way of making me laugh instead of cry.
My sweet neighbor walked through the door less entry as I warned her she would ruin her shoes. She didn't care. She stood in the middle of my ashy, wet mess of a living room and hugged me so big.
Our Pastor brought a love offering that had been collected from our church family just hours before. I didn't want to take it, but he reminded me that we are all on this earth to love and help one another and it was my turn to be helped. I cried with joy and sadness. Joy that I was blessed with an amazing church home and sad that it was my turn to be a recipient of a love offering.
We give our love offerings never truly grasping the hurt, pain, or joy, that the receiver is feeling. I know now. I pray for them. Their trials. Their countless emotions.
I miss that house. It was what I always desire to be. A warm, southern welcome. A place of comfort and security. A happy place where friends and family gravitate to.
A local realtor bought the land and rebuilt the house, using a lot of the same foundation. We went in for a tour after it was finished. I feared, once again, that I would want to move back and Tyler would disagree. But, as we went in, I realized it was not home after all. We had lived with Tyler's parents for several weeks after the fire and were settled in our new house. And during all those transitions, everywhere we were, we were home.
Home... it really is where your family is.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
God's Grace shined as bright as that morning sun. My hometown wrapped their arms around us.
They deserve a story all their own.
And I intend to share it, because in this town, "The Bible Belt", we love Jesus and we do His work for those in need.
The people in this town have a bold love for Christ; it is just what our entire country is craving to experience...
Pslam 34:4
"I sought the Lord, and He heard me, and delivered me from all my fears."
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