I looked to what seemed a handbreadth away, at smoke billowing in the Colorado mountains, tens of thousands of feet in the air. I snapped picture after picture with racing thoughts of packing our things and getting out.
Amongst the uncertainties, I knew I would have to write about this experience though I didn't yet know what I would say.
My brother, my sisters and their families along with my parents stood on the little road that connected our cabins. We went back and forth as to whether it was time to leave. We hated our time being cut short. And being the hard-headed family that we are, no one wanted to be the sacrificial coward who left first (followed by the rest of us).
Evacuating is the pits. Being forced to leave in the face of danger brings about feelings of panic and fear of the unknown.... or the known. -Not so much for us, but for those who are forced to leave their homes and belongings, abandoning their physical sense of security.
If being forcibly removed from fire (or any nature threat like a hurricane) brings about those feelings, what is it like when life places you in the middle of a raging fire and says
"Stay right there"?
Though my personal inescapable life fires have been small, I hope that my reaction changes to one mimicking a man whose words shaped good thoughts about the fires we find ourselves in.
The Durango Herald spoke with the Wolf Creek Lodge Ski Resort owner, Dave Pitcher last week. This is a man whose dreams and livelihood were literally in danger of "going up in smoke".
Pitcher seemed almost at peace with the situation. He described wildfire as a natural process – the light at the end of the tunnel of what has been a slow death of millions of spruce trees that blanket both sides of Wolf Creek Pass.
“While it's a little disconcerting to see big fires, in the long run, it's probably good for the forest's health,” he said.
Referring to the burning of thousands and thousands of acres, knowing there remained the possibility of his ski lodge being decimated, Pitcher said-
“It might be somewhat different to look at, but it's still a beautiful place,” he said.
Might I be so faithful, so hopeful when faced with destruction or my own personal loss.
My fires, though small, I face kicking and screaming. I think that's a most normal reaction.
But there are some fires we can't escape. And much like the West Fork Complex Fire that is ravaging over one-hundred square miles of Southern Colorado, some fires can't be controlled.
While fires urge us to be resolved, fighting with all means necessary, some fires require us to, at the same time, resign.
Hundreds of men, a number of fire trucks, helicopters and airplanes are stationed around the Colorado fire ready to be employed. Yet they know they hold no power over a fire with one-hundred foot flames powered by 50 mph winds. In their season of resignation they wait. And hopefully they trust, knowing that though the fire is bigger than them, there is One bigger than the fire.
Because wild fires aren't extinguished by men alone or things man-made. They're fought by the one who rules nature.
They're fought by One who determines to bring beauty from ashes.
I find it no coincidence that I spoke with a dear friend one day before this fire exploded out of control. My friend is facing her own raging fire, one she has little ability to fight on her own. I pray she experiences God like never before in her wait. I pray she knows she has friends, fighting in prayer. I pray he fills her with a hope that extinguishes all fear. And I trust that he will bring beauty to her life unimagined.