Jim and I just returned from a four-day glamping trip in the mountains. The pictures we had seen of the place were glorious-towering trees, hammocks tucked into peaceful corners, and the kind of beauty that invites you to breathe deeply and rest. Before we arrived, we connected with the host, who shared
that a massive fire had destroyed much of their property, and they were only beginning to rebuild.
There was a new cabin with a bed, a separate toilet, and a few amenities, but it was not what the
original pictures had shown. Still, we went-and it was amazing.
Nearly a quarter of a million acres burned in that fire, and the landscape had been forever changed. Yet
even in the devastation, there was beauty everywhere. Nature has a way of finding life again. We saw charred tree trunks with fresh green shoots emerging from them. Wildflowers blooming in unexpected places. Baby trees pushing up through the ashes. Yes, it was heartbreaking to witness the destruction, but it was also deeply moving to see the new beginnings.
I think communities can be like that too.
Sometimes tragedy strikes and everything feels ruined. Hope seems gone. Nothing will ever be the
same. And yet, in the middle of loss, new life begins to rise. New beginnings emerge. Life finds a way
forward.
Beauty often comes in unexpected forms. New beginnings can feel frightening and uncomfortable. Change disrupts what was familiar and asks something of us. We all have to decide how we will respond. Do we dig in our heels and long only for what was? Or do we move forward with open eyes, willing to explore what the new season might bring?
In our lifetime, there will be moments that feel like a wildfire sweeping through everything we hold dear changing the landscape of our lives and altering the future we imagined. We can prepare where we are able, but some change will come whether we are ready or not.
When it does, we face a choice: become bitter because life is no longer what it was, or begin the hard
and holy work of rebuilding-creating something new from what remains.
Sometimes ashes become the soil for the next season of growth.