THE NEW DAY

On December 3, 2017 the Thomas Fire changed my life. One hour after it began, my home, along with hundreds of others, had turned to ash. What you are about to read is one journal entry following that devastating night.

As I woke up this morning and looked out the window, the day looked like a typical Ventura autumn day. The sky is clear, a crisp breeze blowing off the ocean and the sound of commuters starting their cars heading off to work. Something was missing, blankets of smoke crawling through the streets like dragons’ breath scratching at throats and causing eyes to tear. For those who lost their homes in the third largest fire in California history, what took years to build took less than a few hours to destroy as the sun rose along the gold coast, the ocean breeze blew, and the day acted as if nothing had ever happened. Not in a taunting “Life sucks for you” kind of way, but with a gentle honoring question, “Can you see it? Now what will you do with it?” The day is referring to what’s left when a fire consumes its prey. 

Fire has been a part of my life in one form or another. My dad was a captain for the Huntington Beach Fire Department and for a season I worked on a fire crew for the California Department of Forestry, just like the ones who fought the Thomas fire. I’ve seen first hand what it’s like to stand near a 20-foot wall of flames and I know what it’s like to hold the ash of my home in my hands. So what’s left? What is the day referring too? The new life that will grow and the pure gold that remains.

The fire didn’t break me, it pushed me, it applied pressure, it drove me to an emotional place I’ve never been before. But the fire did something it wasn’t expecting, it changed my perspective. It did just the opposite of what we initially see in the flames, smoke and devastation. It made me more determined. It helped me to see what I truly value. It pushed me into a corner like a school bully trying to intimidate and crush my life. But what it didn’t expect is, like the school bully, it also pushed my face into a confrontation with that I truly value. When the smoke cleared, my vision cleared, what the fire didn’t expect is that it gave me clarity of purpose.

Pain is for a moment. The smoke will clear. Can you see it? The new life that will grow and the pure gold that remains. Now what will you do with it?