Smoke wakes me at 4 a.m. It’s hard to breathe. I fumble windows closed, knowing that 45 minutes south of here, acreage is blazing—people already evacuated.
There’s another wildfire north of us. Is this acrid air due to a wind shift?
Or a new conflagration nearby?
Dry, high-90s weather has parched lands and lawns. Kindling, kindling everywhere.
Soon after we moved into this house, 28 years ago, a wildfire threatened the neighborhood. Dreamer made it home just before the highway closed, flames approaching both sides of the road.
Back then we had:
2 kids
2 dogs
2 cats
4 kennels
2 cars
“One box each,” I instructed the girls. Having a little time for curation, we sorted our personal treasures. Dreamer and I took turns staying up that night beside the radio. Mercifully, our home stood, the wildfire doused. For the rest of that summer I kept my box packed.
In today’s predawn haze, even with the windows closed the air seems charred, thicker, sooty.
I practice shallow breathing, bury my nose beneath the sheet. My former rescue box held items long since bequeathed to our daughters. Now, boxes crammed for Goodwill await in another room—recent acts of curation in-progress. I’m so attached to my stuff. Everything has a story. Still, as energy wanes, streamlining beckons.
Currently, we own 1 dog, 2 cars, and a behemoth RV—way more space to cache treasures should a wildfire impel flight.
What would I pack?
- Dog
- Mom’s bracelet, bought with her first paycheck
- Dad’s ski sweater, knit by Grandma
- Clipper ship, MacGyvered from scrap by my genius brother
- Skeleton key to childhood home
- Photo of that magical home
- Heart pendant from Dreamer
- USB stick: my best writing and photos
- Purse and personal papers
What about lucky shoes? The beloved book, long out of print? My journals?
At 67, how do I define irreplaceable?
A verse comes to mind: “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
On demand or not, where does curation end? Would I cushion my 3-foot carved angel in favorite clothing? Or simply remind myself God never leaves us. Ever.
What would you pack?
You might also enjoy: Fire and Rain
“How do I define irreplaceable?” I am 69; stuff isn’t as important to me as it once was. But for the sake of children and grands, I’d probably take items similar to yours, Laurie–things of sentimental value that they might especially appreciate as time goes by: old photographs, my laptop (with many more recent pictures stored), a USB stick with numerous documents (I’m so glad you mentioned that, Laurie, or I might have forgotten!), my mother’s Bible, and HER mother’s Bible. I can wear the diamond double-pendant necklace that belonged to my mother-in-law, and I already wear my grandmother’s ring (which she received for her 14th birthday in 1904). I’m sure if I took a tour of the house I’d find more things I “had” to take–given the room and the time to do so! Praise God he would already be with us and see us through. Praying you and your home are shielded from the fires, Laurie!
Nancy, it is such a delight to read what friends would take with them. You and I think alike in wanting to pass things down to our children and grandchildren. I wear my mom’s wedding band every day. At least I think it’s hers, it might be her mother’s. My sis and I couldn’t be sure when we went through jewelry left behind. How absolutely wonderful to have those Bibles from your mother and grandmother! Talk about hearts and histories now held in our hands thanks to those who loved us first.
I have stationary sitting on my desk; four letters waiting to be written. Well only three now. I actually put one in the mail this week. I am pretty sure I save my heart for letters. Treasured words, deep love. I think I would grab my stationary, my dogs, and I will be dragging my husband, a true go down with the ship guy. In the meantime, I will learn the magic of flash drives. And keep it near my stationary, ready for quick departure.
Roberta, I bet the recipients tie your missives into bundles with ribbon and save them. Letters written with deep heart seem increasingly rare, precious. I’ve read a couple books of published letters and envied the correspondents their relationship and incomparable troves.
Until reading this, I had forgotten about several bundles I’ve saved over the years (in a chest down the basement) and now I know I want them in my go-box too. But first, I’m going to re-read them. What a gift to me your words are today. Thank you!
Goodness me, Laurie – all your article inspired! So much so that I set out to write a response immediately after reading it – and it turned into a full blown article that I sent out to others on our Malvern Mashal. Perhaps the thoughts might be of interests to your readers here.
My heart is full for all who have suffered the extreme loss of homes and loved ones as the result of the devastating wildfires which have claimed lives all around the world, most notably in Greece. May Jesus be with every single one – whether in Greece, America, Japan, or in so many other countries that are being affected by these extreme weather conditions. And sensing the need to pray beyond the initial evacuations and survival trauma as people find themselves emerging into charred and desolate landscapes, internally as well as externally.
Reading the opening verse of Zechariah 10 was an encouragement to pray for the obvious:
Ask the Lord for rain in the springtime; it is the Lord who sends the thunderstorms.
He gives showers of rain to all people, and plants of the field to everyone.
(Zech. 10:1)
Yet when we set one Scripture against another we find a paradox. Do you remember the insight the Lord gave through the highly lucid and succinct eighth century BC prophet Haggai? “Therefore, because of you the heavens have withheld their dew and the earth its crops. I called for a drought on the fields and the mountains, on the grain, the new wine, the olive oil and everything else the ground produces, on people and livestock, and on all the labor of your hands.” (Haggai 1:10-11)
What could possibly have driven the Lord to such an extreme response? It’s when we turn to passages such as 2 Timothy 3:1-5 that we find how relevant these examples are to our own generation; that people are putting their own homes, interests and other preoccupations way ahead of His concerns.
As it was then so it is in the hearts of many today. We live in the days of the highest ever global living standards, but we have made pleasure our god. In that sense these potential ‘best of times’ can easily become, in the Lord’s eyes, the ‘terrible’ times that the Scriptures warn of.
The last time we had a serious heatwave in Britain was in 1976. People then were extremely concerned (as they are again becoming now) at the low level of reserves in the reservoirs. But the Lord spoke to one intercessor, “you are concerned at the shortage of water, but I am concerned that there has not been a serious revival in England since the days of Wesley.”
These words from Zechariah, Haggai and Timothy – along with Jesus’ stark insight and reminder that you highlighted, Laurie, that “where our treasure is there our hearts will be.” (Matt. 6:21) So may it be that when ask the Lord for rain, we are actually to ask for both the much needed relief of physical precipitation and the spiritual ‘water’ that makes the joy of knowing Jesus real in people’s hearts.
I would love to offer you the Sound cloud of this musical improvisation to accompany our prayers, especially during this three day period of mourning that Alexi Tsipras, the Greek Prime Minister has called for:
https://soundcloud.com/ruach-breath-of-life/viola-worship
God bless you all in His protective love,
Robert and Rosalind
http://www.ruachministries.org
Dear Robert, thank you for this wise, inspired response, sweeping in its scope yet close as the next breath. I am delighted to share its entirety with the readers here, as well as the soundtrack you so graciously offer us.
Thank you for widening the focus. At the time of writing the post, I was not aware of the fires in Greece and the heatwave assaulting Great Britain. May the rains come, within and without. Which reminds me to pray for Pennsylvania where too much rain is wreaking havoc. Lord have mercy.
Such a great question to ponder: how do I define irreplaceable?
So sorry you even have to think about packing a box. Praying all the fires are extinct guished
(okay, that last “word” that the phone chose kinda makes me smile. Extinct fires… wishful thought? Hmmm…I know fires bear their own fruit; just doesn’t seem beneficial to the affected humans, right?)
Back to praying…
Carol, things have greatly calmed for now in our region. Thank you for praying!
“Extinct fires” —maybe your smartphone is on to something. 🙂 I also think of the lodge pole pines out here, whose gelatinous cones only open when exposed to wildfire heat. So many puzzling, ingenious designs in our world.
You’ve got me thinking now as to the human aspect, and this haiku comes to mind.
“Since my house burned down, I have a better view of the rising moon.”
Is it freedom? Or simply putting a good face on things? Not sure I know . . . What do you think?
Freedom when El Shaddai is home, I think. Freedom, too, when grief is freely expressed while faith still clings.
Carol, what a beautiful answer, thank you.
What an interesting question, I seem less attached to my things these days. I’m not sure what I would take. I guess it depends on wether there was any hope of returning. Fire , war , eviction , all traumatic . Take only what you can carry ..
Your question brings me to images of refugees fleeing a war zone ..children in tow..
My heart breaks when I consider what they were even thinking …what’s more precious than life .. or life for your children or grandchildren.
Larry, thank you so much for your observations. Your reference to refugees dramatically alters my sense of proportion on this question. “Take what you can carry.” My mind’s filling with wrenching images as I type. I’m bowled over yet again by how shielded I am and have been, all my years.
I want to be less attached to my stuff. Lifelong, eccentric collector, that’s me—and yes, partly because I’m an artist and thrive on creating new visuals from unlikely materials, but streamlining holds increasing appeal as days go by. Think I’ll pack another box for GW today . . .
Wow such a timely essay for me, personally. Just got home late tonight as Mike and I help an octogenarian widow being evacuated from her flat of many years, and not because of fire, but because of rotten landlords (Christian ones, no less!), who are booting her out with less than a month’s notice. Really mean-spirited, callous, unconscionable. I threaten to call the local news station who loves this sort of news and makes it a sensational production of it. I threaten to picket in front of her flat. But what good would that do? So it’s all hands on deck. It’s been hard for her–so many memories, so many treasures, so much who-knows-what. So we sort, and she selects. We pitch, then we pack a box and move to the next heap of stuff. For years, I keep intending to sort through all my stuff–I mean, ALL–every jot and tittle of it–mainly books and papers and music which weigh me down. I start well, and then trudge through the bog of overwhelm. Too much stuff. Too many failures. Too many decisions. But I told Mike when we drove home tonight, that we need to start again and see this through–all the way through. I”m so sorry about these horrific fires, Laurie, that are endangering all you hold dear. Praying you will be fine!!! And not meaning to be flippant whatever, I need to light a fire under myself and clear the clutter so I can experience life to the full, life abundantly sans an abundance of what I no longer need. How many books can I read at this stage? (and yes, perish the thought, I *have* pitched books before)! Please keep us posted on your safety. Seems to me from all you write, you already know where your treasure lies.
Love
Lynn
What an immeasurable gift your time is to her in pressing, unjust circumstances! You paint a compelling picture of your threesome as you “sort and select, pick and pitch . . .then on to the next heap.” You’ve surely pulled her back from the brink of overwhelm.
Lynn, you’re not flippant at all, but rather like someone in my balcony with matches and a gleam in her eye, a vision of freer living (no relation to arson!), cheering me on as I contemplate downsizing alongside disaster preparedness. Looking around my office where I’m writing you now, I’m aware of a zillion files: for performing, writing, teaching, learning, and four walls of books. Perhaps I start one room at a time; better yet, one wall at a time!
Prayers for you and Mike as you meet the apartment deadline with your friend.
Oh Laurie!! Thank you, thank you, THANK you for your untold graciousness to me. I can’t thank you enough. I watched news last night of all the fire devastation. And as I went to bed, I was in tears over this post–all about me. This should have been entirely about YOU and your perilous situation. I didn’t know what to do, whether to comment again, or hope that you would read my heart. I decided to leave well enough alone. And here you are with such gracious words of encouragement, always thinking of others. I do apologize. Will be praying for your horrific situation, and that that fire stops and leaves your home in tact. I’m so sorry.
xoxo
Lynn
Lynn, dear heart, we’re safe now. Fires may break out again, it’s true, but we live in the West by choice. Fire goes with the territory. Just as refining fire goes with spiritual terrain for us all. I am grateful for ALL your responses, happy to pray alongside you for your dear friend on the move.. 🙂
I have thought about this many, many times with wildfires in our state and California when I was visiting.
-My mother’s Bible
-Insurance papers
-my kids’ two plaster of paris handprints
–and man, I need to put my writing and photos on a flashdrive!
((no doubt there is more, but this is spontaneous thought coming through my fingertips)).
Praying for continued safety my friend.
Jody, precious possessions. I wish I had handprints from my kids. And yes, get all that brilliance saved!
So appreciate your prayers. Two homes lost in the fire on the south side of Spokane. I think of Rita Dove and Paul Willis, surviving house fires, losing some of their work. Irreplaceable.
I’ve often thought of that question. And it’s a great question to ask. It helps me realize what is unnecessary and what is necessary. But really in the long run, the only necessary thing is our lives. However, my journals and pictures of the children would be the first treasure to pack . I hope I’m never in a situation where I have to scramble in five minutes. Overwhelming. I hope the air is cleared up in your neighborhood.
Gena, your sentence stopped me. “Our lives” —yes! You’ve drilled down to the heart of it, especially if there’s no time for curation. May fire and home never occupy the same sentence in your life and writing. You’ve weathered wildfires enough of soul, body, and spirit!
Love hearing from you today, friend. I know how busy you are. Thanks for writing.
I had the same thought . . . that in light of a sudden disaster, my family and I would flee. I’ve heard of those who have perished trying to save their possessions. And I forgot to say: I’d take letters and journals and … wow, may I take my computer? Sadly, our poor doggie died in May. I would have grabbed him in a nanosecond.
Lynn, hope your computer’s smaller than mine! Do you keep your files on a flashdrive? Much lighter to carry . . . 🙂
I am so so sorry to hear about your dog.