Forged
A communal way of being, poetry on deconstructing/reconstructing fire, and a travel-themed giveaway
This morning the news broke that the San Diego wildfire that has been burning for a week near our border has finally been 100% contained. Although our nation has rightfully had their eyes on the fires raging in and around Los Angles, sending hazy horizons to us down south, it wasn’t until last week that we started seeing blazes popping up nearby as the Santa Anna winds blew over the dry chaparral.
Four other fires ignited in my regular stomping grounds around the homes of friends and next to the beach I frequent the most. Even though the threat of fire is rhythmic—this worry is a staple of autumn along with gourds and pumpkin spice—wildfire is unusual for us in the winter. Typically the local hills would be covered in bright greens and wildflowers by now.
A communal practice
Everywhere I went last week, hope lined the pleasantries of strangers as we awaited the rains predicted to break. I was just one of many anticipating the wet weather. I wondered if this was what it was like to be a farmer, to be part of a community desperately dependent on rain to bring the earth to life. It gave me a sense of rootedness to be at the mercy of nature’s elements that most affect our region.
New fires always ignite the retelling of each individuals’ wildfire past. It is a sacred communal practice to share the stories of near-misses, danger, and the destruction caused by natural disasters.
I learned that the street my great-grandmother lived on, with its beautiful garden, burned down in one of the recent L.A. fires. But maybe good riddance, because I also discovered that the people living on this same street in the 50’s(?) actively advocated against Black families from moving in.
I laughed when my mom confessed that once she told me to pack an evacuation bag when a fire was nearby simply to get my worried-self out from under her feet. I did so dramatically, with big crocodile tears, laying out a blanket and laying within it my childhood version of “prized possessions.”
Friends would tell me about the great fire of 2005, the Cedar Fire, and how the sky turned red, while others watered their roofs with hoses. I even heard how the infrastructure in chaos led some neighborhoods to the brink of anarchy.
It is through these conversations that elders pass-down the wisdom of survival, asking questions like, “Do you store at least five gallons of water for each family member?” and “Try not to buy a house surrounded by Eucalyptus trees. They might be lovely but they light up like gasoline because they contain so much oil.” Through them, we are reminded that we are woven into the fabric of our history, and even more importantly, they comfort us that we aren’t alone in our experiences.
Community in suffering
I wonder if I would have felt more prepared for suffering if I had been among a wider community of “elders,” ones who’d walked through hardship of chronic illness, the trauma of near-death body collapse, and pregnancy trauma before I found myself there. From what I’ve seen, most people don’t find a wider community experienced with their particular brand of suffering until they are in the middle of their own chaos.
Why is that? Its not that I didn’t know people who’d gone through some of these. Were they just quiet, without language or a forum to share their experiences? Or was I just not listening, tuning their narratives out due to their lack of relevance to my own life?
Just as it is dangerous to be unprepared for the wildfire’s burn, we put ourselves at risk by not connecting with and learning from those who’ve experienced suffering. This is a danger for our souls.
Part of a whole
Before the rains came at the beginning of this week—yay!—fire was still at the forefront of our minds. After praying together, a friend of mine shared with our group a nearly poetic and resonating thought she’d been meditating on.
In nature, fire is always a catalyst to release new life from the ground. It is an aged metaphor reminding us that even in destruction we are forged.
In the context of being a believer, all trouble, persecution, and suffering can be purposed to grow us towards maturity. And not just to become individually wise “elders of the faith,” like Jesus-Yodas. We aren’t called “bodies of Christ” but “the body of Christ” for a reason. Rather, we as a people—the followers of Jesus—are called to be one, unified, and loving each other like family, fully, and sacrificially.
When fire comes, it can forge us as a community. I’ll argue that we will continue to experience the fire, generation after generation, until we, all of us together as a whole, finally look like Jesus.
Redefining “Church”
Looking at the fractured Church, I wonder if that is even possible—for us to be one.
Then I remember that the Body of Christ is often not what names itself “church,” but describes those who in faith follow, even when it is unpopular and counter-religious. Then, in their messy and flexible state-of-being, they allow themselves to be shaped by God into a body that is widely diverse. Weirdly, through this definition of Church, it actually feels possible.
Forged: A Poem
Burning
This year of
Embers, fire, ash
Even when it looks like
Devastation & destruction
Its design brings us together
To love as Jesus loves
Drawing us closer
Not torn apart
Unforgiving
Offended
Fighting
Wildfire
Leveling
And revealing
What had been hidden
Heat evens the playing field
Where God brings forth his own
His people, reformed to be his mirror
For there always the promise:
Raising a remnant
Transcending
Religion
Rebuilding
On a heart of trust
An identity of belonging
And a community bonding
Not by dogma but through
Trial and shared faith
We become
As one
Smoke now
Clouding the sky
A sign of impending threat
Can also be a wilderness guide
We can't just stay deconstructing
Without a path forward
Reconstructing
For hot flame
Cleanses:
It purposefully
Renews, resetting
Our spiritual biorhythms
Now the wraithish pillar lingers
Not for congesting our souls
But intentionally, as a lead
For we're unshackled
And need this guide
Wayfaring onward
To the flourishing
Familial grounds
January Giveaway: Travel Themed!
I forgot to send you this month’s giveaway info in my last message! I wanted to give you a chance to enter before January totally ends to win my travel-themed giveaway.
The hope is to get The Life Mapping Workbook and curriculum, Justice-Minded Kids: Bite sized challenges to empower kids to practice justice, compassion and love (also on pdf) to the people they would encourage, help, and empower. I am coming into the last two months of my book launch, culminating at the end of March!
I am a big fan of this month’s travel themed giveaway. I wouldn’t mind winning it myself. Here is what it includes:
A "Fall in Love" canvas wall hanging (or can stand on its own)
A "do justice, love mercy, walk humbly" tote from @thehappygivers ☕
A set of many retro travel poster postcards (great for cards or wall decor)
An adult travel/adventure coloring-puzzle book
A "Be a good human" vinyl sticker
The classic book that got me into changemaking decades ago, The Irresistible Revolution
A travel journal (which is nice if I say so myself)
⏩ Choose one item to do from my launch list! The winner is chosen at random the first couple days of February, so you have a few days to ENTER HERE!
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See What’s New on my Patheos column: Flourishing Faith and Justice
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Love the poem! A lot to absorb but my initial response is to the phrase "Rebuilding...On a heart of trust...an identity of belonging and a community bonding ". It reminds me of the bumper sticker on my mom's car that says Love over Fear which I think is based on a Bible verse that says perfect love casts out all fear.
Perhaps this perfect love is in "connecting and learning from those who’ve experienced suffering."
I’ve been watching the maps out there, especially since I have family nearby. Love these reflections. It’s really humbling to realize just how much we depend on elements beyond our control. And I love how you pointed out the way we process past struggles together when new ones come. That kind of sharing can be so unifying and hope-building for a community in harm’s way.