Forest Fires

When I was in college I knew a guy who was a forestry major and firefighter in the rugged mountain-scape around Ellensburg, Washington.  He told me awesome stories about firefighting, using what we know about slope, direction of a breeze, and digging trenches to guide a roaring fire towards extinguishing itself out.  But most interesting, I think, were his accounts of curing tree diseases that struck me most deeply.  Sometimes an entire area was so infected with illness that to seize the spread of the disease to more trees in neighboring areas, they would strategically create a controlled forest fire to purify the ecosystem.  Not only did this help the health of the forest, but the fire also created nutrient-rich ash for new life to thrive, and some trees even have fire-triggered pinecones that release seed only during blazing infernos.  To save the forest, they burned the trees.

I think sometimes we encounter forest fires like this.  I've had situations where relationships were razed to the ground, and it was excruciatingly painful, because of course burning hurts and smoke is blinding and choking.  But when the air is clear again, and the wounds have scabbed over, something wonderful happens.  Where it was once clogged with illness or unhealth is now an open and vast field, allowing room for something better to grow again, something new.

It's interesting how these forest fires take shape in our lives.  A misunderstanding with a dear friend can lead to a deeper friendship.  An argument with a spouse can bring about new understanding and clarity.   I've had bad mom moments that have left me so greif-stricken and bereft with guilt that my only choice was to change, and (hopefully) become someone more like the mom I wanted to be.  A beloved person in my life had an extramarital affair, and the relationship with her husband was completely and understandably torched.  But their commitment to God and each other allowed them to plant seeds of new growth in their marriage through lots of hard work on themselves and their relationship, and these many years later they are perfectly aligned together and are showered with blessings.  The fire that took my family away from me remains a vacant lot, yet I can't linger there.  Sometimes the vacant lot needs to be vacant because that's the healthier option, the better option.   It's sitting fallow.  So I water the field where my boys and husband are, where my friends are, and grow among their boughs.

My dear Austrian friend, Judith, has a life I admire and sometimes envy, as she travels around the world living very simply in a small villa in Spain, or a city in Sweden, or a thatch hut on the beach in Columbia.  Keeping track of her has been a joyous challenge of the 15 years of our friendship, and her email was currently the only thread I had connecting us.  With our email account stolen last week, blocking our access to our contact list, I bemoaned losing her completely.   How was I to find her now as she galavanted around the world?

Driven to find her contact info I did what any red-blooded American would do, and googled her, discovering only a paper from Graz University she had published on psychology while in grad school, nothing else.  When Aaron suggested I revisit our old email address I argued that it was dead, and wouldn't be able to access.  But I remembered our old password and after all this time, was able to log in and find her address!

That was a success, but more, I discovered that people had still be sending us emails to that address unbeknownst to us.  One email was from a Korean student I had taught ages ago as a recent immigrant student in 7th grade.  After she moved into high school, I privately tutored her in language arts, and I continue to have a deep fondness for her all these years later.  And there in this dead email account I found from her a note, sent just six weeks ago.

"Dear Mrs. V.  
How are you?  I'm suffering from the famous "what will I do with my life after college?" syndrome.  Can we get together and talk?"

I couldn't get over the luck of finding this, and replied right away.  But it doesn't end there.

About three weeks ago, I had a conversation with a friend at church that wounded and confused me severely.  Honestly, it broke my heart.  We had gone to Africa in the same group where we bunked together in a cinder-block shack suffering as sisters would the braying donkeys outside our window and the Muslim call to prayers throughout the sweltering nights.  I respected her and looked up to her, but that conversation left me feeling gutted.  I felt the best thing to do was prune the friendship and move on.

Yet there in this dead email account's in box was a note from her.  

"I feel I owe you an apology after our exchange tonight.  I hope if I have offended you, that you can forgive me for my insensitivity toward you."  

So as much as I've complained and moaned about the inconvenience of our email being stolen, I now see it as a blessing.  I never dreamed of visiting that old email account until I had lost Jude's address.  And after the fire I shuffled through the ash to discover wonderful, green, and thriving signs of life.