Bridge Called Hope (19 page)

Holy cow!
Who am I trying to kid?! In the real world of distinguished chocolate consumers, thirty-eight pounds of chocolate would last … I don’t know … maybe
fourteen years?
But that’s in the real world … here on the ranch, it lasted exactly two and a half weeks … and that was only because we tried to
ration
it!

Doggone! Looks like I’m still out here in the desert of chocolatelessness. So, for all of my deeply compassionate sympathizers … keep on sympathizin’—because, from the looks of things … I’m gonna need it!

I
t was only days after Christmas, and holiday warmth continued to envelope me in all that this remarkable time of year embodies. The sun slipped beneath the frozen horizon, embracing all creation with a final, golden, good-night kiss. The temperature dropped with the fading glory of the sky as the sun continued its retreat toward bed.

After working in my office long enough to feel the outside chill coming in, I decided it was a good time to nuke a mug of peppermint tea and find my favorite fleece blanket to wrap around my legs.

The familiar chirp from my kitchen proclaimed that my tea was ready. I followed the sound back into the other room while tying my fleece blanket under my arms like a sarong. Not wishing to trip, I was aware of the remainder of the blanket that was dragging across the hardwood floor behind me. Smiling to myself, I knew that it was most certainly dusting a new path, giving evidence of where my broom hadn’t been in a while.

Once settled back into my chilly office, I was completely startled when the phone shattered the stillness around me. It was late … too late for a casual call. The tightness in my chest continued to grow as the unfamiliar male voice confirmed who I was. “Your number was relayed to us in case of an emergency.
Do you know Cheree and Jenna Smith?” I must have answered him affirmatively because he continued, “Ma’am, there has been a fire at the scene. Cheree and Jenna are unaccounted for. Can you come …?”

Horrifying thoughts rushed through my head. I was nearly certain Jenna had informed me earlier that she was going out with a group of her friends for a belated Christmas party at one of their homes.
Lord … where was Cheree?
As a hard-working single mother, Cheree usually enjoyed quiet evenings at home. “Did she go to bed early? What if she wasn’t awakened by the fire? If she made it out of her home, the authorities would know that; she would be there with them.
Dear Jesus
 …” My heart clenched in fear of the sickening picture that was beginning to take shape within my imagination.

They were a family of two; they needed each other intensely. I couldn’t imagine one surviving without the other … and I didn’t want to. As my mind continued to slip toward the unthinkable, I rationalized that no human being can replace another.
But, Lord, if you call me to, I am ready to open my arms, my heart, and my life to make a family … if theirs is no more.
The sheer weight of this possible outcome was not a scenario that I wanted to imagine, or even could.

In what felt like a single motion, I pulled on a pair of boots and a heavy coat while running across our frozen deck and down the fifteen steps into the garage. “Cheree and Jenna’s house is on fire!” I yelled above the blaring radio as I burst in on Troy, who was working on an old car. In fast forward, we quickly navigated the seven miles of snowy road between our homes.

While my eyes strained to see beyond the truck’s headlights through the darkness that lay before us, I couldn’t help
but replay how I first met Jenna and Cheree. Jenna had started coming to the ranch at the age of fourteen. She was the only child of her single and greatly devoted mother. Together they moved to Central Oregon for a new start, one which hopefully would nurture Jenna’s growing passion for horses.

It was easy to see that horses were her release. In today’s rapidly growing youth culture of super popularity and hyper-attention to appearance, style, and socializing, Jenna’s acute shyness and lack of “conformity” left her with no friends of any duration. In the world of her peers, she was completely alone.

Horses became the true family of friends that she so earnestly sought. They always accepted her. They never taunted her for being a brilliant, straight-A “nerd.” When she approached, they never ignored her. If she didn’t don the latest style, they never snickered. When she was growing so lanky and tall, they never made fun of her. For Jenna, horses were always steadfast and loyal. They asked no questions; instead they chose to adopt her exactly as she was. They kept all her secrets and didn’t ever tell another soul. They never let her down. In fact, they always bore her up, carrying her to a freedom that was unequalled anywhere else in her life.

With the horses on the ranch, it was obvious that she loved them … and they loved her. And that … was enough. On more than one occasion, while directing kids to find Jenna, I heard myself say, “Just look for the tallest girl on the ranch. She’s slender with auburn hair, blue eyes … you’ll find her with the horses …”

As the ranch reached out to her, she reached back. Jenna gave countless hours of volunteer time, summer after summer. When she outgrew her beloved-but-small horse, she donated Robby to the ranch so he could continue to rescue other little
ones just as he had rescued her. With this girl, even from the beginning, it was always apparent that she was never about serving herself; she was clearly, visibly, and unmistakably about serving others.

With incredible determination, planning, and hard work, Jenna and her mother, Cheree, were able to purchase a little house outside of town. It was a “humble beginning,” but it was
their
beginning. As a team, Cheree worked hard to provide the finances while Jenna was the young, strong back laboring to see all the chores to completion. Together they set about making their tired house … into a home.

When invited over for their “official” housewarming, the first thing I noticed when I entered through the front door was what appeared to be fragments of Jenna’s life captured in still photographs. One photo featured a preschool-age Jenna with a tiny pony. Another group of photos showed the incremental stages of her grade-school years. Still another picture showed Jenna beaming with shy pride as she stood in front of Robby, her equine soul mate, while holding up what I assumed was the very first ribbon that they had won together.

In front of a worn, floral couch rested a lovingly crafted gift that I learned was made by Cheree’s father. In what must have certainly taken a great deal of time, he had fashioned a coffee table made completely out of used horseshoes. Already it proudly displayed many keepsakes and artifacts of Jenna’s early youth.

Nearly every wall presented an era of Jenna’s burgeoning artistic adventures in a multitude of mediums. I couldn’t help but notice and appreciate that in all their efforts to make this simple structure a home … they had truly succeeded.

Few could have been more proud of them both than Troy
and I. It was with utmost admiration and respect that we invited Jenna to “officially” become a part of our ranch staff. She had worked so hard for so long, and within this process had changed so much. The once silent girl, who had known vicious rejection and even verbal and physical threats from her high school contemporaries, against great difficulties continued to “stay the course” and graduate with honors.

Each season seemed to herald a new venue for her personal growth. Step by step, I watched in complete awe as she methodically found her voice, her purpose … her self. Truly my life was made more rich by watching her purposeful transformation from a shy, lonely girl into an engaging, active, beautiful young woman.

When it was time for her to enter college, true to her nature, she researched every detail. Because she worked hard to attain perfect grades and had applied for many scholarships, Jenna was able to find most of the funding for her first year. With the generous help of several organizations, her living expenses were also covered. Jenna … was going to college.

Unfortunately, the onset of her second year of college brought some bad news with it. The financial aid she had secured her first year was not going to be renewed. With great sadness, she came to me and expressed that she was going to land far short of the monetary help that she needed to reach for her dreams of attending college for another year.

What first appeared as a crushing blow, after much prayer, transformed into something remarkable—just as Jenna had. Her lack became the perfect place for the Lord to demonstrate His amazing love by pouring out help—just for her—from what some might consider impossible circumstances. Her goal, her hope, her dream crashed through what appeared to everyone as
impenetrable odds … and became a reality. Her second year of college was provided through remarkable means … an envelope arrived at the ranch with nothing more than her name on the outside … and everything that she needed on the inside.

Troy’s abrupt turn onto the dirt road that led to their home yanked my attention back to the present. We bounced through the winter-inspired maze of potholes and washboards as we climbed up the low hillside upon which their house rested. As we approached, we could see countless emergency vehicles all with their lights rotating ominously though the smoky darkness. Even from my distant vantage, it was obvious … their simple home was destroyed. The roof that had once sheltered their living room, dining room, and kitchen had been reduced to a yawning hole that encircled a glowing tower of menacing orange flames.

It was a chaotic scene. Firemen were streaming in and out of the front door. Some were struggling to drag in a water hose while others appeared to be dragging out completely destroyed “fuel items.” These looked like bits and pieces of what used to be their furniture. The only fragment I could still recognize was the completely charred and partially denuded floral couch.

Troy jammed the truck into first gear and snapped off the key. I jumped out of the truck before it had completely stopped. A crowd had gathered and everyone seemed to be talking at once. I pushed my way through the milling group to a fireman and nearly shouted above the clamor, “Have you found the owners?” He cupped his ear in an attempt to better hear my question. I repeated it with more volume. He motioned toward another fireman and pointed, clearly indicating that he was the man in charge.

Panic began to rise in my throat as I scanned the gathering
crowd for Cheree and Jenna. They were no where to be found.

I ran to the fireman who had been indicated to me. I assumed he was the incident commander, and from a short distance I identified myself: “You just called me. My name is Kim Meeder. Do you have any word on Cheree and Jenna?”

As he strode toward me, I could see that he was talking on a cell phone in his right hand while giving various commands on the radio gripped in his left. I felt like I was shouting above the bellowing fire hoses and radios just to be heard. Wordlessly, by simply holding up one index finger, he asked me to stop.

A virtual lifetime was passing through my thoughts as I waited.
Where are they?
I wondered as I lingered in the darkness. The flames that knifed through the roof were subsiding now. The firemen, who were now covered with soot, continued to move in and out of what was now the burned-up shell of my friends’ home. There was no rush or urgency in their movements.

Cheree and Jenna could
not
still be inside … they would know by now. The firemen’s actions told me that the building was cleared. That’s why they called me … because they
don’t
know where they are. A weak wave of relief moved through me as I reasoned that they were
not
inside but somewhere else … safe.

The fireman’s hand lowered as he stepped toward me again. His face registered an awkward mix of stress, fatigue, and relief. He pulled in a deep breath and exhaled in a flurry of white. “It has been confirmed that Cheree and Jenna are spending Christmas with their family three hours away in Portland.”

I, too, exhaled in a flurry of white breath. They were safe … for now, that was all that truly mattered.