Bridge Called Hope (20 page)

On our return trip home, I couldn’t even begin to fathom
what it would be like to lose
everything
. Yes, one might say that they are only “things,” but they are all the intrinsic things that have unique value to us. I pondered the fact that I keep the last ten years of photographs under my bed, my grandmother’s bowls in my kitchen, one of my mother’s few remaining oil paintings in the living room, and an entire dresser filled with countless gifts, cards, and letters from my “extended family” from all over the United States and beyond. Yes, they are all just “things”—not one of which I could ever imagine being replaced. These “things” represent little bits and pieces of us—our life and our history.

Even though insurance would cover some of their “hard costs,” I tried to understand the magnitude of the sense of loss that my dear friends were soon to face.

Lord, they worked so hard to make this little house theirs. They filled it with simple treasures that made it a home … their home. What they had was not a lot to begin with … and, yet, they lost it all. Lord … why them?

Later, when I spoke with Cheree and Jenna, the magnitude of their loss was etched in a nearly wordless expression of pale shock. The enormity of this event was completely overwhelming. Cheree clearly summed it all up when she whispered, “Where do we go from here?”

In the following aftermath, Cheree revealed that one of the hardest moments was driving up to what used to be their home and finding instead a blackened “junkyard” of what used to be their belongings. “On one side of the yard was my mattress. On the other side was the couch. Not far from it was a pile of burned up chairs. It was just so surreal.” Jenna mirrored her sense of loss by adding, “It really wasn’t until we started the clean-up process that I began to find bits of my life in the
ash … a chip from some pottery that I made in high school, half a page of a special note that my mom wrote for me, a piece of a treasured toy that I had saved from childhood. So much of it was from things that I had forgotten I even had. Examining each irreplaceable piece was like ‘marathon grieving,’ because every fragment came from something that had special value and meaning.”

No tragedy makes sense at the time, some even less than others. If this would have happened to a family that had more resources, more ability to rebound, more financial cushioning, it might have seemed a bit more “fair.” Yet this had happened to a little family that was existing on one income. Now, all that they had was completely gone.

It is in times like these that I realize how fully limited my view of the “big picture” really is. I would have never chosen this for my friends. Thankfully, I don’t get to choose the pathway for those I love. What a miserable harbinger I would be … I can’t even see five minutes into the future! These are the times when I am so incredibly grateful that God is truly in control. The tapestry of life that He is creating from my perspective often looks like an impossible tangle of knots and threads with no design, they don’t seem to match or make much sense. Yet, God’s perspective is something incredible, rational, and complete. He sees the tapestry from above—how every thread aligns with every other thread to create purpose, value, meaning, and transcending beauty.

I have seen this to be true my whole life. We ask God to guide our life … and He
does
 … just never in ways that we
expect
. He sees the whole picture, and like any loving father, understands that our greatest treasures rise from our greatest depths.

For many months to follow, my friends traveled a path that seemed far too steep for any single mother and daughter to navigate. Every foundational and minute detail of their lives had to be reordered and reestablished. In a very short amount of time, every answer to every question about how to provide for today and begin rebuilding for tomorrow came from one physically and emotionally
exhausted
woman.

While Cheree’s bank and insurance company fought with each other over what the burned-out family should do, she was required to jump through their tangled maze of conflicting hoops in a desperate attempt to just see past the present. During this time, Cheree confided to me that she was so crushed between their contradictory requirements that at times she feared her family would receive no help at all.

They had to change, they had to adapt, they
had
to grow. As their steps carried them higher into never-before-seen territory, slowly their view began to change.

The scattered shards of their former life began to rearrange into a picture far more beautiful than the one they had become so accustomed to. As only God can, when we ask Him, He crafts our wreckage into something usable, whole, and redeeming. The fire that destroyed … also became the fire that cleansed. It burned away all the tangle that perhaps was blocking their view of what was God’s
best
for them.

An empathetic businesswoman gathered all of her friends
together and purchased everything—emphasis on
everything
—that Cheree and Jenna would need for a new kitchen. All but one of these women were complete strangers. Immediate financial donations came from everywhere … even from folks that they did not know personally. One of Jenna’s friends used the gift cards that she had received for Christmas and spent them—all of them—on Jenna so she would have some new clothing. To ease Jenna’s first night back in town, many of her friends gathered around her to create as much “familiarity” as they could in an attempt to soften her transition into the unknown. Several different neighbors took care of their dogs and horses, helping to provide for their long-term needs. Later, a large group of friends and family gathered to help clean the property of all that had been destroyed.

Through all of this … Cheree’s perspective about “tragedy” began to change. She told me later, “A fire destroyed our home … but created something new, something completely unexpected. Loss reveals what is truly important. Our house was gone … but we were not … we could go on. Instead of seeing the charcoaled property that used to be my home … I saw how many had extended themselves to help us … I saw how much I was completely … 
loved
.” Cheree’s voice thinned into a near whisper beneath the weight of truth that streaked down her cheeks.

Once their new home was built, it was there—while sprawled on the floor like dominos, watching a fun surfing documentary with more than twenty of Jenna’s friends—I suddenly realized that all they had been through, everything they had survived … suddenly came into sharp focus. Here, mashed into this beautiful new home—filled with stocking-footed teenagers, ranch staff, and volunteers—brightness, laughter, and life was as palatable
as the Mountain Dew and popcorn. It was official: Their new home could not hold more joy!

Above the happy, tangled jumble, I looked over at Cheree and smiled. Her returned expression of contentment supported everything that I was only now realizing. Even from across the room, I could see that there was “knowing” in her eyes … 
this
is what it was all about.

I suddenly felt like someone who had just walked in on their own surprise party … 
Ah ha!
Now all the previously known pieces of truth concerning my friends had come together to make a clear picture … crystal clear.

Quite suddenly, it all made sense.

Rebecca, age 23: “Faith is just like the mountains;
even when it’s dark or foggy and we can’t see them …
it doesn’t change the fact that they’re still there.”

Abby, age 10, after toppling off of a
cantering horse, standing up, and brushing off:
“Hey! Am I a
cowgirl
yet?”

I
t was a gorgeous day in November. Rising like a bearer of good news, brilliant sunshine flooded the high desert in unseasonable warmth. The unusually balmy fall had exalted ordinary trees into a visual symphony of explosive color. I couldn’t help but admire the dazzling examples that surrounded the ranch as I turned onto the dirt drive that led up the hill to the office, which we lovingly call the Bunkhouse.

As I have done for the last dozen years, I slowed to look at the remarkable family of horses that continue to bless my life and all who travel up this road. Absorbing every bit of the mid-morning sun, nearly the entire herd was cast in their favorite napping position. Most were standing with their eyes half mast and heads hung low. Several more were lying down on their chests while resting their chin on the ground, and a few were completely sacked out on their sides, eyes shut and mouths open, snoring away.

What a picture of incredible bliss
, I thought to myself. They certainly deserved it, each having worked so remarkably hard that season.
To just lie in the sun … what could be better than that?
I thought. Like smoke lifting from a gathering fire, a silly wisp of envy rose within me.
That is truly what I long for, Lord … just a moment to lie down in the sun for a little while.

It had been a season with no equal. Never had I experienced such an extended period of acute “time compression.” For months, I had been cajoling myself with the rationale that my life was just really full of good stuff … a
lot
of good stuff. The ranch riding program would be closing for the season in a few days, and there was so much to finish. I had traveled to more speaking and media engagements this season than all other years combined, and my time away had resulted in a virtual landslide of paperwork so deep I could barely open my office door … and only a handful of weeks remained to write another book. All good stuff … just a
lot
of good stuff.

My normal “Go, Kim, Go” had either left without me or I left without it. Perhaps it was still up the hill, tucked snugly in bed, which is really where I wanted to be.

I was so intensely exhausted that my body felt remarkably heavy and disconnected from my head. My schedule had reduced my sleep threshold to far below what is optimal for my head to function well. With immense concentration, and lots of coffee, I felt that I was barely able to focus well enough to drive safely. At this point, I wondered if I was truly able to operate a stapler … let alone work with a horse and child. Even though these are
extremely
rare days for me, I still found it difficult to admit that I was just absolutely worn out.