Fiery Trials

I took this photo yesterday evening from the condominium where we live. I saw the smoke all afternoon, but when my neighbour across the hall invited me to see the view from her balcony, I saw the flames.

A huge fire caused thousands to be evacuated from their homes across the lake from us here in Kelowna, British Columbia. I have friends and family on the west side and was very concerned for their safety. I assured concerned friends from elsewhere that the fire was over there and we were alright on this side of the lake.

Last night, the fire jumped the lake. Embers flew across the water and landed on the other side in dry vegetation ready to burst into flame. I’m hearing about people we know not far from here evacuating in the middle of the night. It’s more than an opportunity for dramatic photos now.

A couple of days ago, someone asked if you cold sing theology. I think they meant the dry theories about the study of God that people argue over, the kind of hot air balloon detached from any real experience that causes “experts” with large vocabularies to drone on endlessly. I agree that theory devoid of experiential knowledge of the Holy can just be another source of contention. I also believe that theology that is what we think about God, and doctrine that is what we believe about God enough to act on in a crisis is one of he most important considerations we will ever make.

Can I sing theology? Yes I can. I used one of my favourite hymns, How Firm a Foundation, as an example. Today, with flames consuming a nearby hillside as I watch the winds pick up and the flag over the supermarket shift directions, a verse from that song is more relevant than ever.

When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,
My grace, all-sufficient, shall be thy supply;
The flame shall not harm thee; I only design
Thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine.

    There is so much in those four short lines. Fiery trials happen. Our cries of “Why God?” are less likely to be answered than “What do you want me to see about you that I couldn’t see any other way?”

    I’ll let you know.

    In the meantime, prayers for our city and its citizens to be come through this time safely are welcome. For that matter, we need prayer for this entire country, especially the west and the northern territories were fires have raged for weeks. Prayers that we would come out as refined gold, freed from the kind of entanglements that hold us back spiritually are even more welcome.

    Storms Will Come and Storms Will Go

    Storms will come and storms will go.
    Wonder just how many storms
    It takes until I finally know
    You’re here always.

    (From Arms of Love by Amy Grant, Gary Chapman, Michael Smith)

    Simplifying Can Be Complicated

    Autumn Path

    I suppose that since I write a blog about change, I can expect to encounter more opportunities to learn about change. My answer to kind readers who are wondering where I have been and have been checking up on my welfare is this: I am ok, thank you very much for taking the time to ask. I am weary and sometimes exhausted. I am emotional –sometimes embarrassingly so– but it is well with my soul.

    We are now living in our new place. The last boxes have been unpacked. We’ve taken a carload of stuff we didn’t need to haul out here down to the thrift store in our new city. We’ve replaced some of the things we should have brought that we donated to the thrift store in our old city.

    Things have changed since the last time we moved over three decades ago. We’ve discovered that some items we need to make this new place more functional are out of stock and will not be available for several months. There is a shortage of labour all across the country. Arguments over who to believe about Covid responses are as heated here as they were where we came from.

    Health and safety protocols have changed attitudes and the process of meeting new people in more ways than we expected. I have to remind myself that what once would have been interpreted as a snub is just people who have spent months in isolation in our 55+ building being cautious. We’re adjusting to living in a much smaller space with strata council rules needing to be considered at every turn as well. We’ve been re-introduced to traffic jams and the sound of sirens.

    We’ve also discovered that orchards and vineyards are beautiful in the autumn and living close to the center of a city saves a lot of time in transport and money for gas (petrol) because many shops and services are within walking distance. I can now see sunrises from the kitchen window. We’ve met beautiful, welcoming people in the faith community. The joy of living near family is something we have not known for many years. Family connection is a major reason for all this bother – and well worth it.

    I’ve been back in a learning season. This has been more of a practicum than a classroom environment, but I’ve learned that God usually follows up revelation of a concept with rubber-meets-the-road experience to increase understanding.

    This course could be called “Upgrading Through Downsizing.” It has been both harder and easier than I thought it would be. I found myself in frustrating situations more than once. Faith grows when circumstances are so ridiculously impossible that you can do nothing but trust God. When he shows up with a creative solution (which sometimes arrives as an amazing miracle and sometimes reveals false assumptions and the need to redefine success) it gets easier to trust him next time.

    Previous life-lessons taught me how to let go of baggage. This venture has been about letting go of freight. I miss my friends, my music books, my garden, my familiar spaces, and the cherished items that carried memories. But there is no room for them anymore. This is a new day, a new assignment, and a time for getting used to different.

    There is excitement in moving toward something new. There is also a type of mourning in letting go of the familiar. As I took time to rest and recover physically, I realized I also needed time to recover emotionally. While discovering new possibilities is exciting, letting go of the familiar involves all the stages of grief. Skipping those stages is like stuffing the feelings in another box marked “this side up” and tripping over it like the last plastic tub of miscellaneous stuff I don’t know what to do with that still sits beside my desk.

    Perhaps this has been the greatest lesson of this season: I will not have grace to extend to others if I fail to extend grace to myself. Time is a precious gift that I have chosen to open and enjoy. I’ll be back to writing soon.

    Right now, my little granddaughter is waiting for me to come pick her up. She wants me to teach her how to sew.

    Kelowna Sunrise