As some of you know, Colorado Springs is on fire. I write this post with a heavy heart because as I see picture after picture of burning houses, I recognize the landmarks of my childhood, and I wonder when all of this destruction will stop.
We don’t know if my house will be spared. We do know that several houses on my block have caught on fire in the last 24 hours. The fire is still out-of-control.
Many people have said, “You can always rebuild houses. You can’t replace people.”
And this, to a certain extent, is true.
My family has lost three family members in the last year, and I think we all agree we’d lose a million houses to get them back with us.
But as I process these pictures, my chest tightens and tears flood my eyes. Because these aren’t just burned and charred houses. They are homes.
And homes are where we build our lives. They are where we share the most intimate moments. They are where we bear our deepest insecurities. Homes are the places we watch our children grow. Homes are also places we watch our loved ones die.
In our homes, we express our unique perspective of the world. We pick colors and fabrics. We line our shelves with the books that have spoken truth into our lives. We store away the china handed down by our parents and grandparents. We keep notes from our high school sweethearts in boxes under beds.
I remember walking down the stairs of my parent’s home on my wedding day.
I remember crying with my mom in the living room after I had broken my heart one too many times.
I remember laughing hysterically with my entire family (all my sisters, alive and well) as we played games and celebrated the new year.
I remember holding Halley when she was just a few days old.
I remember the flowers that lined my father’s front yard. The blooms he was so proud of. He’d barely let us get out of the car before taking us to his favorites lining the sidewalk.
And I remember learning how to bake in my mother’s kitchen. I know the layout of that kitchen like the back of my hand, and I can hardly believe that it might be forever gone.
And so while I understand that human life is precious, I also think we must recognize how hard it can be to lose your sanctuary to such a violent storm. I’m grieving, my family is grieving, and I know Colorado Springs is grieving.
When I learned last year about my sister’s car accident, the first thing I wanted to do was to go home. And now my safe-place might be gone. This is a hard thing to understand. This is a hard thing to bear.
My entire family.
