By Ron Hutchcraft
Sometimes "Breaking News" is really "Heartbreaking News." This is one of those times.
They're running out of disaster words to describe it. The damage done by those monster California fires that have consumed everything in their path.
"Devastated." "Obliterated." "Apocalyptic."
Mansions and stores, schools and churches one day. Ashes the next.
Home. Our safe place. Laughter in the halls. Memories in the walls. Treasures everywhere. "It's all gone" - was all that one now homeless homeowner could say between his tears.
Watching the unstoppable inferno, my heart aches - and prays - for those who feel like their life, not just their home, went up in flames.
The grief and loss have layers. The shock factor - it all happened so suddenly. The scope factor - there's nothing left. And the security factor - my safe place, my refuge is gone.
I don't pretend to know how it feels to have your house and life treasures suddenly gone. But I do know something about a heart-rending, sudden loss. A loss that rips your "safe place" and "refuge" from your life.
Years ago I bought a wooden sign for my wife and hung it in our living room. It simply said, "Home is wherever you are."
On the worst day of my life, that "home" was suddenly gone. A heart attack took my Karen. In the very room where the "home is you" sign was hanging.
"Devastated." Our house was still standing, but my heart was in pieces. And my greatest treasure was gone in a moment.
Maybe one reason the brutal losses in California affect me so much is they take me back to my own darkest hour.
But also to the light that penetrated that darkness with hope.
The love of my life was gone. But I still had a harbor to run to.
I brought my shattered heart to Jesus. Not a religion about Jesus. Not beliefs about Jesus. No, the Resurrected Savior who promised, "Never will I leave you. Never will I forsake you" (Hebrews 13:5).
He's the one love, the one security in my life that is disaster-proof. And death-proof. Who can go to places in my heart where no one else can go. And do in my heart what no one else can do.
In the words of the Bible, "God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea... the Lord Almighty is with us... our fortress" (Psalm 46:1-2, 7).
And hope showed up in God's promise that "the Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit" (Psalm 34:18). My wife was gone. Jesus was there, closer than ever - and made Himself so real. And helped me see two truths my personal tragedy couldn't take.
One, this isn't all there is. The Bible calls us "sojourners and pilgrims" (1 Peter 2:11), with our stay on earth only a moment compared to the eternity our soul is made for. If this is all there is, there is reason for despair. If this is against the backdrop of eternity, there is reason for hope.
Second, there is an anchor that holds. No storm, no disaster, no disease, no death can move it. In my darkest hour, I found hope in something the Bible says about Jesus: "We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure" (Hebrews 6:19). And when all seems lost, the Anchor holds.
I ran to Him when I felt I had lost it all. And I was safe. I was home.