I lived in a warehouse once. It was the fire’s fault. The stupid fire that liked to make its appearance in San Diego like every 3 minutes. The fire that consumed houses, stopped freeways, and have taken the lives of too many firefighters. It was less cruel to my family that week, just put us all into a warehouse.
It was normal to get evacuated in San Diego. Normal to be pulled out of school early to go to the hardware store to buy hoses so that you could soak the land around your house with water to hopefully keep it safe. It was normal to wear oxygen masks to school that would hopefully filter out the smoke and make it safe to breathe as a seven-year-old. Wildfires were normal everyday events and have affected me in more ways than I probably know.
In that warehouse, my hamster escaped and I learned how to play monopoly. It was actually a thrilling time. We lived in the warehouse of the company my dad worked for at the time. We stayed with the family that owned it. They were our dear friends and I remember staying up way too late, cooped up in that building, laughing and talking and telling stories. During the day, we would cook together and go outside to watch the tumbleweeds fly across the parking lot.
I wasn’t allowed to leave the warehouse, but my dad and his buddy would leave every night to watch the fire. He would come back and tell me that the stories of the fire. That it would race down the mountains. That it would run through the freeways. That it would escape from nature’s constraints. It was uncontainable and very much alive.
For most of my life, I have seen that fire as an evil thing. As an enemy. A stealer of life and land and houses and lives. And in so many ways, it is. But also, the fire was just a result of a catalyst. Somebody started that fire and I lived in a warehouse because of it. And I learned because of it. I learned that there is beauty in fire. That it is mesmerizing, brilliant and brings people together.
San Diego is marked with fire. Read stories on the Witch Creek Fire. Walk around the canyons whose trees will never grow back. Talk to anyone who’s lost their home or been evacuated.
My life has been marked with fire. I’ve moved more than 30 times in my 20 years of life. I have lived through seasons of great anxiety and turmoil. I’ve lost loved ones. I’ve been kicked out of school because of finances. I have had my heart broken and burned and scorched by this world.
But at the end of the day I am thankful for fire. Because there’s beauty in fire. And as long as I stay in that warehouse, that safe place. With the One who hides me away, it won’t get to me. It won’t find me. And it won’t burn my house down.