People talk about it hypothetically – the things you'd grab in a fire. For most of us that remains an intellectual exercise, the kind of thing you muse over when you are feeling particularly introspective.  It became a very real and concrete discernment for our family this week.  

We often sleep with our upstairs bedroom windows open when we can catch a breeze on summer nights. We opened them wide and fell into bed Monday night.  We had been on the go all weekend, staying up late and busy each day.  A good night's sleep seemed promising as the wind picked up some.  Before long however the canyon gusts began to howl, forcing my husband to go down and secure the patio furniture.  The ruckus outside kept us sleeping with one eye open.  

When morning finally came we hit the lights and noticed they were dim.  We were groggy from the restless night and started to explore other rooms to see what was happening.  Every fixture was at half strength.  We were beginning to gather in the kitchen sorting things out when the power cut entirely.  This has happened before during windstorms, annoying, but temporary.  My husband opened the laptop to check our power company website to get an idea of the scope. I was kicking myself for not having powered down my computer the night before.  

We started to make adjustments to our morning routine to get ready without electricity.  I was lighting the stove manually and trying to get some coffee figured out when my husband called me outside.  "Doesn't that look like smoke moving in?" Well, it did.  But in the West there are often hazy skies when the wind picks up.  It carries in smoke from distant fires.  During dry seasons it sometimes kicks up a lot of loose surface dirt into the air.  When you live with a military man you learn to consider all the logical explanations and most importantly you don't panic.  So I didn't.  

A few minutes later he had checked the front of the house.  "It's definitely smoke over in the canyon," was his first thought.  "It's probably not as close as it looks," was the next.  I walked to a higher window while he went down the culdesac.  It was in fact as close as it looked.  But I was still not supposed to panic.  We heard sirens.  They probably had it under control.  Might be a house fire which the wind was aggravating.  

While we reassured ourselves with that thought there was a knock at the door.  At that point my stomach gave a lurch.  A runner was out early morning and said there was a fire spreading up the mountain and while there was no official emergency response in the neighborhood yet he was waking everyone up and spreading word.  

"Should I start to pack things?"  No, my husband said.  He would go investigate.  I got up the rest of the children however and had everyone dress and find shoes while he went to talk to the neighbors again.  He came back shaken up.  The fire was spreading rapidly given the high winds.  We should stay calm, but begin to start moving essential items "just in case."  I grabbed the important paperwork from the safe.  Then started to unplug hard drives and put photo albums into boxes.  He didn't return but the children were watching over the ridge out back and bringing back all sorts of bad news.  A house had caught fire and had burnt before their eyes.  The church was filling with cars.  

I brought the little girls up to the house.  Our incredible view was turning into a horror show and it was too much for them.  The dogs were also getting frantic with the smoke.  We kenneled the  little dogs and stuck the kennel in the truck.  Husband came in and said fire crews were working their way up the hill and we should seriously gather anything else we needed.  Abbie Rose clutched her bear and held tight to Archie's leash while her eyes began to well up.  Tess was working very admirably to be "big" and not freaked out.  The others were silently packing their bags. 

I made another round through the house.  The problem with filling a home with only things that have personal value to you is that everything then feels important.  I looked at the walls, the drawers, the counters, filled with items which were used by my grandparents, my mother, my inlaws.  Things my children grew up with.  Things my husband and I grew up with.  Things we bought at different duty stations.  It all meant something but it could not all go.  I made some quick decisions about what precious items could fit in the cars.  

The next thing we knew there were bull horns outside and another knock.  Evacuate.  We had a little bit of time but we should start heading out.  We stopped for a moment and reached for a holy card a priest had given us earlier this year.  Pestilence and…fire?  We repeated the words of the prayer and put the children in the cars.  Four cars, six kids, three dogs, a cuckoo clock, our crucifixes, several hardrives, and countless albums.  Then my husband and I walked back in.  We each took a jar of holy water and went to opposite ends of the house sprinkling each room.  I set the holy card down, crossed myself, and we looked around one last time, making peace with whatever we might return to.  

We all drove off together and traveled to a grocery store parking lot where we stood stunned as the cloud grew behind us.  What should we do?  Where should we go?  That question was answered when old friends called and said to go to their house to wait.  With lunch in tow we detoured around the road closures over to their place, got the children settled in the basement away from windows to play pool, and the older set of us watched our mountain burn from their deck.  We would see smoke die down only to reappear in another spot or a huge burst of black billow up as a building was struck.  The ebb and flow was wrenching.  

We started calling around for hotel rooms when finally the fire crews began to get the blaze out of the residential areas.  In time a few streets were permitted to return.  Ours was one of those.  We were lucky.  Many did not go back for days.  Six families have no homes to return to.  And of course we know how truly fortunate we are to be in the midst of an isolated tragedy of relatively limited scope in comparison to the devastation happening around the country.  Should the worst have hit we have insurance which wouldn't replace the memories but would have prevented homelessness for us.  Many worldwide are not so lucky.  

In the end we were spared the worst case scenario.  We left our things near the door in the event the fire once again expanded with the expected coming wind.  It did not come however.  The air and ground crews have worked every day since.  We watch them with gratitude and awe.  We also look at our neighbors with similar respect and thankfulness.  They were clearheaded and pulled together.  Before we all left people were opening their swimming pools.  Helicopters used them to refill water buckets to battle the blaze.  It was incredible to see everyone pull together.  

  It is hazy in the evenings and, although the ground is charred in places, it is still a wonderful place.   We are grateful to be at home with our familiar things in place.  They are held loosely though.  At some point all of us will be required to let them go – maybe sooner, maybe later.  We aren't taking any of it with us either way.  So we are catching our breath and hopefully taking a quiet weekend to put it all in its place again, gratefully, and focusing once more on what really matters – those people who traveled out of this neighborhood with us.  Together we pray for those who are or soon will be facing their own worst fears as storms rage this weekend and earthquakes shake the ground.   It's all so fragile.  And its probably important we never forget that.