Bridge Called Hope

by Kim Meeder

  A virtual lifetime was passing through my thoughts as I waited. Where are they? I wondered as I lingered in the darkness. The flames that knifed through the roof were subsiding now. The firemen, who were now covered with soot, continued to move in and out of what was now the burned-up shell of my friends’ home. There was no rush or urgency in their movements.

  Cheree and Jenna could not still be inside … they would know by now. The firemen’s actions told me that the building was cleared. That’s why they called me … because they don’t know where they are. A weak wave of relief moved through me as I reasoned that they were not inside but somewhere else … safe.

  The fireman’s hand lowered as he stepped toward me again. His face registered an awkward mix of stress, fatigue, and relief. He pulled in a deep breath and exhaled in a flurry of white. “It has been confirmed that Cheree and Jenna are spending Christmas with their family three hours away in Portland.”

  I, too, exhaled in a flurry of white breath. They were safe … for now, that was all that truly mattered.

  On our return trip home, I couldn’t even begin to fathom what it would be like to lose everything. Yes, one might say that they are only “things,” but they are all the intrinsic things that have unique value to us. I pondered the fact that I keep the last ten years of photographs under my bed, my grandmother’s bowls in my kitchen, one of my mother’s few remaining oil paintings in the living room, and an entire dresser filled with countless gifts, cards, and letters from my “extended family” from all over the United States and beyond. Yes, they are all just “things”—not one of which I could ever imagine being replaced. These “things” represent little bits and pieces of us—our life and our history.

  Even though insurance would cover some of their “hard costs,” I tried to understand the magnitude of the sense of loss that my dear friends were soon to face.

  Lord, they worked so hard to make this little house theirs. They filled it with simple treasures that made it a home … their home. What they had was not a lot to begin with … and, yet, they lost it all. Lord … why them?

  Later, when I spoke with Cheree and Jenna, the magnitude of their loss was etched in a nearly wordless expression of pale shock. The enormity of this event was completely overwhelming. Cheree clearly summed it all up when she whispered, “Where do we go from here?”

  In the following aftermath, Cheree revealed that one of the hardest moments was driving up to what used to be their home and finding instead a blackened “junkyard” of what used to be their belongings. “On one side of the yard was my mattress. On the other side was the couch. Not far from it was a pile of burned up chairs. It was just so surreal.” Jenna mirrored her sense of loss by adding, “It really wasn’t until we started the clean-up process that I began to find bits of my life in the ash … a chip from some pottery that I made in high school, half a page of a special note that my mom wrote for me, a piece of a treasured toy that I had saved from childhood. So much of it was from things that I had forgotten I even had. Examining each irreplaceable piece was like ‘marathon grieving,’ because every fragment came from something that had special value and meaning.”

  No tragedy makes sense at the time, some even less than others. If this would have happened to a family that had more resources, more ability to rebound, more financial cushioning, it might have seemed a bit more “fair.” Yet this had happened to a little family that was existing on one income. Now, all that they had was completely gone.

  It is in times like these that I realize how fully limited my view of the “big picture” really is. I would have never chosen this for my friends. Thankfully, I don’t get to choose the pathway for those I love. What a miserable harbinger I would be … I can’t even see five minutes into the future! These are the times when I am so incredibly grateful that God is truly in control. The tapestry of life that He is creating from my perspective often looks like an impossible tangle of knots and threads with no design, they don’t seem to match or make much sense. Yet, God’s perspective is something incredible, rational, and complete. He sees the tapestry from above—how every thread aligns with every other thread to create purpose, value, meaning, and transcending beauty.

  I have seen this to be true my whole life. We ask God to guide our life … and He does … just never in ways that we expect. He sees the whole picture, and like any loving father, understands that our greatest treasures rise from our greatest depths.

  For many months to follow, my friends traveled a path that seemed far too steep for any single mother and daughter to navigate. Every foundational and minute detail of their lives had to be reordered and reestablished. In a very short amount of time, every answer to every question about how to provide for today and begin rebuilding for tomorrow came from one physically and emotionally exhausted woman.

  While Cheree’s bank and insurance company fought with each other over what the burned-out family should do, she was required to jump through their tangled maze of conflicting hoops in a desperate attempt to just see past the present. During this time, Cheree confided to me that she was so crushed between their contradictory requirements that at times she feared her family would receive no help at all.

  They had to change, they had to adapt, they had to grow. As their steps carried them higher into never-before-seen territory, slowly their view began to change.

  The scattered shards of their former life began to rearrange into a picture far more beautiful than the one they had become so accustomed to. As only God can, when we ask Him, He crafts our wreckage into something usable, whole, and redeeming. The fire that destroyed … also became the fire that cleansed. It burned away all the tangle that perhaps was blocking their view of what was God’s best for them.

  An empathetic businesswoman gathered all of her friends together and purchased everything—emphasis on everything—that Cheree and Jenna would need for a new kitchen. All but one of these women were complete strangers. Immediate financial donations came from everywhere … even from folks that they did not know personally. One of Jenna’s friends used the gift cards that she had received for Christmas and spent them—all of them—on Jenna so she would have some new clothing. To ease Jenna’s first night back in town, many of her friends gathered around her to create as much “familiarity” as they could in an attempt to soften her transition into the unknown. Several different neighbors took care of their dogs and horses, helping to provide for their long-term needs. Later, a large group of friends and family gathered to help clean the property of all that had been destroyed.

  Through all of this … Cheree’s perspective about “tragedy” began to change. She told me later, “A fire destroyed our home … but created something new, something completely unexpected. Loss reveals what is truly important. Our house was gone … but we were not … we could go on. Instead of seeing the charcoaled property that used to be my home … I saw how many had extended themselves to help us … I saw how much I was completely … loved.” Cheree’s voice thinned into a near whisper beneath the weight of truth that streaked down her cheeks.

  Once their new home was built, it was there—while sprawled on the floor like dominos, watching a fun surfing documentary with more than twenty of Jenna’s friends—I suddenly realized that all they had been through, everything they had survived … suddenly came into sharp focus. Here, mashed into this beautiful new home—filled with stocking-footed teenagers, ranch staff, and volunteers—brightness, laughter, and life was as palatable as the Mountain Dew and popcorn. It was official: Their new home could not hold more joy!

  Above the happy, tangled jumble, I looked over at Cheree and smiled. Her returned expression of contentment supported everything that I was only now realizing. Even from across the room, I could see that there was “knowing” in her eyes … this is what it was all about.

  I suddenly felt like someone who had just walked in on their own surprise party … Ah ha! Now all the previously known pieces of truth concerning my friends had come together
to make a clear picture … crystal clear.

  Quite suddenly, it all made sense.

  Rebecca, age 23: “Faith is just like the mountains;

  even when it’s dark or foggy and we can’t see them …

  it doesn’t change the fact that they’re still there.”

  Abby, age 10, after toppling off of a

  cantering horse, standing up, and brushing off:

  “Hey! Am I a cowgirl yet?”

  It was a gorgeous day in November. Rising like a bearer of good news, brilliant sunshine flooded the high desert in unseasonable warmth. The unusually balmy fall had exalted ordinary trees into a visual symphony of explosive color. I couldn’t help but admire the dazzling examples that surrounded the ranch as I turned onto the dirt drive that led up the hill to the office, which we lovingly call the Bunkhouse.

  As I have done for the last dozen years, I slowed to look at the remarkable family of horses that continue to bless my life and all who travel up this road. Absorbing every bit of the mid-morning sun, nearly the entire herd was cast in their favorite napping position. Most were standing with their eyes half mast and heads hung low. Several more were lying down on their chests while resting their chin on the ground, and a few were completely sacked out on their sides, eyes shut and mouths open, snoring away.

  What a picture of incredible bliss, I thought to myself. They certainly deserved it, each having worked so remarkably hard that season. To just lie in the sun … what could be better than that? I thought. Like smoke lifting from a gathering fire, a silly wisp of envy rose within me. That is truly what I long for, Lord … just a moment to lie down in the sun for a little while.

  It had been a season with no equal. Never had I experienced such an extended period of acute “time compression.” For months, I had been cajoling myself with the rationale that my life was just really full of good stuff … a lot of good stuff. The ranch riding program would be closing for the season in a few days, and there was so much to finish. I had traveled to more speaking and media engagements this season than all other years combined, and my time away had resulted in a virtual landslide of paperwork so deep I could barely open my office door … and only a handful of weeks remained to write another book. All good stuff … just a lot of good stuff.

  My normal “Go, Kim, Go” had either left without me or I left without it. Perhaps it was still up the hill, tucked snugly in bed, which is really where I wanted to be.

  I was so intensely exhausted that my body felt remarkably heavy and disconnected from my head. My schedule had reduced my sleep threshold to far below what is optimal for my head to function well. With immense concentration, and lots of coffee, I felt that I was barely able to focus well enough to drive safely. At this point, I wondered if I was truly able to operate a stapler … let alone work with a horse and child. Even though these are extremely rare days for me, I still found it difficult to admit that I was just absolutely worn out.

  My nurturing staff—who I love so much—completely agreed. “Girl, you just need to go and do something mindless for a while, okay?” Their generosity, in the face of their own great fatigue, humbled me to the ground. I was fully aware that what they were actually saying in effect was “We’ll shoulder your load along with ours so you can rest a bit.”

  With my pockets full of staples, a roll of chicken wire under each arm, and a hammer in my hand … I set out with Rebecca to go and wrap trees. We were getting ready to move our young horses into their winter paddock, which had many large juniper trees that needed added protection from their mischievous little teeth.

  Rebecca had also been banished with me to “mindless land” because she was sadly losing her race of trying to outrun the flu. Even though it had also been an extraordinary season for the ranch staff, each individual was struggling with their own sense of exhaustion to finish it as well as they could.

  The time spent with Rebecca beneath the juniper trees was a welcome reprieve for both of our weary hearts. She is such a remarkable young woman that even in sickness, no difficult day could rival her intrinsic joy. Our conversation mimicked the random, drifting pattern of the clouds that moved over the mountains behind us. I welcomed the peaceful, rare moment of quiet to learn more about her volunteer efforts to help a struggling youth group in the community just north of the ranch.

  Her recounting of the details was serenaded by the intermittent squeals and laughter from two high-school-age girls nearby. I could clearly see that Melissa and Sarah, each volunteering, seemed to be more effective at wrapping each other with wire instead of the trees. Even though it was already a warm day, their combined hilarity made it even more so.

  In my sadly deteriorated state, I was only vaguely aware that Troy was giving one of his very first “official” tours of the ranch. Normally I would have accompanied him, but on this day, I would have been far more of a detriment than a help. I felt so thin, so stretched … not unlike a rubber band reaching around far too many things. I knew that my long-term, well-intended efforts to support more, on this day, created just the opposite. My positive objective to do more had actually driven me to do much less. My life, instead of flowing like a great river, had been reduced to an insignificant gurgle.

  Lord, I know that Your strength never runs out. Instead of operating in Your strength … have I been unknowingly operating in mine? Your truth is unchanging … while my emotion is …

  My thoughts trailed off as I noticed an unfamiliar woman carefully make her way through the corral toward me. She was clutching a book that I was guessing she wished for me to sign. Slowly I extricated myself from the roll of wire around my hands and backed down the teetery ladder on which I stood.

  As she approached, I noticed that she was older and very small. Her movements were well chosen and purposeful. Simply walking through the paddock toward me did not seem to be an easy task for her. I excused myself from the girls and took several steps in her direction.

  She greeted me with great apology for her “interruption” of my day, and indeed asked if I would mind signing her well-worn book. While she searched her pockets for a pen, I engaged her by asking many questions about her home and her time spent here on the ranch. She began to gush about Troy and how special this place was, as she finally located her stray pen and handed it to me. As I began to write, she shared how she had actually tried to come to the ranch earlier in the summer but was too ill to make the trip … “You see, I have terminal cancer …”

  My pen stopped.

  “But today is a really good day, actually a wonderful day,” she said, as she continued to explain how she should have passed away long ago.

  Still kneeling down with her open book balanced on my thigh, truth thundered into my heart like a herd of galloping drafts.

  Here I had been so focused on my own “problem,” my own exhaustion … which few have ever perished from … that I nearly missed the bigger picture. Suddenly, when cast against such blackness, how clear the truth of God became. While I was muddling around in my own personal fog, seeking only to fulfill my own immediate needs, God, in His wisdom, sent a very powerful message to shatter my own private misconception …

  As I stood up, I looked directly at this pocket-sized woman. There, beaming from beneath her cute straw hat was an expression so radiant that it was only then that I noticed that she was indeed … bald. Although she was facing one of the greatest challenges known in this life, she was bright. In truth, she was brighter than bright. She was literally shining with hope. Instead of succumbing to her pain, she bloomed within it. She was a dying woman giving hope … and perspective … to a tired woman.

  While the impact of her presence continued to cascade into my soul, I asked her if she would be kind enough to allow me the honor of praying for her.

  Her quiet account of her illness suddenly stopped as she looked at me with remarkably clear blue eyes. She exhibited the same stunned silence as someone who has just won something of great value. In her unabashed delight, she was quicke
r than I was. While I was still reaching for her hands, she dodged my offer and ducked beneath them, choosing instead to snuggle in under my arm. Like a child cuddling into the comfort of her mother, she pressed herself below my arm and rested her head against my chest. Now, it was I who truly felt like the one who had just won something of great value … for, most certainly, I truly had.

  In that moment of simple, unequalled honor, I could feel the snowflakes of blessing begin to fall. While buried beneath their resilient drift, I became the most blessed woman on earth.

  There, praying under the junipers, with the embodiment of hope nestled under my arm, I realized what the greater picture is, and just how very close I had come to missing it completely.

  I was nearly lost in my dull and selfish state when I realized how sometimes we can become so focused on our own needs that we step right over the very people God has sent to rebuild us.

  Neither places, times, or things restore people as much as people restore people.

  We need each other. Not only when we’re exhausted … but especially when we’re exhausted. When we become stressed and drained, instead of running away … perhaps we should think about running toward. Something remarkable happens to our hearts when we serve one another. There is little else in this world that changes us more. Just ask any volunteer and watch their eyes; the immediate sparkle will shout this truth.

  When overwhelming times come in ways that look and feel like our imminent destruction, turning inward rarely heals us as much as … turning outward. It’s only when we have given to the point of exhaustion that we truly can understand and experience the remarkable wonder that it is to receive.

  In reality, suffering and blessing balance on the same high wire, each giving stability and depth to the other. The one that we feel the most … is ultimately the one that we give the most.