The Gatlinburg fire of November 2016 is still seared in my brain. Why? Because I function very efficiently under stress … at the cost of PTSD later on.
My family was military. The ethic was “suffer silently.” The cost was high.
The fire shot hundreds of feet into the atmosphere, showering burning embers for miles. The smoke was choking us. My small community in Gatlinburg managed to improvise an effective evacuation plan. While I was at the top of the mountain cramming people’s pets into my truck, others were cutting away the dozens of downed trees (resulting from the high winds that preceded the fire), that were in our way. Still others were making sure the elders in our area were at the head of the evacuation line, along with children and asthmatics. We made it out, putting out a few small start up fires as we went.
Many of us workers were left without a home, shoddy as they may have been.
For years, I couldn’t tell the story. But I did record an answer to my prayers at that time.
I offer it to all those still without a safe and caring home.
Bring to me your broken
Dreams
Throw them into the fire of formlessness
Surrender to Me
and I shall remake you
Into something yet undreamed by you