Collisions of holidays and [too much] heat

When I heard the first siren go by, I thought, “Oh, a siren, weird. Not many of those go by here.” I continued on to the kitchen and got out the mixing bowl.

When the second siren went by five minutes later, I thought as I mixed the cookie dough, “I wonder where they’re headed” and looked out the front window in time to see it was a firetruck.

When the third siren went by, I thought again, “Another one? What’s going on….” and then I glanced out the dining room window to the south and saw a wall of orange flame above the tree tops.

I raced downstairs to tell my husband the neighbor’s house was on fire.¹

Then we ran outside through the misty 45 degree evening to see yet another fire engine speed by our driveway, just to pull up to the house next door where the others were already working on dousing the orange glow.

Smoke mixed with the mist of the damp day hovered as the crews worked, and eventually the flames were put out, the fire trucks and other emergency vehicles left one by one, and traffic was allowed back on the road.

It was a surreal way to start the Christmas weekend.

But Christmas came and went, despite the tragedy next door, and the temperature continued to climb as the rain started. In Minnesota, lakes this time of year are usually frozen solid, or at least fully iced up. Ours out back was frozen until a few days ago when the ice succumbed to multiple days of 50 degrees and heavy rain.

I like to caption this picture, of us in a Minnesota lake on Dec. 26th with “Making do.”

Today I went out for a jog since the temperatures remain well above typical for this time of year, and there’s no snow. I jogged by our neighbor’s house, and it is still standing, but the roof has caved in. The windows are blown out, and where the living room and kitchen used to be, only blackened studs remain. Every now and then the scent of burnt plastic and melted siding can be detected, and there’s yellow hazard tape across the opening where the bay window used to be.

There has been too much heat present, in the form of fire and climate and conflict.

For those who love and/or rely on winter, this warmth in the air is not good news. Nordic skiers like me lament while lacing up running shoes, and downhill ski resorts close on what are usually their busiest days of the season. Ice fisher-people consider getting out their boats instead of their ice augers. Another neighbor found a deer tick on their dog yesterday, and I’ve seen more geese this December than ever. The Red River Valley in northwestern Minnesota is under a flood warning, something that they usually don’t have to worry about until the spring thaw.

War continues in Ukraine, Gaza, and Sudan.

It’s a hard season for many this year.

Whether it's those across the world whose reality has been ripped apart by war, or folks closer to home like my neighbor whose house went up in flames, many are not living through circumstances they want.

When I asked my neighbor’s daughter what they need, they said all needs were met at present, and they are just grateful their dad made it out safe, that the house and belongings were all that was lost. They are focusing on what they still have, despite all of the hardship a house fire puts on a family. They never would have chosen what happened, but they are peering through the darkness to find the light that remains.

If you’re one of those who is living through circumstances that you never would have chosen, may you allow yourself a moment to peer into the inky darkness of want to see the light shining in the distance—and if you can’t see it, may you remember that some lights are so dedicated to reaching you that they will travel from the ends of the earth to find you, and that takes some time. Maybe your human eyes can’t see them yet. But what if you could feel them trying, inching closer each second? Light a candle or turn your face to the sky (even if it's raining) so they know you’re keeping watch.

No matter what this time of year means or doesn’t mean for you, may remember that “the weary world wants to rejoice”² even if comes as a sigh of relief at the end of a hard thing—or in the midst of one in the form of a moment of respite, a hand lifting you up, or a chance to lift another.

May we accept peace as the only way forward into the year that's coming next.

Directions to a more beautiful world

Imagine a bridge

between water and sky

then take one step

after another

until you meet

justice and restoration

keeping company

with love and belonging.

Then keep walking

toward peace.³

1. Fortunately, he made it out safely and has a lot of family in the area for support as he figures out what comes next.

2. Quote from Collisions of Earth and Sky, which is a great book to read as we start a new year.

3. Poem included in Just Wild Enough, which is available for preorder.