Last week, I got word that an elderly friend had died. It seems strange to use the word, elderly, to describe her. By almost anyone’s standards, a nearly 91 year old is indeed elderly, but it just never seemed to fit Mrs. Helen. In the South, if an older person is just an acquaintance, we call them Mrs. (Last Name), but if someone is particularly close or endearing to us, we use the Mrs. (First Name) option. It signals an extra level of fondness and attachment and she was definitely Mrs. Helen to a lot of people. She and I just talked a couple of weeks ago and arranged a visit for this week, but it was never to happen. Sometimes, we realize we have put things off just a little too long and that made the news a little harder to swallow. 

I carried on with my day with memories of Mrs. Helen on my mind. After lunch, I got a call that my across-the-street neighbors’ house was on fire after a nasty lightning storm had come through the area. No one was home, thankfully, so I told the person who was calling from the scene where my neighbor worked and to tell the firemen they had a little Yorkie in their house. I jumped in my car and headed this way with a knot in my stomach. By the time I got here, our street was packed with emergency vehicles. I parked at the end of the road and walked toward my house. They’d opened all the doors in the burning home, but there had been no sign of their pet. There was thick black smoke billowing out and all I could think about was Bentley, the Yorkie, being inside and this sweet family losing all of their things. It’s one thing to see footage of a house fire or to watch a house fire in a movie or to hear about a house fire, but when you see the home of people you care about burning before your eyes, I learned really quickly that it’s a very emotional experience. 

We live in the county with the volunteer fire department system and I’m not sure how many fire departments responded to the call, but there were a lot of boots on the ground. In the chaos, I have no concept of how much time passed but those volunteers fought that fire for hours. It would get under control and then start up again. There were firemen everywhere - some sank into the grass with exhaustion- all of them red-faced from the heat and the prolonged exertion. The family arrived and, when it was finally safe for the firemen to enter, they went in to search for Bentley. We were all teary- not giving much hope for what appeared like a futile effort. We’d all seen the black smoke and angry flames. We’d all felt the heat from across the road. But, after what seemed like an eternity, one of the volunteer firemen came out holding the most unexpected sight- a soaking wet, wiggling Bentley who was covered in roof shingle debris. The entire neighborhood was ecstatic. God knew the family needed that victory. At the end of such a traumatic day, if you’ve got all the lives you started with, you can cope with just about anything. 

With the fire out and all the family and living creatures accounted for, another mood settled over the neighbors gathered. Relief. Joy. And a motivation to get to work. I’ve never seen so many people working together to get this family what they needed for getting through the next few days. Shopping, free storage space, moving trailers, money, hot food, gift cards, child care, donations, strong backs, and sweat equity. Tears turned to joy turned to helping hands. 

All day and night long, I received so many texts from people wanting to know if it was our house they’d seen on the news. I assured them it wasn’t but that our neighbors had lost almost everything. Without missing a beat, many wanted to know where they could donate money for them- people they didn’t even know. The next couple of days, the neighborhood was still busy seeing that it had done all it could do to help the family through the initial shock and need. In the background at the same time as all of this were daily updates on a more personal matter that seemed to be up and down and up and down- taking me with it. Good news and then bad news which eventually landed back on good news. It felt like we were on a week-long roller coaster ride and I was ready to get off. 

I walked into the church for the visitation for Mrs. Helen at the end of the week. I was exhausted in every way a person could be exhausted. I felt like I could burst into tears with little provocation or fall asleep standing up and I wasn’t sure which one would happen first. Inside the church walls, I saw the faces of old friends. People I’d known since childhood who’d moved away. Women who were my second mothers growing up. Ladies I call Mrs. (First Name). Men I call Mr. (Last Name). Girlfriends I’ve loved for most of my life. It was like a healing warmth that covered my tired soul with each hug. I’d been stuffing my grief down all week to attend the crises, but when I saw Mrs. Helen- her beautiful signature eye shadow, her lovely jewels, her pretty blue dress- it finally came bubbling up from all the places it had been shoved. Not in a dramatic kind of way, but in soft fallen tears- the kind that recount the love and life of a friend who’s gone. 

I don’t want any comments of sympathy for my week. None of it happened directly to me. The significant losses weren’t suffered in our family. That’s not the point of this rambling post. I was just reminded over and over again that life can be so unpredictable. Everyday is routine until it’s not. One day is up and the next is down. But, when bad things happen around us, God always blends in His goodness in such obvious ways that we can’t help but see Him providing in the fires and storms and valleys. He never allows the dark shades of loss to blot out His beautiful use of the rich colors of goodness. Goodness found in a group of volunteers who would leave their jobs and families to fight fire at someone else’s house. Goodness shown in the mercy of a safe family and a saved pet. Goodness in the eager generosity of a community. Goodness seen in the kindness of strangers. Goodness He gives through the love of friends. Goodness in the healing we feel in each other’s presence. Goodness in His kept promises. Goodness contributed to us through a life well-lived. Goodness that surrounds and supports a grieving family. Goodness given in the hope of eternal life. These are the victories of goodness that stand tall in the losses. 

Thanks to God for His goodness.