One year ago today, our daughter AnnaGrace came running into our bedroom just after 7am to tell us the house was on fire…life changed that morning but we are thankful that no one was hurt (read about it here). I had always seen people on TV being interviewed after a disaster expressing their strong emotions of thanksgiving that they and their loved ones survived. I remember those same feelings after our fire. But as time went on, I started to also miss my childhood home. And even though my belongings had all been packed up for our return to Belize, I ached for the precious things my sister and my daughter AnnaGrace lost–favorite artwork, antique furniture, and the beautiful backyard garden that my parents had made just to their liking –now overgrown as the house is just an empty shell, waiting to be fixed.
Of course I am still thankful that no one got hurt. And I am thankful for so many things this past year–unexpected extra time spent with so many family members, drawing near to Jesus, amazing provision from generous family members, neighbors and church members. My favorite memory from that morning was singing the doxology–
Praise God from whom all blessings flow,
praise Him all creatures here below.
Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.
I think it was our precious neighbor who started us singing. But it expresses so powerfully our helpless position as we watched our family home burn–helpless but trusting in the One who is in control of all things.
One of the unexpected blessings this year, was me happening upon a poem that described so well our emotions from the fire. The funny thing is that the poem was written almost 400 years ago, and yet it could have been written by one of us. Poems are like that –they can become a friend as they describe what you didn’t know how to put into words. I will share it with you below. In processing our grief, it is a blessing to remember our home that is kept safe for us in Heaven, where neither fire nor anything else can destroy it.
Verses upon the Burning of our House, July 10th, 1666
By Anne Bradstreet
Here Follows Some Verses Upon the Burning
of Our house, July 10th. 1666. Copied Out of
a Loose Paper.
In silent night when rest I took,
For sorrow near I did not look,
I wakened was with thund’ring noise
And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice.
That fearful sound of “fire” and “fire,”
Let no man know is my Desire.
I, starting up, the light did spy,
And to my God my heart did cry
To straighten me in my Distress
And not to leave me succourless.
Then, coming out, behold a space
The flame consume my dwelling place.
And when I could no longer look,
I blest His name that gave and took,
That laid my goods now in the dust.
Yea, so it was, and so ‘twas just.
It was his own, it was not mine,
Far be it that I should repine;
He might of all justly bereft
But yet sufficient for us left.
When by the ruins oft I past
My sorrowing eyes aside did cast
And here and there the places spy
Where oft I sate and long did lie.
Here stood that trunk, and there that chest,
There lay that store I counted best.
My pleasant things in ashes lie
And them behold no more shall I.
Under thy roof no guest shall sit,
Nor at thy Table eat a bit.
No pleasant talk shall ‘ere be told
Nor things recounted done of old.
No Candle e’er shall shine in Thee,
Nor bridegroom‘s voice e’er heard shall be.
In silence ever shalt thou lie,
Adieu, Adieu, all’s vanity.
Then straight I ‘gin my heart to chide,
And did thy wealth on earth abide?
Didst fix thy hope on mould’ring dust?
The arm of flesh didst make thy trust?
Raise up thy thoughts above the sky
That dunghill mists away may fly.
Thou hast a house on high erect
Frameed by that mighty Architect,
With glory richly furnished,
Stands permanent though this be fled.
It‘s purchased and paid for too
By Him who hath enough to do.
A price so vast as is unknown,
Yet by His gift is made thine own;
There‘s wealth enough, I need no more,
Farewell, my pelf, farewell, my store.
The world no longer let me love,
My hope and treasure lies above.
