A Postcard from Hell

I wasn't there, but I was with them in spirit.
Those voices that came out over the air-waves, composed yet distressed. Some were almost nonchalant, indifferent. But their lives will never be the same- those who managed to save their lives, that is. I will never forget how the fires got away that day- the ones that started near Wandong then leapt and roared into the towns of Flowerdale, and Kinglake and others, I will never forget hearing those first reports and then the seemingly random ones that followed- it was in East Kilmore, heading for the pine forests, and onwards it went, in leaps and bounds. I will always remember the old lady who rang the station who lived with 10 dogs in a miners cottage in the middle of the bush. She knew she probably couldn't get them all in her car, but she was hoping the fires would stay away.
The man in the Kinglake pub watching houses burn in the township, with no sign of fire engines....
Meanwhile Marysville was wiped off the map. Strathewan in South Gippsland is no more.
The people spoke to the radio announcers of their apprehension and concern, but were lucid enough to speak, by phone, and to be 'considering' what their best plan of action was to be.
Later that night, we knew that 14 of them hadn't made it, which in itself was devastating-but what unfolded over the next week defied belief, as the numbers of dead grew each day, as bodies were discovered in various states of unsuccessful escape from the inferno which overtook them all.
I listened for over a week , addicted and transfixed , seated at the computer, crying, stunned, as the toll grew.
But what moved me most were the stories of courage and terror as people recounted their experiences.
It was like listening to holocaust survivor stories. You want to look away, but you can't. You know you need to share their pain.
One didn't know quite how to help- for those who lived in close proximity to the affected township, and there were many, hands on help was an option, and a great way to really care and show compassion for those people who emerged from their homes singed, bereft and traumatised.
I lived too far away, and it felt like a million miles, and still does. But at least I knew my money was wanted, needed and would be put to good use and I'm sure more will be needed in future.

People said, "where is your God now?" as I knew they would.
All I knew was, well He's here right now, in our suffering; He weeps and He grieves, just like us. He cares and supports and surrounds and heals, and we can be His hands and do this for Him.
And it's not just the people who call themselves His, who are effectively doing this- which I think further shows His sovereignty at this time.
We can't ever forget though, what people have and are still going through, and seeking to help them where and when they need it, for as long as they need it. Which is why, as useless as I feel right now, I think of those people today.

It's raining and windy, and the rain and cool air must be bringing some hope to the people of that terrible Black Saturday. I feel the refreshment of the cold air on my face and I relish it like I have never relished it before.
Many of us survived the hottest day on record under what we thought was a terrible duress, and unbeknown to us a good number of innocent and precious people were fighting for their lives and losing. Many lost all they had ever owned , lost their people, and their beautiful natural environment that day. They lost all they knew of their material life, only to face a blackened world and have to start again.

This cold wet wind makes me feel their grief again, and also brings me joy and hope for healing and new beginnings - a return to some semblance of secure life again.
I only know of people who were lost- I lost no-one personally.
But I know I still feel loss.

And it's a hard rain's gonna fall.....

Some thoughts about the terrible tragedy unfolding in Victoria, where at least 173 people have perished in a holocaust of untameable proportions...
Living here in Geelong we are not too far away from potential disaster; fires visited and decimated here in 1983, and people remember only too well how traumatic it can be.
I listen to the ABC broadcasts, read the papers and chat on facebook all day long- trying to feel connected to these poor people wandering about in their soot and ashes; bereft, burnt and heartbroken, they have lost everything that defined their lives. Many have lost loved ones as well, and in the most dramatic and horrific circumstances. To lose loved ones suddenly is bad enough, but in an inferno is traumatic beyond belief. One can only guess at what they have suffered as they died- trapped, starved of oxygen, burning, in agony and beyond help. No wonder the living look shell shocked and dumbstruck.

Watching them, hearing their stories, I am awash with the sense of helplessness, the grief and total vulnerability they now have to deal with. They are dependent for food, for clothing, for toiletries, for shelter, for dignity itself.
But that is the beauty of what is happening , especially in the recovery centre that is the village of Whittlesea. I'm sure there are others out there, but Whittlesea is getting all the publicity and media, as the area around there and Kinglake,(and Marysville, Strathewen )are where the fires ripped through without warning and with a voracity that was unparalleled anywhere. Villages were literally wiped off the earth.
The people of Whittlesea, where the fire largely left them unscathed, have opened themselves up to the homeless and scorched, and has become a hub of beneficence and succour. People are being reunited there with loved ones and neighbours they thought they might have lost.They are having their basic needs taken care of. There they are speaking to counsellors, to one another and to the media about their respective ordeals. While some of them will leave never to return, others are rallying and shoring one another up, and perhaps considering how they might one day rebuild their community and carry on as an entity again.

But they are still a community. They are functioning.
Yesterday I thought I was jealous of them, and wishing I was a part of what had happened. How perverse of me!
I wondered if I was a bit mental for feeling this way.
But then I realised today it was their community I was jealous of.

Lately I have been feeling a surge of zeal for the ideals of community- of maybe establishing a garden where I could help in the sharing of God's love and healing with the wider community, and people who were disenfranchised; dealing with poverty and loneliness.
I really want to share my vision and somehow stir up some sort of enthusiasm in my peers at church, to get them on board with the idea of gardening and communal sharing that would maybe appeal and draw people into the church, and ultimately into faith in Christ.

I know my 'surge' of zeal, my passion may be somewhat uninformed, but hopefully isn't too far wrong from what God wants (from me, at least). I am not an expert gardener, but I do enjoy being in the garden, and am excited about producing actual food in the garden. I do think that simple, outdoor manual work, done in community with others, is a great healing tool for the mind, body and soul. I can think of a few people now, who might benefit from this sort of activity.

I hope that somewhere, sometime this year I will find a channel for this dream of mine. I hope I can find some other people who might catch the vision and join me in my quest to see a "Healing Garden" established somewhere, I'm hoping as a part of my church's outreach into the community.
Hearing about the suffering in the fire affected areas I feel like I want to be there to help, to listen and to comfort. I am further encouraged in the idea that Chaplaincy and pastoral care are what God is leading me and guiding me into.