From the ashes

What would you do if you lost all your possessions?

My dad and I were very close. It wasn’t always like that; some of my posts have recounted my bone-headed moves as a kid and his predictable reactions.

But as I grew in maturity, our relationship evolved from parent/child to friendship. And sitting out under the seagrape tree in sand chairs, with a few cold ones, I learned much.

What would I do if I lost everything?

I’d like to think I’d emulate Pop.

He lived with his parents and two sisters in a modest house in a town just outside of New York City. They were comfortably middle class; my grandfather was a master bricklayer and there was always food on the table and presents under the tree.

They attended the local Lutheran church and to my eight yo father, it was all a bit abstract. He dutifully attended Sunday school and worship services, but he preferred to be building his model planes, riding his bike, or exploring the woods…in that era…of rural Long Island.

Life was wonderful. Until one night it wasn’t.

He was awoken by shouts and the pounding on doors; flames and smoke filled the upstairs hallway. Everyone groped for each other with stinging eyes, coughing, and felt their way to the stairs. They barely made it out. As the distant wail of sirens sounded, they could see it was too late. They stood on the front lawn with some neighbors and watched everything they knew, owned, loved…go up in flames. No one had had time to take anything.

The next morning was a chilly one in September. Pop sat on the front stoop in his pajamas, shivering, while his family talked with the neighbors. The realization slowly dawned of the enormity of it all. He had no house, no room, nowhere to lay his head. His bike, his model planes…everything was gone.

The early morning fog combined with the smoke from the cooling embers made visibility poor. As Pop watched, a figure emerged from the gloom, walking up their driveway. It was a mysterious figure, wearing a hat and a long black robe, carrying something.

Pop recognized him: Pastor Jacksheimer from their church. He was carrying blankets and a thermos. He gently placed a blanket around Pop. Then he knelt and poured him a cup of hot chocolate and handed it to him. Pop focused on his clerical collar. He looked at Pop with compassion and said “You know, don’t you, that everything is going to be OK?” Pop finally made eye contact as Pastor Jacksheimer placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

Pop’s voice, in relating this story, became tight. He had to pause for a second before continuing. He looked at me.

“At that moment,” he said, “At that moment, my faith was born.”

And everything was OK. My grandfather had a lot of friends in the construction industry: master carpenters, plumbers, electricians. And while his family had to live in a tent while their new house rose from the ashes, it was made with care by friends and was better than the original.

And though Pop gradually accumulated more stuff, he was left with something immensely more valuable.

I’d like to think I’d have the grace to surrender all my stuff…the practical; the necessary; the sentimental…with faith, as Pop did.

And trust, like him, that it was all gonna be OK.

“For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out.” ~ 1 Tm 6:7