From exile

As it turns out, the tree that fell across the street into our driveway and yard last night, taking out all of the power lines and poles from the park down Coolidge and across Main Street, wasn't the main event.

Instead, the fires have taken center stage.

In short order, evacuations that began in the outlying areas, have closed in on Silverton. No longer could I only focus outwardly, it was my turn to pack a to-go bag. And then I had to wait for Kent to return to fetch us {cats included} because my car is trapped behind the tree that toppled last night.

Now, I write to you from exile. Far enough from Silverton that I have no idea how things are back in our village. Has electricity been restored? What's happening?

What a ride we have been on. A pandemic came along, changing everything that we thought we knew about moving around and gathering together. Today many of us face evacuations, and suddenly even our safe spaces are threatened. I thought the pandemic was an extreme exile exercise, today has added so many hard and complicated layers.

Families who were awaken in the night and this morning believed that their home could be gone.

People packing up, trying to find a safe place to move towards.

Rumors.

Fear.

Anxiety.

Flung even farther apart during this season of wilderness isolation, we din't sign up for exile, we are forced into these places.

And yet, here we are. Together, even while apart.

Today, the neighbor whose yard I was cutting through {to avoid the downed power lines} blessed me: she nearly brought me to tears with her words of comfort and encouragement. As you are able, when the opportunity arises, pass a blessing along; it will be especially meaningful as we live into our time in exile.

Pastor Leah