Submitted by: Justina Page
www.thecircleoffirebook.com |
Lost in the fire |
On March 7, 1999 at the crack of dawn something goes terribly wrong. I awake to explosions, smoke, and darkness. Oh my God. The house is on fire. Our family is jolted from peaceful bliss and thrown into chaos – our home is totally engulfed with flames. In complete darkness, desperate to save the family, my husband begins frantically jumping in and out of windows.
Like precious obedient lambs, the three oldest boys grab their younger autistic brother and wait at the designated point for their father. Their obedience to the fire escape plan is rewarded with life and merciful 1st and 2nd degree burns. I am thrown out first but hysterically reenter the inferno—determined to reach my precious bundles – 22 month old twins. A large burning oak bookshelf falls on me. I am trapped, burning, and unable to speak above a whisper.
Shouting from the edge of the street a neighbor embraces me by pressing her head to mine—“I have six sons, get my babies.” The count never reaches six. Despite our greatest efforts, everyone did not make it. Tragically the house collapses before my husband is able to get our twin son Amos. I and the other twin are severely injured in the process. All earthly possessions lost in a matter of minutes.
In the garden of my heart weeds of bitterness, fear, and most potent, unforgiveness had taken root. Friends counted on my faith. Many people leaned on me for support and encouragement. Even in my hospital bed at my weakest point people came to confide in me and draw strength. The dilemma was bewildering. Who could I talk to? Who would understand the intensity of the faith crisis I was in? Only God.
In the garden of my heart weeds of bitterness, fear, and most potent, unforgiveness had taken root. Friends counted on my faith. Many people leaned on me for support and encouragement. Even in my hospital bed at my weakest point people came to confide in me and draw strength. The dilemma was bewildering. Who could I talk to? Who would understand the intensity of the faith crisis I was in? Only God.
Through the fire |
God lost a son, his only begotten son to a tragic, unjust death on the cross. “Show me,” I said, “how you dealt with the loss of your Son.” The scriptures stir in my spirit. For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son John 3:16. You gave your Son to me and all things work together for good to them that love God. “But God,” I say, “even this? I cannot sit, stand, walk, or use my hands. I hurt physically and emotionally, my twin son is hurt—my other dead.” God answered me—he is not afraid of my true emotions. “My son died yet he rose and lives again—your son lives.” he says. I am challenged.
I had accepted Christ many years ago and firmly believed in the hope of eternal life. Now my son has slipped into that eternal place where I had prayed for him to be one day since his birth. I choose to embrace my faith and not abandon it. God had saved Amos. God had loaned him to me for a season and now he had taken him back. This was God’s choice. Out of faith blossomed the tender seed of hope. Hope is the heartbeat of survival.