Wildfires to Wildflowers

        The flames charged down Lady Face Mountain to the edge of the road that curled through the military compound-turned-church grounds. In between Quonset huts, bunkhouses, as well as a creek and a pool, the maniacal wildfire air brushed the landscape black and hazy. Fortunately, no structures lit. Leafless trees stood like ghoulish skeletons poised to pounce amongst charred brush and smoldering soil. This eerie graveyard greeted my friends, who lived at the church, from Thanksgiving to Christmas and all the way to the New Year.

         Then it rained

                                                                    and rained

                                                                           
                                                                                                                                and rained.

     By Valentine's Day everything had changed. Record inches fell on the blackened chaparral. While it's not unusual to see California's brown hills transform to verdant green during the winter, this year was different. The combination of consuming fire and abundant precipitation produced a rare natural phenomenon. A Super Bloom!

     I messaged my friend, "Send pictures of the flowers. I hear my home state is covered in yellow, blue, orange and purple." Spring has not just sprung, but exploded on the Santa Monica Mountains and beyond. Malibu Creek rushes again. Swaths of orange poppies and blue lupine streak the slopes and cliffs. Tall emerald grasses and bright blossoms flash in the coastal sun. The land is transformed from scorched to scattered rainbow hues. From wildfires to wildflowers.

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     But why the colorful blaze this time? Other years have had equally wet winters, but yielded much fewer flowers.

     As destructive as they are, fires help the environment. Harmful insects, mold and diseases burn away. The ashes return vital nutrients to the soil creating ideal conditions for vegetation to flourish. One local biology instructor explained, "Plants are made to rebound after a fire. Some flowers don't even bloom unless the ground is scorched. Deer and rabbits thrive again on the profuse grasses and grow in population." He went on to say, "We don't like to see fires, but they're necessary. After the fire, there's a rebirth."*

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     Last fall brought a personal onslaught of relational wildfires. We all felt the heat of conflict. Words singed. Emotions flared and nothing was seen clearly. We lost sleep and weight and almost hope. We fought flames of fear and confusion, often consumed by sorrow. The inferno of violation left the once serene clearing nearly barren.

     But in the winter, Grace fell. Mercy poured. The rain of God's comfort and instruction soaked our parched souls.  Now, like the poppies and lupine and Indian Paintbrush and mustard bursting, hearts are blooming forgiveness in bright colors, love is covering a multitude of sin. Flaws and failures seared by the Refiner are sprouting shoots of tenderness.

    Wildfires to wildflowers. Beauty for ashes.

    Because after the fire there's a rebirth

                                  and some flowers don't even bloom unless there's a burning.

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He gives beauty for ashes

Strength for fear

Gladness for mourning

Peace for despair

                                                                                                - Crystal Lewis, 

                                                                                                - Isaiah 61

* NPR news story, Mar. 27, 2019