Brian Maloy

In many ways, it feels as though the fire were yesterday, a bad dream we may wake up from eventually. In some ways it seems like another lifetime. While I hope to not accidentally infer that we’ll have a festering wound forever (although I kind of want to keep my scars on my hands from the stitches), I know the Holy Spirit comforts and heals us, I have heard that for us, life will be divided in two halves, in a manner of speaking. Life before the fire, and life after the fire. I wish I could wrap my mind around how much has changed in just a short month. 

Probably one of the miracles of our mind, is that we humans are always trying to find rhythm and order, make meaning out of our lives, and find a kind of homeostasis. I know that our family has accidentally and purposefully done this. Yet, I do not want to rush to find the new normal (since we can’t ever return to the old normal), I don’t want to bypass the hurt, the grief, the loss, and confusion. Likewise, I do not want to awkwardly struggle to answer the question when people ask how we are. The truth is, we are “ok”. We are alive, we have a rental home, we have basics to live, we have jobs, etc. We are “okay”. But we are not great. We are not normal. We are not settled, and probably won’t be until we’re back home for a while (because that too will be another new normal). We are okay. But we are broken. That said, I suspect we are exactly where we can best be comforted, and shepherded by our Father in heaven. Our Father who has promised to always be with us, to walk with us, to be our refuge. So much of scripture speaks about the unique blessing of God’s presence (Psalm 46:1, Psalm 91:2, Deut. 31:6, Matt. 28:20, Psalm 139:7-10, Ex. 33:14. Heb. 13:5, 2 Cor. 1:34), even just those verses are a smattering of the many which remind us of the goodness, and importance of God’s presence. 

I have been reading a book about grief (called Therefore I have Hope), and the author had a chapter about God’s presence in scripture. I need to go back and read the chapter, along with pulling passages from the Bible that speak of God’s presence. Of the whole of book, it was the idea that stuck with me the most. My mind has been very foggy the last month, but I think a good number of counseling books I’ve read, also lean into the importance of God’s presence. I know this has deeper significance and meaning.

I mentioned awhile back that Psalm 23 has really been on my heart and mind a lot lately, despite my arrogance that I wish a more obscure, less beloved passage was my muse. But when I’ve gone on my night walks (without Sophie) from Tower House (our term of endearment for our very tall rental house) to pray, spend time talking to God, trying to wrestle out this whole scenario, Psalm 23 is always what comes to mind. I can recite it well (thanks to a couple really great scripture songs that put the whole thing to music), and it comes naturally. It’s amazing how challenging the words are. It does bring me comfort, absolutely. But there have been sections of Psalm 23, when I am praying it out loud that just break me, and bring me to tears. In verse 4, I am not sure I have made it out loud with getting choked up:

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.”
(Ps. 23:4 NASB)

I know that it is true, in my heart and in my mind. I think it’s exactly what my heart is longing for in this season. The presence of God with me IN THE VALLEY. I don’t need to try and bypass the valley, or talk myself out of it. I need to learn to walk through the valley, and walk in step with the Spirit, the presence of God.

Something Clara and I planned to do this year was to read through the Bible together. We’ve done it before, but it’s been awhile. I usually read through solo, or some years do Audio Bible, but this year we’d decided to do it together as a nice practice, a spiritual discipline. We actually ordered nice Daily Reader Bibles before the fire, they arrived a few days afterward. But they are great. I’ve never done this style (typically I did chronological or straight through), but this one is 4 chunks, one Old Testament, one Psalm, one Proverb, and one New Testament. I have loved it. Clara has loved it too. In a small strange way, as I have pondered this, I think the providence of ordering those a week or so before the fire, and deciding we’d do it together, God knew exactly what He was doing. He knew what would come in the days after, and He knew that His presence would be the comfort our hearts need now. That learning to slowly dwell with Him was perfectly suited for all of life, but particularly with some discipline and a plan, what we need in this challenging phase of life. After all, it’s likely a year before we move “home”. The emotions, the ups and downs, the exhaustion, the grief, all of it, will take time. It will surprise us, it will haunt us, it will bless us somehow. 

My hope and prayer, is that through something simple like a Daily Bible reading for a year, done together, husband and wife, will help draw us nearer to one another, show our children how we continue to walk with the Lord in His goodness regardless of the valley, and will help to draw us nearer to the heart of our Father in heaven who knows — knows intimately what grief, pain, and sorrow feel like. 

I have prayed through overwhelmed tears on those night walks that if God wants to use this horrible tragedy for His glory, He has to give me the words. My mind is foggy, I don’t feel as though I am thinking clearly, emotions come and go. But I have told God, He must give me the words. He must help me share this story somehow (as ordinary as it may seem from the outside), because it will be a journey with and to Him. I am not totally sure how God will use this, I feel a bit of “unsettledness” about bothering to write this. But I recently read this quote somewhere,

“There is someone out there with a wound in the exact shape of your words.”

I would add to that, my words, with Jesus’ help. I don’t pretend like everyone has gone through the exact loss as us, losing our home, our memories, and our beloved Sophie, BUT I do know people all wrestle with sadness, doubt, pain, fears, grief, loneliness, homesickness, being overwhelmed, feelings of unfairness, bitterness, even anger, and uncertainty. I know in those things, we are not alone. And if God can somehow use my wrestling, my vulnerability to help draw someone else’s heart to Him — I will be humbly thankful for the Lord trying to work some words out of my befuddled mind.