Forged In Fire

When I was a twenty-two-year-old rookie firefighter standing in the devastation of this fire and what was left of the life I had dreamed about since I was a child, I had no idea that the Lord was forging my heart with the fire of indescribable pain, suffering, loss, and trauma so that one day I could stand steadfastly beside others that were overcome by some of the most unspeakable, unimaginable tragedies.

9/11

I had no idea that only a few short years later, after crawling out of the rubble of a burned up apartment building, I would be digging through the rubble of the World Trade Center looking for my friends that had stormed up the stairs of the North Tower trying to rescue people. This tragedy would be my first personal loss and my first exposure to a disaster of that scale. I learned what it meant to compartmentalize the sights, the smells, and mostly, the feelings. I learned what it meant to walk alongside fellow firefighters that were grieving painful losses and not force words or sentiments to try and make things okay. It wasn’t okay. They weren’t okay. I wasn’t okay. Being okay, would probably never come in this lifetime for any of us, but moving into the next phase of what life would look like would create for all of us a new normal. A new normal that carried the scars of collapse. What would that look like for me as someone who was a soul shepherd when I needed a shepherd to get through this valley?

Hurricane Katrina

I had no idea that I would be standing at the flood water’s edge on a freeway in New Orleans, helping to recover the remains of individuals who had perished when Hurricane Katrina unleashed her fury. Standing shoulder to shoulder with other first responders and navigating a plan of how we would go about this emotionally heavy work was a lesson on how to find rest in the bits and pieces of time during the day. It was a lesson on how to process what we had been exposed to so that we could sleep a little more soundly at night. I learned that humor was crucial to our resiliency and our mental health. Laughing and humor are okay, even when it feels like we are being crushed under the weight of tragedy.

West Explosion

I had no idea that the lessons learned through my trauma, and my responses to New York City and New Orleans would be the cement that kept my foundation of chaplaincy from collapsing when I was asked to come in and take the lead of caring for the families and agencies that lost first responders in a fertilizer plant explosion. I, along with my team of volunteers, would guide the families and agencies of these twelve first responders through the notifications, the body recovery, funeral planning, public memorial planning, and the rebuilding of their lives. Leadership through loss and leadership of individuals that were treading through the muddy waters of mass casualty was one of the most difficult, most painful experiences that I had endured. I learned that keeping a trauma-exposed team running effectively for days, weeks, and even months on end involved a level of physical, emotional, and spiritual sacrifice that would be far greater than I imagined. I learned that individuals could crumble from the weight of another’s loss. I learned that humor only goes so far, and when the laughter goes silent, tears can come flooding in like a flood. I learned that relationships could grow closer, and I learned that relationships could collapse. I learned that the Lord was using my experiences to strengthen and fortify my belief systems, and who I believed myself to be.

But still, I had no idea…

I had not a clue…

Santa Fe

That five years later, on a sunny Friday in May, I would be taking the first steps of a months-long journey of walking a community through picking up the pieces after a mass shooting. Spending eighteen years working with individuals and agencies that had endured devastating loss had prepared me to walk into the horrific nightmare that laid before me on that eighteenth day of May. Leading and following my own organization’s volunteers over the years helped prepare me for the fallout of individuals that were put into place to help guide and mend this community. I knew that the pressures of rebuilding shattered lives would be enormous and that some would not be able to continue doing the work. I knew that the spiritual, physical, and mental well-being of those providing care would be tested. And for the most part, I knew how to handle and process my feelings. I still didn’t get everything perfect. I still fought through some very trying moments. I almost walked away at one point because the hurt ran deep but because the Lord had been forging my heart, my mind, and my soul through my own loss, and through the incidents that I had been a part of for the eighteen years preceding this event, I was able to stand firm in my faith.

Suffering

Twenty-two years after a physician had uttered the words, ‘you can’t be a firefighter anymore,’ I look back and realize with awe and wonder that God was preparing me for the mission field that would unfold before me. I know without a doubt that I could not and would not have been able to do this work had it not been for my own tragedy. I would have no idea of the depth of pain these individuals were experiencing. I would have no idea that God does redeem a broken heart. I would have no idea that a good life can be rebuilt on a foundation of memories. Had I not suffered, I would have no idea that even though the pain of a scar that is years old can resurface, that the balm of another’s words can provide relief.

Comforting

I don’t know what lies before me, but I do know that I am stronger, healthier, and more aware than I was all of those years ago. I know that wherever the Lord leads me to serve, that He has equipped me to handle and to endure whatever I face. Because I have suffered, I can empathize. Because I have been comforted, I can provide comfort. I have been forged by fire, and I am grateful.