My daughter and I are taking a short nap before dinner. It's been quite a long and frigid day. We find comfort in chatting about our day under our "warm and fuzzzy blankets". Yeah, I still have a favorite blankie at 44 years of age.
My youngest is spending the night with a friend tonight.
Their dad is home, studying for finals. We are all very proud of him for continuing his education, and doing very well at it.
Unlike a lot of divorced families, we get along very well. I like to say that we just had ideas that were unalike and couldn't get along, but that we still care about one another and love the two children we made from it all.
     My former mother-in-law is on the road home from her Tuesday chemotherapy treatment. It has become an all day affair for her, once a week. She is a strong 2 X survivor of breast cancer. My girls love her dearly.
Grandpa is home, just having settled into bed as he rises very early for work each morning. He has survived the big lay off that our community was hit hard with in this past week. Stubborn and cantankerous old man he is. But the girls love him too.
     Aunt Paula and uncle Marc are preparing to leave the church where they are assistant pastors for the evening. They live with grandma and granpa, helping out with the house, and actually purchasing it on land contract, in hopes of keeping it in the family.
     Larissa wakes up from a short nap and jumps in the shower, as I filter around trying to conjure something for dinner.
And the phone rings. It is my former husband, his voice shaky and shrill, with sirens in the background.

      I hate to pull Larissa from the shower and tell her to get dressed, but hate more to tell her why. "Get dressed, with lots of warm clothes, we have to get to grandma and grandpa's house".
She knows immediately that something is wrong. The tone of my voice, the urgency of it, the tears in my eyes.
"Dad says it will be hard to get there, and we may have to walk a little". Only two blocks away, and we never heard a thing.
The entire block is jammed. Vehicles that had started down the road only to have to turn around in the tiny street and head back.  My daughter is about to jump from a moving vehicle, I grab her arm firmly and yell at her to wait, we will get there. I found a grassy part in someones front yard and quickly pull off to park the van. She is out the door before I can pull the keys from the ignition.
I run swiftly to catch up with her, she is gasping for air from crying and running. I just pulled her close and helped her along the rest of the way.
The closer we get, the weaker our knees become, the harder it is to breathe.
The air is filled with smoke, and there are ambulences and fire trucks all over the place.

 A cramped house, but full of cherished memories, antiques, and things that just cannot be replace, stands there burning.
All you can do at first is look around and count heads, making sure that everyone is accounted for. Then it hits you.
All that remains of a brother lost is in there. Handmade quilts from loved ones deceased.
And all you can do is watch as those things become lost in ash and water.
The next day it is all you can do to get there fast enough and try to find something that survived the ravage of flames.
As we pulled up our hearts sank. It was just a twisted smoldering pile. You feel the loss of the brother all over again, as all you had to hold onto him is surely lost.
The tears begin to flow again.
The sorting begins. A big 3 story home lies in one big pile atop the former basement. You know it's dangerous to be walking around, but something catches your eye.

It's pink. It's your first child's first baby doll. My former mother-in-law was meticulous about saving memories. I think it all started when she lost her son.
I don't know how many times we have washed that thing since, and we still cannot get rid of that discouraging odor. But we have it.
Most amazing of all, found amid ashes and mud, were the 3 family bibles. Untouched by a flame or water.
And the deeper we dug, the more amazed and thankful we became.
It was the prayer. As that house stood burning, near 25 people stood with linked hands and hearts, praying that all would not be lost. And thanking and praising Him that no one was inside.
God surrounded that which was close to our hearts that evening. Forming a shield of protection around things some would say was just "material".
Today, nearly 6 mo. later, as I prepare for my first grandchild, I thank Him again.
To fold with love, your first childs baby blanket, made with love, to be used in just a few short monthes to keep warm her first child, is endearing.
And as I work on crocheting an affighan for this new blessing, I pray that He will protect us all. I know deep in my heart that He will.
When you think all is lost, raise your eyes to the heavens and know that precious things will be protected. If your heart is filled with His love, that also will He protect.