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Christmas Stories: 'Vigil of Hope'
At one time or another, many of us have needed faith, friends, and family to help us through difficult times. In "Vigil of Hope" -- a Christmas story with a powerful message -- the main characters are forced to lean heavily on their pillars of support during a tragedy on Christmas Eve. The experience winds up giving them a deeper understanding of the meaning of Christmas. Read "Vigil of Hope," and you'll be reminded that there is much more to Christmas than parties and presents."Vigil of Hope"
We had made it through a rough October fire season with minimal damage. Christmas was now two days away, and the thought of another brushfire near the Cleveland National Forest was the furthest thing from my mind. But when my husband, Rick, a dedicated firefighter, got the call that a fire had broken out on a ridge about ten miles from our home, my stomach went tight.
I took a deep breath and kissed him goodbye as he went off that day to fight what was being described as a small but dangerous fire. Rick assured me that they would tame the blaze in no time and that he would be home the next day for a wonderful Christmas Eve with our three small children.
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I was sure Rick would be home for dinner, but he called from his cell phone to let me know that they were having trouble with some hot spots -- and that he would be home late. At least, he said, the fire was almost completely put out.
Four hours later, I put on the 11 o'clock news and was horrified to see that the top story was the fire, now raging out of control. The reporters on the scene described the situation as grave. Apparently, the winds had kicked up that night and were fanning the hot spots into new fires that converged on an area of extremely dense dried brush. Battalions from all over Southern California were called in to assist, and some were even coming from as far east as Arizona.
My children were in bed, so I sat frozen on the couch watching in horror. When the phone rang, I practically jumped out of my skin. I answered breathlessly, expecting to hear Rick's voice, but it was my sister, Jane, concerned about the fire. She lived in the next town and was on her way over, despite my protests.
I spent all night with my sister and two neighbors, who had come over to be with me as we waited for word. Several nearby towns closer to the forest edge were being evacuated, and I began to wonder if I should prepare overnight bags for the kids. My two neighbors left around 3:00 a.m., but my sister stayed as Christmas Eve day broke without a word from Rick.
By now, the local channels were showing uninterrupted coverage of the fire, which was now spreading at a disastrous rate. Water-dropping planes and choppers with fire retardant were flying constantly overhead on their way to the fire site. My kids were stirring, so Jane went in to help them get dressed as I prepared breakfast, my ears glued to the TV.
I got a call from Rick three hours later. He was on a break, and I could hear his labored breathing through the bad connection. He would not be home for a while, he told me, as his command was going to set backfires on a ridge to try to stop the fire from leaving the National Forest area and jumping a highway. "What a way to spend Christmas Eve day," he laughed, but I didn't hear much humor in his voice.
By late afternoon, dozens of friends and family members had converged on my house. I wasn't sure if I felt better surrounded by loved ones or completely alone in my fear and horror. Still, the noise and human bodies alone served to keep me sane and did wonders for my kids, all of whom were now really frightened. They wanted their daddy home, but they knew he was working hard at a job he loved. For little ones, their wisdom often surprised me, and it certainly gave me strength.
It was a reporter on the local broadcast that broke the terrible news. A crew of ten firefighters had been trapped on a ridge while attempting to set backfires. The winds had changed, and the fire had turned back on them with such speed and fury that flames now surrounded them. I knew in my heart that this was Rick's crew. Jane and I exchanged glances, silently wondering how much worse it could get. I watched the live footage in a state of shock.
Go to the next page to find out how "Vigil of Hope" ends.
Christmas Stories: 'Vigil of Hope,' Part II
Here is the second and final part of "Vigil of Hope":A neighbor had thoughtfully taken the kids to McDonald's so they would not have to see what the rest of us were seeing, but I wondered what I would tell them when they returned. How would I tell them that not only was Daddy not coming home for Christmas Eve but that he might never come back at all? The very thought made me ill.
I knew I had to go to him. I knew I could not stand here in my living room, safe and secure, and watch this unfold on TV. I got my purse and coat and headed toward the door. "I'm going to him," I said. Jane leapt into action, calling our neighbor at McDonald's to bring the kids home right away. Jane would bring them in her car. Several friends grabbed their coats and followed me, not wanting me to go alone.
We made a caravan to the edge of the fire site, where several police cars had set up a barricade point. We were about two miles from the western edge of the flames, and we could see the glow of the fire and feel the heat. The police warned us that if the winds changed, we would need to get out of there fast.
But I wasn't going anywhere. I got down on my knees in front of the barricade, and I closed my eyes and prayed. My friends joined me, praying silently beside me. After a long while, I opened my eyes and just sat there, staring straight ahead, silently pleading with God to bring them back alive.
Someone from behind me touched me on the shoulder. I turned to see a woman holding two lighted candles in cups. She handed me one of them and smiled. I saw a strange glow behind her, and for a second I thought the fire had come up behind us, but my heart leapt with joy when I saw dozens--no, hundreds--of people holding candles. My friends and I rose from our knees in awe as a vigil of hope spread out behind us, with dozens more people joining the group every moment. The police looked a little worried at first, but then they, too, took lit candles.
I saw Jane edging her way through the growing crowd, and I couldn't help but cry out when my three kids ran toward me, each holding a vigil light. We hugged and got down on our knees, and we began to pray again, this time out loud. It was a simple prayer, just asking God for protection for the men and women caught on the ridge. When we were finished, we heard a massive chorus of voices respond with "Amen."
For the next two hours, the crowd joined my family in silent prayers, each in their own faith. It didn't matter if they were Christian or Jewish or Buddhist. They were all human beings, drawn together in concern and love for others. I believe it was that unity of faith and strength that caused the winds to die down that night and made it possible for surrounding units to squelch the fire around the ridge where Rick was trapped. And I believe it was the power of prayer that gave my husband and his crew the escape route they needed to make their way down the side of a mountain to safety below.
Another two hours passed before we got word that Rick and the others had made it off the ridge, all ten of them. Three were suffering from smoke inhalation, and another five were being treated for exhaustion, but all were alive. A cheer of happiness and relief went up from the crowd, which had grown even bigger thanks to local news coverage describing the ongoing "Vigil of Hope." As we all hugged each other, strangers and friends alike, it occurred to me that none of us were really strangers after all. Tragedies like this fire on Christmas Eve had a way of bringing together people who might never come together over anything else.
And maybe, just maybe, that was God's plan.
When Rick finally came home on Christmas afternoon, after spending the night in the hospital, I knew that my family had been given the greatest gift of all, an answer to our prayers. We were exhausted, but we were alive, together, and grateful. It was the best Christmas we ever had.