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.