I woke up in my own home this morning. Incredible.
Last Wednesday, I wasn’t sure I had one.
It’s been a week since the Waldo Canyon Fire blew up around our neighborhood, threatening my house and thousands more in the Colorado Springs area. I missed the worst of it: I was about 60 miles north at the time, reviewing The Amazing Spider-Man in Denver. But on my way home, I heard the firefight that day had not gone well: It was threatening neighborhoods now. Neighborhoods very, very close to mine.
I called my wife and heard the strain in her voice.
“We’re leaving,” she said before I could ask. “We can see the flames. We’re throwing stuff in the back of the truck. Can’t talk—bye.”
When I finally made it into Colorado Springs, the entire west side of the city was smothered in gritty, brown-orange smoke—a curtain shielding us from the fire beyond. But while I couldn’t see anything, I could hear, through the radio, coming disaster: A Farm Crest convenience store on the corner was in danger. Horses in a pasture were beginning to panic. The daycare center was threatened.
I knew these landmarks: Knew them all. I get milk at the Farm Crest, drive by that pasture on my way to church. I used to take my kids to the daycare. I knew my family was out and safe. But I also knew—I knew—how unlikely it’d be that we’d have anything to return to.
How fitting that I was watching Spider-Man while all this was going on—another superhero movie predicated on bravery, heroism and duty. For during the movie … and on my drive home … and throughout that long, long night … heroes—real heroes—were at work.
The hills outside our house are blackened now, the fire having torn through the tinder-dry foliage like a butcher’s knife. But the flames stopped short of our neighborhood, hemmed in by a giant, man-made fire line, kept at bay by the bravery of handful of firemen. I’ve since heard that three fire trucks parked on the street and battled the blaze, stopping it just 100 feet—maybe 50—away from the closest house. And when I took a quick stroll through the neighborhood, there was still evidence of the fight: An abandoned firehose, crumpled near someone’s driveway like a giant snake skin.
Our neighborhood was lucky. Others weren’t. Nearly 350 homes were destroyed in the fire. But even in neighborhoods hardest hit—especially there, actually—you can see where the firefighters were. Houses standing in the midst of burned-out husks of building, the scorching running right up to the back yard, the patio, the screen door. Some of these homes didn’t escape by 50 feet. They escaped by five—the fire somehow kept at bay by firefighters who refused to give up. My pastor, who toured the worst-affected areas, found a fireman’s glove on a still-standing deck, the burn going up to and even under the thing.
Even in the neighborhoods most affected by the blaze, an estimated 80% of the homes there made it through. Incredible. Miraculous, even.
We’re in the midst of superhero season at the movies, and I’ve been thinking about the concept of “hero” more this year than usual. It’s really the underlying theme of a book I wrote: What it means to be a hero. I believe that we, as Christians, are all called to be heroes. We can all make a difference in the world, and we don’t need to spin webs or wear a cowl to do so.
So to be reminded of what heroism is all about in such a personal, poignant way … well, that’s something pretty special for me. And for all the stress I’ve dealt with over the last few days, I don’t think I’d trade this precious reminder for anything.
I realize I got off lucky. There’s lots of people suffering during this time around here. At my church alone, 74 families lost their homes in the fire. For many, the Waldo Canyon Fire will be remembered forever as a tragedy.
But it’s in the midst of tragedy that we find our heroes. It’s in the darkest of times that we need our white knights. As I drove into work this morning, I saw a half-dozen messages scrawled in paint on sheets, nailed to fences that just days before had been under a shroud of smoke.
“We (heart) firefighters,” they said. “Thank U First Responders,” they said. “Firefighters, you’re our heroes,” they said.
You don’t always need to go to the movies to see a hero in action. Sometimes, they’re all around you.
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