“Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So, let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing.”
— James 1:2-4 (NLT)
“Morning Glories, it seems, only bloom in adversity. When the plants are happy and healthy, with plenty of food, they don’t make many flowers. So, all summer long, in beautiful weather and healthy growing conditions, my vines produced lots of good growth and pleasant heart-shaped leaves. It wasn’t until things cooled off in October that the plants finally felt threatened enough to bloom. So, sometimes hardship is a good thing.”
–excerpt from “Faith Grows in Adversity”, Stories of Hope Springs by Elaine Prindle
[MAY 6, 2003 – Tuesday, 3:00 am]
Derek
You fall out of bed, hit the floor hard, try desperately to listen for sounds of the children. The blaring, strident fire alarm masks all other noises.
“Peter!” you cry as loud as choked lungs will allow. You struggle to your feet, grasping at the blankets, and slap at the form of your husband on the bed. A mumble and hint of movement encourages you, and you grab harder, shake harder, and yell again, this time into an ear, “Peter, wake up!”
“What, Derek? What is it?” Peter sits upright, fumbles his glasses onto his nose. He gasps and coughs and leaps out of bed as realization dawns.
Fire!
You exchange glances, deciding without words in the choking smoke who will go where. You dash out the door and each turn toward a bedroom; Peter goes left toward Hope and Charity, you go to the right toward Faith.
The smoke is thicker at the front, billowing up the stairs from the shop below, and you have to get low to the floor and crawl. You struggle to the stairway, grab at the bottom of the door, slam it shut against the relentless rush of smoke. Through the gloom you see Faith’s door is open, the night light still gleaming in the smoky haze. You crawl into the small front bedroom and a siren begins to wail. Hope Springs Fire and Rescue is on the way.
The nightlight blinks out with a small popping noise. You grope through the sudden darkness to the bed, pull aside the covers and reach for the still form of your child. Sleeping?
Dear Lord, let the child be sleeping.
“Faith? Come on sweetie, wake up; we have to go outside for a while,” Your words are soft, urgent as your strong hands turn the child, wrapping the child in their blanket.
At the sound of your voice, the child stirs. Small sea-green eyes open and search your face. “Mommy? Why up?”
You lift the small form of your three-year-old child, wrapped snuggly in the warm quilt. “We have to get outside for a while,” You repeat. “I’m going to cover your face, so you won’t get cold.”
You pull a fold of blanket across your child’s face and they protest, “But Mommy, Springtime isn’t cold outside.” The small voice cuts off in a spasm of coughing as you half crawl, half stagger out of the bedroom into the hall.
Smoke pours up the front stairs, oozing in a great dark snake under the closed door. Now it’s joined by a rising heat. You move through the gloom of smoke, choking, and glance toward the stairs. A bright angry glow rings the door. You turn away, toward the rear of the building, but the smoke is thick and black, and you can’t see your hand in front of your face. A spasm of coughing stops you. Breathless, you crouch there as you feel the floor grow warmer.
I have to catch my breath! I have to move!
You look up, trying to see through the gloom.
Which way, Lord?
The smoke and darkness obscure everything, and you’re lost in your own home.
Which way to the back door?
The View from Mt. Hope 