THE FIRE

It seems like it happened yesterday when I heard the news that the chapel at my alma mater had burned beyond repair.

Not the chapel!

My mind lingers in a flood of memories.

Our daily 'mantra' was "Chapel, class and lunch."

No matter what our schedules, we always began the day with a chapel service.

Our graduating class even donated a small stained glass window for one of the side windows.

It's gone.

Melted.

In the intense heat a tiny piece of coal expanded into a flame that overtook centuries of memories.

It has been years since I was there but we finally visited the campus.

Almost nothing had changed . . .  except the site of the chapel.

A chain link fence keeps us out of a very precarious structure . . . purposely left standing for all to see . . . it's just a building . . . which will be replaced by a structure far more practical, more easy to maintain and just as beautiful.

But the memories . . . will they keep?

I think so.

The heart seems to keep such treasures secure for our lifetime . . .  

Memories are like that.

When I find the time to linger on the porch and do little more than remember, I will re-imagine exactly how the building was shaped and what went on inside . . .  every morning . . .  before entering our various classrooms.

The beauty of destruction:
 strong lines, beautiful angles,
beams meant to last more than
 a couple of centuries.

The crisp white of 'Main Hall,' so close that it could be attached, towers
 above  charred remains.  Even the ancient slate seemed to melt.

The Rose Window, loved by all who saw it,
remains strong in contour.  A flower that retains its
stature after the color is gone is still beautiful.

Red brick, fired to withstand the centuries, has
held this edifice together.  I wonder if someone
gently touched the tower . . .  would it crumble?
The bell no longer chimes since the old rope sizzled away.

I am told the mortar is so lose that all will topple
in a severe storm.  It seems to retain such strength.
I definitely see strength of character.

The trees on each side of the door we entered each morning
seem to defy all odds.  Green blooms spring forth to remind us
that life is always regenerating.
Life keeps blooming in the midst of ashes.

These are the 'bones' of the chapel, sort of like our bones.
When all the 'flesh' is gone, the structure seems haunted.
Yet, as with ourselves, the soul remains.
 Our souls, given freely to God in Christ, live forever.
The soul of this chapel will live forever in our hearts.
 

 Spending an hour with this building taught me that life-expectations, like this chapel, can fizzle in a moment.
We may go through a devastating fire that leaves us feeling, and looking, like a walking skeleton . . .  torn to shreds, gray as ash . . .  yet when we give our soul to God, fully, as His servant, we can stand tall, and know that we also can be rebuilt.
Devastation can hold us back for awhile but, with God's help, we can 'rebuild' our lives stronger . . . with greater purpose . . . more inspiring than before.

May the fires of life not hold us back but provide soul- strength we never felt before.

[By the way, the new structure will be placed right next to this chapel site and retain the beauty and integrity of a place that will linger in my memory for the rest of my life.  The site of the 'old' chapel will become a meditation garden.]