I was born on March 13, 1965 to an awesome young couple. There could not have been two more different people much less parents. My father was the stern enforcer who occasionally broke down to become the tickle monster or barbeque king. He was always working to make a better life for our family so he was rarely home. Mom on the other hand was the glue that held the family together. She was the comforter, teacher, nurse, and best friend. She was a stay at home mom until I went to junior high school therefore there was no shortage of home cooked meals, hand-made clothes, and hours of nurturing. During the next forty-six and a half years I was given the amazing chance to truly get to know my mother. I have only begun to get to know my father since his retirement. Much of who I am and how I react to life are directly related to them both, however there is another person that plays into who I am. God my Father has molded and shaped me since I accepted the gift of salvation through the precious shed blood of my Savior, The Lord Jesus Christ of Nazareth.

My mother is the one who made it possible for me to know the Lord. My dad never wanted for his kids to be forced into faith. The result was we were not allowed to attend church. This however did not stop my mother from seeing to it that we knew the gospel. She read us Bible stories, showed us View-master slides related to the Bible, and taught us to worship through the music she played daily. Her nightly prayers with us before bed led me to know Jesus as my best friend. I talked to Him all the time and still do.

She had an amazing faith. He brought her back from the dead twice. Once when she died on the operating table at six years old and again at thirty-four during a fire in our home. She was seventy years old when she died but she had walked with God since she was seven years old. Can you imagine waling with God for sixty-three years? My mom was one of the strongest people I have known. She had her faults and her weaknesses but she did not live in them and she taught me not to live in mine.

I went to counseling for grief management because I was alone with her when she died. My grief was deep. She had been my best friend, prayer partner, and roommate for forty-three and a half of my forty-six years. After my first counseling session I was driving home and the song “Because You Loved Me” by Celine Dion came on. I sang the song loud and clear while I sobbed and I sang it to her. Usually when I sing it I do so as a love song to my Heavenly Father but this time I realized it was ok to sing it to mom because I am everything I am because she loved me. I could be living as an invalid but she taught me not to live as though I am handicapped even though I am blind in one eye. I should have died in the fire with my brothers but God got me out thanks to her prayers and my dad’s determination. She encouraged me and assisted me in the raising of my daughter as a single parent. Mom cheered me on as I went to school to gain skills to improve my viability in the job market. I might have died in February six years ago, but she added her prayers to mine and God left me here again. Even as her faith was failing she spent her last two weeks asking me questions about our faith and why we believe. I recognized after her death that she was making sure I would be okay when she left me just as my grandmother did with her before she died. The women in our family practice the art of die empty (pour all you have into those around you to leave a legacy of faith). I miss her terribly. She was a rock we could depend on. Although I grieved deeply for my brothers I did not know grief could be so cavernous.

A few months after mom passed away for a couple of weeks Chris Sligh’s song, “Arise” kept playing in my mind and I would silently sing it. I realized one Friday, God had been telling me to arise out of my grief and start living again. God began showing me that I had been given a great privilege in that He allowed me to walk her home to be with Him even as the Mark Schulz song, “Walking Her Home” declares. What a blessing. I could have missed it but He gave me the strength and courage to see it through. As I started to live again He began to heal my heart through worship music, His Word, and the lives of people He allowed to touch mine.

John Courson stated in a sermon, that his grandmother whom he dearly loved said she was just changing addresses. One of our clients said that her husband left her but was waiting for her to join him. My mom left me, she moved to heaven, and changed her address but she gave me clear instructions for me to follow. She wanted me to make sure that I did not stray from the faith but rather joined her there when my time arrived and make sure that the children would go to heaven too. In order for the children to be there she requested that I take on the role of matriarch that had been left to her. As the matriarch, I would be expected to pray, teach, and lead by example so that all the little ones will know the way.

The legacy continues. Mom and grandma were a prayer team that were unstoppable. My and I became the dynamic duo when grandma passed. Now my daughter and I are the crew to beat. Our prayer list extends far beyond family as she often calls me to give me names and situations of people in need of prayer. Now my middle grandchild is coming into his own as a prayer warrior. I still miss mom but I am not alone.

The final piece of the puzzle for the healing of my broken heart was a song by Avalon, “I Can’t Live A Day Without You.” While I am making it without my mom, I have not and cannot live a day with God. He is my reason for living and to be honest I do not want to live a day without Him. And since mom is with Him I can ask Him to hug her and tell her I love her on the days I miss her the most.

I know that I will always love my mom. I will have times of sadness when I think of her but also times of amazing joy and laughter as I remember life with her. I may be angry because of how her last days were but these emotions are okay because they were a part of my life with her. The most important thing is that I got to love her without reservation and without regrets. She left me the same legacy my grandmother left her, unconditional love and the greatest gift of all, love for my precious Savior. What better treasure could be given to anyone! My desire is to use the gifts I have been given to live life to the fullest in love with my Savior, my Heavenly Father, and those that He blesses my life to touch.

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I walked out the door with my daughter to get the mail. It was Sunday evening September 22, 2002 a 5:30 pm. We were getting the mail one day late because everyone had just been too lazy to outside on Saturday. As we walked toward the mailbox I looked up at the sky. My daughter pointed out the pretty colors. The colors were so different she concluded there must be a fire somewhere based on how we had seen fires change the sky on other occasions.

I walked toward the middle of our apartment complex to get a better view towards the mountains in the north. I saw a thin column of smoke. Incredibly the smoke intensified the hues of the sunset. Strokes of rich purple, deep fuchsia, burnt orange, and cobalt blue were flung across the sky forming a fantastic tapestry. As I focused at the beautiful scene before me I contemplated on the fact that something as terrible as fire could help to create something so breathtaking.

Late that evening as we watched the news we learned the fire was in the Glendora mountains just a few short miles from our home.

We awoke Monday morning to a pall of smoke hanging low in our valley. As I drove my daughter to school she took pictures of another natural yet unnatural phenomenon. I was headed east toward the morning sunrise. It was 6:55 am. San Dimas High School was in sight when we were greeted by a strange, eerie sun. It looked like something you would see in a horror story or maybe in pictures of an apocalypse. All the streets were deserted around us. A smoky haze formed a ghostly shroud over the valley and in the middle of the covering was our sun blazing as a white-hot ball of heat. The sun stood guard as a sentinel over the entire valley. My words cannot begin to describe the weird feeling this experience produced within us.

The fire continued to rage throughout the day, growing in intensity. Ash and burning sparks showered down on the San Dimas High School campus. Students who attended school that day said it was as if a light snow was falling.

That evening we found out certain mountain roads had been closed and people were being evacuated from their homes.

As my daughter was talking on the phone she happened to glance out of her bedroom window. She uttered a loud cry. From her window, she could watch the flames as they licked the mountainside. During the next 2 hours, she gave us constant updates on the progress of the fire. The personality of the fire was aggressive but sneaky. One mountain was literally capped with flames all the way across its top. However, the mountain next to it stood tall and stalwart as though, to say it was not going to be defeated. Unfortunately, the fire was devilish in the way it played with this mountain. Flames would shoot up so high from behind the mountain that they seemed to crest it. Then just when we thought the fire won, the flames would shrink back down until they had disappeared.

Flames gobbled up the mountain that had been burning for a while. My daughter predicted the stouthearted mountain would be engulfed before we retired for the night. Just before bed we all took one last look at the burning landscape. As predicted the indomitable mountain lost its battle to remain unscathed. The fire now consumed all the mountain terrain visible from her bedroom window.

At school the next day my daughter was told her teacher was now living in his car because he had been evacuated. Many of students she attended school with had also been evacuated. Several of the local schools were used as emergency shelters for the evacuees.

My daughter and her classmates were informed that her school was next on the list. If it was necessary to use the school, the students would not be able to attend classes. A discussion ensued among her friends and her regarding the situation. One student was happy that they might not have to attend school for a few days. However, this was not the case among most the young people. They were sad that so many people had been displaced from their homes and thankful their school was available to be used as a temporary shelter for them.

The Glendora Mountain fire continued to rage for another week before it was contained. Several homes were lost as well as other buildings. Thanks to the concentrated effort of countless fire fighters many more buildings were saved and no lives were lost. Stories of individual courage and neighborly kindness to the exhausted fireman abound. I am sure none of us will forget the devastation that occurred or the terror caused by the night of the reign of fire.