Circles of Life

February 7, 2010, marked the one-year anniversary of the horrific bushfires in Australia, in my home state of Victoria. The day 173 people perished, as the flames roared through small townships and majestic forests of towering eucalypts, devouring everything in their path and sending helpless wildlife fleeing for its life. In Australia the flags were flown at half mast, a national day of mourning remembering the victims of Black Saturday, Australia’s worst-ever natural disaster in recorded history.

As much as man is fascinated with fire, drawn to it like moths to a flame, it is a heart-wrenching experience to know that your country is burning up, the land of your birth that you love to the very core your being. Of all the images I hold dear, that capture the true essence of all I love about Australia, it is the tall eucalypts, multicolored bark peeling in long tendrils, leaves hanging lazy and relaxed, exuding the invigorating fragrance of eucalyptus oil that permeates our very pores, filling every breath we inhale.

Last May I returned to Australia to share my country with my American brother-in-law, Don, and his wife Barbara. What a treat that was! Such dear ones in our family. But filled with so many unexpected experiences. Many circles of my life completed.

Just before nephew Mike’s wedding, we drove up to Marysville, one of the areas hardest hit by the bushfires. Almost every building and house in the town destroyed by fire in the February of 2009. We drove up the Black Spur, a steep, winding, mountain road through stunning stands of towering Mountain Ash, miles of fragrant eucalyptus forest, once magnificent gleaming white trunks trailing long strips of peeling bark. Tall tree ferns, coarse brown bodies decked in delicate waving fronds. Shrouded in a blue mist heavy with the exotic fragrance of the Australian bush. Now it was a landscape of blackened trees, grim reminders of the blazing inferno that had swept these mountainsides.

Very little remained of this once thriving little mountain retreat. A mecca for holiday makers. A romantic resort for lovers. A spiritual retreat. Mike had planned to bring his bride here on their honeymoon, and we walked the charred remains of the land. The sign proclaiming Riverside Cottages was the only reminder left.

In the middle of town we stopped to walk the desolate streets. Lone chimneys the sole survivors, ashen strings of a piano splayed in the dirt now a ghostly relic of happier days. Bulldozers scraped debris into growing mounds. A huge eucalyptus tree –called simply a gum tree by every native Australian – lay prone across a reserve flanked by a gurgling stream, burned and toppled in the devastating fires.

In a sudden urge, I touched my hand to the bark, a gesture of reverence for the sacrifice it had made. It was like a brand – red hot, almost burning my skin. In that instant I could hear the crackling and roar of the approaching fire on that fateful day. The bush exploding spontaneously, feel the heat of the wall of flames sweeping the hillsides on its deathly rampage. I felt the pain of the tree about to die, heard the screams of wildlife fleeing the raging inferno. I took my hand away and the sounds and sensations dimmed – put it back, and flames fanned the roar filling my ears once again. I knew my connection with this sunburned country ran deep – I had no idea it was this strong, to feel its very pain.

Many years ago I had stayed at Marysville’s El Kanah, where we spent a week at a CFO camp for spiritual replenishment and renewal. We stopped at the only remaining store in town, a bakery, and asked for directions. Take the road out of town and past the golf course. I recognized the landmarks. There was the golf course. And opposite – I could barely reconcile the site of the lodge now vanished. The red earth scraped bare. Images danced before my eyes, and I heard the strains of music, the prayers and the praise and worship, saw the loved faces, felt again the warm hug of my spiritual mentor who had been one of the leaders at the retreat.

A man emerged from the lone building left standing on this scarred patch of dirt. He had evacuated just minutes before the building exploded in flames and evaporated. We walked around the remaining stone wall. “Do you recognize where the entrance was?” he asked. We walked the curving perimeter of the wall, and suddenly it all came back in a flash. I saw people gathered in the main conference room, where we shared creative dance and worship, meditation, creative writing and art. I heard the speakers, and saw the campers lined up before the leaders for the final prayer blessing. Now consumed by fire, yet here I was, a seeming lifetime later, walking around it and looking in, observing my life past. “God has blessed so many people here,” I murmured. “You have no idea.”

This was also the place Bill had met Norman Renshaw – the man of God who prayed for his healing from leukemia 30 years ago. Life and death, renewal and rebirth, through trial and fire. I knew this trip back to Australia after Bill’s passing one short year before would be significant, but I had no idea in how many ways. When we complete the circles of our life, it is a profound experience, like walking on holy ground. We are never the same again.

The biggest surprise of all on this sad and melancholic day were the signs of life everywhere. Across a vast landscape of blackened trunks and scoured land, a bright green fuzz adorned every tree. Young shoots emerged up and down every tree trunk, new life sprouting from the ashes of destruction. Fresh new fronds spread eagerly from charcoal tree ferns. Irrepressible life springing forth.

The wonder of the Australian bush is a great life lesson. Very much akin to the Australian spirit – tough, resilient, determined, optimistic. It is designed to regenerate only after fire – the catalyst that germinates native seeds, is needed to sprout leaf buds hidden beneath tree bark, and the purging force that clears leaf litter, pests, and low scrub that competes for light and nourishment from the soil. Fire is part of Australia’s life force. Devastating, but cleansing. Destruction followed by renewal. Death and rebirth. We see God doing the same with us. He puts us through fiery trials in life – not to destroy us, but to refine our character and reveal our strengths. To eliminate the things that slow our growth and our progress, that inhibit us from reaching tall and flourishing. Painful, yes, but the regeneration cannot come without it.