God's Country

It’s been a long, hot, dry summer… and fall. Much of Gatlinburg lies in charred ruins. About 11,000 acres of the Smokies are charred and still smoldering, waiting for more rain. By the time you read this, the rain either will have come, or it will have fizzled to a drizzle or perhaps nothing at all.  

We had become accustomed – maybe to the point of neglect – to the distant haze and slight smell of smoke. We’d note the air quality alerts. Folks with asthma would stay inside. We’d hear occasional reports of small wildfires burning throughout the southeast US, but not massive tragedies. It got so bad, I even spent several hundred dollars watering my grass, something I never do. Then came Monday, November 28.

I was indoors most of that day, but out the window I could see a strange, yellow tint. I wondered if it was the sun reflecting off the many, recently-fallen leaves. Then in the late afternoon I went outside for the first time and saw the blanket of yellow-brown smoke in the air and ashes on my truck. Apparently, there were fires burning vigorously somewhere nearby. Only that night when I got home did I hear that Gatlinburg was burning, along with areas in Wears Valley and Cobbly Knob.

I had been in the Smokies a couple of days earlier and drove right past the Chimneys early on Saturday morning. There was smoke and fog in the air, so I didn’t actually see the Chimneys 2 Fire that had been smoldering for several days. I was on my way to meet several other folks to hike on and below Mount Kephart and the Jumpoff. Everything seemed normal, but behind the fog-smoke curtain, the Chimneys were slowly burning.

Strong winds on Monday changed everything. These winds blew embers down the valley into Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge. Branches falling on power lines created sparks which ignited new fires. Buildings burned. People and animals died.

Then rains came, several inches in twenty-four hours, which was about as much as we had received in the previous four months combined. That few inches didn’t extinguish all the fires, but it may have saved Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge from complete devastation. What would have happened if the rains had not come? On the other hand, maybe none of this would have happened if the rains had come a few days sooner.

On the natural side of things, fires happen and forests burn, but the ecosystem bounces back as different species take advantage of the new situation. In a few years the landscape will be fully resurrected and clothed in new garments, mostly in greens and browns, with a dash of whites, purples, pinks, and yellows.

On the human side of things, disasters happen, but in spite of the loss, people bounce back. The Red Cross and churches and families and neighbors spring into action. Prayers are uttered. Donations are made. Slowly, but with great resiliency and resolve, faith overcomes tragedy.

As a person who believes in God, faith, and prayer, I have always struggled in moments like this. Yes, the rains came to quench the fires. But why didn’t they come sooner? Yes, a chair that someone had prayed in was spared while the rest of the house burned. But many people prayed, and they lost everything. Many people of faith find comfort in knowing that “God is in control.” They see the hand of God everywhere, in every detail, even tragedy. On the other hand, the forces of evil also have a plan of death, suffering, and tragedy. Yes, in some eternal sense, God is in control, but there may be many sad, tragic details of which He is not the cause. So, some find comfort in the belief that God does not dictate every detail, every disaster, every tragedy.

And yet, even in the midst of sadness and suffering, I’ve learned to live with those unanswered questions. I’ve learned to live with ambiguity. I am at peace with not knowing all the answers. Maybe that’s what faith is.

But one thing I do know. In a time of tragedy, it’s good to live in the Bible Belt. Quite honestly, there are ways in which I don’t fit in here. I’m not a gun lover. I’m not a Trump supporter. I don’t think ObamaCare is a sign of the end times. But I am thankful to live in a place where people will pray for one another openly, without embarrassment. I am thankful to live in a place where people at local businesses will say “Have a blessed day” without being reprimanded by their boss. It’s good to live in a place where there is no rioting and looting after a disaster. Instead, there are prayer meetings.

Yes, there is death and destruction in the natural world and in our towns and countryside, but there is also faith and resurrection and comfort and new life… here in simple, rural East Tennessee.