Eleanor’s home, humble as it might have seemed to others, was her sanctuary, her heaven on earth.  Rev. Billy Graham could have been describing Eleanor’s home when he wrote, “The home should be a shelter of security, a kind of school where life’s basic lessons are taught, a kind of church where God is honored, and a place where wholesome recreation and simple pleasures are enjoyed.”

Even though she had resided for some time in a care facility, which was as near like home as any abode could be, Eleanor always dreamed of returning to the home she loved on Hazel Dell road.  Her heart and head were filled with longing; her desire was even deeper than longing—it was an intense yearning to go home.

            Now that home had been destroyed by fire.  My heart ached for her as I stood, tearfully scanning the smoldering ruins, disconnected thoughts crowding my thinking. 

            Selfishly, my first thoughts raced backward to the time, when I was only six years old and my own home had gone up in flames.  I envisioned myself, a first grader, attempting to sneak through the smoky front door, to grab my new Reader from the table in the hallway.  Three times I was pulled back by the tail of my flannel gown out of danger’s way.  Next returned to memory, the touching story of the prized Victrola phonograph which, aside from being a beautiful piece of furniture, was our main source of musical entertainment.  Neighbors had carried it from the burning building onto the front lawn, along with other pieces of furniture they salvaged.  The next morning as they began to move the items to storage, one man suggested, “Let’s see what’s on this music machine.”  A somber hush fell over the crowd as they listened to the familiar words of “Home, Sweet Home, Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.”

            Most of us have had to face hardships of one kind or another during our lifetime.  My friend, Eleanor, was no exception.  I often thought she had faced more than her share of trials and troubles.  I also wondered where she found the courage and strength to carry on.  Each visit answered that wondering question.  She had a deep and solid faith in the Lord and she spent her many quiet hours talking with Him.

            She once said to me, “There are reasons we can’t see behind what we can’t understand.”

We agreed, together, that what we view as a tragedy today may have a hidden message and actually be a blessing from God.  One has to have abiding faith to believe that.  She continued, “When life becomes too much for me and I feel lost and helpless, it’s as if a voice speaks to my troubled soul.  I think it’s God’s voice I hear and he is saying, ‘Be still, and know that I am God, and you have nothing to fear’.”

            When we are touched by the pain of a close friend, something within us is called forth to respond to that loss.  I knew my heart would know no rest until I had paid her a visit.  Perhaps some of the thoughts that had come to my mind, through prayer and contemplation would be of some consolation to her.  

 “I’m so sorry about the fire,” I offered, as a way to approach what I thought would be a touchy subject.”

            “Oh, I hated to hear that,” she mused. “We had lived in that house for over sixty years.  But you know, no one was there, and no one got hurt.  We can be thankful for that.  Janet and I had been out there overnight not long ago and it could have happened then.  We could have lost our lives.”

            Wanting to console her, but also to point out in some meaningful way, that maybe something good would come of it, I told her some of the many thoughts that had been racing through my mind since the fire.

            Fire can destroy a home, the building itself, but it cannot touch the building of character in the children who grew up in that home.  Flames cannot corrode or damage the values instilled in their hearts.  Those traits and values will trickle down through the generations.  Some day a granddaughter may declare, “I heard Grandma Koch say, ‘It’s wonderful to have the Lord to count on in time of trouble’.” Or a grandson may remember, “I learned that from my Grandma Koch.”

Fire gutted the kitchen and all its contents, but fire can’t undo the homemaking skills learned in that kitchen, taught by your tender example and gentle training.  The qualities of determination, courage and loyalty can’t be extinguished by fire.  The belief that family comes first and we stick together didn’t go up in smoke.

Fire can cover the china dishes and plates with smoke.  But it can’t undo the kindness in your heart when one of those dishes, filled with delicious pineapple salad or a beautiful German Chocolate cake, found its way to an untold number of funeral dinners.  Nor can it remove the gratitude in the hearts of those families who received the gifts of food.

             Fire can’t erase the recipes, some in your own beautiful handwriting, filed in the recipe boxes of the many friends with whom you have shared them.  Nor can it wipe out the hundreds of get-well, sympathy, Christmas cards and personal letters you mailed out over the years. I was blessed with one of those letters written in November of 1982.  It is a precious keepsake and I read it often.

            Fire can blacken the walls of the home, but it cannot discolor the memories of the intimate family moments and occasions shared in that home.  The happy times, the birthday, Thanksgiving, and Christmas celebrations that took place over all those years in that home are preserved in memories.  Snapshots captured on camera may be lost, but the mind and heart are master photographers of the lives we have lived.  Images imprinted on the memory of the mind are priceless keepsakes of the heart.          

Fire can smudge the Hummel collection, but it cannot erase the history of Sister Maria Hummel’s life and why she designed the figurines.  Her devotion and love of God shone through each piece of art, be it a sacred picture or a statuette from childhood recollections. Nor can the fire take away the memories of the grottos and shrines you and Cletus visited where you, no doubt, picked up some of the figurines and religious items for your collections.

Fire can’t unravel the stitches you quilted in the many quilts that were raffled as fundraisers for your beloved Holy Family Church or St. Mary School which means so much to you.

            Fire can melt the beads on a rosary but it cannot take away the graces gained with those beads clasped between your fingers.  An old Yiddish proverb says: Prayers go up and blessings come down.

            Once again the fingers of fate rearranged the landscape of Eleanor’s life.  The hidden message has been revealed to her.  Her deep faith, even though tested, settled back softly to create a new landscape in her soul. The intense yearning, the restlessness, is no longer apparent.  It has been smothered by a calm serenity, a quiet contentedness.  She truly is a living expression of the eleventh verse in the fourth chapter of the Book of Philippians: “I have learned in whatsoever state I am, therein to be content.”

            The familiar phrase, “What we weave during our lifetime on earth we wear into eternity,” came to my mind.  I believe Eleanor will wear a cloak of caring, kindness and compassion into eternity.