Just tonight it came up again....that name, that person, that lie, that conspiracy, that fire.
It burned, or maybe I should say - I burned.
I never doubted that the intent was destruction. I was supposed to be a casualty, but I missed that memo. Do I sound smug? Its just the shock. People do insanely impossible things when they're in shock, like call 9-1-1 when their fingers have been severed and are strewn across a pasture (a true story I know, but now is not the time) or walk on a broken ankle or give testimony in court with a bleeding head wound (again, a true story but another time). In my case, shock caused me to keep existing.
Scorched earth can be built upon again. Scorched hearts begin to beat again. But the loss is still evident, a scar that won't go away no matter how many creams are applied.
I was on a plane from Newark to Tel Aviv, on a trip I had not planned nor paid for. People kept telling me it was a "bucket list trip" and all I could do was smile and nod. Shock, again. A 10 hour flight with me sitting smack-dab in the pilgrim section but it wasn't until the last 30 minutes that it happened.
Another passenger struck up a conversation. He was from Tennessee and where was I from? Oh, Texas? How nice. But he wasn't so interested in my answer as was a man a couple rows behind him, an elderly man bearing a rosary and straining forward in his seat, making every nonverbal sign that he was interested in interacting verbally.
Texas, you say?
Yes, sir.
Where in Texas?
West Texas - Odessa.
Texas Tech?
Well, most of my family has gone there but I graduated from a branch of UT, there in Odessa.
Where is this going? Why is he so insistent? We were in Israeli airspace now and the announcements were coming over the plane's intercom in three different languages that we were to remain in our seats. I repeat, DO NOT STAND UP. We are in Israeli airspace. I faced forward and prepared to land here, this holy land. Surely something profound awaited me.
The conversation with the elderly man two rows back wasn't over, though. Once we landed and got the all-clear to stand and move about, he picked up right where he left off...
He went to A&M.
He became a professor.
His field was environmental science and he had a special interest in fire.
Although many national parks are afraid of fires, he said, there are some species, specifically the ponderosa pine, that must have fire in order to bear fruit. The fire opens the cones up and allows them to produce more pines.
Fire produces fruit.
This truth, "randomly" delivered via a plane conversation between two pilgrims looking for something profound in the Holy Land, felt prophetic. I pulled out my phone and jotted the interaction down. I didn't want to miss the message, even as I was not entirely sure what it all meant.
I'm beginning to understand.
I've been burned, but I'm not barren.
The situations and individuals the enemy meant to silence me have set me free and where fires were set, fruit is being born.