There it is! I thought, looking out the airplane window. A snow-capped Mt. Hood greeted me as we approached the Portland airport. I couldn’t wait to begin our trip.
The Pacific Northwest is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever visited. Seeing family members in Portland, Oregon, gave me the opportunity to visit that area many times through the years. Mild temperatures, drizzly rain, and abundant evergreens created the backdrop for our time there.
We saw many of the sites in the area on those trips. One year, in the early 90s, we drove up to Mt. St. Helens. The mountain isn’t far from Portland—in fact, on a clear day you can see it from downtown. I vividly remembered the news reports and footage of the deadly and devastating eruption in 1980, although more than a decade had passed since. Several people recommended that we visit the site.
After renting a car, we took the winding road up the mountain. My stomach rolling (as it does on mountain roads), I thought we’d never get there. When we finally emerged at an overlook and stepped out of the car, the very atmosphere was eerie, the sight haunting. Grayish-brown ash and earth covered the landscape as far as the eye could see. Below, huge trees like short sticks collected for kindling filled and choked Spirit Lake.
It was unnaturally quiet. There were no birds or other wildlife, no trees or bushes either. Speechless at the widespread devastation and the sheer power of nature, I felt very small.
But in the midst of the dirt and the devastated landscape, I began to notice something that surprised me. Short green shoots stuck up everywhere. Seeds close to the surface had sprouted and the seedlings pushed up through the debris to find their way to the sun.
What a contrast to see the green of the plants and the dark brown earth around them. New life coming from death and devastation. And we could see its beginnings.
What had caused such a tragic disaster? In the welcome center, naturalists explained that the mountainside had begun to bulge and show signs of trouble brewing. Scientists kept a watchful eye, warning people of an impending disaster, but no one knew what truly lay ahead that May: a series of earthquakes led to a devastating landslide and mud flows; a pyroclasmic eruption spewed ash, rock, and hot gas; the beautiful forest below was destroyed; and the resulting ash cloud spread around the world within two weeks.
Hundreds of homes and structures were destroyed, forests obliterated, and rivers changed courses. The damages topped an estimated $1 billion. But worst of all, 57 people were killed.
As the story unfolded on film, the welcome center filled with a respectful silence, people speaking in low voices and parents shushing lively children. No one who paid attention could walk away untouched. I just stayed quiet, thinking about the lives that were either ended—or upended—forever on that terrible day.
When we drove down the mountain, I carried with me a powerful image that I’ve never forgotten. In fact, it came to mind when, several years later, my own life was turned upside down—not by a deadly eruption but by an unexpected divorce that ended my first marriage. I had missed the warning signs. Suddenly, the landscape of my life seemed like that wasteland, my future shrouded in a dark, heavy cloud. I couldn’t believe what had happened.
Yet, even in the grief, I began to see green seedlings amid the debris:
· my sweet two-year-old daughter who brought me delight and laughter;
· my parents and sister who provided love and support for us;
· friends who listened and helped in practical ways;
· two big dogs whose devotion to me and their barking at strangers made me feel more secure;
· material possessions that made our lives easier.
In this new landscape of my life, I gradually realized that even though my marriage was over, my identity rocked, and my future uncertain, I still had so much to be grateful for. In spite of the losses, I felt a profound sense of gratitude for what I did have. I was not alone.
I thanked God for His loving care and provision. I thanked Him that because I know and follow Jesus, his Son, I have hope for the future, both mine and my daughter’s.
I began to understand a passage from the Bible: Isaiah 61:1-4. The Lord binds up the brokenhearted, he comforts those who mourn. He brings beauty from ashes. He did that for me.
That was years ago now, and he continues to bring beauty from ashes in my life.
Just like he has done at Mt. St. Helens.
For photos and more information about the eruption and Mt. St. Helens today, click here and here and here.
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Misty evergreens photo courtesy of Eric Muhr on Unsplash
Moody mountain photo courtesy of Alina Nichepurenko on Unsplash
Dead gray plant photo courtesy of Cat Clan on Unsplash
Little green plants in mud photo courtesy of Chetan Kolte on Unsplash
Seedlings in sunlight photo courtesy of Julian Paolo Dayag on Unsplash