The phone call from my son, Hethaestus, came early Thursday evening. "Mom, I thought you should know. A wildfire started in the hill just above Westmont College. It's reached campus, so everyone has been evacuated into the gymnasium. The gym is built of cinder-block; it's fire-safe. I'm at the apartment, so I'm ten miles away, but I can see the glow from here. Two of my roommates are still on campus, and lots of my friends. I've been texting them--everybody seems safe."
"I'll start praying," I said, "and let my Moms In Touch college group know so they can pray."
"Good," he said. "Thanks. And could you see if you can find a website that gives current information, and let me know what you find?"
"Of course."
I didn't stop to be fearful, I had tasks to complete. I sent an email, said a prayer, and found the website for the Montecito fire department. It listed a mandatory evacuation for the area around Westmont campus, and nothing more. It was 7:50pm. The fire had started two hours earlier. I found a website for Channel 3 news in Santa Barbara, which had a little more information. The Westmont website had an emergency information number, which said that all students were safe and accounted for in the gym, and firefighters were battling spot fires on campus.
When I relayed this information to my son, he said that his friends in the gym said it was getting smoky and it was surrounded by fire. That raised my alarm level. Had the college miscalculated, thinking the fire would not get that far? Would the students be incinerated even though they thought they were safe?
I found the disaster preparation plan on the college website. It indicated that the gym was able to withstand fire all around it. "The college has in place a cache of supplies intended to enable us to safely hunker down in the gym for up to several hours--ample time for the fire front to consume combustible nearby vegetation and move on." So they knew fire might get that far. And they believed it to be safe. I felt a little better.
At 9:30pm, I got an email from Westmont, sent to all parents. It assured us of the safety of the students, and provided a link to The Independent, Santa Barbara's newspaper. I clicked the link, and read the account of a reporter on the scene. He said "the chapel and several residences are on fire at Westmont, it is very windy, and embers are flying around everywhere." The article concluded "Westmont is ablaze."
Alarmed, I called my son. He asked for prayer for Reynolds Hall, the beautiful old wooden English classroom building. "You mean the one that had C.S. Lewis's wardrobe in it?" I asked, remembering the tour he had given me.
"That's the one. Fortunately the wardrobe is on tour right now."
"I'll pass on the prayer request. And then I'm going to bed."
"Good night, Momma. Sleep well."
I checked The Independent's web site first, and saw their newly posted pictures of exploding palm trees and burned out cars. I read about the "sundowners", hot dry Santa Ana winds that were gusting up to 70 miles an hour.
I went to bed, and lay there with images of gutted cars and flaming trees slamming through my brain. Sleep was impossible. I wrestled with God. Why would he burn down a Christian college? That beautiful little white chapel in the center of campus, where both children had spent precious time with God, why would he let that go up in flames? Then, I prayed. I prayed that the winds would die down and give the firefighters a chance. Finally I got up, and checked the Westmont website again. It said that conditions had improved, that the fire had moved through and they were able to bring food from the dining commons into the gym. It listed buildings that were known to be lost. The list was short, and Reynolds Hall was not on it. I checked The Independence. It said the winds had dramatically reduced.
I slept.
In the morning came the pictures of daybreak on Westmont College. And even though they lost eight structures, fourteen professor's homes, and an enormous amount of vegetation, the major buildings all survived. The ancient oaks still towered over the charred grounds. Reynolds Hall, the formal gardens, and the little wooden chapel looked untouched. And everyone was safe.
I felt limp, as though I had been fighting the fire all night. I felt numb. My son's freshman dorm had burned, and his beloved resident director's house, and all that landscaping that made the campus feel like an oasis. I felt violated, that this place of safety to which we had entrusted our son had been subject to forces it could not control. But then, I thought, isn't control always an illusion? Our possessions, our very life can be taken from us at an instant. A fire just strips away the veneer, the perception of control.
Then I joined the Facebook group Westmont College Prayer & Support for Tea Fire and wept as I read the comments of love and support from around the world. And I knew with certainty that some good would come of this. I don't know what, but I'll be waiting expectantly.
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