After the Evacuation—When Our Community Came Together

Welcome to Episode 3

If you missed Episode 1, you can read it here: Episode 1 and Episode 2 .

Let’s continue the story…

As I pulled our camper trailer down our half-mile driveway, I fought tears and prayed. Behind us was our ranch. Our home. Our shop, outbuildings, and everything we’d worked for.

And behind those came the Modrite Wildland Fire.

Fire crews, dozers, our sons, friends, and neighbors had done everything they could to protect our place. But now the decision was out of our hands.

We had to leave.

As I drove up the river road toward the Colville Fairgrounds, one question kept circling through my mind – Would our home still be standing when we came back?

As I drove through town, flames blazed, smoke roiled, and so did my tummy. A sick feeling came over me, and more tears flowed. I had spent hours preparing for this moment.

But nothing really prepares you for driving away from home without knowing whether you’ll ever see it the same way again.

When we arrived at the Colville Fairgrounds, we settled in with our camper trailer and joined a few others who had been displaced by surrounding fires.

Our friend and the fairgrounds manager, Lori Matlock, her son, and the RV host greeted us, then helped us get set up. More angels among us!

Our camper trailer gave us somewhere to sleep. But being physically safe didn’t mean my mind could rest.

The ranch was still out there. And so was the fire. And our sons.

We kept an eye on the Watch Duty app and kept in touch with the boys. Every update mattered. So did every phone call. As did a change in wind.

We waited. Not very patiently at that.

This was Thursday, July 30^th.

Mind you, we’ve had no power for days. Avista now cuts power when fires are close. By now, my nerves were raw.

Come Saturday, we returned to the ranch to check the property.

Technically, our road was still closed. But no one was tending the barrier. They were too busy fighting the fire near the ferry, which was creeping closer to town.

Driving back toward home felt completely different from driving away.

Firefighters lined our driveway, dousing hotspots.  Black and white burn marks now scarred the land, and the lilac bushes by our mailbox – gone.

The remains of cut brush lined the left side of our driveway, where the right side proved the fire had existed.

Smoke curled from hot earth and where tree trunks used to thrive. Feet of wire coiled to the side of the fence, where it had been cut away.

Driving slowly up our half-mile, dirt driveway about undid me, but dusting out the men and women who were still fighting to save our place was not an option. Patience brought on an entirely different meaning.

I knew our house was still standing, but when I turned the last corner and caught a glimpse of it, I was grateful beyond words.

More tears. Then Relief.

Even my flowers had made it. But that gratitude soon became complicated. Because not everyone was receiving the same news. Not everyone had a home to return to.

We began hearing about friends and neighbors who had lost houses and structures to the Modrite Fire. One moment we were thanking God that our ranch was still standing. The next, we were grieving with those who’d lost their homes.

That was hard. A wildfire doesn’t only burn timber and grass.

It takes photographs.

Keepsakes.

Furniture.

Clothes hanging in closets.

The ordinary things we barely notice until they’re gone. And for some families in our community, life had changed in a matter of hours.

That’s when the fire became about something much bigger than whether our ranch survived. In the middle of all that loss, something beautiful began happening.

People showed up.

Not just with words. With their hands. Their trucks. Their time. Their food. Their generosity.

People were leaving food, water, clothing, and more at the Colville Fairgrounds. So, we started hauling it to Three Waters Church, the building first set up for those without power and food, which was the entire town.

Gift cards poured in. Diapers. Baby formula. Maybe the people who donated those things thought they were simply bringing food or supplies.

But to those of us living through the fire, it meant something more. It said, “We see you.”

You’re not going through this alone.

And after days of watching fire maps, evacuation levels, smoke, flames, and destruction, those simple acts of kindness mattered.

People gave without asking what they would receive in return.

They simply saw a need and stepped into it.

For days I’d been asking God to protect our ranch. But now another kind of provision showed up.

People caring for people. Neighbors helping neighbors. Strangers helping families they’d never met. God’s love arriving in pickup trucks and carloads of provisions.

Eventually, things began to change.

Then Monday came.

For the first time since we’d left, moving home began to feel possible. But I wasn’t the same woman who had driven away. I’d seen how quickly life could change. I’d seen friends lose what we’d been spared. Seen firefighters and neighbors put themselves in harm’s way to protect people and property.

Generosity arrived from places I never expected.

Come Tuesday, it was time to go home.

I should have felt nothing but relief.

Instead, my emotions were far more complicated.

We were going home. But I didn’t know how I’d feel when I got there.

Next in Episode 4: Coming Home for Good—Gratitude, Guilt, and Grace After the Fire

During this difficult season, Rooted and Blooming by Dalyn Weller also helped turn my heart back toward God and reminded me to look for His presence—even in unexpected places.

If you’re walking through your own hard season, I hope this devotional encourages you to watch for the ways God may be caring for you through the people around you.

You can find the devotional on Amazon: Rooted and Blooming

When has someone shown up for you during a difficult season and reminded you that God was near?

Tell me about them in the comments. Let’s celebrate the people God puts in our lives when we need them most.

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