Hello Letter: August 2026... Wildfires and Fear

Hello Dear Ones,

August in the Pacific Northwest is usually smoky. This year is no exception. We left the windows open last night to catch the cool night air and woke to the smell of fire in the living room.

All is well.

It was simply the breeze settling into the valley, bringing smoke from the Eastern Oregon and Washington State fires to us because the air shifted. I still shivered knowing how many are and have been in the path of destruction. It’s sad to know how much has been lost.

I used to think the tornadoes in Fargo were scary. But wildfires? They test my faith at a whole new level. Every year.

I know how devastating it is to lose everything. I’ve lost loved ones, babies I never got to rock, relationships so dear it broke my heart, my sanity as family secrets emerged after decades, my ability to write and edit, and, two summers ago, our beloved 20-year-old marmalade tabby. I even watched in horror with one of my dearest friends as her house burnt to the ground on a cold February night. Gut wrenching stuff. I still remember the smell. It was a lot like wildfire.

People are resilient but I’ve seen tragedy tear them apart. I always wondered who makes it and how, and who doesn’t. On one hand, life can be hard. On another, I know what drove them to the edge is more than a tidy one-line prayer request offered on a Wednesday night. We’re missing something important. And, I don’t think we realize it.

Scripture tells us not to fear or be afraid almost a hundred times. I’m always amused when some new and freshly scary situation pops up to test our resolve. On a scale of 1 to 10, when it comes to not being afraid, my default thoughts usually run at a negative-six. It took decades, but I finally learned how to take a deep breath, assess the situation, do the math, and move forward in grace. Even when I know it’ll be hard.

For me, I discovered my fears are driven by knowing that there will be yet-to-be-revealed loss in the wake of any difficult situation. It’s the aftermath of what could or might happen that sends shivers so deeply into my spine. I realized how the mere idea of a frightening experience scares many of us long before any suffering actually begins. And that? Is the perfect recipe to bring us to our knees.

Fear triggers a very real monster.

It took me years to recognize that every time I lost something important to me, the feeling I experienced was grief. Bracing, because I knew to expect pain with each loss, knocked me on my butt. Every time was worst than the last. That’s when the anxiety crept in. Before I knew it, just the thought of what might go wrong had me trembling on the inside.

Jesus told us in this world you will have trouble. I wrote about it ad nauseam in those first years of publishing the CWP. I’ve always taken that as a promise just as much as I know the plans I have for you saith the Lord. I grew to expect trouble, but I didn’t know how to survive it without losing pieces of myself.

Reading a verse on fear and adding a brave look in the mirror isn’t a real solution. How do we genuinely fix this fear problem that sends us into spirals? I think we learn to grieve well. As a modern people, we have a lot to learn about ancient practices.

While there are no specific mourning periods outlined in Scripture, there are examples consistent with seven or thirty days. Today, you’re lucky to get three days in corporate America. It’s no wonder life has become so difficult: there is no space to collect ourselves after loss.

We have almost no room for mourning today. Society insists we get back up and moving before the dirt has time to settle. Deadlines must be met. People are waiting. Sadly, there is no break unless someone dies, but even then, it’s hustle, hustle, hustle back to “normal” as soon as possible.

Yes, life goes on, but when grief hits, it’s because something in our world shattered! How long it takes to pick up the pieces depends on how deep the loss. Some of us need more than 10 minutes and a pep talk on how “time heals all wounds.” It doesn’t. Grief stays with us if we don’t face it.

Here’s what gets me: death isn’t the only thing to mourn. The deepest grief I ever experienced never involved anyone dying. It was the weight of betrayal for what was lost. There’s no social protocol for that. When there’s no body, there’s no room for grief.

It took me years to come to terms that if I’m experiencing a wave of grief, I need to make space to face it. That could mean I hide away and cry, put on sad music and move my body, sit in the bathroom with the lights off, go for a drive, watch a movie, or eat a pint of ice cream. It doesn’t matter what I do, only that I allow myself to feel it. I acknowledge the pain, disappointment, anger, and all that goes with it. It was only when I started to do that, that the grief lessened. The pain finally eased.

We can’t change society, but we can give ourselves the space we need to meet with God and face the pain that haunts us. There is a wild beauty in the idea of wailing and gnashing our teeth, airing our grievances at the Foot of The Cross. A good therapist who specializes in grief can help too.

Shame from the expectations others made me afraid I’d get it wrong. But God never expected me to be perfect or sinless or get everything right all the time. He doesn’t hold you to that impossible standard either. That’s perfect love and it casts out all fear. We need to focus on God and who He is, not the bad things that can happen to us. We are so much stronger than we know.

We need to be honest about the living, breathing people in our life who hurt us and have no remorse. We should rise up and look fear in the eye with a plan, already in hand, to manage the grief that’s waiting in the wings. We can release them and let God work in their life so we don’t have to worry about our safety. And for those we lose along the way, there is no shame in mourning. That’s finding rest in the Almighty.

Those who live in the shelter of the Most High
    will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
This I declare about the Lord:
He alone is my refuge, my place of safety;
    he is my God, and I trust him.
                                                         — Psalm 91:1-2 NLT

May Jesus meet you in your moments of need to reveal the courage you never knew you had, this month and forever.

With love,
Janel Guevara
Editor-in-Chief and Publisher

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