The fires raging in California have decimated thousands of acres. The absence of rain over the past few years has left the land as dry as tinder, and embers plus wind equals crazy blaze. 

A dear couple we know are among the many who have lost everything. When the moment came to evacuate there was no time to collect important documents, photographs, mementos. They scrambled into their car and dove into the smoke filled road.  When they looked over their shoulders, they saw the billowing towers of flame. 

Mercifully, they found safe harbor. They slept under a roof, and hugged each other while they cried. But in the morning, everything they owned was gone.

Yet they are feeling blessed. How is this possible? 

My friend said that they are overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support that has erupted in the aftermath. The kickstarter effort to raise funds for them logged in twelve thousand bucks in the first day. I sent them a quilt, which I can say without ruining the surprise because they have no computer on which to read this. 

All of us have lost things that are precious to us. Probably no one launched a campaign to help us rebuild. But there are, I believe, other signs of endearment that show up. If we have eyes to see. 

A meal delivered when a baby is born. 

The right song playing on the radio.

A friend listening across the miles. 

The first red leaf. 

It turns out that the only things they lost were the ones that are loseable.