While statistics are not people, and people are not statistics, it is staggering to hear numbers related to losses. A few days ago the updates on the California fires included: 40,300 acres burned; more than 12,000 structures destroyed; at least 24 people have died; over 100,000 people have had to evacuate.

As the fires raged in California, the people behind the numbers became more real to me when learning that our great niece and her husband woke to blazes as the space they called home was destroyed by a fire in the second story of the home in which they rented a main floor apartment.

I was awake at 4:00 am today. That is early, but actually I had been sleeping since 10 pm. While we were in the thick of remediation from a German cockroach infestation the past month I would go to sleep at 10 and be awake and inspecting the kitchen about 12, 2, and 4. Grateful to say “Howard” has helped us be sighting-free for almost 2 weeks with one exception (which likely was a juvenile Palmetto bug who just wandered in late Sunday evening). They say you are probably clear when you go 7 days without a sighting.

Lying in this morning’s pre-dawn, praying for all who are navigating unfathomable difficulties right now, as I reach for my phone I see a post by our niece writing poignantly about the loss of home and possessions our great niece is going through.

This not only relates to people in California right now, but to people like our daughter and son-in-law in-law, who just lost their home and most of their belongings in a fire last week in Opelika, Alabama.

It’s a given that the most important thing is the survival of humans and pets – hands down. I think we tend to say things like, “Everybody got out, and that’s all that matters.” But, while that matters THE MOST, it’s not ALL that matters. It matters to lose the home you loved. It matters to lose all of your favorite clothes. It matters to lose things you held dear – stuffed animals you’ve had since you were a kid, little hand-written cards and letters and pieces of paper written by people you love. It matters to lose the guitar you’ve had and played for years. It matters to lose the collection of vinyls you’ve collected along the way, including ones that belonged to you late grandpa. It matters to lose the plants you nurtured for a long time. it matters to lose even the smallest things – the catch-all dish where you dropped your keys and your loose change when you got home from work, the dishes you bought for your dog, your favorite mug, the artwork you loved on the walls. And it matters that you’ve lost your happy place, your safe place, the place where you could be just the two (or however many) of you. It matters to lose neighbors because you can’t move back into the house you lived in next to them. It matters to lose the route where you walked your dog every evening, and the route you took from your door to work, or from your driveway to your closest friends’ house. It matters to lose the sights and the sounds that were unique to your little spot of the world. It all matters.💔

This past Friday we visited our former community and saw people who are our friends, some former neighbors, out on Pine Island. Folks there continue to navigate the damage and losses not only from Hurricane Ian in 2022 which displaced us from our former winter home, but also Hurricane Helene exactly two years later and then Hurricane Milton mere days on the heels of Helene.

Taoism holds that compassion is first among virtues.

Jesus modeled compassion through actions and words, and taught others how to be compassionate as well. He instructed those about to stone to death a woman caught in adultery, “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.” This is just one of the powerful examples of compassion in the bible.

Nietzsche’s criticism of the emotion of compassion included a distinction between “our compassion” and “your compassion” dovetailing with the caution to abandon what is called othering in Buddhism.

This photo was posted by our great niece on Instagram after the fire last week. She is holding this brass horse statue, one of very few possessions that survived a catastrophic barn fire at her home when she was just 11 years old. Her dad had taken a trip to Ecuador and brought the statue back to her. She says she has kept it with her for twenty years “as a small token of hope — a reminder that life persists even in the face of death and tragedy.” She says it still holds hope, even after facing a similar catastrophic fire taking so much from them now.

Friends who have family and friends in California have shared with me the odd feelings of relief as they learn of the safety of life and property for some and an overwhelming compassion learning of the loss of those precious aspects for so many others both those known personally and those not.

Perhaps the wisdom of compassion resides simply in the words of our niece, “It all matters….”