Family Update

It has been one month and 8 days since our lives changed. Since then we have lived in the homes of two different families, done two radio/print  interviews, and had church 5 times in two different locations.
We have wept, yelled, and been unusually quiet. We've argued, we've made up, we have constructed boundaries because our chaotic new reality requires it. We've registered with varying state agencies, and talked with countless insurance adjusters, we've worked on compiling a list of what we've lost, while mentally compiling a list of all we've gained.
We've been to the property and looked through ashes, we've tried to remember the details of the space that once held our lives, and we've been as positive and encouraging as we have been frustrated and depressed.
We've dealt with loss in varying degrees, first the obvious one, but then also the loss of a friend that is practically family.
We've been painfully transparent and authentic, and we've also withheld some things because, frankly, it's just too hard.
Through every detail God has been faithful toward us. He has provided well for us through the generosity of our friends, other churches, family, and through the generosity of strangers. He has graciously granted us not just the practical needs our family has, but also the desires of our hearts.
Through a connection of a board member of our church, we have been able to procure a house within our community of Hidden Valley Lake. We have yet to see the home, but because rentals are at such a  premium with essentially almost 2000 families needing to establish new residences, we felt it was God's provision for our family. Every time I (LeAnne) am in the community for meetings, I run into people at the grocery store or coffee shop who have either lost everything or are dealing with the after effects of the fire. Each time I've had the opportunity to pray with them, hug them, and just listen. This solidifies our knowledge that our family as a whole needs to be in the community full time.
Our family was designed for ministry from the beginning, and each of us has a unique gift or personality that we bring to the table, and so we are eager to get back and get busy. While Zach has been working from the office of a board member there, the rest of us have been struggling to reintegrate. Having a home will aid in this, and when the sweet landlady asked if I needed to see the house, I replied, "Ma'am, I am homeless. What the interior looks like really doesn't make a difference to me." And that is very true. I've lived on three continents, four countries, and I know that it isn't the walls that make a home, it is the essence of the people living there. Already God has provided all of our linens, our master bedroom bedding, and some other things that I wanted that will help make it homey and inviting. I'm trusting Him for the rest, including the furniture. (I'm being VERY intentional about this part. In other words, I'm choosing pieces that will last, are economical, and best fit our family. We had insurance and so have the means to choose this part of the process, which, when you literally have NO control over anything else, is important to us.)
This is a temporary housing solution until we determine what, if anything, is next for us as far as Zach's parents are concerned.  We've been in daily communication with them regarding our decisions and they've been nothing but supportive, encouraging, and gracious through the process.
Our church has been meeting at the local elementary school and this location will suit our needs for the foreseeable future as we pursue rebuilding our church and provide ongoing support and assistance for our community through the long process of healing and recovery.
While we are eager to move back (hopefully on November 1st), I have to say that our haven of provision here will be missed. David, Tamah, and Abby McQueen have provided us with an environment that has fostered our healing and recovery. Their home is peaceful and the Presence of God is welcomed and an environment of worship and prayer and the Holy Spirit fostered well here. This has been an integral part of our personal recovery and healing on numerous levels. People ask how we can minister and move forward .... well... it is because of them and their graciousness toward our family.
One thing among many that this experience has taught us is that God has gifted us with incredible friendships. The kind that are sustained no matter the space of distance or time, friends that will mourn with us, laugh with us, and help hold us up when we are weary. Authentic relationships where we can be angry when we feel angry, sad when we feel sad, and joyful even when it might not make sense to  rejoice. Friends who are "boots on the ground", providing for us practically through housing and a registry where we can receive items that we want, and also spiritually as they encourage, pray, and intercede for and with us. These treasures cannot be stolen by fire.
We are continually amazed at the way God has brought us through what could be the most devastating experience of our lives, and caused us to realize His goodness and His love for us. Where some might say, "Where was God?" we can say honestly that He was and is with us every moment. Sometimes, the greatest blessing is not in what He may have prevented, but in what He allows. Truthfully that perspective is not easy, it is a continual choice that we make daily to trade in our human eyes for supernatural spectacles. To trust that in the midst of chaos and brokenness, that there is goodness and mercy and a brilliant future. What a mighty God we serve.
This experience is humbling, hard, exhilarating and we are expectant for what God is going to continue to in and through us as we continue on this journey together.  One thing is for certain. Living for God is the least boring lifestyle you can ever embark upon.
Thank you for your continued prayers, your support, and your patience as we continue to seek the Lord in all the areas of our lives.

Taken from the Pyzer home, through what was once the front door. 

New rental home 

Ashes and Mourning, Gold and Gladness.

    The day wore on and I felt my chest tightening. Within a few moments, for no explicable reason, the panic clutched my chest and throat in a vise-like grip. People swarmed in my vision and their conversation dulled to a silent roar. I couldn't breathe. Trying not to make a scene, I stood up rather abruptly, slipped out the door, and walked to the edge of the driveway, willing air to expand my lungs. I began walking, about a 1/4 mile down the road. I sat down on a rock, and willed my pounding heart to cease it's thudding. I inhaled through my nose, deep diaphragm breathing. I exhaled deeply. Slowing my pulse, slowing my mind. I began repeating the only Name that calms me. Jesus. Jesus. Help me. Jesus.

It's not the first time I've had a panic attack since September 12th. It probably won't be the last.

   She looked at me with her brow furrowed, concern wrinkled her forehead. She quickly lowered her gaze as she concentrated on filling out the paperwork in front her. Conviction gripped my spirit for the curt way I had spoken to her. She was only trying to help. I couldn't understand why her well intentioned suggestion grated on me so. But it did. And I snapped back the sarcastic response so quickly I imagined her head ducked a little to dodge my words. I wasn't hateful, but I was on edge and rude.

It's not the first time I've had a moment of inexplicable anger since September 12th. It probably won't be the last.


The acrid scent of burnt rubber, trees, and plastic filled my nostrils. Ash drifted down on my head like snow. But, unlike snow, it wasn't clean.  It was filthy. The remnants of precious pictures, belongings, blankets, books, and memories reduced to rubble and wafting on the wind. Hot tears spilled out and down my cheeks. They started as silent witnesses to the devastation, and became gut wrenching and heart stopping sobs that seemed to well up from the very depths of my soul. I began to become more aware of the term "sackcloth and ashes" is so appropriate for mourning. I wish we could still do it and not be consigned to a mental asylum. The ancients... they knew how to mourn well.

It's not the first time I've had a moment of gut twisting sobs since September 12th. It probably won't be the last.


Broken spirits are an odd thing. One moment they seem whole and repaired. The next, shattered again. One moment, praise bubbles out of the depths, pure and unadulterated, the next, grief pours out and the wail of devastation erupts like Pompeii of old. Pouring out in angry streams, salty rivers of tears, and painful questions.

The thing is, if you read my Facebook posts, you may or may not know how I'm doing. It's one thing to post a praise in the midst of a "whole" moment in this process. It's another to restrain from posting the anguish and guilt one feels when they are mourning STUFF when the PC thing to do is to say, "It's just stuff. It can be replaced." Which is TRUE and RIGHT. People can't be replaced, of course not. Of course we are grateful for each other and for the fact we are alive. But that stuff was OUR stuff. The things we are mourning aren't the replaceable items. They are the items that are the memory markers. The tools held by a father in the early 1900's that built the legacy of our family. They are the stuffed animals that comforted in the midst of a turbulent season of night terrors. They are the memorabilia that jogged our memories of era's long gone. Family bibles with statistics written in shaky penmanship. Quilts pieced together with prayers for those that the material would warm. Its the jewelry box, lovingly hewn by hand, that held the priceless rings that are worth little in gold, but are worth much in the memories of the  heart. It is that "stuff" that we mourn. The tangible building blocks of  family. Hand cut, each nail a prayer, every plank a stalwart binding together of our spirits.
The foundation was one that has stood the test of time and age. The house that Love built. THAT is the stuff of mourning.
    More days than not, I am ok. My "Hidden Valley Homeless" quips are beginning to wear on those that have heard them a thousand times now. Most of the time, I am quieted from my anger by the sheer measure of joy that is in this house, this temporary oasis in our desert of wandering. The tears, while they may still creep out from under my eyelids, mostly come late at night as I think about the unknowns, or the little things that once made our house a home. There is a stillness and calm that settles, that can be confused for numbness, but is really just a supernatural trust that God has us held. But please don't think that because I choose to praise Him, that I post Blessed Be The Name of the Lord, that there aren't moments of questioning Him and pleading with Him to let this season pass quickly. You see, trust and mourning are not exclusive. One can still trust in the goodness of God while mourning what He has allowed to be taken. In fact, one could argue that authentic trust in God and in His goodness is especially authentic in the face of loss.
    Since authenticity is at the core of my heart's desire for every relationship I have, including with those that may read this, here is an authentic personal truth. I am in mourning. But in the midst of the ashes, in the desolation and destruction that surrounds everything I once found secure and safe, I now know this. God truly IS good... ALL THE TIME. In seasons of gladness... HE IS GOOD. In seasons of abundance..... HE IS GOOD. In seasons of darkness..... HE IS GOOD. In the fire....HE IS GOOD. And in the mourning.... HE IS GOOD. I think sometimes we expect Him to REMOVE our ashes in order for the beauty He promises to be revealed. I think sometimes He expects us to remove OUR expectation and allow Him to reveal the beauty that can be found in the midst of ashes... just as those Samaritans Purse volunteers found my husbands class ring... sifting, searching, finding... the pure gold remains. The crown of thorns ring that emerged, charred yes, but able to be cleaned and restored.

 It shines brilliantly from the ashes.... and so... even though I'm still journeying..... I choose to praise and believe that I will emerge the same... a glistening and golden reminder of the God who is good .... All. The. Time.

Valley Fire

The lights blazed onto the field, illuminating the hopes and dreams of the team. The crowd laughed and ate burgers, shared in the festivity of the evening, and cheered with every hometown play. The announcer boomed the score, highlighting the hometown heroes. The game ended and the air cooled, the sweaters came out, and everyone went home, reveling in the warmth that only small town communities can provide. There was not an inkling that within 24 hours our small community would be forever changed. 

Morning came far too early for us that day. I was leading worship for our section in Ukiah that morning. I rushed through my routine, scattering clothes and makeup all across my bathroom and bedroom. I hollered the list of chores I expected to be completed over my shoulder to the kids as I stumbled up the stairs, one heel on and one still in my hand. A quick goodbye to my in laws with whom we lived, and I collapsed into the front seat of our car, grateful to be on my way. 

We stopped by the church to pick up the keyboard and my portable sound system, a mic, and a cord. It meant putting the back seat down and maneuvering the keyboard in, wedging it against the passenger front seat, and we were off for the hour long drive. 

I’d wrestled with the worship set list that day. I wasn’t feeling it, and I tried a few variables, but I couldn’t shake the songs I felt the Lord had put on my heart. The event began, and I led Even So Come, Lord I Need You, and then Let It Rain. The missionaries spoke, and hearts were stirred. During lunch, Zach and I had to meet with our section presbyter and the presbytery board as we were undergoing the oral interview required for Zach to be a Licensed Minister with the Assemblies of God. Since he’s been in full time ministry in our area for over 20 years, and I have been for almost 15, it was a relaxed interview, filled with reminiscing and a few poignant testimonies of how God has sustained us through the rough points in our ministry. 

We left encouraged and excited. I had talked Zach into going to Santa Rosa to go on a date. We used to have weekly date nights, but hadn’t held to them since we moved to become pastors In Hidden Valley in May. 

After a relaxed dinner at Red Lobster, we toyed with the idea of going see a movie, but I wasn’t feeling too great, and so we decided to head home. We were just leaving Santa Rosa when I noticed a large plume of smoke, and after getting on Facebook, I found out that there was a small fire on Cobb Mountain. After living in California for a significant portion of our lives, we are accustomed to fire season and also drought, and so we weren’t super concerned. However, by the time we drove over Mt. St. Helena and drove through Middletown, we realized that it was more serious as we could see the flames coming down the hill behind the high school. We determined that we should open our church as an evacuation site and so we headed there to open it up and get bottled water ready for whatever evacuees may show up. I decided that since we didn’t know how long Zach would be down there he should have his own vehicle so I had Moyra come by on her way home from work and pick me up. I got his truck and drove it down the church, and by then he greeted me and suggested that as a precaution, I should go back home and ask the kids and my inlaws to pack a bag. “Just in case.” I walked into the house, told my father in law what he had said and he began to set about getting his bag in the car. I told Moyra and Zachary to pack a bag and get the dog food ready to go, headed into my room, grabbed a bag, and attempted to figure out what of the clothes strewn across my room I should pack. Right then my phone rang. The tone of my husbands voice on the other end said everything. “Get out LeAnne! Get the kids, get my parents and GET OUT NOW It is COMING YOUR WAY!” I knew immediately we didn’t have much time, so I yelled at the top of my lungs, “WE GOTTA GO! LETS HEAD OUT!” and raced up the stairs. I got Moyra, Zachary, and our two dogs into our new to us vehicle, a gift from the kids grandparents, a freshly serviced Oldsmobile. I looked at Moyra, who had just gotten her drivers license  the month before and told her I loved her. My father in law asked me where we were going and I told him I had no idea. Our plan had been to go to our church, but I knew from what Zach said that wasn’t an option. I called him and asked and he said to go to the our friends, the McQueens in Kelseyville. I yelled the answer to my father in law, and bent down to Moyras window. “Get to the McQueens. I don’t care how or what you have to do to get there, but just get there. Zachary, you help her, keep the dogs, and I’ll see you there. God is with you.” I watched as she drove down the driveway. I looked back toward the garage where my father in law was trying to persuade my mother in law to get in the van, and I saw flames licking the hillside behind the house. I knew then that this was the real deal. I rushed back to help get my mother in law in the car. I ran toward my own car and found it hard to close the door because the wind was blowing like a whirlwind around me forcing the car door open. I gripped it with both hands, and slammed it shut. I started the car and raced down the driveway. I glanced in my rearview mirror but could only see a haze of smoke and an eery orange glow. My father in law pulled over because he needed to follow me, and we began what I would later call the drive from hell. 

We descended down Bowcher Lane onto the main road that leads to the highway. Huge chunks of ash and embers were falling from the sky. There was no one directing traffic or any fire personnel. We realized later that they were all still in Middletown and Cobb. There was no way for me to tell which direction was best. I could either go straight, or I could turn right and go into the gated community. I decided to go straight. Less than a few hundred feet that direction and I realized why cars were turning around. There was fire everywhere. I followed the lead of the other cars and hooked a U turn, and my father in law followed right behind me. We turned into the gates and began what what the longest 2 miles I have ever driven. It was traffic jam of epic proportion. Everywhere you looked there were flames, small spot fires being ignited by falling ash and embers, transformers blowing, and what felt like gale force winds. I watched as the hills above us burned, and across from us the fire raced like a dragon, consuming everything in its path. At this point, I switched from praying silently to praying out loud. I was confident that if we could just make it to the highway we would be fine. However, after an hour or so and finally reaching the highway, I realized that the journey had just begun. The field across from the community was blazing. It seemed as though everywhere I looked there was fire. There was one brave CHP officer directing traffic. There was only one direction to go and that was to the right. The hillsides on the either side blazed orange. And the traffic was at an almost standstill. After inching forward bit by bit I realized that all it would take was one ember or spark hitting the side of the road, and we would be caught in the middle of the firestorm. I had received several phone calls, and I had made a few as well, but I suddenly just felt like I needed to steady my spirit. I began to try to sing  a worship song. Of all the songs I could sing, I could only remember the lyrics to an old hymn. “tis so sweet to trust in Jesus.” I sang it quietly. I sang it loud. And then I called my parents and told them I loved them. I  called my best friend and calmly told her that I needed her to make sure she took care of my children and I gave the name of our insurance agent, and let her know I was making two other people aware of our wishes since I knew that our will had been left behind. I had just enough time to grab a few pairs of underwear for my husband, and a shirt and pair of leggings for myself. That was it. That was what I left with. No passport, no birth certificates, nothing. I called my former employer and explained quickly that I needed her to be a witness to my wishes, and then another family friend who also is an insurance broker so I knew he would get information quickly and be able to testify if necessary. Then I put in on Facebook so that it was in writing.Email and text were no longer working at this point, and I was unable to dial out. I began to pray, asking the Lord to forgive me, to make sure I was ready in case the worst happened. Which, with the fire literally everywhere I looked, didn’t seem too illogical. It was so hot that even with my AC cranked all the way, I could still feel the heat. By this time, the well of panic had been squelched and an inexplicable peace settled over me. I kept glancing in the rear view to make sure my father in law was behind me and he had stayed right on my bumper until about the town of Lower Lake where another car cut him off. 

Hours later, we finally pulled into our friends driveway. 

Some have been under the impression that we all had bags packed. While Zachary was able to bring a backpack, the rush to get out meant that even the bags we took were not well packed. In his, a pair of shorts, a pair of shoes, and that was about it. In Moyra’s, she grabbed her laptop bag. Mine held 3 pairs of underwear, a shirt, and leggings. No toothbrushes, makeup, deodorant, or medications. My inlaws still had a bag packed left from the Rocky Fire but my mother in law had removed all her clothing from it. They barely had time to grab her weekly medications that are necessary since her stroke last year. The glucose monitor, the blood pressure monitor, gone. 

Some have stated that the felt we overreacted. The pictures of our home, burned to the ground save for the brick exterior wall upstairs tell a different story. So too, the fact that a neighboring home had burned to the ground by 6:03 pm, and we were leaving our property after 5:45 pm. 

That day was the catalyst for a new era in our family.  Do we still trust God? Do we still declare that He is good? Do we attribute this to Him? Or do we acknowledge that what He allows, while not always understandable, is for a greater purpose than we can imagine? Daily, sometimes hourly and minute by minute, we make the choice. We CHOOSE to trust. We CHOOSE to praise. We CHOOSE to rejoice, not in our loss, but in the HOPE that we have because of WHO GOD IS.

By the next day we knew our church was gone. By Monday, we knew our home was gone. By Tuesday, we knew our lives would never be the same. 

From the ashes, we have found friendships that have sustained the flames. Family that is stronger than ever. Generosity, provision, and blessing from amazing people. We have found peace in the midst of the unknown, and we have found FAITH forged in fire that is more refined, more real, and more IRON STRONG than ever before. We've learned what it means to be "receivers", which is a relatively new and sometimes difficult thing. To understand that we need help means a new level of humility and a new level of gratitude. We believe that more than ever we have an opportunity and privilege to share the hope we have in Jesus. The peace that passes all understanding. And through it all...we declare that our God is good.