Starting on January 7, Los Angeles experienced devastating wildfires, including the Palisades and Eaton fires, which collectively resulted in at least 25 deaths, the destruction of over 12,000 structures, and the evacuation of hundreds of thousands of residents.

Marco’s workplace was protected from the Eaton fire and the Catholic school of our daughter was very close to that fire, too. Our home was near another smaller fire, but we always remained in a safe area. From the hills near our house, we could see both the smoke from the Eaton fire and the flames from the Palisades fire.

On Tuesday evening, we started to grasp the severity of what was happening. Many friends and colleagues were evacuated, and on Wednesday morning news began to spread about those who had lost their homes and everything they owned.

Our daughter’s school community was particularly affected. We began sending and receiving messages to check in with other families. We wrote to a friend living in Altadena, and she replied: “Thank you. We are doing well, but my neighborhood is burning down.” We felt powerless and at a loss for words, with only the urge to pray and be present to our friends.

At the same time, emails flooded in from the school community with prayer requests, information on where to find help, how to help, what to donate, and how to donate. Everyone became involved. Some immediately created GoFundMe pages for families who lost their homes. Others opened their homes to those in need. Still others started collecting clothes and supplies for those affected.

Amid this river of prayers, support, love, and charity, we began to see something extraordinary in the midst of this hell — something that was not hell, as the CL Christmas poster said. In this suffering and anxiety, we witnessed something deeply bright.

We started sharing this light with friends in CL communities across the US and around the world who were checking in on us. We asked for prayers, we shared the GoFundMe pages, and invited others to join in this current of charity.

On Wednesday, we checked in with another school parent, a friend of ours, to make sure his family was safe. He told us they were okay, but his uncle and aunt had lost their home. The following morning, he accompanied them and their adult children to the ruins of their house. Among the ashes, they found only two intact items: a statue of the Virgin of Guadalupe and a statue of St. Joseph.

Together, they prayed and began to sing the “Regina Caeli” in beautiful harmony. In the midst of their grief, they felt gratitude for what God had given them in that place, and they offered everything back to Him. A friend recorded a video of this moment, and it has since gone viral on the internet.

When we saw the video, we finally felt a sense of peace. It was the same peace we experienced three months ago at the funeral of our daughter, whom we lost after seven months of pregnancy, when we sang “Vuestra Soy.” It is a peace that can only come in front of the Presence of the Father.

The unity of this family as they sang “Regina Caeli” brought hope to us. As our priest reminded us during Mass last Sunday: “The church in Palisades is destroyed, but not the Church with a capital ‘C.’”

And these words of Paul Claudel, so dear to us in recent months, once again become a source of companionship: “Jesus did not come to explain away suffering or remove it. He came to fill it with His Presence.”

Marta and Marco, Los Angeles, CA