It was a Monday night. Both my wife and I had a long working day behind us. We had spent our morning teaching, gone to the recording studio in the afternoon, then returned to school to teach more classes. As evening came.we did not have the courage to prepare dinner so my wife went to Taco Bell and I raided the fridge for leftover chicken wings from the night before. At about 8:30 having had dinner, sitting in my lazyboy in my pyjamas, … the eery Active 9-1-1 alarm broke out of my phone. ‘RESIDENTIAL FIRE’ ‘CH110’!
I got up, Half of those calls get recalled anyways I thought. I remembered the time when the residential fire alarm sounded off on a beautiful lazy Saturday afternoon asking for CH 110. The ‘residence’ was actually a chicken house. That day I went home early as I happen to know that chicken have their own chaplain, Reverend Coop-er! But it wasn’t recalled, and I headed out the door. Following the directions given me by Google Maps, I came towards a place with billowing smoke. I parked near the Fire Corps rehab vehicle and made my way to the scene. A couple, whom I shall refer to as R and D, were sitting in their small truck watching the motorhome they called home go up in flames. They were now homeless. The man, R. told me what happened and when I turned to D, the woman, I saw a person whose life was written all over her hardened cynical face. While R. went off to smoke a cigarette I tried to start conversation with D. Sometimes the mention of ‘Chaplain’ on my E.R.F.D. sweatshirt brings people into confidence, but sometimes it works the other way as some people may close up to anything remotely sounding religious. I just stayed there. Didn’t push. Watched the firefighters at work. Made simple observations. I saw D. worried about their immediate situation so I confirmed with them that the Red Cross was on its way to help them. After about half an hour D. started of her own accord to talk with me. She told me about her recovery from alcoholism and about her children, some of whom were in a foster home and that she was hoping to see them again. She also told me about her broken relationship with her mother. Soon some neighborhood teenagers came along to help. They brought clothing to the victims who had lost everything. D. said that she was cold and that she hadn’t eaten in two days, so I went to rustle up some snacks from the Fire Corps rehab vehicle. I remembered that the department was given some blankets destined to fire victims so I also got some of those from Fire Corp. D. was very thankful for the blanket but wouldn’t touch the snacks. She was upset and traumatised. I asked her then if she would go for a cup of hot chocolate. She didn’t need to say anything. Her eyes widened with acquiescence. The teens who had come by offered to help with that, which which they gladly did. The Red Cross arrived. They took R. and D, over in order to settle them somewhere and care for their immediate needs. It was late; I was cold; and I needed to get up early the next morning so I felt I now could go home. Before leaving I asked D. if she would mind if I said a prayer for her. She categorically said, “No!” Wanting to make sure I understood, I asked again the same question, to which she responded with bated expectancy, “No, I wouldn’t mind!” I put my hand on hers and started to pray I mainly prayed for God to honor her efforts of rehabilitation which would allow her to see her children again, and also that He would care for their immediate needs. It is when I opened my eyes that the reward for the whole evening came in. The hardened cynical face had disappeared in exchange of, oh, if even for just a minute, a face displaying a beautiful peaceful smile that comes from knowing we are cared for.
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