NEW JERSEY — It was our sixth month living in my aunt’s apartment here in New Jersey. It was a very, very cold early winter morning, a Saturday. The week had been hectic, so I was looking forward to a restful and quiet day.
Then I was suddenly awakened by the sound of a fire alarm. We had some past false alarms in the apartment complex so I thought it was just one of those days. But as soon as I went out to check, the entire hall was already covered with smoke. The residents were hurriedly evacuated.
I remember standing outside the apartment with my husband, Greg; our children, Khaki and Red; our pet dog, Chewey, and close to 50 fellow residents.
The firetrucks quickly arrived but everything just happened so fast. The smoke had thickened, and in a few minutes, it was a full blown fire.
Later, we were all hurled inside a Red Cross bus. Neighbors and volunteers rushed to give us water, blankets, and socks. The elderly residents, the very young children, and those taking medications were immediately assisted. Everything was a blur. My mind was so foggy. It was hard to even process what was unfolding. I was too shocked to even think.
I remember the scene that followed — my whole family crying, and praying in front of our still-burning apartment, huddled in the cold, left only with the shirts on our back, and a small personal backpack I got to save.
The feeling was indescribable. Khaki and Red both said in tears, “Mama, everything is gone!” Greg and I could only respond by embracing them.
Fires come unexpectedly
You cannot plan enough for moments like those. Some people call them traumatic events, while some call them tragedies. Whatever name you choose, one thing is certain: you will never know when they come or how.
It is hard to explain what happened. I could only remember the feelings I felt — the numbness, the disorientation, the disappointment, the regret of not having been able to save anything, and eventually, deep sadness that came after realizing the great loss.
But strangely, in the midst of all that chaos was the profound experience of love, care, community, and generosity that changed us forever.
We were then taken to the town hall where more Red Cross and borough volunteers were waiting. There were not much words spoken in that place. What I do remember was the feeling of safety, and the concrete acts of love and kindness that followed.
There, we were fed, embraced, listened to, prayed for, and given resources to buy our basic provisions.
Not long after, my senior pastor arrived, together with one of the leaders of the church, to pray for us and hand us some financial gifts. Another pastor friend and his wife followed with food, blankets, and clothes. Then my supervisor and fellow chaplains arrived with more provisions and more prayers.
When fires come, God sends help
I have no words to describe the experience of love and care that we received. On the night of the fire, while my family was buying clothes in a nearby store, I bumped into a couple I had met only once before. When they learned about the fire, they immediately handed me a gift card to help us get more provisions.
That same evening, two people we hardly knew (relatives of a former schoolmate) took a three-hour bus ride just to give us more food and clothing. My cousins took us in for a few days in their one-bedroom apartment while we cleared our heads and planned our next moves.
In the days that followed, financial help, gifts, visits, prayers, calls, and messages came literally from every part of the world, even from people we had not heard from for years.
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After the fire, you are not the same
The following day, Sunday, I was scheduled to preach, and Greg was set to lead worship in our church. While we were in the town hall, our senior pastor politely asked if I wanted someone else to take my place, considering all that was happening. I paused and quieted my heart. Then I said, “Pastor, I will still preach tomorrow. All these years, I have taught people to put God first, and trust God completely. Now is the time for me to live out what I have always believed and preached.” My senior pastor and I cried. No other words were needed to be spoken.
The next morning, our whole family went to church as we had done for the past many years. It was a very special day of thanksgiving for us. Our churchmates greeted us with so much love that day. Many of them were stunned to even see us in church.
My sermon was titled A Season of Consecration based on Joshua’s words to the Israelites as they were about to cross the Jordan River towards the land of promise, “Consecrate yourselves, for tomorrow, the Lord will do wonders among you.” (Joshua 3:5)
I held on to the message in such a personal way that Sunday morning. I teared up in some parts of the sermon. I felt every word. I held on to the promise of the Lord to Joshua that in the days to come, the Lord will indeed do wonders for me and my family.
One of the songs Greg sang in church that morning was “Blessed Be Your Name” by Matt Redman. We had sung that song countless times but that day, the words of the song cut through my heart. As we were singing, “… God, you give and take away … you give and take away, but my heart will choose to say, Lord, blessed be your name,” Greg could not hold back his tears.
Looking back, there is something about loss and nothingness that brings out our most heartfelt songs. There is something about being completely vulnerable and powerless that allows us to experience God’s presence in ways that are most real.
After losing all our earthly possessions, I realized how rich my family truly was: rich in faith, rich in family, rich in friends, rich in a future that is secure in the loving and steady hands of the Lord.
It’s been over a year since the fire in my aunt’s apartment. God has done wonderful things, just as He promised!
Our family has since moved to the next town, and are now settled in a new home my aunt bought. Starting over was so much harder than I ever imagined, but we are back on our feet, thanks to every single person whom God sent our way — every single person who fed us, clothed us, listened to us, visited us, embraced us, prayed for us, and reached out to us in love.
Sometimes I still shudder at the mere thought of fire, or the mere sound of fire alarms. I still get jumpy when I hear the sound of fire trucks. Most importantly, I still get teary-eyed when I remember that early winter morning when my family and I truly felt God’s love and kindness in the most unexpected ways.
It feels so weird for me to now say, “Thank you, God, for the fire…” But in my heart of hearts, I truly and deeply am grateful for that fire.
I never saw the fire coming, but when it did come, God made sure that my family and I were never alone. God made sure there was enough help, that there was enough hope, and that there was enough reason for us to still show up in church, to sing, to serve and to say with all of our hearts, “… God, you give and take away … blessed be your name!”
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Author’s email: [email protected]
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