Thirty Days of Thanks Part II - An Overflowing Cup

About a week or so ago, I proposed that I would be listing something to be thankful for every single day. When I started this list, I figured that I would be listing a lot of the “smaller” everyday stuff that I easily overlook. Such as the smell of flowers on the air or the song of the birds in the early morning. But over the last week, the blessings and gifts that God has given my family and I have been so colossal that I can't go without pouring out a heart of gratitude to Him – and wanting to share it with the world if I can.
For one thing, I know that I am extremely grateful to Him for His mercy and His protection. I was reminded of it in a big way on Sunday morning. Why? Let me tell you a story.
Sunday morning, the air had just a slight chill to it. I sat at my mother's window, drinking coffee and listening to a song that she recommended to me. My gaze swept over the ten-acre property that is next to mine. The empty field, with no outbuildings or house whatsoever, just a field, had golden-brown grass that swayed in the wind like waves on an ocean.
Fast forward to the church service, where you will find me sitting in a front pew at my church. My pastor was in the middle of giving a most wonderful sermon. The air and his message were suddenly interrupted by the sound of sirens screaming by. First four. Then five. But more were in the distance. I paused for a moment to consider that there were more sirens than usual. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I could almost promise. They're going to your house.
Dismissing such thoughts as my over-active imagination again, I prayed for the protection of the firemen, and the scene where they were headed. I also sent up a prayer of protection for my house and returned to listening to the sermon.
Minutes later, my pastor's voice suddenly trailed off. His eyes went to one of the fathers who was down in the nursery with my sister and the kids of the church. His face was grave and concerned as he came up the other side of the row of pews to where my mother was sitting, and whispered something to her. Panic and urgency suddenly took over her beautiful face as she set her Bible aside and turned, headed for the downstairs nursery.
My mind flashed to a million possibilities. My niece. Something has happened to my niece! I set my Bible aside and followed her downstairs.
“I don't know,” I heard my sister say before I even reached the basement. “She just said it was at the fence line.”
My sister was holding Felicity while my two-year-old niece played with a doll house. So something else was wrong. “What's going on?”
“Our neighbor called and said that there's a fire at the fence line to our house.”
Dear readers, if I could encapsulate the feeling that hit me that instant into one word, it would be the longest word in a foreign language. Panic made my heart thunder. Terror made my hands shake. Shock took my breath away. As these three emotions combined, visions of my house engulfed in flames took over my mind.
My dad and I raced into the sanctuary where I was so rattled, I barely even heard him say to the pastor, “I gotta go, there's a fire at the house.”
“At your house!?”
Yes. At my house. I could not breathe in the car as my dad raced through town, jumping in line behind a firetruck, whose voice screamed through the town headed to my property of all places. This wasn't something that was happening on TV.
It was real.
My violin. My computer. My house. They're all there. All I could do was sit back and pray. I was feeling pain but I wasn't sure where.
I could see the cloud of smoke from the road. When we pulled into the long driveway at my house, the change of scenery made it even more difficult to breathe. The empty ten acre lot next to my house was covered in a carpet of black, with grey smoke rising from it's surface, looking like smoldering lava from a volcano. Fire apparatus were everywhere, spraying water on the grasses and putting out the fire that had jumped the fence into my property. But what most took my breath away?
The house and the shop where my dad works still stood. The fire was out, and the grass that was now an ebony color came so close to the house that just a few more feet and the fire would have devoured it. But it didn't.
My neighbor had kindly ran over here after calling 911 and plowed the dirt and grass, creating somewhat of a firebreak around the important outbuildings. The firemen had gotten here in time and put it out. But I could almost see the hand of the Almighty Himself covering our house and our shop, the only source of income.
What could I do but fall to my knees and thank Him?
Dear readers, this is the longest post I've ever written, but I still feel the shock of what happened. My grandmother looked out the window today at the ebony pastures and said, “Boy, that fire sure made it ugly!”
I shook my head, my eyes resting on the same thing. “I think it's beautiful. It is a reminder of God's mercy and protection.”
God didn't have to save the house. But He did. He didn't have to be so merciful, but He was. I'm shaken, but grateful and in awe of Him.
So needless to say, item number six on my “Thirty Days of Thanks” list is this: “For God demonstrating His mercy and His power.” In closing, as a lover of puns, I make light of this situation by saying that this incident really sparked a desire to be closer to the Lord.