As a new day began to dawn, I watched embers drift into the
sky. The embers were the remnants of a
lifetime of collecting. My home of
thirty-six years was slowly disappearing into the coming sunrise of July 12, 2012.
Alone as the Lord’s Day was about to dawn, I began to recall
the events of the last twenty-four hours.
My son Aaron and I had spent our Saturday in Linden, Alabama
where I was serving as Director of Missions doing miscellaneous items known to
all weekend warriors. We ended the day
grilling hamburgers on the grill. We
watched as the hickory wood burned into to coals and the tiny embers that
scurried to enter the heavens. The
hamburgers were the best we had every cooked.
They were juicy and delicious. The
embers of the Lord’s Day were a sacrifice, not of Biblical requirements, of
over sixty years of sacrifice to have, fill, and maintain our home.
We had moved into the house on December 13, 1977. It was my birthday. My brothers, father-in-law, and two
brothers-in-law had moved everything in for us.
My daughter Angela was three months old, her big brother almost
two. It was a time of dedication and
rejoicing. Now it was a sober and bitter
moment of reality that everything burned.
Aaron and I watched old movies and went to bed. I wanted a goodnight’s rest knowing I was to
preach three services for the Greensboro
Baptist Church
in the morning. Sound asleep, a
neighbor, Rick, knocked at the door and rung the doorbell. News at two in the morning is rarely
good. Rick was an Alabama State Trooper
and he told us that our home in Jemison,
Alabama in Chilton County
had burned completely. It was totally
furnished and was our getaway and retirement home while serving in the
ministry.
We arrived at Jemison about 3:45 that morning and found the house gone leaving the
main floor and basement smoking with tiny fires scattered around the main
floor. Angela, her husband, and our
grandson were there crying with only memories of the home she started living at
three months.
The West Chilton Fire Department, less than a mile way,
tried to quench the fire but the house was too flammable with materials that
would create a giant open grill much larger than where Aaron and I grilled
burgers. The only item redeemed was my
1950 Plymouth
that had been a resident of the basement since 1978.
Thinking the fire out, most everyone left. I was able to go in the basement. There was a fire at the stairwell leading
into the great room. A small flame
lapped over a couple of floor joists.
Heat warmed the predawn air and embers continued their flight to the
heavens. Suddenly the remaining darkness
disappeared and what had not burned exploded in fames rising for a second time
seventy feet into the morning sky.
Firefighters said when they got the call the house was already engulfed
in flames reaching high driving darkness away into the heavens. Everything remaining fell into the basement
creating the towering inferno.
I sent everyone home.
Going to my workshop, I pulled out a chair and watched a lifetime float
away. Gone was an antique, hand carved
device that we never could fine anyone to identify it. Gone was my baby bed that was bed to Andy,
Angela, and of course me. It was second
hand when momma bought it for me in 1952.
Even today, I remember items that were in the house, basement, and
attic.
It was watching our lifetime collection disappear that I
cone to the conclusion it was just stuff.
It was OUR STUFF. When it is all said
and done, after my immediate family, it was unimportant. No lives were lost and a hundred years from
that moment who cares?
As the sun began to rise, the thing that mattered was that 8:30 that morning I was to preach the
early service at Greensboro. I had contemplated what would I do. There was no way to do it. I called my good friend, and fellow Director
of Missions Tom Stacey of the Selma Baptist Association. He was an answer to prayer. He told me he had it and he would handle and
not to worry. I knew he would do it and
I quit thinking about.
I heard a voice calling BOBBY! It was my aunt Katherine from across the
road. Her and my aunt Annie were my
security system while I lived a way.
I returned the yell with yes mam! She said come eat some breakfast. It had been a long time the burgers. She cried as she consoled me. I reminded her that everything was going to
be okay.
As I returned to the smothering pit, I noticed something
pink in the ditch by my driveway. It was
a charred pink note card. The card drifted
more than three hundred feet from the burning house. A fragile and flammable piece of paper place
for me to find.
It had a picture of a worm created using the fingertips of a
child, Angela’s. I turned it over and
there written was Psalm 46:1. I remembered it was in the attic with keepsake
stuff in our cedar chest. Angela was not
even old enough write it. Thirty years
before the fire God had someone send me a note.
Psalm 46:1 states, “God is our refuge and strength, a very
present help in trouble.”
I looked into heaven and thanked God for the note. He had been with me all morning.
The pink note reminded me:
Life is lived by
moments.
One moment I was a 16 yr/old, next I am old man.
One moment our children were babies, now they are 47, 46.
and 36.
One moment I was a plant employee, next moment I am retired.
One moment I could not wait to graduate college on December
1987, now that’s 37 yrs ago.
Life is fragile.
We are one heartbeat from death.
We are one trip from fatal accident.
We are one phone call from tragic news.
We are one wrong step from being handicap.
We are one incident from emotional instability.
We are one sin from moral failure.
God is who He says He
is. (Refuge, Strength, Help)
God is the God of the Universe.
God is the God of Salvation.
God is the God of Peace.
Why are we afraid? You may need a pink note from God.
Someone made the
pink card for Angel during Vacation Bible School. They will never know how much spoke to me
that morning of the fire.
