When Fire Falls

July 26, 2026

No photos of the following events are available at this time, this photo will have to do the story justice.

"Will we be struck?" I watched the clouds warily, flinching impulsively with every illumination of the sky. I stood beside my father in an open field before a silent, smouldering giant.

He laughed under his breath. "If you feel the hair stand on the back of your neck, drop to the ground. Get as low as you can." My Dad wasn't actually worried. But then again, stranger things had happened. And we were standing in the open in a lightning storm before a struck tree.

It's funny how one seemingly unimportant decision can take you somewhere so unexpected...

...

Rewind thirty minutes.

"The fire department is coming, you are safe." I looked into her failing eyes, willing her to understand.

Her withered hands held my arm, no more than a stranger knocking on her door. "What's your name again?"

I repeated my last name, strong and German like her, and the only spark entered her features. "Ah," she breathed, at ease that my blood was right if nothing else. She told me about the old family, the old days, and I stayed with her while my mind itched to join my father outside but my compassion kept me on her green shag carpet. I knew she didn't know why we were there and she wouldn't understand why I would leave.

"Would it be alright if I pray for you? Do you know Jesus?"

"Who?" she asked.

"Jesus. God?"

"Oh, yes, yes, God. I go to church, thank you. You may visit whenever you like. Tell me, what was your name?"

I gently told her for the fifth time.

"My name is Sarah. I'm here because there is a fire. But you are safe."

...

Rewind three hours. It's July 22nd, I'm just getting off work. I'm spent. I have to turn around and go back the drive I just came from to go to a church meeting. But I'd lost all desire. I was sick of the road. Sick of the o'dark mornings and long nights. I wanted my bed. Maybe God wasn't calling me to attend the church meeting, maybe I should forget leading a small group this year. And my heart in it's flesh started heading on a path that was leading away from the Lord. Yet when my dad phoned to ask if I was coming, by God's grace I said, "I'll be right there."

You know what I learned this week? When we honor our flesh instead of God, we rob Him of glory. It may seem private or of little to no consequence beyond ourselves. But the truth is we never know what He may have done with that time instead. I went to that meeting. I asked good questions, got good answers, was encouraged by the body of Christ and am excited for whatever comes next. My Dad and I spent the whole drive discussing missions and the book I recently read from Voice of the Martyrs. When we turned on my road, my eyes caught on a treeline. "Is that smoke?"

I'll spare you the next thirty minutes of investigation and second guessing, trying to figure out what was going on. You probably feel this is too dramatic already haha, I suppose you had to have been there. We had experienced a large, quick storm that entailed a lightning strike. "Dad, those are flames. I'm certain. I see flame." This is a dry season, fire danger is a serious threat. Adrenaline picked up as we wondered what would unfold in the humid night that was comfortably settling in.

So there I am. Knocking on an unfamiliar door to tell an elderly woman there is a fire on her property. My Dad is calling the fire department. I'm drawn inside. And it occurred to me if I had stayed home, if I hadn't seen it, if we had gone to bed, how bad would it have gotten before someone took notice or stopped to investigate? If I had stayed home would I have tried to share Jesus? My seemingly average decision wasn't so average. Suddenly my home, my neighborhood, maybe even a soul depended on my choosing to run from the flesh. Not to be dramatic, but, small decisions matter just as much as big ones. Every day is what carries you into your future.

I did finally leave her. I followed the twilight path through the brush and up the hill in my canvas shoes and skirt, complaining, "Some missionary I'll make," half grumbling half laughing as I swatted in irritation at the horde of mosquitos deciding I was too good to pass up.

I joined my father and the firefighters at the tree line. The first words out of the chief's mouth were, "There's no way we're going to be able to put this out."

Every so often my eyes flicked to the pink and purple bruised sky, lightning rods reaching for the ground in the distance.

Smoke rolled from the inside of the Douglas Fir. The fire crew spent all their water to drench the brush surrounding it as more neighbors showed up. But there had been more strikes, more fires, more important calls. The tree needed to come down, and they weren't offering to do it. Yet, God had provided all our needs. Because who would show up but a lumber jack and people with water trailers. So the fire department left it to us with the promise to return later should we need it.

Supplies had to be gathered. It's not all done in a moment. Still it burned.

I love the sense of community you get when people gather over a shared problem to solve. I heard a twelve year old boy tell his mom who was holding him back, "I just want to do something important, for once. To use my hands, to do something that matters." There you have it, mankind in his most raw and untamed form, expressing the pull from the seed God plants in each one's heart. My heart connected to his words. I feel much the same. I'm at an age where it is appropriate for me to leave the safety of my mother, unlike him, but that does not mean I have the skills required to be useful in disastrous situations. Still, my heart longed to be heroic. Most hearts do, deep down. To be a part of a team, something bigger than one's self, to make a difference for good, in something that matters. Still, I could offer my compassion. A willing set of hands to haul fire hose. And the best, most lasting use any of us can bring to the table: the good news of a Savior Who is the Hero of life's story and brings both meaning and calling to all who receive Him.

Embers fell in earnest on the heads of the men sawing. We were grateful for the soaked ground.

A pang went through me as the giant groaned. If you've never stood where an old tree falls, it is sobering. The sound reminds you of the fall of this world, it's the sound of it's death. It stole my breath a little. But it had to fall. Trees burn from the inside. It didn't look like much from where we stood, but if it was not safely put out we would soon have a big problem. Make whatever metaphor you will from that or leave it be.

When it crashed down fire leapt upwards. It was a rush to get it out. At first the water did not come. But then it was gushing onto the scene. And then it was done. For me anyway. The reality that I was no longer of use and still needed to be up before five regardless of how late I watched them work settled in. It wasn't exciting, but the responsible thing was to go home, wash the smoke and sweat off, and try to sleep a few hours. The men had it under control from there. My dad returned with his water truck. He and the men there were heroes. You can let this sink deep if you like: We did not wake up with fire at our doors, we have homes to return from the world to, places where our families eat and play and work and sleep, because they had the skills that were needed when fire fell from the sky.

Do you?

Always,

Sarah