Don't Forget the Condiments

A few years ago, I served on a volunteer fire department. I was the chaplain (supposedly) and fireman (more times than I could count). In a rural area, the only people left in the community during the day are retired people and preachers. Well, I wasn’t retired. So, during the day, I was actually needed to respond to emergency calls.

Now, I’ll be the first to admit that I was poorly trained to serve on the fire department. At no point during high school, college, or seminary did I ever receive proper training to respond to an emergency fire call, or car accident, for that matter. So, I watched the other firemen, read all I could, and attended our training times each week.

Even though we were a small fire department, we had our fair share of calls. In any given year, we could have 100 or so calls. I realize that if you compare those numbers to a large city or a paid fire department, those numbers are almost insignificant, yet, those calls kept us very busy.

One call I’ll always remember. The call came in about midnight. I jumped into my clothes, hurried to the fire station, and off we went. Unfortunately, the house was fully engulfed in flames. We did our best, fighting the fire for nearly an hour. However, even with our best efforts, the house was a total loss. After an hour, the fire was out and our work was done. We loaded up our equipment and headed back to the station.

I was back in bed by 1:45 AM. I finally dosed off around 2:15 or so. Around 2:30, my pager activated again, we were being dispatched to a fire call. When I arrived at the station, we were told that it was to the same house we had left earlier. Apparently, the house flamed up again. So, for the next thirty minutes, we doused the house with water. Back to the station we went again, more tired than the first time.

Around 4:00 AM, my pager again activated. Same story, third verse. The same house. Flamed up again. Thirty minutes of pouring water. Back to the station.

At 5:15, back to the same house, for the fourth time. By now, we were exhausted and aggravated. To say we didn’t care, well, might be a little strong, but not too strong. Thirty minutes. More water. Fire out. Again.

Then, 6:15 AM. Pager again. Same house again. This time, the firemen were much slower in returning the station. Finally, the gang was mostly there, all but one guy. In a second, he pulled up to the station and made his way to the trucks. He was holding something in his hand. He lifted up the bag, with a huge smile on his face, and said, “Heck, if we are going back to the same fire, we might as well have some marshmallows to roast!”

Yes, he had brought marshmallows. To a fire. To roast. To be used by our fireman.

We would never do that! Well, not on the first, second, third, or even fourth call. But, on the fifth call to the same house…let’s just say they were good!