Fire in the Field, Fire in the Heart
Fire in the Field, Fire in the Heart by Tiffany Ward
“Fire! Fire! Help!” shouted Jeremey as he burst through the back door.
My husband who was on the back patio was on high alert, he sprang into action, racing to the pantry, grabbing our fire extinguisher, and chasing after our son to see where the flames were. I quickly told my daughter to stay safely inside. She was sick with a viral infection and recovering from strep throat—back to school germs are tough on little kids. I hastily slipped on a pair of clogs laying conveniently by the back door and I stepped outside. Without thinking, I grabbed a long patio pillow and I ran down the hill after my guy and my boy. My already tired body was buzzing with tension as I raced as fast as I could in my risen barrel jeans and button down collared shirt. Not exactly what you would normally take a sprint in towards a fire I noted mentally.
When I reached the scene, the mower was smoking. Sparks flickered, and small flames had begun to spread into the pasture grass. Thankfully, it was a slow burn. My husband tossed the apparently expired fire extinguisher aside and was already on the phone with the fire department. That’s when I looked down at the pillow in my hands—and realized the real fire I had come to fight wasn’t the one in the grass, but the one inside my son.
Jeremey stood with his hands on his head, spiraling with guilt and fear since he had been the one on the mower and trusted with the task gone awry:
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. Please don’t be mad. I’m such a bad kid.”
I ran to him and called his name. Pressing the pillow into his chest, I wrapped my arms around him.
“Just breathe with me,” I whispered. “Inhale… exhale… inhale… exhale. It’s going to be okay. I’m not mad. I’m glad you are ok. Accidents happen. You did the right thing. Just breathe.”
As I held him tightly, stroking his hair, the actual fire behind us grew stronger. My husband ran to open the gates for the fire trucks. Jeremey’s trembling slowly eased as he matched my breathing, and I reminded him, “You’re safe. What matters is that you are safe.” Noticing the horses began their own frantic gallop across the pasture, and sensing the danger I asked, “Can you help me put the horses in their stalls?”
Clutching the pillow, still shaky, Jeremey nodded and walked with me. Together we secured the horses, my own body trembling now as the adrenaline wore thin. I realized how much worse things could have been, how quickly an ordinary moment of mowing had turned into chaos.
Jeremey had run all the way from the back of our ten acres to the house for help and then back down the hill again. It was hot! I said to him, “Let’s go back to the house for some water.” On the quick walk back, I made another point to reassure him it was all going to be ok we could hear the sirens on their way down the road. We quickly got him water, and checked on his sister who was still safe inside. I grabbed my phone off the charger and told my daughter to call me on the family iPad if she needed anything. We were going to go outside and face the fire and watch the firemen put it out. But Jeremy’s fear lingered—“Dad is going to be so mad at me!”
Isn’t it interesting that even though he knew he had my affection despite his mistake, what he longed for most was to know he still had his father’s?
When the first fire truck roared through our gate, Phillip turned toward us. I lifted my hand and said, “He needs you. He thinks you’re going to be so mad. He’s afraid of your rejection.”
Jeremey sobbed loudly, fresh hot tears spilling down his face, “Daddy, I’m so sorry. I made such a bad mistake, will you ever forgive me?”
Phillip pulled him close and wrapped him in a hug. “Jeremey, it’s going to be okay. This was an accident.” Jeremey melted into his dad’s embrace, and when he finally relaxed, Phillip said gently, “I’m going to help the firemen now.”
We all moved toward the hill looking down into the pasture where the flames were being put out. Jeremey didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to see the fire, the burnt mower, or the blackened circle in the pasture. But he went anyway. We watched from a distance as a third brush truck came from our local fire department.
When it was safe, I turned to Jeremey and I said, “let’s walk down together even though you don’t want to.” We made our way through the flattened grass and prickly pear cactus down the hill. He didn’t want to talk, still feeling ashamed and his little boyish sparkle diminished. Normally, my son is filled with curiosity and confidence!
As we approached a fireman turned to my son and said, “Were you on the mower?” Jeremey responded, “Yes, sir.” The fireman said, “It’s ok, accidents happen, just ask the youngest guy on our team why he is on this fire team.” The younger firemen standing beside me said to Jeremey, “Hey, when I was your age, I burned down a whole barn.” He winked, and Jeremey’s shoulders relaxed. His head nodded in relief and gratitude—he wasn’t alone.
How many times in life do we make mistakes and find no “prepared grace” waiting for us—especially from those who love us most?
As followers of Christ, we are called to extend that kind of grace: for the unknowns, the accidents, the trials we never saw coming. Scripture reminds us, “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance” (James 1:2–3).
That day, Jeremey didn’t try to put the fire out on his own. He did exactly what we had trained him to do in the face of danger: he came for help. And I saw so clearly how God provided everything we needed—from the quick feet of a little boy determined to get help, a phone to call for help to the fire department nearby, and to the comfort of a mother and father’s loving embrace.
How often do we, as adults, still try to fight our fires alone? Maybe what we really need is to be reconditioned—not in self-reliance, but in full dependence on Christ. Because it is only in Him that we find the strength to keep moving, even when we are vulnerable, shaking, or on the verge of breaking.
God’s grace meets us in the fires of life every time. His arms are always ready to hold us until we can breathe again. His gentle whispers of love and reassurance are available with every trial or challenge we will face on this journey called life. His grace is bigger than our mistakes!
Don’t journey through this life alone! Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding, in every way acknowledge him and he will direct your path (Proverbs 3:5-6).
—Be Treasured