Rescue Mission: Ministry
My parents aren't firefighters, but in a way, they kind of are. Time and time again, I've seen their relaxing Saturday nights interrupted by a tear-filled phone call - a marriage falling apart, a sick child, an unsaved family member leaving again - and without hesitation, they are heading out the door and into the flames. I've seen them drop everything to be by someone's side, to walk with them through dark seasons, and to carry them through the crisis at hand. The fire is usually something that starts small - a disagreement, a nagging wife, a lazy husband, a kid who won't obey. But my parents aren't around for the small fires. No one calls 911 when a candle is burning. It's not until the walls start collapsing and the smoke is so thick that they cannot make it through themselves. By the time my parents show up, the fire has engulfed the home and the family inside - in one way or another - is slowly being destroyed. By the time my parents are even called, ...