He was a brute of a man. He towered above any that stood next to him. His broad shoulders looked as though they could, and maybe even had, carried the weight of the world. His square jaw, and chiseled features were exactly what you’d expect to find on this “man’s man.”
To look upon him, was to stare at the reflection of intimidation. To speak to him, was to understand the term “gentle giant.” His frame was built, his voiced boomed, it was as if the ground would shake beneath him with each step. Yet, larger than his strapping outward appearance was his heart.
Though his physical stature may have put him a head above the rest, in the fire hall, on the truck, at a scene, he was their equal. Their brother.
It was a routine call. A residential structure fire. Nothing unlike the dozens they’d responded to in the past. Fire was reported to have started in the garage. Burning hot, and consuming all in it’s path, it was working it’s way through the home. It was never a “house” to him. A house is merely material. A few boards, a little drywall, a roof and some paint. A home, however, was something entirely different. Filled with life, with memories, with the people we loved.
His heart beat a little faster on these ones. He was always focused. He was always driven. But his drive was always a notch or two higher when responding to a call of this nature.
On the scene, his crew made quick work of laying a supply line and running an initial attack line. Two Firefighters stood at the ready as he used every ounce of his hulking strength to lift the garage door.
As the first attack crew worked their way into the structure, the next arriving crew began gathering information from all the bystanders drawn to the chaos unfolding on their quiet street. Who lived here? Were they home on this particular day? How many of them? All were questions that needed answers, and the answers needed to come quickly.
It was determined that two were possibly still in the house. A girl, 12, maybe 13, and her little brother, likely 5 or 6. Their mother had made a quick trip to the store. She wasn’t to be gone for more than 15 minutes. It shouldn’t be possible for your world to be turned on it’s head in just 15 minutes!
He grabbed the hose line from his attack crew, and told them to get in the house and find the kids. He would continue to fight the fire, and provide protection to them while they did their search.
An eternity passed in 3 minutes. As he continued to battle the blaze, waiting for a sign of his crew, he looked through the dense black smoke and was sure he saw the silhouette of a man coming towards him.
A voice yelling down the hall confirmed his suspicion. He did see a figure in the shadows. Soon, another emerged. His crew was coming and they were each carrying a child. Fire chased them as they ran down the hallway. The temperature was rising. That’s never a good sign.
Flashover was all he could think to himself. His crew was coming as fast as they could, but could they beat the flashover? In moments, everything in the structure would ignite and the building would be engulfed in a ball of fire. His crew would be unlikely to survive. The children they carried most certainly would not.
The garage door was braced open, and freedom was on the other side. Away from the flame, and out of the smoke, the crew would be safe, the children would be safe. All they had to do was make it there.
The two brave Firefighters emerged from the doorway that joined the garage to the rest of the home, with the children held tightly in their arms. He continued to pour water to the blaze, desperately trying to cool the space down. It was unlikely at this point he could prevent the flashover, but he could certainly try and buy a little more time.
As the 5 of them were about to retreat from the garage an explosion rocked building. Bursts of flame filled the area and the bracing that held open there only exit, and there only chance at escape, began to shake loose.
Without hesitation, without so much as a second thought, he dropped the hose and threw himself at garage door. It was large, solid, and more weight than even a man of his size could hold. But so help him he was going to try!
Every muscle in his body quaked. Sweat ran from his brow as if flowing from a river. The weight of the door was causing his knees to collapse beneath him. If only he could hold it open long enough to get his crew and the children out. Just a few more seconds he thought to himself.
As the last body slid under the falling door, he finally lost his grip and might. The door dropped like an iron curtain sealing off two worlds. On one side, a world of life and light. On the other side, a world of death and dark.
He was a hero. He made the ultimate sacrifice. He died, so that others may live.
It would be hard to hear such a story and not be moved. Not be emotional. Not be changed. Could you do it? Would you do it? I hope you never find yourself faced with such an impossible decision to make.
Two thousand years ago, a man made a similar decision. He chose to lay down his life to save us from the fire. He died so that others may live.
There is something I forgot to mention about this story though. The courageous Firefighter, he doesn’t exist. I made him up. I made the story up in just a few minutes. It’s entirely a work of fiction. The second story though, it’s entirely true! A story written in blood and lived in love.
So let me ask this question. Why is it so easy to believe in the first story, a work of a creative imagination? It’s the story we put on the front page of the paper. It’s the story that leads the nightly news. Yet, so many reject the second story. A story of truth. A work of a loving Father, allowing his Son to die so that others may live? Why do so many refuse to believe the second story?
I pray you discover the truth this Easter.
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