K is for Kitchen
I destroyed mine.
In April of 2000, I accidentally set my kitchen on fire.
Joel and I were home that Saturday. He was in 8th grade and he was hungry all of the time. He wanted leftover chicken strips and fries, and I decided to re-heat the fries in oil.
The oil needed to get hot before I put in the fries or they would get soggy, so I turned on the oil and went into our dining room to finish paying bills. I soon heard a noise, which sounded like Niagara Falls, and when I realized it was not Joel making noise, I got up to look. The flames were already up the wall and across the ceiling. I panicked, Joel remained calm.
We got out quickly, along with the cordless phone and our dog. That is all I grabbed. We could not find the cat. I frantically yelled for people to call 911, while I was trying to do the same. Joel calmly asked a neighbor lady to call.
Fire trucks were soon at our house and I remember being in almost a daze as I sat near a tree and watched all of the events unfold. I had tried to go back in for our cat, but as soon as I opened the front door the smoke was overpowering. I remember sitting under a tree, coughing, and having a neighbor girl bring me a glass of water. How thoughtful. The firemen soon found our cat, and while she too, was coughing hard, she was fine.
It is so surreal to think of all of this now.
We lived with Steve’s mom and dad for two months while our house was being cleaned and repaired. And due to some changes my kitchen became nearly twice the size. God truly made beauty from ashes and I was so grateful for insurance.
Life seems to change quickly sometimes, and I am just so thankful for a God who holds us during these very stressful times.