“Get up! You’ve got to get out of here!” An urgent voice roused me from my peaceful sleep. “There’s a fire in the kitchen, and everyone needs to get out of the house,” our friend exclaimed. Jumping to my feet, I fumbled in the dark for my belongings and headed for the front door.

My family’s third night in the States for furlough was one I will never forget. We were sleeping at the home of some friends, trying to get over jet lag from a 14-hour time zone shift when the beeps of fire alarms woke us at 2 a.m. As I ran into the hallway, I heard our friend announce that the fire was under control. Nevertheless, seeing a billowing wall of gray smoke rolling through the living room, I quickly slipped my shoes on and went outside. The smell of the fresh, cool night air was a welcome relief after breathing the choking atmosphere inside the house. I took shelter in our car, which my dad had parked on the road. After what seemed like a long time, big red trucks with flashing lights pulled up. Firefighters jumped out wearing special suits and oxygen masks. They went in to inspect the situation to make sure the fire was out. Then they opened windows and exhausted the smoke using powerful fans. After a while, the men emerged from the house carrying a charred dishwasher. Evidently, the machine had gotten stuck on the drying cycle and burst into flames.

We were in danger and didn’t know about it until the alarms and our friends woke us up. This reminds me of what it’s like for many people in our world. Spiritually, they are asleep and not aware of the danger that lurks around them. They need someone to help them come to Jesus, their only source of safety. That’s why I’m a missionary.

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