There was nothing special about this day in particular. I woke up with my usual breakfast fare of toast and eggs. The hours chugged along, as I put in a day’s worth of work. As I turned the corner in the late afternoon, I was about to slide into homebase of evening-after-the-kids-are-in-bed.
Standing between me and serenity, however, was dinner. Without thinking about it much, I turned the dial on the right burner, as I walked over to grab my sautee pan. Hubby often wonders why I turn on the burner before placing the pans on the stovetop.
It’s called efficiency. By the time the coils turn red, I would’ve been back with the pan. Dude, I just shaved off a minute from my cooking time!
Except this time, I didn’t return with my pan. I decided to open the fridge door and grab a bag of broccoli.
I proceeded to the sink area and pulled my cutting board out and started chopping away.
I completely forgot the burner was turned on. Red hot.
Now, this may not be any cause for alarm, other than doing the palm-to-forehead routine a few minutes after feeling the heat on my back.
This time, it wasn’t heat I was feeling.
“Mommy! Our house is on fire!” TJ screamed.
With a shot of dread, I turned around to behold a sight I have never seen coming from my electric stovetop. Flames.
It wasn’t as bad as a scene from Backdraft, but it was bigger than the ones you see hovering over a birthday cake.
Put it this way: my burner resembled the barbecue grill. On Labor Day, when it was being fired up.
I turned on the wrong burner!
On top of that red hot burner laid my waiting-to-be put away cookie sheet. Now, it burst aflame.
My first thought was, OMG! Hubby is going to KILL me!
My second thought (which was much more productive) was WATER!
I lunged for my bowl of broccoli-filled water and dumped it over the burning cookie sheet.
As I opened all the windows in the house to do away with the evidence (futile, I know), three year old TJ followed me from room to room, lecturing “Mommy, you really should be more careful! You almost burned our house down!”
I didn’t even hardly hear him.
I only had one thought running through my mind:
Thank you, God.
I know I take so much of God’s protection for granted. I’m sure I don’t even know half of the calamities He’s saved me from. Well, in my case, maybe more than half.
When I get to heaven and I see all the videos that God’s been taking of His days watching over me, I’m gonna be thanking God up and down those gold laid streets.
Thank God for close calls, huh?
What have been some close calls you’ve had?