This week, I found myself thinking about fire.
It was the month of May, and I was just eleven years old when our family home caught fire.
I can still remember the shock of realizing that everything we owned was gone.
My brand-new 3-speed bicycle – the one I had proudly bought with my own money just the day before- was destroyed.
My parakeet and our fish didn’t survive.
Everything else was ruined by fire, smoke, or water.
The clothes.
The furniture.
My grandfather’s paintings.
Our family photographs.
The ordinary things you never imagine losing.
But everyone made it out safely.
All eight of us.
Including Sparky (ironically), our family dog.
Then something remarkable happened.
Our community showed up.
Neighbors, friends, and complete strangers began bringing clothes, food, furniture, and whatever they could spare.
It opened my eyes to the incredible generosity that can emerge from tragedy.
I remember feeling grief…
and gratitude…
at the very same time.
Last week, my 26-year-old granddaughter Ana experienced that same heartbreak.
A lightning strike ignited her apartment building where she and her wife, Rachel, lived in Hixson, Tennessee, just outside of Chattanooga.
Within minutes, the fire spread through the roof.
Seventy people escaped safely.
40 apartments—and nearly everything inside them—did not.
As grandparents, we wanted to fix it.
We wanted to replace everything and provide emotional comfort.
It’s natural to want to take away their fear and uncertainty.
But I couldn’t.
Living hundreds of miles away, there wasn’t much we could do.
Instead, we watched something beautiful unfold.
Their community sprang into action.
The management company set up an emergency hub and began taking in donations, getting hotel rooms, and feeding people.
Within just a few days, Ana and Rachel had moved into a new apartment.
They were safe.
Their two German Shepherds were safe.
There was such an outpouring of support—from neighbors, churches, FEMA, friends, and the apartment management—that little by little, their grief began making room for hope.
It was hard for her mother in CT and Paul and me to watch it all from so far away.
It reminded me of something I learned when I was eleven years old.
When everything burns down…
you discover what cannot burn.
Kindness.
Compassion.
Generosity.
Hope.
Community.
Those things survive every fire.
As I’ve reflected on the past week, I’ve realized something else.
Most of us secretly want to help.
We just don’t always know how.
Sometimes we think our contribution is too small.
“It won’t make much difference.”
“It’s only twenty dollars.”
“It’s just a meal.”
“It’s just a phone call.”
“It’s just a prayer.”
But imagine if everyone let those thoughts stop them?
No meal would arrive.
No donation would be made.
No encouragement would be spoken.
The truth is, communities aren’t built by one extraordinary act.
They’re built by thousands of ordinary people doing one small thing. One act of kindness. One conversation. One hug.
As leaders, parents, neighbors, and friends, we may not always be able to stop the storms in someone else’s life.
But we can always help them rebuild afterward.
And maybe that’s one of the greatest gifts we can give each other.
If someone you know is walking through a difficult season today, don’t underestimate the power of a simple act of kindness.
It may feel small to you.
It may mean everything to them.
Sometimes, the greatest gift we can offer isn’t solving someone’s problem. It’s reminding them they don’t have to face it alone.
With gratitude,
Maureen
