I recently had breakfast with a longtime friend—someone I’ve known for decades. Like me, he’s a pastor who has given much of his life to ministry. As we caught up, we laughed about the kinds of stories that only years of serving people can produce. We talked about the pace of ministry—how relentless it can be—and how often we were so busy doing what needed to be done that we rarely stopped to reflect on it.
Then he shared a story that left me completely silent.
It happened early one Sunday morning. He and his wife were driving to church, where he was scheduled to minister that day. As they passed through a nearby neighborhood, he noticed something alarming—a chimney on a house was on fire. It was still early, and he immediately realized the family inside might have no idea their home was burning.
Without hesitation, he pulled the car to the curb and told his wife to call 911. Then he jumped out and ran to the house. The front door was unlocked, so he rushed inside. The first thing he saw was a bedroom where children were still sleeping. He quickly gathered them up and carried them outside, placing them safely with his wife.
But he didn’t stop there.
He ran back into the house and found the parents still asleep in their bedroom. He shouted until they woke up, urging them to get out immediately. He helped them outside, reuniting them with their children just as the danger escalated.
The police and fire department hadn’t arrived yet, but my friend knew he couldn’t stay. He was now late for church. He told the family help was on the way, explained that he needed to get to church to minister, and then he and his wife drove off.
When he finished telling the story, I finally spoke.
“Did you even know those people?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No.”
“Did they know who you were?”
“I don’t think so.”
“So you left before the police and fire department arrived?”
He smiled and said, “Yeah. I had to get to church.”
“And you never told anyone this story?”
“No,” he replied. “The people were safe. That’s all that mattered.”
I just stared at him.
“You’re a hero,” I said. “And nobody knows it. I’ve known you for years, and I’ve never heard this.”
He shrugged. “It was a busy season. I didn’t really think much about it afterward.”
On my drive home, I couldn’t stop thinking about how many everyday heroes must be walking among us—people who step into the moment, do the right thing, and move on without recognition, applause, or thanks.
You don’t have to rescue someone from a burning house to be an everyday hero.
You might help someone come to know Jesus Christ, impacting their eternity. You might quietly serve a neighbor, show kindness to a stranger, speak truth when it’s uncomfortable, or act courageously when others hesitate. You do it not for recognition, but because it’s right—and because love compels you.
I’m convinced the world is filled with people like my friend and his wife—faithful, humble, obedient servants who don’t keep score. And I’m equally convinced the world could use as many everyday heroes as it can get.
When God puts an opportunity in front of you, don’t pass it by. Others may never know what you did—but God does. And your obedience makes this world better, one quiet act at a time.
And if you’ve ever been one of those heroes—if you stepped in, helped, served, or sacrificed and no one ever thanked you—let me say it now:
Thank you.
Thank you for being an everyday hero.
Colossians 3:23–24 (NIV): “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.”
