My wife and I had a scare last week.

After taking an afternoon nap on the porch, I got up, walked inside, and immediately smelled gas. The odor seemed to center in the kitchen. I checked our gas stove, but all the burners were turned off except the one beneath the vegetable soup my wife was cooking, which was burning blue, just as it should. Our gas fireplace was also turned off.

But you don’t take chances with gas, so I decided to call someone. But whom? The fire department? The gas company? What were their numbers? My wife suggested I dial 911. I did, and within five minutes, two fire trucks were in the street in front of our house and three firefighters were walking and sniffing about the place. When they entered the house, they too smelled something like gas.

A moment later, a man from Fairhope Utilities was at our door with a device to check for leaking gas. He found none, and the odor seemed to dissipate with all the opening of doors. My wife suggested the smell possibly came from her soup (if I thought that---and I’m not saying---I never would have said it).

The firefighters were decked out in fire-retardant suits that looked comfortable enough for a cool January day but would have been odious in August. Their uniforms looked like circus tents. “Do you guys dress like that year round?” I asked. They do, and yes, in August feels like being confined in a Ziploc bag.

We snapped a photo of the firefighters standing in front of their fire trucks and sent it to our three-year-old grandson in San Diego. Firefighters are his heroes and he aspires to become one some day.

That his grandparents have now had dealings with actual firefighters has added to our cachet in his view.

After a few minutes, the men departed and we didn’t smell gas again.

This incident brought to mind several things I’m grateful for. First, I’m grateful I live in a place where you can take a nap on the porch in January. All I needed was a light sweater. My wife and I had just returned from Christmas in Kentucky, where no one takes a nap outside in January.

And I’m thankful there was no gas leak. When everything goes right, it’s easy to take it for granted and not consider how fortunate you are. We don’t think about airliners that take off and land safely, embassies that are not bombed, tropical storms that peter out at sea, and epidemics that are contained.

I first became aware of that in myself when I taught school in Nigeria a few years ago. The electric power cuts off and on unpredictably several times a day in Nigeria. It’s infuriating, especially in a humid, tropical place where an electric fan spinning above you, to say nothing of air conditioning, would be a godsend. The Nigerian national power grid is a standing joke. Until living there, I’d never given a thought to America’s reliable electric power.

I’m also grateful for the 911 system. The operator there immediately transferred me to the fire department and the utility company. What a great idea the 911 emergency number is! Thanks to those who thought of it, maintain it, and answer the phone in Baldwin County.

I also appreciate the men who responded to our call so quickly. If there had been a gas leak, their prompt response might have saved our lives. They didn’t make me feel foolish for phoning in a false alarm and urged me to call again the next time I thought I smelled gas.

And finally, I’m thankful for a comfortable home to live in. I’d rather worry about the safety of my home than have no home to worry about.

I’ve met lots of people over the years who sleep under Interstate bridges, behind shrubs, and in abandoned buildings. Some of them are intelligent, energetic, articulate, and fun to be with.

They made some bad decisions, had a run of tough luck, or were just born in the wrong place at the wrong time. There, but for the grace of God, go I.

Richard H. Schmidt is a retired Episcopal priest, editor and author who lives in Fairhope. He can be reached at courier@gulfcoastnewspapers.com.