Civic Responsibility--A View from Above

Before we were able to move into our new apartment, we needed to provide a series of documents to the agency—were we employed? How much did we make? Did we have a bank account and renter’s insurance? Although this initially seemed a bit daunting, it was nothing compared to the other agencies who asked for income tax documents for previous years—“Ah, you have just arrived in France … can another French citizen sign for you?”) We were thus happy to be only asked for these things and made the necessary trips to the bank, opened a bank account in which we put 10 Euros, and insured ourselves against theft and other damages for about 7 Euros a month. That is the same amount that it costs us to actually have the bank account.

Our 7-Euro insurance includes something very interesting—as the lady explained, it covers our civic responsibility. If I were to bump into a person when I turn the corner without looking and I happen to break her glasses, my civic responsibility insurance will cover the expenses. And, if I read the instructions right, if a friend comes over and eats my food and somehow gets a bad indigestion that requires some medical attention, the friend will be covered. So no need to avoid coming to visit us on grounds of my cooking quality. Civic responsibility insurance, with all its connotations—if we had children, for instance, who damaged someone else’s property, we would also be covered, but probably for a higher premium—goes a long way, from the banal glasses and slight indigestion to serious offenses.

But we found a few days ago that civic responsibility in itself goes even further. It saves lives. After 11 pm one night, there were knocks on the door. My first thought—the census lady! Yes, we had to fill out census forms that I had not finished and thus all steps on the hallway made me think of the census lady. Sure, it was 11 pm, so it could not be her. Two young women—one in a bath robe—were standing there asking if the smoke smell was coming from our apartment. No, it wasn’t, but we wandered about it too. Ten minutes before that I had asked Matt if he was making toast, only to hear back from the kitchen: “Do I have the conditions to make toast?” Point taken—no gas yet, and making toast in our steamer would be too desperate even for us (although we have contemplated other inconceivable options).

The girls were knocking on everyone’s door, so I offered us to go and help. I am not sure why I did that. It just come. We knocked on doors, rang bells and only had a few responses. Matt discovered where the smoke came from, because of the intensity of the smell in one of the corridor nooks. But all our insistence did not bring anyone out—except the neighbor next door. We consulted some more on what to do, and Matt, remembering the firefighters/paramedics he saw the previous day in our building, suggested we call them. Eva and Stefanie seemed hesitant, while I simply asked “Why not call—they know what to do” They called, changed from the bath robe into clothes—they appeared uncomfortable waiting like that—and the four of us waited, learning briefly that one student was half-Spanish and a medical student, and that both spoke some English.

Four fully-equipped firefighters soon after knocked so much on the door in question that many neighbors—most of them students, as we now found out—came out to see what was happening. But no one was able to get a response. Then there was wall-knocking, through the living room of the next-door neighbor. This woke up more neighbors, and finally the man inside the smoky apartment. The students were in a good mood—some of them just out of one of the parties in the building—and they all returned cheerfully to their apartments. There was something burning on the stove, they commented.

Indeed. But that was a bigger problem than it seemed. We all know people can die in their sleep from smoke inhalation and leaving something on the stove when we “just want to lie down for a minute” can be fatal. And soon after things calmed down, we saw through our window the arrival of the paramedics. We prayed for this man as we waited. They soon came down with him, supported on both sides. He appeared so weak that he could not climb in the ambulance although he was walking, and had to be helped up. As they drove away, we could not believe what we were seeing and were in a way shaken by the fact that this man could have died. Did we wait too long knowing on the wrong doors? Chatting in between? Why didn’t we call the firefighters earlier?

But in all this, God simply amazed us. Somehow, those girls started knocking on doors in the middle of the night and we were so grateful for that. Somehow, it just came to me to suggest that we go with them to help (although Matt later said he was surprised and did not see how that was going to help). And somehow, in our interaction, with someone making a suggestion and others reassuring, someone did call the firefighters. And somehow, it was in time to wake the man up from a sleep that could have been deadly, with no exaggerations. We were so stunned by how God worked and we just praised Him—for his timing, for his promptings, and the way He only knows to use us in His plan. Like this, without even knowing, two young women, one in a bathrobe, fulfilled a civic responsibility where God truly orchestrated every note, and let us also join in with our expectant instruments.