The Gift

Have you ever received a gift you will never forget? something so impressive, or so touching it never leaves your memory ? Well, I have, and that's what this post is about.
Oh, by the way; the only correlation between "firefighting" and this post is that an utter lack of firefighting may be what ultimately led to me receiving "the gift". I realize that needs more explanation, so here goes.

 The story of  "the gift" actually begins on Halloween of the previous year.
On Halloween night,  our home mysteriously burned to the ground.
The only reason suspicion did not immediately fall on either me or  my two younger brothers (my co-conspirators, as my Father referred to them.) was that we had been dragged to church several hours before by our jailers, or as we referred to them, "mom and dad". Halloween had fallen on a Wednesday that year, and the church had done it's part to ensure the safety of our small community by keeping the three us off the streets. I'm sure the citizens of our little community were very grateful.
There's very little excitement to be had at a church Halloween party, the only exception being the brief period during which Howard Schnotz, the kid with narcolepsy, was bobbing for apples. For a few brief moments the tension was so thick you could have cut it with a knife.
It was on the drive home that things really became heated( pun intended).We were stopped at the end of our road by a volunteer firefighter with a flashlight. " You can't go up there ma'am." he told my Mother, " There's a house on fire." I perked up at this.  A house on fire? I thought. well, that's exciting.
 I naively wondered which of our two neighbor's houses were on fire. I can now remember seeing in my mother's expression that she had crunched these same numbers too, and didn't like the odds. Without saying a word, she slammed on the gas, careening around the young man's pick-up truck. The next thing I knew, we were standing in our own front yard, watching everything we had go up in flames. The volunteer fire department that serviced our area had stopped at the sign which signalled the limit of their territory, and were watching the house burn... fifty feet from the end of our driveway.

Time travel not having been invented yet, I was momentarily spared from the suspicion of arson, although I do remember my father staring at me for an uncomfortable period of time with what could only be described as a cool, calculating look.
Because it was Halloween, or maybe some other factor, the cause of the fire was ruled  " suspicious". Because it was ruled suspicious, the insurance company refused to pay. Because the insurance refused to pay, we were acutely poor.

Acutely poor isn't nearly as bad as you might think, and in no time at all, we were no longer living with family, or wearing hand me downs left by a malicious band of color blind leprechauns. My Father worked his hands to the bone just to be able to buy a small, 2 bedroom construction style trailer to replace the home we lost, all while he and my mother attended nursing school full time. The trailer was haphazardly pulled-up onto our small three acre tract, my brother's shared one room, my parents the other. I slept on the couch in what we euphemistically called the " living room". we all shared the single bathroom.

Though we didn't know it at the time, my father was struggling with a tremendous amount of fatherly guilt. The meager Christmas from the year of the "Burn", the claustrophobic surroundings, and the loss of our entire stock of toys weighed heavily on his mind. And so, without saying a word, my Father scrimped and saved, pooling every extra penny. His secret agenda - A Christmas so grand as to leave an indelible print on his son's memory, and blot out their present misery with it's wondrous excess.

As the countdown to Christmas began, my father's excitement was contagious. A mysterious series of events tweaked our enthusiasm. A lock appeared on the door to the shed, and the Warden... err.. I mean Dad, could often be seen hurrying from his small S-10 pick-up to the shed, arms laden with packages. He would eventually return to the house empty handed, but jovial.
There were Advent calendars with our names in them, Christmas movies every night, Hot chocolate, ginger bread houses, nativity sets, and a tree that threatened to engulf the television, nay; the whole living room!  It's red bows accentuated the merrily twinkling lights that kept time with the hearts of three young boys.
Words don't adequately describe the level of our excitement. And even though we didn't really believe in Santa Claus, we knew this Christmas was special.

That Christmas Eve, after my Father read " 'Twas the night before Christmas" ,  I was told I would be sleeping in the top bunk of my brother's tiny room. My brothers had already nestled snugly in the bottom bunk, and were snoring soundly in no time. Shortly thereafter, hushed sounds began to emanate from the living room. The rustling of paper, assorted clinks and thumps, and  muffled chuckles, suddenly, something heavy made a muffled thud, and all was quiet for a few minutes.
The suspense was driving me crazy!!
I was only 12, and I was never going to be able to sleep!!! I wondered what my parents were doing in the other room, what gifts they were bringing in from the shed, what they could possibly be assembling and wrapping. My thoughts ran to every childish fantasy I had. In my minds eye, the living room filled with everything from dirtbikes, to electronic video games.Somehow, in the midst of the chaotic happy thoughts, the anticipation and the excitement, I finally fell asleep.
I awoke to the sounds of my brothers excited cries. As the family filtered into the living room, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and joined them. In the tiny living room, there was hardly anywhere to stand, much less sit down!!! Every square inch of floor, every flat surface, was covered with presents! There were tall skinny presents, short fat presents, bicycles with big bows tied to the handle bars, pellet guns with no wrapping at all.
Now before we could touch anything, we were required to open our prerequisite box of t-shirts and underwear. This was the only method mom had at her disposal for ensuring her boys had enough clean underwear. I later learned clean underwear; for whatever reason, was of prime importance to a mother of " teenagers." I can't remember the number of times she asked me on my way out-the-door, " do you have on CLEAN underwear?!" The woman was obsessed.
Anyways, the underwear unwrapped; my father, in his red, crushed velvet santa cap began the gift distribution. " This one's for Chris!" he exclaimed, and "here's one for Joe!" He moved back and forth in a flurry of activity, calling my brother's names over and over again.

As the bicycles, pellet guns, and " Gi-Joe" toys disappeared, I began to notice an alarming trend. NONE of the gifts WERE MINE!!! and then Dad picked up the last present,  " this one is.... Hmmm... " he shot me a knowing smile. I grinned back-  " loooooks like .... " My little heart lept in my chest! at last! " yep, hmmmm, There you go .... CHRIS!!"  My brother momentarlily vanished in a cloud of shredded wrapping paper and tinsel, feverishly opening the last gift.

 Beads of sweat formed along my upper lip, my eyes became misty... a thousand thoughts flashed through my mind. " Had they decided I was too OLD for Christmas?!" I had long feared something like that could be possible.  " What if my parents have never really loved me, anyways?" I thought, or  " WHAT IF THEY FOUND OUT ABOUT....?!?!  Nah, there's no way they could have known about that.
I fought back a sniffle. I couldn't believe this. No presents for me ? How could this be ?

I stared forlornly after my brothers as they tore out the door on their brand new bicycles, honking the horn on the handlebars,wildly shooting their pellet guns into the air. This wasn't fair. I clutched my t-shirts and underwear tightly, wringing them into a ball.

" Phillip." I heard my father say my name, and I turned around to see him standing there grinning. " I didn't forget you son! I saved the best for last!"
Renewed hope sprang up within me, and fueled my young imagination again. " HE said the BEST!!! " I thought.He said The BEST...What could it possibly be?!!"
"You're gonna be SO surprised!  " Dad said, striding down the hallway. " Wait right here, I'll be back in a sec!"

After a moment, Dad returned holding something rather large in both of his hands, completely covered by a white sheet. Nothing I had imagined would fit the mold of the object he held, a long skinny profile, pyramid in shape. He was beaming from ear to ear. "Ta-Da!!" he cried, snatching the sheet from the present.

He was right. I WAS ASTOUNDED.
"What the H-E- double hockey stick would a 12 year old want with a ... Is that a TELESCOPE ?!?!" I thought.

My father was already going off, talking in an excited rush of words... " And we can look at the moon, and you can even see the rings of saturn, the red eye...."
I couldn't hear him. The tears began to return.

There was no question the gift was the most expensive of all the gifts, or that it was indeed a telescope, and a really nice one. It was the biggest one I had ever seen. There were multiple tubes, and eye-pieces, an adjustable stand, and even a way to hook a camera up to it... It was shiny, complicated, and impressive. Any star gazing, ultra intelligent book worm at the local high school would have been proud to own it. But I had never even shown a remote interest in the stars...AND I WAS 12!
Somehow, his gift, no matter how I looked at it, no matter how nice; made no sense to me.
I pondered these things again as we sat outside that night, hoping to catch a brief glimpse of the moon in the freezing temperatures. The thing they don't tell you about moon viewing ( in the brochure, anyways) is that the moon's constant motion is amplified when viewed through a telescope. The average viewing window for the moon ( under magnification, without a tracking type of telescope) is about 5 seconds.The whole episode that night consisted of my very excited Father locating the "moon window", and losing it again while I stood there and shivered. He would find it, tell me to look through the eyepiece,( by which time it was gone again)  and then roar " What do you mean you don't see it ?!!"


It was years later, when I had children of my own that I finally understood " The Gift".
It is very difficult for a father to look at his children and not see himself. You watch them interact, and you imagine for them.... usually the things you wanted, and couldn't have. As a boy, my Father had always wanted a telescope. He grew up in the era of flash Gordon on the radio, H.G. Wells, and the advent of space travel.
His childhood was not a happy one, and the stars offered a hope both distant and brilliant. He had always wanted to bring them close, to dream of their possiblities. The telescope was the most meaningful gift he could give, because it was exactly what he would want if he were me.

The story of the gift has brought dad and I the occasional chuckle, and stuck in my mind through the years. I remember it more than anything else I've ever gotten.
And now, finally,  I have learned to appreciate it.

Ultimately, "The gift" , like every other gift, isn't about the person receiving it. It is an act of love by another person. Someone loves you enough to say " I want you to have this." In doing so, they open themselves to that person, not knowing if their gift will be rejected, or accepted. In fact the whole reason for this season isn't about us, or about " exchanges". It's about... giving the best you can, and not holding back. Putting it out there, loving without expectation, or thought of reimbursment. It's about loving someone else.... even as GOD himself first loved us.

" For GOD so loved the world, that he GAVE his only begotten son,.... "  -- John 3:16 

RESCUE ME !!!! ( But Not like that....)

   It was late. I don't remember how many calls we had already run that shift, but it was too many.
As we pulled up in front of the shabby little house, I grumbled into the mic, " Dispatch, 39's on scene."
I flipped on the scene lights facing the address, pulled on my gloves and headed to the other side of the truck to rendezvous with my partner. At the side door, we divided up the equipment we'd carry in, and started toward the house. No words flowed as we walked, no discussion or humor. Like I said, it was LATE.

The call was for hypoglycemia; literally, just low blood sugar. The answer for this problem is simple, swift and effective. On scene, we do a quick assessment that includes vitals and checking the patients BGL (blood glucose level ). If that confirms our suspicion that the patient is hypoglycemic, we administer an amp (large prefilled syringe) of Dextrose, 50% solution by IV. It works like a magic show most of the time. Most of the time, the patient feels so much better that they try to refuse transport. This really hurts our feelings. A lot. (Not Really. Most of us can't afford feelings...to expensive. I knew an EMT that had a feeling once. The thing was so expensive, he had to become a doctor just to deal with it. True story. )

This was precisely that call.Our patient lay on his back, slowly rocking side to side. He seemed to be struggling to open his eyes, and moaning occasionally.His BGL was a whopping "24" if I recall correctly.
My partner and I just sort of flowed into action. One of my favorite things about Fire and EMS, is that after you've done it a while, you develop this "knack" for working as a team. Whether it's deploying a hose line, or starting an IV, you know what your partner's going to do. He knows what you're going to do.  It just flows. No talking or explanations necessary.
It can be a thing of beauty, born of necessity.

This is the situation we found ourselves in. It is vital to point out here that the patient was NOT the person who called us. People in this "semi-concious" condition have a REALLY hard time using the phone. The caller, the patient's room-mate; stood by watching us as we worked.
Perhaps it was because of the silent fashion we worked, or maybe because we didn't communicate to him exactly what we were doing, and what was happening. I really don't know. But at that moment, the room-mate said something I don't think I'll forget for a long time.
"Ya'll need to hurry up! You need to give him some insulin!" The room-mate turned to the messy dresser top closest to the door, and rummaging through the clutter, produced first a syringe, and then a small insulin vial!

For those of you who may not be associated with the medical field or a diabetic patient, let me explain that this is precisely the OPPOSITE of what our patient needed. In fact, giving him insulin at this point would have solved all of his future diabetic issues.... Permanently.

As calmly as possible, I advised the now adamant and excited room-mate what we were doing, and what giving him any insulin would have most likely caused. I informed him that in the pre-hospital setting, insulin is NEVER a treatment option. As our patient began to come around, I considered what had transpired, and what could have been the outcome if the patient had been alone with his well meaning but misguided room-mate.

Isn't that just like us though? 
Have you ever prayed for God's deliverance, or intercession in your life, and then specified the way he should perform ?
 " God, I can't do this myself. Rescue Me, Lord!!" 
And then as he begins to work in our life...
" WHOA, WHOA WHOA!! NOT LIKE THAT!!"
I know I have.

 The bible clearly states that as far as the Sun is above the Earth (92,960,000 miles), so are His ways above our ways. It also tells us in Proverbs 3:5-6, that we should " Lean not on thine own understanding, but in all thy ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight ( simplify) thy paths."

I was talking with another firefighter, and a trusted friend of mine at the gym yesterday about this call, and it occurred to me how often I do the same thing with God that the room mate did with us. I acknowledge that a situation is beyond my capacity to deal with, I hand it to him, and then as soon as I let go of it, I'm standing over his shoulder while he works... instructing him on how it should be done.
Sounds foolish doesn't it? 

Just thought I'd share. I don't think you need me to "draw out" the lesson here. For those of you who are brothers and sisters in the field, it should be obvious. For those of us who are brothers and sisters in Christ, it should be even more so. God bless, and have a great Easter Weekend!!!!

I Think Jesus was a Firefighter

All across America today, thousands upon thousands of times; the tones have "dropped" and men and women have scrambled into their gear, climbed aboard apparatus, and screamed off down the street to someone else's emergency. The reality is that whatever is happening down there, at the end of the "Run", really isn't their business anyways. So why do they do it ?

I have often struggled to explain to others what it means to me to be a firefighter. 

When someone asks: "What made you want to be a firefighter ?" or " What makes it worth it ?" I don't often know what to say.

The second question is especially difficult, because it references more than one issue - long hours away from home, low pay, and even things as far reaching as paying that ultimate price. I always wanted to answer, and answer well, but the words fail. It's not that I don't know, it's just that I don't know how to put in words what I feel inside, what I think, concerning this thing called firefighting. Maybe this will clear things up a little.

The other day I stumbled across the picture above, something I had read long ago, and forgotten. In a moment the disconnect between words and emotion was bridged. I read it over and over again, and want to share it with you now. It is important for one simple reason. Every man or woman who truly wishes to be a firefighter, aspires to the profession for these reasons. 

In the excerpt above, Chief Croker eloquently puts down these essential elements of understanding what firefighting is about. Allow me to unpack it.

1.) "Everything is destroyed by fire." Fire Destroys everything --it is as sure as any physical law. Provide it three things, fuel, oxygen, and heat, and it will exist, and it will continue to exist until it has consumed all of it's fuel. It is described in the new testament as being the way this world ends.(2Peter3:12) We know that nothing.... NOTHING, is "flame proof".... it's only " flame resistive" . Everything will burn once it's hot enough.

2.) " We strive to preserve from destruction the wealth of the world..."-- For the good of society, things that are valuable must be protected from destruction.The world of man collapses when The Good things of man; what he has created for the betterment and/or enjoyment of all, is destroyed. In a broader sense, If the good that man does is taken away, then what is left is only chaos and confusion.

3.) " But, above all; our proudest endeavor is to save the lives of men- the work of God himself." -
 Life is to be preserved, if possible, at all costs. Not just because it is valuable to us individually, but because it is the gift of God. Man is valuable to God, the Creator. Man is the only thing in the creation story that God took the time to fashion with his own hands... everything else he spoke into existence.

Condensed, the whole idea looks like this: I see the good in what man has created, and recognize his individual worth to God. I will gladly stand between these, and their ultimate destruction in this physical world, because if he were physically here, that is exactly what God would do.....would do? It's exactly what he did.

In the garden, the serpent hated Man. He knew the law that existed, and what God had said would happen to man if he broke that law. He knew God couldn't lie, and all he had to do to assure man's destruction was to get him to eat of the tree. And so he did.

What should have happened next was the absolute destruction of man,  the end of all humanity... the serpent laughing evilly in the background.

But what actually happened was this: The word of judgement was spoken. Fire fell from heaven to destroy the man God had created. The demon laughed... and then stopped suddenly, laughter frozen on his lips.

Across space and time a new sound was heard. For just a moment the sounds of angels singing above a tiny stable in Bethlehem sounded like the distinctive highs and lows of station tones. As all heaven grew silent,  the king of Glory vacated his throne, and stepped into the "Turn out" gear of his own mortal flesh. Without consideration for himself, he responded; and took his place between humanity and fire. 

Maybe that's overly simplistic, and a little "out there" for most people. But to me that's simply how it went down. There was no reason for God to come to man's rescue. He didn't have to, but he wanted to. His love for his creation made it "worth it". And in my mind, there is nothing more noble, nothing better served than the thing that is closest to the heart of God.
The serpent had it right; and at the same time, completely wrong. There was no way to avoid the natural consequence of Fire...  But the heart of GOD is the heart of the firefighter.


"No man is worth his salt who is not ready at all times to risk his well being, to risk his body, to risk his life, in a great cause." 
                                                                                                                -Theodore Roosevelt

Why Me, God?

 


  The wind rushed across the hilltop and scampered into the valley below, a gleeful child rushing headlong into mischief. It paused only long enough to inspect the Old Man on his way upwards, ruffling his clothes and tugging playfully at his beard before it raced away. The breeze was wonderful against his skin for just a moment, and then; like most things, was gone.  He paused, looking in the direction the wind had gone. After a moment, he sighed, and slowly began to climb again.   The summit was only a little further. The Old Man stumbled across the last few feet of jagged rock, His lungs burning, tongue thick with thirst. The only thing holding him upright was a long walking stick held in his right hand. His left hand, still remarkably steady; pushed his beard back down against his chest.

  His breathing came ragged as the Old Man turned westward, into the setting sun. There before him lay a winding river, it's crimson sparkles a tribute to the majestic sunset before him.  A fish lept near the far bank, the ripples it set off flashing crimson, then ruby, then dark, in a slowly expanding circle.A few large water birds moved awkwardly through the shallows, until startled by something moving along the bank. Instantly,they bounded upwards into even more ungainly flight, wings flapping desperately for altitude. The two small deer that emerged from the brush lowered their heads to drink, unaware of the disturbance they had caused.

  The land past the river rose gradually upward, gentle hills, nothing like the jagged slope he had just traversed. A forest spread northward from these hills, deep green and healthy; He could almost smell the heady scent of the cedars that reached out of it's heart.  Away to the south, everything was a lush, beautiful green, the deep color that resonates in the souls of Shepherds and farmers alike. It was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

  He drew a deep breath through his mouth, the breath one might would expect from a man that had just climbed the grade behind him. But this breath had nothing to do with physical conditioning. It was an impulse created by something entirely different.  It was a sound that had started in the wind, creeping into his consciousness, becoming,... a voice.The voice was soft but easily discernible, warm and firm. It was a voice the Old Man knew, and was comfortable with, but this moment of recognition had always left him breathless. Even now, hearing the voice in his ears; he was aware of things that he had not noticed before. For instance, His ears heard the voice, but could tell no direction. And the voice echoed; no,... it flowed through him... like he was hearing it not just in his ears, but also with his heart.  The voice was speaking... the voice of GOD.

"Have You seen enough?" There was nothing in the voice that hinted of the import of the statement, but the Old Man's heart leapt within him. He knew what he was being asked, And his heart stretched toward that horizon, eyes straining to drink in every detail of the scene before him.  40 years he had been longing for this place. Wishing to be right here, the people below, the promised land beyond. He would plot a way to cross, and they would move to claim the promise of Abraham; a land flowing with milk and honey. That had been the plan...until two days ago.

   Slightly more than 48 hours ago the voice of God had spoken to him, telling him he would never set foot in the land before him.  He would never own a piece of the promise he had carried for forty plus years. His dream was destroyed. There would be no peaceful retirement, No Bountiful farm by the banks of that river. His heart ached to taste it, touch it, smell "IT". He longed to experience it with something other than his eyes, someway to burn it into his soul.  Hadn't "HE" led these people out of Egypt? Hadn't "HE" laid his life on the line over and over again for these people, negotiating against their destruction with Almighty God Himself?  Why was it he had been singled out ? Why had he been deemed unworthy to hold his dream? "WHY ?"

Did these questions actually burn in the heart of Moses? When he heard God's voice, did Moses  choke on the WHY? When God said " You'll die on this side of Jordan, never setting foot in the land of promise, NOW climb this mountain, take a good long look, cause that's all your getting before I kill you."
   Did the heart of Moses recoil, pulling away from God in a painful "WHY?" (Deuteronomy 34, by the way.).  If not, then How? How is it possible?  To know the answer, I had to look back to another hillside in the life of Moses.

Forty years before this one, He had stood on another hillside, talking with God Face to face, as a man talks to his friend. God Had just affirmed that he would always be with his people, that he would "Go with them." There is a brief pause; and Moses senses that the timing is right to ask what has been burning in his heart, aching in his soul, since the day he journeyed aside to see the bush that was not consumed. He WANTS something... Moses wants to ask God For something special.

The way it is written in the King James, (Exodus 33) is as if Moses blurted it out, face down on the ground, His request having very little to do with what was going on at the time. It seems almost, well,... out of place.
And What he wants is not an assurance that everything will be perfect, that there will always be food, or water for the millions behind him. Not even an assurance that His position is secure as the head of this nation, or that his children will have wonderful lives. Not that he will have many children, and many grandchildren; bright and Healthy. It's not for wisdom, or strength, or wealth.   As Moses stood there in the "Shikina", knees trembling, the mountain smoking and shaking, Moses blurted out what he thought he needed to get him through every moment that lay ahead.

   What was it that would make his Faith insurmountable, unshakable ?
   What would fight off the Why's in his life?

It was this: "I beseech Thee, Show Me your Glory." 
 No kidding.
 At that moment in "The Presence." Moses could have asked for anything. ANYTHING.
So what was the most important thing in his mind? The thought that burned in his heart?   "I want to see your Glory." That is what is most important to me,.. Not my survival in this wilderness, not my hunger, not my pain. God, Here and now, with this massive undertaking before me, I am asking you for one thing....

    "I beseech thee, Show me your Glory."

Moses was not allowed to see God's glory, for no man could see his Glory and Live. But He Hides Moses in the cleft of a rock, covers him with his Hand, and allows him the briefest glimpse as he passes. That one glimpse was enough to get Moses through the wilderness, past the jealousy and manipulations of Korah, over numerous Foes, the backslidings of a "stiff-Necked" people, a lack of water, a lack of food.... indeed, to many trials to list. In all of this, God always gave Moses what he asked for, always provided for him and these people. But in his lifetime Moses never got the one thing He desired most-  A true look into the Glory of God. 

Back to the Hill Pis-Gah, Land of Moab.The last day of Moses' life.

Moses stands there drinking it all in. God Speaks again; "Have you seen enough?" One last look around, a glance downward to the camp,... Moses steadies himself, looks up into the heavens, and starts to respond in the affirmative. There is no "why me?"  in the mind of Moses. He pauses in his response,... Reflective.... His Life is over, done, finished. Gone as assuredly as the wind.   Still, a grin springs to his face, stretching it wide. Truth is, Moses never cared about the promised land, or anything else in this world. The "Yes." freezes on his lips as he imagines what is about to happen, as he feels the presence of GOD draw close. No, Not a simple yes. He know's what he wants to say....  He moistens his parched lips,.. Clears his throat; and as the wind begins to pick up,... Moses shouts into it's noise: 

          ..."I beseech thee... Show me your Glory! "

All About Heroes

  01/30/12

  Tonight, I have just returned from assisting with the instruction of a basic firefighter class in a neighboring county, the topic of which was "hands on" primary search with an entrapped victim. This is something that is very close to the hearts of all firemen ... and most would say it's what we sign up for.
  In fact, if we are truly honest with ourselves; I believe that all firefighters begin this career in the hopes that one day they would become a hero. And maybe we're the kind of guys ( and gals) that need that. I don't mean to be disparaging. I don't think that necessarily means that firefighters are glory seekers, adrenaline "junkies", or reckless "hose monkeys". For me, It only means that I must aim my life at a greater good; something extraordinary, in order for it to have meaning.

 "Why do you want to be a hero?"  I have asked many rookies why they wanted to be firefighters, But I don't think I've explained my own reasoning to more than a few. While I was still a young man, I lost a cousin in a structure fire. Katrina (blackwood) Walker was only 13 when she died on July the 1st, 1991.
 In the early hours before dawn, she had woken to flames consuming her home. My Great Aunt Betty and uncle H- had made it safely to their agreed meeting spot, but Katrina wasn't there.
 Katrina had fled to the bathroom, stuffed a towel in the crack of the door and waited for help.She had been taught (correctly)  that this was the best thing to do if you couldn't get out of your house during a fire.
 Her home was less than a mile from a firestation... the response was direct and timely, the firefighters there did their ABSOLUTE best. It wasn't enough.
Katrina had an infectious smile.She had been born mostly deaf, but somehow she was still teaching herself to play guitar. She had a pet skunk. She was 13.

Katrina's incident has always been, and always will be; in my mind. It's something I carry with me out the door to every shift. I can't imagine what those firemen that were there felt... But the fear of feeling it?  Well... It makes me want to be a hero.
 


  Talking about "Heroes" tonight made me remember this story.
. I want to share it, because to me, heroes are not defined by the status their actions may bring them, but instead by what action they will willingly give themselves to... for the sake of another, seeking nothing in return. This one event created a lasting impression on me, and here for the first time in a long time; I saw what I think heroes truly look like.
   I've had to change the names, but I promise the story is true... I hope it blesses you.

6/10/11
"She's Gone."
Just moments ago, I received that simple text message. Two words, simple and expected, but devastating.
  " Jasmine", who would have been five years old in little more than a week, had finally lost her fight with Cancer. I had met Jasmine through my girlfriend, and at the beginning of our relationship, we took the picture you see above. She had met Jasmine and her family while volunteering at Duke University's Oncology department. She had helped the girl's family that day, and the picture above is from the simple dinner they prepared for us, their way of saying " Thank you."
  Despite the best efforts of the medical professionals, the child grew worse. I vividly remember the night the child's mother called, panic in her voice as she begged my girlfriend for help. We had to be on a plane at 4am the next morning, but still ( at my girlfriend's insistence) we drove to their house and picked them up, mother and child, so they would have a way to the emergency room. I have never felt so helpless as I did that night, listening to her whimper in the back seat, her tiny voice saying, over and over; " me duele, me duele." ( it hurts me, it hurts me) I asked later what it meant, but there was no need... somehow I already known..
Earlier today, my girlfriend rushed out of class to be with Jasmine and her family, stopping only long enough to pick up dinner for them. She called me on her way, and I was moved by the genuine concern I could hear in her voice as we talked. Mary ( the girls mother) had called her earlier in near panic, begging her to come. She had not been there long when I received the text.  " She's Gone."

My girlfriend didn't go because she had to, or because she would get some satisfaction from going. She didn't go because everyone would know what she had done. Until this post, only a very few knew the story. No one was watching, and there was no medal for her to carry away. She owed those people nothing, would profit nothing to suffer with them, but still she went.  Her motive was simple... Love. Not fleshly temporal love, but the love that each of us should nurture in our own hearts, love that seeks no self fulfillment, but is simply an echo of the Love shown us by Christ. This was heroism. This was Christianity, and this one event taught me more about Christianity than any of the time I spent in bible college.

  As firefighters we are blessed to be in a position of "helping", being there for those crisis moments when no one knows what to do.We assist those in desperate need, making sense of it all. This too, I believe; is very Christ-like. However, we are also very isolated from  the reality that exists outside of each "scene." When our work there is done, we go back to station, clean the gear, do the reports, and move on. This is our refuge. If we were unable to disconnect from the tragedies and trauma, I don't think our careers would last very long. We cope, we grow; distancing ourselves further from the pain, but perhaps also further away from our reason for being here in the first place. Maybe the callused, distant veteran doesn't even remember the "hero" he wanted to be.
 This one event however, was something I was forced to see in it's totality. I saw it up close and personal, and I learned what heroes really look like.

They don't always look like a "Rescue". The guys in Katrina's yard that night, dejected, exhausted... they were heroes. They don't always look like superman in a "10-10". Because to this firefighter heroes don't always look like the guy who saved a life, or put out the most fire.
Sometimes heroes look like people who didn't have to be there. People who couldn't change the outcome. But People who were there anyways, and gave it everything they had.