Monday, September 24, 2012
"That dog won't hunt."
I love being southern. Ingrained in my "make-up" are things like grits and gravy, collard greens, "yes ma'am and no-sir", and of course, country music. One of my favorite things about being southern is the use of colloquialisms in our everyday conversation. Sentences like " That dog won't hunt", which refers to any unworkable situation, such as dragging your "bird" dog out into the field, and discovering that he has suddenly had an acute attack of conscience, and now refuses to "bird". Or maybe this one: That _____, ( insert noun of choice) was fit to be tied." This one indicates a state of perplexity approaching "shock and awe".... Where it comes from, I have no idea.
My favorite one is one my Mother's Father was fond of using. I often heard him use this one in describing certain " churches", or "Christians" whose performance was deemed not to be " Up to snuff" ( What does that one mean?!) by whomever he happened to be conversing with. Inevitably, Grandpa would hear about someone doing something " UN-christian", and he would slowly shake his head and say: " You can write hen-house over the door, but that don't mean there's any chickens inside." I always assumed this was a commentary on hypocrisy, until I stopped to remember Grand-pa's story.
Just for background purposes, He had grown up during the era of the great depression, to a family which consisted in part of 12 siblings... That's a lot I know, but one has to remember that there weren't a whole lot of entertainment options in those days.
Lacking the most basic of necessities was common place, and doing without was just a way of life. I can't imagine what it was like back then, when hope was scarse, and hard work was made less tolerable by an empty belly. I imagined the first time a runny nosed, barefoot, little kid in the foothills of Virginia heard those words, and what caused him to commit them to memory.
Maybe the saying is less about people pretending to be something they are not, and more about a little boys' hopefulness that there's an answer for the hunger he and the rest of the nation are feeling... and that in a world full of empty " hen-houses" somewhere out there, there's one with some chickens inside.
Maybe I should view Gramps' words not as a justification for criticism, but as an admonition to make sure if I am writing "hen-house" over my door, when a hungry, little, tow-headed boy comes sniffing around he is delighted to find that there is hope, and that despite previous disappointments, that here, at last, there are chickens inside.
Saturday, September 1, 2012
"FORREST WAS RIGHT."
"... Momma says you can tell alot 'bout people by they shoes. Where they goin'.... Where they been. Momma was a smart woman." -- Forrest Gump, esq.
Forrest was right. You can tell a lot about people just by looking at their shoes. Think about shoes for just a minute. Sometimes shoes tell us who a person is... When you think about a construction worker, does your mind picture heavy steel toed boots ? Firefighters in our "side zip" station boots ? How about nurses ? Personally, I can't think of anything other than those shoes that look like rocking chairs ( Shape- ups ?) or maybe crocs... when I draw a mental image of any medical professional. OK, Phil, we get it... The investment banker doesn't head off to his "9-to-5" in hiking boots, and the park ranger at Yosemite doesn't wear wingtips to work... what's your point ?
Glad you asked.
Shoes help us identify more than just an individuals profession. Shoes tell us what someone is "fixin' " ( southern word, adv. means the same thing as "about to".) to do. They speak about someone's activity. A hiker's boots say he is trail bound, the jogger's light weight sneaker means he's "fixin" to run. Slip on dress shoes, and you're headed to something besides physical activity, maybe business or church.
What's most interesting is not so much the shoes, and what they say about the wearer, and his or her activity, but how they transfer the identity of the wearer to the environment. Each shoe has unique characteristics, and will leave a unique footprint... a footprint specific to the wearer. A man with a limp will tend to drag the affected extremity, smudging the print on that side, and and creating a drag mark as the foot leaves the front of the print. ( LAW AND ORDER, baby.) The runner's stride opens the distance between prints, and the push off from the toes digs an even deeper impression into the turf. In this way, we can tell as much about the wearer by the prints they left, as we can by the individuals selection of footwear.
Sometimes footprints are transient, like in the sugary sand of low tide, sometimes permanent like this picture . Scientists were astonished to discover these... laid down in the same mud as dinosaur prints. Interesting, no ?
As we navigate through life, we too leave footprints along the way, indelible impressions on our environment, impressions on the souls around us. Think of every interaction between ourselves and other people as a " footprint". What are your prints saying about you ?
A few days ago I left a foot print... a young man said something I took objection to, and I retaliated by " jumping on him with both feet". ( not literally) I later realized that the footprint I had left didn't say that "a christian has come this way."... quite the opposite. Instead of an even steady gait, it was hurried, messy... digging deeply into someone elses turf, and leaving them with an impression of me that will most likely hang around a while. I regret it, but like a real footprint, it's hard to hide once the impression is there.
Forrest was right. You can tell a lot about people just by looking at their shoes. Think about shoes for just a minute. Sometimes shoes tell us who a person is... When you think about a construction worker, does your mind picture heavy steel toed boots ? Firefighters in our "side zip" station boots ? How about nurses ? Personally, I can't think of anything other than those shoes that look like rocking chairs ( Shape- ups ?) or maybe crocs... when I draw a mental image of any medical professional. OK, Phil, we get it... The investment banker doesn't head off to his "9-to-5" in hiking boots, and the park ranger at Yosemite doesn't wear wingtips to work... what's your point ?
Glad you asked.
Shoes help us identify more than just an individuals profession. Shoes tell us what someone is "fixin' " ( southern word, adv. means the same thing as "about to".) to do. They speak about someone's activity. A hiker's boots say he is trail bound, the jogger's light weight sneaker means he's "fixin" to run. Slip on dress shoes, and you're headed to something besides physical activity, maybe business or church.
 |
| fossilized human footprints |
What's most interesting is not so much the shoes, and what they say about the wearer, and his or her activity, but how they transfer the identity of the wearer to the environment. Each shoe has unique characteristics, and will leave a unique footprint... a footprint specific to the wearer. A man with a limp will tend to drag the affected extremity, smudging the print on that side, and and creating a drag mark as the foot leaves the front of the print. ( LAW AND ORDER, baby.) The runner's stride opens the distance between prints, and the push off from the toes digs an even deeper impression into the turf. In this way, we can tell as much about the wearer by the prints they left, as we can by the individuals selection of footwear.
Sometimes footprints are transient, like in the sugary sand of low tide, sometimes permanent like this picture . Scientists were astonished to discover these... laid down in the same mud as dinosaur prints. Interesting, no ?
As we navigate through life, we too leave footprints along the way, indelible impressions on our environment, impressions on the souls around us. Think of every interaction between ourselves and other people as a " footprint". What are your prints saying about you ?
A few days ago I left a foot print... a young man said something I took objection to, and I retaliated by " jumping on him with both feet". ( not literally) I later realized that the footprint I had left didn't say that "a christian has come this way."... quite the opposite. Instead of an even steady gait, it was hurried, messy... digging deeply into someone elses turf, and leaving them with an impression of me that will most likely hang around a while. I regret it, but like a real footprint, it's hard to hide once the impression is there.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Why Me, God?
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! "
Friday, April 6, 2012
"I am BARRABAS."
My children will do the strangest thing before a movie plays. Whether we happen to be in a theater or snuggled up at home, doesn't seem to make a difference. As the title sequence fades, and the characters are introduced; one of my children ( usually Jaiden) will begin to "assign" characters.
" Isabella," he will say, "You're that girl." "Daddy," he indicates someone else, " That's you."
My character is usually a sideline role, and usually not the one I would most readily identify with. For instance, During the spider man movies I got to be "Uncle Ben". The hero roles, of course, he reserves for himself. It can be quite funny at times, and I must say that I really haven't quite figured out why he does it, or how it has spread to his sister and I.
I told you all that to explain why when I watch movies now, as the story unfolds I often wonder; "Who would I be if this story were real?" Weird, huh?
Tonight I watched Mel Gibson's " The Passion of the Christ". As scene after scene unfolded, I was completely engrossed, drawn into the brilliance of this portrayal. Even though I have seen it before, I was "choked up" more than once. I became so involved in the story that I never thought to assign myself a character while the movie played.
There were many great scenes, and later, as I recounted them in my mind I began to wonder who my character would have been. I replayed the scenes, searching for the best fit. Who would I have been if I had been there?
Well, let's see. The movie opens with Christ's prayer in the garden, and Peter's inability to stay awake and pray with him. Later Peter lashes out, cutting off the ear of the High Priest's servant, and then Caps his performance with a denial of Christ... Not once, but three times.
I too have "slumbered" when the need was for someone "to watch and pray"... I have lashed out when things weren't the way I wanted them, and hurt others. I too have denied my "christianity" when I thought it inconvenient. Could my Character have been Peter?!
What about Judas ?! Not a popular choice to identify with, But I know that I have been guilty of "selling out" and accepting something that was never God's will in exchange for betraying my own principals and convictions. I have wept over my own "thirty peices of silver".
Maybe I was one of the Roman soldiers, demeaning and arrogant, oblivious to what is REALLY happening, and justifying my actions with " I didn't know who he was, I was just following orders!" Was I Cassius, the soldier at the foot of the cross?
I weighed and balanced Characters: The woman taken in Adultery, the Sanhedrin court, Pilate and the foppish Herod, the disciple who cared for Mary. I considered Simon the Cyrene, the criminals on the other two crosses, and Barabbas.
The scene of the crowd choosing Barrabas played again in my mind. As the condemned murderer is set free, I felt myself actually loathing him as he taunted the guards, and raised his arms in jubilant celebration. How could he not know what his freedom had cost?! Briefly his eyes meet Christ's, and the smile fades from his twisted grin. The director intends to portray something passing between them, but what? Did Barabbas, a man already condemned, ever wonder about this man who died in exchange for his life? Did he ever try to make the best of his " second chance" ? Did he feel obligated to do something Good and right with his life afterwards? We can suppose it so, but we can't really know.
As I sat there, considering all the players in this drama; disecting their individual faults and flaws, it suddenly dawned on me... I wasn't a single character in this film.
I was all of them.
I am Peter. I am Cassius, and Pilate. I am the High Priest, and the angry crowd. I am the sinner forgiven, and unwilling participant drawn to the cross. I am all of the characters that lived through this story, even though it hurts me to admit it. I am nothing good, and nothing worth dying for, and he did anyways. I am all of them, and I am Barabbas.
" Isabella," he will say, "You're that girl." "Daddy," he indicates someone else, " That's you."
My character is usually a sideline role, and usually not the one I would most readily identify with. For instance, During the spider man movies I got to be "Uncle Ben". The hero roles, of course, he reserves for himself. It can be quite funny at times, and I must say that I really haven't quite figured out why he does it, or how it has spread to his sister and I.
I told you all that to explain why when I watch movies now, as the story unfolds I often wonder; "Who would I be if this story were real?" Weird, huh?
Tonight I watched Mel Gibson's " The Passion of the Christ". As scene after scene unfolded, I was completely engrossed, drawn into the brilliance of this portrayal. Even though I have seen it before, I was "choked up" more than once. I became so involved in the story that I never thought to assign myself a character while the movie played.
Well, let's see. The movie opens with Christ's prayer in the garden, and Peter's inability to stay awake and pray with him. Later Peter lashes out, cutting off the ear of the High Priest's servant, and then Caps his performance with a denial of Christ... Not once, but three times.
I too have "slumbered" when the need was for someone "to watch and pray"... I have lashed out when things weren't the way I wanted them, and hurt others. I too have denied my "christianity" when I thought it inconvenient. Could my Character have been Peter?!
What about Judas ?! Not a popular choice to identify with, But I know that I have been guilty of "selling out" and accepting something that was never God's will in exchange for betraying my own principals and convictions. I have wept over my own "thirty peices of silver".
Maybe I was one of the Roman soldiers, demeaning and arrogant, oblivious to what is REALLY happening, and justifying my actions with " I didn't know who he was, I was just following orders!" Was I Cassius, the soldier at the foot of the cross?
I weighed and balanced Characters: The woman taken in Adultery, the Sanhedrin court, Pilate and the foppish Herod, the disciple who cared for Mary. I considered Simon the Cyrene, the criminals on the other two crosses, and Barabbas.
The scene of the crowd choosing Barrabas played again in my mind. As the condemned murderer is set free, I felt myself actually loathing him as he taunted the guards, and raised his arms in jubilant celebration. How could he not know what his freedom had cost?! Briefly his eyes meet Christ's, and the smile fades from his twisted grin. The director intends to portray something passing between them, but what? Did Barabbas, a man already condemned, ever wonder about this man who died in exchange for his life? Did he ever try to make the best of his " second chance" ? Did he feel obligated to do something Good and right with his life afterwards? We can suppose it so, but we can't really know.
As I sat there, considering all the players in this drama; disecting their individual faults and flaws, it suddenly dawned on me... I wasn't a single character in this film.
I was all of them.
I am Peter. I am Cassius, and Pilate. I am the High Priest, and the angry crowd. I am the sinner forgiven, and unwilling participant drawn to the cross. I am all of the characters that lived through this story, even though it hurts me to admit it. I am nothing good, and nothing worth dying for, and he did anyways. I am all of them, and I am Barabbas.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
" Set your own Bar"
I am not a "Fire-God". No one will ever accuse me of being the most intelligent firefighter in America, or even at my department.I don't think I'm superior to any of my brothers, or deserve more or better than anyone else.I don't think I know it all, or have all the answers. So feel free to read this blog, not as an instruction, but as an observation; One firefighter to another.
A few days ago, I was talking with a couple of friends about an upcoming race we entered. This race is the Marine Corp "Ultimate Challenge" Mud run We were all excited about the race, discussing strategy,( For finishing, not neccesarily winning) Training routines, and naturally our mental approach to the obstacles we would face. One of the other firefighters asked me if I had ever seen the movie "Gattica." The plot of the movie in question is irrelevant, and most would find it boring. But when I replied in the affirmative, he reminded me of a scene I have included here. In this clip, the "genetically inferior" of two brothers reminds his brother that he had once bettered his brother @ swimming, and in fact saved his life during a game of " Chicken". In their version, they brave the cold waters of the Atlantic, and continue swimming out until someone "Chicken's Out". After swimming out as far as he can, the brother who is "genetically superior, pauses... gasping for air, and exhausted he cries out: " How are you doing this ?" How did you do any of this ?" His brother replies, " You want to know how I did it ?! This is how I did it Anton! I never saved anything for the swim back!"
I like that saying. WE hear motivational quotes all the time. And motivational quotes are good, we need them. They help us encourage each other, pushing ourselves to better effort by inspiration. These quotes allow us to reach deeper, push farther, stronger....
Quotes like: " Don't let your minimum be you maximum."
" leave it all on the field."
" Confidence is contagious. So is lack of confidence."
" We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence then, is not a trait, but a habit."
Ecclesiastes 9:10 " Whatsoever thy Hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; ...."
Colossians 3:23 " And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the LORD, and not unto men;"
A few days ago, I was talking with a couple of friends about an upcoming race we entered. This race is the Marine Corp "Ultimate Challenge" Mud run We were all excited about the race, discussing strategy,( For finishing, not neccesarily winning) Training routines, and naturally our mental approach to the obstacles we would face. One of the other firefighters asked me if I had ever seen the movie "Gattica." The plot of the movie in question is irrelevant, and most would find it boring. But when I replied in the affirmative, he reminded me of a scene I have included here. In this clip, the "genetically inferior" of two brothers reminds his brother that he had once bettered his brother @ swimming, and in fact saved his life during a game of " Chicken". In their version, they brave the cold waters of the Atlantic, and continue swimming out until someone "Chicken's Out". After swimming out as far as he can, the brother who is "genetically superior, pauses... gasping for air, and exhausted he cries out: " How are you doing this ?" How did you do any of this ?" His brother replies, " You want to know how I did it ?! This is how I did it Anton! I never saved anything for the swim back!"
I like that saying. WE hear motivational quotes all the time. And motivational quotes are good, we need them. They help us encourage each other, pushing ourselves to better effort by inspiration. These quotes allow us to reach deeper, push farther, stronger....
Quotes like: " Don't let your minimum be you maximum."
" leave it all on the field."
" Confidence is contagious. So is lack of confidence."
" We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence then, is not a trait, but a habit."
Ecclesiastes 9:10 " Whatsoever thy Hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; ...."
Colossians 3:23 " And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the LORD, and not unto men;"
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Diary of a Divorcee, Part III
Dear Isa,
Today is the first day of 2011, and you went back to your mother yesterday while I was at work. I'm sorry I had to leave you at Papa and Gammie's, yet I am grateful that I was able to kiss you and your brother good-bye before leaving. When I leaned over to whisper in your ear, " Daddy loves you, Sweetheart." ; You threw your arm around my neck, never opening your eyes, and kissed me on my cheek. My heart swelled with love and pride. Sometimes it's the littlest of things that are missed, and not being able to say good-bye to you and your little brother everytime I walk out that door is the only regret I carry into this new year. I carry it because I don't want there ever to be a gap in the knowledge I have carefully preserved in you and your Brother,... " Your Daddy loves you." The worst thing I can imagine is for Jaiden, or you,.. to ever wonder,.. " Does my Daddy love me?"
You turned Seven years old in November, and I am amazed at how different you are now than the first time I held you. That sleepy-headed, fragile flower I cradled,... is now blooming into a beautiful little girl. Sometimes I catch a flash, in the way you talk, or a face you make,... for just a moment,.. She shines, then dances away again;... the young lady you will become. Once again my heart swells with love and pride.
I was amazed at how concerned you were with the feelings of others this week, especially your Daddy. I wanted to note this, in case we forget,.. for this is something I want to always remember. You left me something,.. do you remember? The day before you left, as we discussed that you would be leaving,.. you actually said to me " Are you going to cry Daddy?" The concern in your voice, for the first time I can remember; wasn't for your sadness, but mine. I stood there for just a second, composing myself. There was no threat of tears, but the wash of emotion was incredible. " No sweetheart, Daddy won't cry." I replied, the steadiness of my voice surprising me." I know that you love me, and nothing changes that." I paused. " And you know that I love you don't you?" you tilted your little face up towards mine, and for some reason, I knew that the shine in those eyes was for me. My daughter was worried about how much "I" would miss" HER" ! You replied that You did, and went back to painting. But when you had finished, the art you left to dry on the counter is the picture attached to this note.The lump in my throat grew as you explained to me,.. " Daddy, If you hang this on your mirror, you will see it every night when you go to bed!, ... and every morning when you get up!.... and that's you, and that's me... see?!" All I could do was stand there, staring at this picture, trying to make sense of the emotions that battled for control. When the dust settled, what rose up within my spirit was a simple, Godly pride. What I had tried so hard to make sure you knew, you had tried just as hard to make sure "I" knew. YOU ARE LOVED. As I looked down into your little face, my heart swelled with pride,.... And love. The lesson I had wanted to pass to you had come full circle. I stood there : proud parent, proud teacher,.. and learned the lesson again. God Bless You Angel, Your Daddy loves you. Do you know that?
Signed,
Daddy. ; )
Today is the first day of 2011, and you went back to your mother yesterday while I was at work. I'm sorry I had to leave you at Papa and Gammie's, yet I am grateful that I was able to kiss you and your brother good-bye before leaving. When I leaned over to whisper in your ear, " Daddy loves you, Sweetheart." ; You threw your arm around my neck, never opening your eyes, and kissed me on my cheek. My heart swelled with love and pride. Sometimes it's the littlest of things that are missed, and not being able to say good-bye to you and your little brother everytime I walk out that door is the only regret I carry into this new year. I carry it because I don't want there ever to be a gap in the knowledge I have carefully preserved in you and your Brother,... " Your Daddy loves you." The worst thing I can imagine is for Jaiden, or you,.. to ever wonder,.. " Does my Daddy love me?"
You turned Seven years old in November, and I am amazed at how different you are now than the first time I held you. That sleepy-headed, fragile flower I cradled,... is now blooming into a beautiful little girl. Sometimes I catch a flash, in the way you talk, or a face you make,... for just a moment,.. She shines, then dances away again;... the young lady you will become. Once again my heart swells with love and pride.
I was amazed at how concerned you were with the feelings of others this week, especially your Daddy. I wanted to note this, in case we forget,.. for this is something I want to always remember. You left me something,.. do you remember? The day before you left, as we discussed that you would be leaving,.. you actually said to me " Are you going to cry Daddy?" The concern in your voice, for the first time I can remember; wasn't for your sadness, but mine. I stood there for just a second, composing myself. There was no threat of tears, but the wash of emotion was incredible. " No sweetheart, Daddy won't cry." I replied, the steadiness of my voice surprising me." I know that you love me, and nothing changes that." I paused. " And you know that I love you don't you?" you tilted your little face up towards mine, and for some reason, I knew that the shine in those eyes was for me. My daughter was worried about how much "I" would miss" HER" ! You replied that You did, and went back to painting. But when you had finished, the art you left to dry on the counter is the picture attached to this note.The lump in my throat grew as you explained to me,.. " Daddy, If you hang this on your mirror, you will see it every night when you go to bed!, ... and every morning when you get up!.... and that's you, and that's me... see?!" All I could do was stand there, staring at this picture, trying to make sense of the emotions that battled for control. When the dust settled, what rose up within my spirit was a simple, Godly pride. What I had tried so hard to make sure you knew, you had tried just as hard to make sure "I" knew. YOU ARE LOVED. As I looked down into your little face, my heart swelled with pride,.... And love. The lesson I had wanted to pass to you had come full circle. I stood there : proud parent, proud teacher,.. and learned the lesson again. God Bless You Angel, Your Daddy loves you. Do you know that?Signed,Daddy. ; )
Monday, February 20, 2012
Diary of a Divorcee, Part II
A while back I sat down in front of this computer and pecked out an initial entry for a "diary". My intention at the time was to share openly the life of a divorcee, not hiding anything, sharing the triumphs and failures. I quickly learned that doing so exacted a heavy emotional toll... I have sat down here, stared at this computer, and tried to write this second part many times. But the hand that touches fire,.. well, It's not soon eager to repeat it's mistake. Not saying that the first diary entry was a mistake; However, every attempt that followed has ended with resignation, frustration, and ultimately failure. No matter how I conceived the structure, or imagined the detail, it never turned out the way that I knew in my heart GOD wanted it to be. I didn't know what to do.
This Sunday I sat in church, staring vacantly towards the front,... My mind anywhere but on the words of the visiting minister,... (sorry) As I sat there, I suddenly realized that I was praying. It was an unconcious thing,.. I can't really explain; My heart without benefit of the concious mind, began pouring itself out before GOD. I cannot explain the trouble I've had for the last few months praying for myself,... How difficult it has been or the why... I just know that as I sat there,.. my heart finally did what my mind could not,.. at first so faintly I was unaware of it, then building to a emotional intensity that brought tears to my eyes,.. My heart sent out a distress call. "God,.. This is where I am.... MAY-DAY." I felt HIM almost immediately,... something in my soul was reassured, a promise whispered,.. Something unseen, not verbalized,.. but suddenly,... I knew HE was there like I haven't known for some time. I knew he had a plan to turn this disaster into triumph,.. and I knew he would be with me.
As for the journal ? well, He spoke to that too. The remainder of this journal will be addressed to my children. Every evening I'm able, I'll sit down here, and write to my children about my day. That is what GOD told me to do... I hope it blesses someone. It is helping me to heal, and I hope it does the same for others. This entry is from christmas of last year, and seemed like a fitting place to start.
12/25/09
Dear Isabella,
It's Christmas day, and Daddy misses you. This morning when I got off work, all I could think about was seeing you and Jaiden. I was worried, because Daddy didn't have a lot of money this Christmas, and that would mean that there weren't a lot of gifts. I knew you wouldn't care, But I did. Somehow, even though I knew it wasn't true; for just a moment I felt like my worth as a father was tied to what you would see under that tree. I shook off those thoughts, and drove to the gas station where your mommy and I had agreed to meet.
I laughed quietly to myself as I pulled into the gas station. Your mommy, as usual, was late. I wasn't angry though... In fact. it made me think of some really good times, things we had done as a family,... everything from shopping to vacations,.... all of which mommy had made us late for. I wish I had laughed more then. It's funny that something that had been a constant irritation to me, was something I thought so fondly of now. How many times had I sat in the car, with you and the boys belted in, car running, waiting for her to finish her hair? I'd blow the horn, and she would come out that door,...
As I sat there lost in thought, my cell phone rang. It was your mommy. She apologized for running late, and then dropped the bomb shell... My precious angel had decided she didn't want to spend Christmas day with me. I was shocked. "My little Girl"? " I remembered the way you begged to stay the last time you were with me, cried when I took you back to your mother... It didn't seem possible. We hung up the phone, and there you were, sitting in the back seat of the car, as pretty as anything I've ever seen. Just to make sure, I asked again " Isabella,... You don't want to go with Daddy?" You didn't see it, But I was really shaken up. You shook your head "no" without looking at me. I knew how difficult this divorce has been for all of us, and I knew better than to press the issue. I blinked back my tears, kissed your cheek, and asked: "Do you know how much Daddy loves you, Baby?" You nodded slowly, your voice just slightly more than a whisper,... "yes" you said. "how much?" I asked. " The big, big, big, big, big much." you replied, the same answer you've given to this question ever since you were a toddler. I smiled. You smiled. I knew this was were I had to leave things today. And I did.
I put Jaiden in the car, finalized arrangements with your mommy, and watched as she climbed into the car and drove away,... taking my Angel with her. I missed you today. I just wanted you to know. Merry Christmas, Angel,.. Daddy loves you.
12/25/09
Dear Jaiden,
I look down at you sleeping here in my arms,.. the movie you INSISTED on watching ( Batman... I have NO idea why,... on Christmas day?!) before bed has barely been on 10 minutes. As I stare down at you, I fight off a very real, very loud, very sincere desire to laugh. It's not how cute you look in your wolverine/X-men pajama's, or how silly it is that you fell asleep so quickly,... It's just,... Your snoring. Not the light easy breath sounds that accompany all children's sleep,... You, my little wolverine,... are snoring so loudly,... I remind myself to write an apology letter to the neighbor's. " Say Phil,... What was all that racket last night?" I hear them asking. " My apologies Jason,... My three year old was snoring." Yeah?, he replies, "Well, you owe me some new windows." It occurs to me how comfortable you must be, how deeply asleep, if you are snoring like a drunken pirate. And I am happy. Happy because it means you know that you are safe. You know that you are loved. and just as I'm thinking this, you move, snuggling closer, both of your arms entwining around my forearm as I craddle you. I look down at you and I am Proud. You are all that a little boy should be... and yet under it all beats a heart so tender,... The tears rise again, and silently, I thank GOD,... What need is there for anything else ? I know I am holding the greatest gift GOD has ever given a human being. I smile writing this... I love you son. Thank you for letting me be your father. Merry Christmas Jaiden, my little super hero,.. Daddy loves you.
This Sunday I sat in church, staring vacantly towards the front,... My mind anywhere but on the words of the visiting minister,... (sorry) As I sat there, I suddenly realized that I was praying. It was an unconcious thing,.. I can't really explain; My heart without benefit of the concious mind, began pouring itself out before GOD. I cannot explain the trouble I've had for the last few months praying for myself,... How difficult it has been or the why... I just know that as I sat there,.. my heart finally did what my mind could not,.. at first so faintly I was unaware of it, then building to a emotional intensity that brought tears to my eyes,.. My heart sent out a distress call. "God,.. This is where I am.... MAY-DAY." I felt HIM almost immediately,... something in my soul was reassured, a promise whispered,.. Something unseen, not verbalized,.. but suddenly,... I knew HE was there like I haven't known for some time. I knew he had a plan to turn this disaster into triumph,.. and I knew he would be with me.
As for the journal ? well, He spoke to that too. The remainder of this journal will be addressed to my children. Every evening I'm able, I'll sit down here, and write to my children about my day. That is what GOD told me to do... I hope it blesses someone. It is helping me to heal, and I hope it does the same for others. This entry is from christmas of last year, and seemed like a fitting place to start.
12/25/09
Dear Isabella,
It's Christmas day, and Daddy misses you. This morning when I got off work, all I could think about was seeing you and Jaiden. I was worried, because Daddy didn't have a lot of money this Christmas, and that would mean that there weren't a lot of gifts. I knew you wouldn't care, But I did. Somehow, even though I knew it wasn't true; for just a moment I felt like my worth as a father was tied to what you would see under that tree. I shook off those thoughts, and drove to the gas station where your mommy and I had agreed to meet.
I laughed quietly to myself as I pulled into the gas station. Your mommy, as usual, was late. I wasn't angry though... In fact. it made me think of some really good times, things we had done as a family,... everything from shopping to vacations,.... all of which mommy had made us late for. I wish I had laughed more then. It's funny that something that had been a constant irritation to me, was something I thought so fondly of now. How many times had I sat in the car, with you and the boys belted in, car running, waiting for her to finish her hair? I'd blow the horn, and she would come out that door,...
I put Jaiden in the car, finalized arrangements with your mommy, and watched as she climbed into the car and drove away,... taking my Angel with her. I missed you today. I just wanted you to know. Merry Christmas, Angel,.. Daddy loves you.
12/25/09
Dear Jaiden,
I look down at you sleeping here in my arms,.. the movie you INSISTED on watching ( Batman... I have NO idea why,... on Christmas day?!) before bed has barely been on 10 minutes. As I stare down at you, I fight off a very real, very loud, very sincere desire to laugh. It's not how cute you look in your wolverine/X-men pajama's, or how silly it is that you fell asleep so quickly,... It's just,... Your snoring. Not the light easy breath sounds that accompany all children's sleep,... You, my little wolverine,... are snoring so loudly,... I remind myself to write an apology letter to the neighbor's. " Say Phil,... What was all that racket last night?" I hear them asking. " My apologies Jason,... My three year old was snoring." Yeah?, he replies, "Well, you owe me some new windows." It occurs to me how comfortable you must be, how deeply asleep, if you are snoring like a drunken pirate. And I am happy. Happy because it means you know that you are safe. You know that you are loved. and just as I'm thinking this, you move, snuggling closer, both of your arms entwining around my forearm as I craddle you. I look down at you and I am Proud. You are all that a little boy should be... and yet under it all beats a heart so tender,... The tears rise again, and silently, I thank GOD,... What need is there for anything else ? I know I am holding the greatest gift GOD has ever given a human being. I smile writing this... I love you son. Thank you for letting me be your father. Merry Christmas Jaiden, my little super hero,.. Daddy loves you.
The Deal about Real.
Much is said around fire stations about being "real". Around fire stations, people reminisce about the "Old Heads" saying things like "now so-and-so... he was a real firefighter.". Being a real firefighter seems to make up for quite a few character flaws too. It's usually added to the end of a statement like this... " Did you hear _______( insert firefighter name) was arrested for __ ( insert heinous crime here)? I heard he drinks like a fish and kicks his dog too." (pause) "But he was a real firefighter." Maybe I exaggerate, but hey... Firefighters do that.
How about Christianity? Is there a "Real" Christianity and a "Fake" Christianity? If there's a real thing, then the statement itself infers that there must be some question as to it's authenticity, and therefore THERE MUST BE something that looks similar, but isn't... "real".
I think if you want to know if something is real, you go back to the source, and see how much it looks like "the source". For example to see if someone is a real Christian maybe we take a look at what we know about Christ... We take it back to CHRIST... Christian means "like Christ" right? You can't possibly get any more real than the person or thing you are impersonating, so what do we know about Him?
Isaiah 53 speaks of Christ like this: "There is NO beauty that we should desire him." He is "despised and rejected of men", a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief. It states further that he had "No form or comeliness". The prophet is so turned by his vision of "Christ" that he says "We hid our faces from him." We esteemed him as ".. stricken, smitten by GOD, and afflicted."
Doesn't sound like the popular definition of Christianity. Popularly (Christianity that is) doesn't look sweaty, and ugly, and tired, and hurt. It looks like an extra five in the offering or hugging the neck of someone you don't really like or dropping a can of creamed corn in the "food drive" bin.
Seriously, you were NOT going to eat it anyway.
But all too often, that view of Christianity leaves people who aren't familiar with Christianity wondering: "Is He for real?"
Maybe to find real, we have to look past the way things appear and see what really is. Maybe appearance, no matter how pleasant; is just appearance, and "real" means actions that really matter, a sacrifice for another, and a resolute character that isn't easily shaken from "what is right." Maybe it isn't nearly as pretty as we think it should be sometimes, but it's realness is unshakable; and people who are looking to be real themselves.... well, they recognize it right away.
Today I thought about Jesus, and whether I am "real"... I sit here writing this; and my heart is troubled. I found two things to include in this blog, and I hope one of them touches you.
Excerpt from the velveteen rabbit:
How about Christianity? Is there a "Real" Christianity and a "Fake" Christianity? If there's a real thing, then the statement itself infers that there must be some question as to it's authenticity, and therefore THERE MUST BE something that looks similar, but isn't... "real".
I think if you want to know if something is real, you go back to the source, and see how much it looks like "the source". For example to see if someone is a real Christian maybe we take a look at what we know about Christ... We take it back to CHRIST... Christian means "like Christ" right? You can't possibly get any more real than the person or thing you are impersonating, so what do we know about Him?
Isaiah 53 speaks of Christ like this: "There is NO beauty that we should desire him." He is "despised and rejected of men", a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief. It states further that he had "No form or comeliness". The prophet is so turned by his vision of "Christ" that he says "We hid our faces from him." We esteemed him as ".. stricken, smitten by GOD, and afflicted."
Doesn't sound like the popular definition of Christianity. Popularly (Christianity that is) doesn't look sweaty, and ugly, and tired, and hurt. It looks like an extra five in the offering or hugging the neck of someone you don't really like or dropping a can of creamed corn in the "food drive" bin.
Seriously, you were NOT going to eat it anyway.
But all too often, that view of Christianity leaves people who aren't familiar with Christianity wondering: "Is He for real?"
Maybe to find real, we have to look past the way things appear and see what really is. Maybe appearance, no matter how pleasant; is just appearance, and "real" means actions that really matter, a sacrifice for another, and a resolute character that isn't easily shaken from "what is right." Maybe it isn't nearly as pretty as we think it should be sometimes, but it's realness is unshakable; and people who are looking to be real themselves.... well, they recognize it right away.
Today I thought about Jesus, and whether I am "real"... I sit here writing this; and my heart is troubled. I found two things to include in this blog, and I hope one of them touches you.
Excerpt from the velveteen rabbit:
(or how toys become real)
" What is REAL?" asked the rabbit one day,
when they were laying side by side near the nursery fender, before
Nana came to tidy up the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you, and a stick out handle?"
"REAL isn't how you are made," said the skin horse. "It's a thing that happens to you.
When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you,
then you become real."
"Does it hurt?" asked the rabbit. "Sometimes," said the skin horse, for he was always truthful. "BUT when you are REAL, you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once?" he asked. " Like being wound up, or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the skin horse. "YOU BECOME. It takes a long time.
That's why it doesn't often happen to toys who break easily, or have sharp edges, or have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you become real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out. You become lose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are real, you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
"I suppose YOU are real?" said the rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the skin horse might be sensitive. But the skin horse only smiled.
"The Boy's uncle made me real, " He said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are REAL, you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."
Monday, January 30, 2012
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.
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.
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