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 

The Day after

Dear Jaiden:

I asked you last night if you knew what 9/11 was. You replied that it was the day a plane hit a building, and a lot of people died. You knew that bad people had done it, and that a lot of the people who died that day were firefighters. You knew that adults kept saying "Never Forget".
 These are the things you knew. We talked a little more, and I shared the details, as near as I could remember them; of  Tuesday, September 11, 2001.

Today I remembered our conversation, and I began to wonder; "What lessons do I WANT you to know about 9/11? Do I want you to know that evil men hijacked our security and peace for a single day, and changed our world forever?" 

No- that is not the lesson here.

Today is 9/12/16, and as I thought about today I realized what I want you to understand is what happened on the day after.

The morning after 9/11, the sun rose over America the same way it had risen the day before. The first rays of sunlight to touch New York City cut through the ash and smoke to illuminate American flags draped from every height and vantage point. The city swarmed with people who left their jobs and drove through the night volunteering to help.
On 9/12/2001, America struggled to her full height, and became the country she had always been intended to be.

Every man and woman alive on 9/11 can tell you where they were when they heard the news. Almost every one of those can also remember the HOPE we felt as a nation on the day after.  HOPE that there would be survivors, FAITH that we would make it through this, and LOVE for our country. 

In the bible There is a passage that says when everything else is gone- when all of the good stuff in life is destroyed there are still three things that cannot be destroyed. Those three things are Faith, Hope, and Love. The day after 9/11,  America had all of those things. 

That is what I want you to know... that when life has you down- When you're flat on your back in the mud and ashes- there are still three things that NOTHING can take from you. 

You can always find FAITH if you search for it- You'll always find HOPE if you can believe in it-  but neither FAITH or HOPE would exist without the greatest of these three- and that is  LOVE.
I Had read that scripture many times- but I had no idea how powerful LOVE really was. 

Let me explain- 

9/11 still troubles my soul. Every year, when it draws near, I feel apprehension about what might happen, annoyance with those selfish people who seem to have forgotten it's lessons, and sadness for what it has cost us as a nation

.
As a firefighter, I'm not sure that will ever change.

But what did change was my perspective, seven years after 9/11, to the date. On 9/11/2006, I had to leave the fire station in the middle of the night, and drive to Doctor's Hospital. 

As dawn began to glimmer outside, a tiny baby boy made his entrance into this world.

 I, still in my Fire Department uniform, looked down at his tiny face, and despite the pains of the day, felt HOPE. I looked at you Jaiden, and I saw not what was wrong with the world, but for one moment, what was right, and nothing else.
I savored that moment... Holding the incredible blessing of new life, and none of the pain of 9/11 touched me. I smiled. I looked down at my watch, careful to mark the time. It was 5 am, 9/12/2008. 

Your little face was still and peaceful, and looking at you, my heart was overwhelmed with LOVE.
And that is the lesson, son. 

There will always be days of darkness, there will always be pain and heartache. But darkness can only last through the night. The sun will rise tomorrow, and in every instance where there is LOVE, where there is FAITH, where there is HOPE, terror loses it's grip on The Day After.

I love you son.

 Happy Birthday,

Daddy

Sunday's at the station

There are very few things in life that equate to Sunday's at the fire station.

 I became a firefighter in 1997, but my father was one long before that. One of my fondest memories is being invited to the table where he and the other firefighters were having a meal. I'm not sure of the other details of this meeting, but I remember a plate being placed on the corner for me, the cook ripping a length of brown paper towel from a fat roll, insisting that I partake. 

I remember the jovial camaraderie, the delicious food.... And the feeling of warmth and family.

When I became a firefighter, the memory of that moment stuck with me. Out of hundreds of experiences, countless memories and stories, the thing that most exemplified our brotherhood was this one brief memory. I would spend the next 17 years trying to duplicate this moment, not for myself, but for my brothers and sisters- Fire, L.E., or EMS.

 EVERY Sunday that I've been at work, and able, I've prepared Sunday Breakfast for anyone who cared to stop by the station. I am not alone in this. If you were an invisible observer of almost any given fire station on a Sunday, you'd see this identical scenario playing out. 

I'm a firefighter, not a rocket surgeon. I have no idea WHERE this originated, or even why, but it's there regardless. Don't believe me ? Stop by a station on a Sunday, just after "Changeover", and see if you don't find yourself pulling up a chair to a crowded table, a steaming hot breakfast filling your plate-- whether you want to eat it or not. 

To me, it's beautiful.

I may not know why it happens, but I take great comfort in finding it's example in the New Testament, and given by none other than the Master himself. In the two greatest examples of teaching recorded, Jesus first made the crowds sit down in the grass, and before saying a single word to propagate his kingdom, he fed them. 

There is one better example though. 

After Christ has been crucified, the disciples, unsure of themselves, have followed Peter on fishing trip. 

He knows their confusion, and knows they need direction. So he shows up on the beach. In his final physical act on this Earth, He cooks them a meal. How awesome is that? (John 21)

His final moments (physically) here, are spent feeding these guys he truly loved. 

A short time later, he gives the direction they need. He asks Peter a simple question: "Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me?" When Peter says yes, Christ gives him this reply: "Feed my lambs." 

Christ asks this question 3 times in total. The last two times, he gives this reply: "Feed my sheep."

Some may find the lesson I take from this a little trite. I find it simple myself, but I am often amazed at how beautiful, straightforward, and right the "simple" things are. 

So why did Christ make the extraordinary effort of communicating this message ?

Could it truly be that everything he wanted us to do is as simple as the concern we display when we take from our abundance, and look after the needs of our neighbors? 

I think it just might be.

So I challenge you. 

If you don't believe me, try this experiment. Feed someone. Preferably someone that can't do anything for you. If you buy them something to eat, then sit and eat with them. 

I bet that if you're really paying attention, in those moments of sharing food, you'll feel a kinship with that person... And with their Creator. 

Who killed my Department?!?!

Today, I saw more than a few posts on social media which were brutally honest, and very troubling. 

They pointed at a current trend within our ranks, a rotten poison eating away at the camaraderie, and the values that made me want to become a firefighter in the first place. They pointed at a time long past, when the image of a firefighter was a humble servant of goodwill, self-sacrificing in all aspects of his time and talents, and beloved by all the communities he served, whether rich or poor. 

I long for those days. 

There is within me an emptiness that is only filled by doing good, by being good; not as measured by financial or social success, but by the warmth and satisfaction of knowing that someone else, caught in a moment of crisis, leaned upon me, and found my life valuable. 

Today I peered through the eyes of men I respect, standing beside the casket of an ideal fire department, viewing a place where the light has left, where men now search for meaning in a job which was once the very source of their identity. I stared into that cold and lifeless face and wondered if it had ever lived at all... and if it had, then who had killed it? 

 I stood there remembering the last time I had broken bread with a group of firefighters. Men I serve with and respect. I know they too feel the pain of the same death I had seen. 

But this was lunch, and a break from training, so we swapped war stories, laughed at the same old jokes, and did the usual sharing- snippets and tips of things we've learned... Passing on information, but also showing each other just how much we know.

Each of us is equal parts proud, and strong, and good; though that goodness may only show to those who truly know how to look for it. It isn't always polished, or politically correct, or even clean, but if it can help you, it will NEVER  leave you to face your personal fears and dangers alone. 

As the conversation turned to training, the subject of basic skills came up. One discussion led to another, and before I knew it, I was discussing the shortcomings of another firefighter. 

For the sake of this discussion, I will say that I consider the error he committed to be inexcusable for someone in his position, and something that might have cost lives on an actual fire scene.

My story finished; heads bobbed around the table in silent agreement. Casual affirmation was made for my story, my obvious knowledge of the subject discussed, and the manner in which it was handled. 

Individually, I felt validated. In the company of these men, my peers, I had displayed at the very least, verbose , technical jargon that cemented my position as a proficient and knowledgeable firefighter. 

But as the day wore on, those words from lunch plagued my thoughts. They troubled me, because I began to see then; just as I saw today, what is eating us from within. What is already destroying the fire department I have loved for most of my life.

Individually I make little difference in the outcome of anyone's emergency. No matter how strong or proficient he or she might be, a single firefighter, a single rescue technician, will seldom be capable of getting the job done alone.

It takes a team.

A team is only strong TOGETHER. 

Our Department, our station, our crew, is the team we are given, and here is the nature of a winning team.

 It doesn't decimate it's numbers by ostracizing the weakest, but it finds a way to make the weak stronger.

 

The ideal department, lifeless in it's gilded casket, was laid low not by the dangers it confronted in a thousand flaming structures, or a sea of mangled wrecks.

 It was not brought down by the simple mistake brought about by haste, or the man who failed while trying desperately to do his best. There will always be TRIUMPHS... there will always be FAILURES. 

But when the team dissolves into individuals, eager to prove themselves at the expense of another, another nail is driven into the coffin of the fire department we all believe in, and we all wish could still exist.

 Perhaps it can. Perhaps we have only to learn this lesson. 

Today I glimpsed a coffin filled with the corpse of everything I believe in, and I wondered; then and there, who had killed it.

And suddenly, in simple clarity, my answer. 

I did it. 

 The one killing my department was me.