On The Count Of Three

 Tourism is an industry.

People displace to see sites.  Curiosity drives some; ego others.  While duty can motivate, tourism is also a temptation.  We wander when we're supposed to be working.

Temptation is an industry.

Taste, touch and tone are for sale.  Smells, sights and sentiments are available incognito or in community.  Work exposes workers to temptations and takes workers places.

Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. ~ Mt 4:1

 Jesus took a tour and was tempted.  Following Jesus is work.

I followed Jesus into a hospital.  

Family was gathered around a pulse, no pulse; agonal breathing then silence.   Doctors retrieved the pulse and respiration was restored.  Back and forth...life to death to life to...

"I am the resurrection..." ~ John 11:25

'What do we do, now?' is a question families ask victim advocates.  Absent care, disasters can be forms of tourism.  

When are people ever exposed to an ambulance's interior, flashing lights and siren blaring?  When does a century of combined medical training cycle into the same room on the same day?  When do cops show up with guns blazing?  Where are meal vouchers and bottomless cups of coffee available?  When are drones and tracking dogs and body armor commonplace?  When will a telephone keep ringing and ringing and ringing and ringing?  

Then he said to them all: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me." ~ Luke 9:23

Jesus was talking to a group of people who chose the work of following Him.  Mention of "daily" cuts to the quick; following Jesus includes a fight against tourism some days and flight from temptation on other days.

"What do we do, now?" asked the family.

"Exactly what you've been doing.  You're weeping and holding each other and breathing for one another.  You're angry and confused and hearing things for the first time.  Keep hugging, keep listening, keep asking questions.  Keep each other.  In abnormality, your abnormality is normal," I said.

Victim advocacy is a service offered by police.  Calls for service expose us to new and interesting places, people and events.  Temptations toward tourism lurk. 

Enter Jesus.

When He taught in Luke 9 to "deny self", what He seemed to say to a follower like me was, "Remember why I'm sending you in there, pretty boy.  Blowing through doors with Cool Kids can become a form of tourism.  Seeing things bystanders want to see, but you are supposed to see, is possible because I'm embedding you among cops.

"Watch it, hot shot.  Tourists abound.  I expect you to shut up until I tell you to speak; go where I tell you to go; remain in constant prayer so you can hear Me over the sirens, wails and radios.  Deny yourself.

"Take up your cross but first take a look at what a cross did to My hands, feet and side.  When you think about it, I see understanding rolling over you.  You know this work can kill you.  What you're doing, with Me, may cost you your life.  What do you think crosses are used to do?

"Uniformed professionals messed Me up.  Remembering that you could be riding with them in the morning, and prosecuted by them in the afternoon, might help.  You're on the road for My purposes; for what I will; for My glory.  Temptations to - in place of obedience - be smart, helpful or spectacular are as old as the Tempter.

"Deny yourself, take up your cross daily and follow Me.  Today is a day you might really mess up.  In prayer, You heard Me establish boundaries for your work.  When cops or the community have asked you to do some things, you've told them "No," because you follow Me.  Good...

"Good, but keep watching Me.  Rigidity in boundary setting can easily be confused for holiness.  You'll be tempted to refuse to do what today's assignment requires unless you watch me.  Deny yourself and follow Me.  Forget yesterday's work; stay focused on Me [in prayer] and lift today's cross with your knees.  Stoop, breathe, lift and follow.

"You trust Me?  On three...one, two..."

While sitting with the family, doctors informed they could visit their loved one.  

During training, each advocate is encouraged to set boundaries.  Child abuse may impact one worker differently than car accidents impact another.  Suicides may bother an advocate; homicides another.  Unless necessary, I've learned to avoid bodies.

Voyeurism is an industry.

There is no reason to stand over a person's remains unless there's a reason.  Helping a funeral home move the body is a reason.  Counseling a family member at risk of ruining evidence is a reason.  Complying with a police request is a reason.  When the doctor says it's time, going with a family because the family shot-caller says, "We're all going, right Alex?" is a reason.

We show up to serve but families decide to let us in; to share stories; to trust us to help as chaos barks.  

In the room I went. 

Before going, I heard Him say, "Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me."  I saw what I cannot unsee because I fixed my eyes on Jesus, the Author and Finisher of our faith.  He endured the cross, despised the shame and is now seated in honor at the Heavenly Father's right hand.

"How do you deal with all of this?" one of the family members asked.

"I'm a Christian.  I think of the cross of Jesus, and the brutal way He died.  Remembering Him helps me help you."

Tourism is an industry.

Temptation is an industry.

Trusting Jesus is work.  

When lifting a cross, lift the way He tells you, on the day He tells you, just how He tells you.

Make sure you lift on three.

Three Students

Dim lights and PowerPoint slides hid his mustache.

A carefully arranged handlebar mustache enlivened his presentation.  Cardiopulmonary resuscitation (CPR) was relevant and Mr. Mustache brought CPR dummies for scenarios, but his whiskers communicated as much as his words.

His fitness communicated that he was ready to run down an embankment to rescue a motorist from a burning car.  Super Mario's audience absorbed the weight of his 20-year firefighting career.  More than awe, what the instructor wanted was his class to be ready when needed.

His teaching style persuaded listeners that choking babies, bleeding victims and grateful bystanders have witnessed his heroics.  His students split into groups, and practiced chest compressions.  A quick look around the room confirmed that Mustachio was surrounded by rescuers.

A rescuer's ponytail bobbed over her dummy to the beat of "Staying Alive".  Two members of her group waited for a turn.

"Stayin' Alive" is used to train people to provide the correct rate of chest compressions per minute while performing CPR.  The song has around 103 beats per minute, and 100–120 chest compressions per minute are recommended for CPR. (reference)

She was just as serious as the 20-year firefighting instructor.  A police officer, she was saving the dummy's life with a firearm and shield on her belt.  She knew the drill was correctly done when both of the dummy's green lights synchronized.  Concentration kept her quiet.  When the green lights aligned, she made room for the next person.

During a break, she said, "I did CPR on a 9-year old."

She hadn't said much but her confession seemed to light a fire.

"Kids are tough," said a firefighter in her group.  "I did CPR on 4 children in 6 months.  They all died," he continued.

"That's messed up," shrugged the pony-tailed cop.  "The 9-year old lived.  I'm happy about that," she joylessly whispered.  While Mustachio's cleanshaven colleague talked to the petite, ponytailed cop, the third member of their group listened.     

Mustachio ended the break and resumed his PowerPoint but the break qbroke one of his learners.

One of his learners - the third member - was grateful the room was darkened.  Third member looked at the dozens of rescuers, and wondered how many children the trainees had saved; how many died in their care.  Seven firefighters times ten children per year equals seventy children.  Two dozen officers times ten children per year equals two hundred and forty children.  

Most attendees had more than one year of service.

Lights make gape-mouthed, wide-eyed realizations awkward.  Awareness, dawning on a civilian, best unfolds in darkness: fewer eyes; less embarrassment.

If you train with first responders, and they start telling war stories, you come to a fork in the road.  You can either throw onto the pile with a story of your own or shut up and listen.  After the choking lecture, the cop, civilian and firefighter practiced saving infant dummies before taking a break.

"What ever happened to the 9-year old?" asked third-member-civilian.

"No idea...we go from emergency to emergency.  We rarely know how things turn out," said the pony-tailed police officer.

"Yup," said the firefighter.  "When you arrive, there is no information.  There's a limp child and a family screaming for help.  Drowning... electrocution... poison... choking...You have no idea and they're too juiced to tell you.  Just get the chest compressions going and airways open.  When the kids die, it humbles you.  Admitting it messes you up takes you down a notch," said the firefighter.

Training with cops and firefighters took the civilian down a notch.  He was there for a recertification: a few lectures; a few drills; done by lunch.  Had he used the skills since the last class?  Embedded with first responders, he realized how naïve he was.  

Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the faith God has distributed to each of you. ~ Romans 12:3

Third guy was kneeling over a dummy with people who kneel over people.  Some people live and some die, but his training partners go home, shower and come back for more.  Firefighters and officers come back because they raised their hands and swore they would.  

They come back because they need the money; because they dislike everything else they've tried; because they want to help; because they're living their dreams; because they're still trying to figure out why they come back.  

They have their own 9-year old children running into their arms asking, "How was your day?!"  Talking to children about the children that live and die is one option.

Talking to a chaplain about the children who live and die is another option.  If a department offers chaplains, officer and firefighter can engage in talk therapy before they engage family and friends.  A Christ-centered confidant is a fit for some professionals and secular solutions are a fit for others. 

 CPR training took a turn toward vulnerability.

A cop spoke of the joy of lifesaving but forgot to smile.  A firefighter remembered his pain and shared openly.  Kneeling over a dummy, the third member of the group silently prayed for the remembering rescuers.  He prayed for Super Mario, his training team of firefighters and the officers they recertified.

A civilian joined the thousands of members of Adopt-A-Cop.org to lift rescuers to the Lord in prayer.

Maybe you want to pray for a rescuer, too. 

You can pray for Super Mario, Petite Ponytail or Cleanshaven Colleague.  The Lord knows their real names and keeps all the blessing in order.

Thank you for your prayer support and generosity to Christian outreach among first responders.

Together we're trusting Jesus to change lives.

Valley Of The Shadow

Bathrooms are a big deal.

A "No public bathroom" sign in the windows is code for "We're a business, not a charity. If you have to use the bathroom, buy something."  Once the money is spent, and the key requested however, right is right.

"Where is your bathroom?"

"We don't have a public bathroom."

"OK, no problem. As you can see, I filled up on pump 5 and am a paying customer."

"I know but we don't have a public bathroom."

"Does your bathroom work?"

"Yes."

'Yes' is such a simple word. When we ask questions and 'yes' follows, our satisfaction is usually assured. But if affirmation juxtaposes denial, the odd note squeezes, 'That's not how the song goes,' out of all of us. The dissonance of 'yes' and a locked door created a strange friction within me.

Friction lights matches. 

To prevent disaster, the very box used to coax the flame must be separated from the flame. Denial sparked anger. As the situation's match burned, distancing anger from the matchbox of the moment would have been wise.

I chose differently.

I chose to remember my potty trainers. Dr. and Mrs. Pickens were born in 1941, when Blacks were systematically refused perfectly functioning sinks, soap dispensers and toilets. If gas station points existed, my parents knew of no such. By the time I was born, they were using any bathroom they wanted, but their instructions were tinged by an urgency.

They potty trained like bathrooms were a big deal.

'Always leave things better than you found them,' was about common decency, but the axiom was also cautionary. When bathroom etiquette is taught by people intimately familiar with the odd note that American segregation produced, lessons drip with urgency. I remember my mother teaching me how to quietly urinate on the margin of the bowl rather than loudly into the water. Did she teach how to make impromptu seat covers because no mechanically dispensed covers were available during her segregated childhood? Wiping any filth on and under the seat, was important to her. When finished, a gentleman puts the seat down. Washing hands was a no brainer but did everyone teach their children to pay careful attention to paper towel over terrycloth? Paper was for use, but linen for aesthetic. Burn a match after bowel movements to eliminate odors.   

Think match sticks.

If history is a dusty case of dynamite, and suspicion is the match, dissonance can light history's fuse.  

The attendant's repeated apologies, and my unwillingness to leave, heightened tension. I planted my size 14 shoes and flatly stared at the petite attendant. She bit her lip before saying, "Someone overdosed in the bathroom. We are not allowed to let people inside."

Her refusals had nothing to do with me. Rather, intravenous drug use had rendered a small town between Pittsburgh and Washington DC inhospitable; same with the bowling alley and the other two gas stations in town.  

"I found someone a few weeks ago and had to call 911. My co-worker had to give CPR. The last person we found was taken away by EMS but we don't know if he lived."

My rage was redirected to recognition of her peril.   

"How are you coping?"

"Thank you for asking. You do what you have to do. I have bills and need this job. Please sir, that's the only reason we refuse the bathroom. I didn't want you thinking it was something else."

"No worries," was my terse response. I had jumped to conclusions, still needed a bathroom, but was now filled with compassion. She saw my need, offered a bathroom referral and forgave what remained unspoken between us.

With relief came revelation.

But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. ~ Romans 5:8

Sin is missing the mark and I missed the mark in a Speedway gas station. Nevertheless, Christ died for me, has forgiven me of my thoughts and returned me to a ministry among the people who are called when overdoses are discovered in gas station bathrooms.  

Police officers are called by post traumatically stressed gas station attendants. If anyone needs visible reminders of God's plan in a fallen world, first responders do. Miles away from the jurisdictions in which the chaplaincy has influence, the Holy Spirit presented an opportunity for a chaplain to (again) confess and repent.

I was traveling to raise additional prayer and financial support among East Coast classmates.

The Lord drew me into a stranger's pain. Shortfalls and misunderstandings are hazards of living and in a Pennsylvania valley I got things all wrong. The name of her town is less important than the name of our Redeemer.

Jesus has a plan.

Despite our country's history, amidst an opioid epidemic and alongside short-staffed rescuers, the Lord is moving. Sometimes seeing what God is up to is difficult. The matches we hold are moments of decision. The way the Holy Spirit reduced my paranoia is the same way the Lord moves in everyday circumstances.

Will you fast and pray for a town Christ loves, longs to reach and sent me through as a testimony?  

Bathrooms are a big deal.