July 16 – “Released to return to duty”

Yesterday afternoon, the ap on my phone that sends out notifications of calls sounded its alarm for a fire not too far from here.  It looked like several of the engines were responding, and I heard the sirens as engine four roared by on its way, so I quickly changed clothes and headed out.  I switched on the scanner ap so I could hear updates as the different units arrived.  It is on a thirty second delay, so it’s not quite as good as having the actual radio.  It is informative, though.  I heard when engine one arrived.  I heard the battalion chief announce his presence on scene.  I got to within about ten blocks of the fire when the call came that the fire was already out.  One engine would stay on the scene to do some inspection and all others were released to return to duty. 

Now that’s a good thing.  That’s what is supposed to happen.  No one is injured.  Minimal property damage.  I have to admit, though, that there was a certain rush of adrenaline within me that deep down was hoping for another chance to see these guys in action, to learn some more about on-scene “unforeseens.”  I can only imagine how the fire fighters must feel every time something similar happens.  They get the call from dispatch.  They race to get bunker gear on.  They leap into the trucks and hit the sirens.  They make the radio call that sounds so calm and professional over the air, “Engine one responding.”  All the while that aforementioned adrenaline is pumping through their system, jarring them awake on night calls or intensifying their senses at other times.  Every muscle in their bodies is poised for the impending action.  And then, before they even reach the scene, they are released. 

Now, I know how difficult it is for me to calm back down when, say, we hear a strange noise outside and Chris wants me to go investigate.  (Not that she ever asks me outright to go check it out.  But she makes it clear that she isn’t going anywhere).  Or for sure when our phone rings late at night.  I know it can’t possibly be good news, so my mind races almost as fast as my heart is beating.  Who could it be?  What has happened to one of the grandkids?  Is it someone from Seaside?  Has there been a bad fire?  And then it’s a wrong number.  I for one can’t just set it aside and fall back to sleep immediately.  I end up having to go through my bedtime routine all over again, or at least work a few more crossword puzzles to settle my mind down.  But for these guys, always in the back of their mind is the thought, “Another call could come at any time.”  How is that conducive to a good night’s sleep in any universe?  Yet it is what they live with every third day, for twenty-four hours.  Unless of course they are called for overtime, in which case that twenty-four hours becomes forty-eight.  It is not an easy profession, this fire-fighting thing.  Stress like that puts a major strain on relationships.  Other fire fighters understand, but do wives?  Children? 

I guess my “word of wisdom” is this: When you are dealing with a fire fighter in any capacity, please be understanding, be patient, be appreciative.  This might be the guy who rescues you from a wrecked car or carries your child from a burning building, or scruffs up the hair of that same child on a visit to the school for “Community Heroes Day.”  But he is not Superman.  He hurts.  He feels.  He cares.

2 Corinthians 5:20 says, “We are therefore Christ's ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ's behalf: Be reconciled to God.”

Father, getting right with you is the only “right” way to approach life.  Only when that’s taken care of can we really appreciate the sacrifices others make every day.  Touch the guys in the fire service at the point of their deepest need.  You know it better than anyone.  Amen.