Firefighting and Evangelization

(This post is a re-run, posted nearly a year ago but as I'm in a dry spell, I'm running it again now. Besides: I need the reminder it provides. Realize that when I write, I am not writing to YOU, but to ME because I need a lecture far more than YOU probably do! This post was a lecture I needed to hear but no one else was out there to give me. And yes, if the over-use of the word "I" indicates anything, well...yes..you are reading a personal blog. Welcome to my narcissism. Just the same, I hope my navel-gazing is of benefit to someone else because it doesn't work much for me) 

I always become a little more reflective when I approach my next birthday, and given the movie I watched a few days ago, (Smokejumpers) I've been thinking a lot about the stuff I did in my 20's, the aspirations I had, and, well, the actual results of my efforts.

Although in many ways I often look back on those efforts and judge them as "failures", when I see them in light of the Cross, I can see something more, something that isn't about me, but tells a story that simply turns my experiences into a living parable.

To be honest, it is only in viewing my past through this lens that both gives me clarity and helps me come to terms with what happened, ensuring that I cannot possibly ever view my life as a "waste of God's time."

EVERYTHING is a part of God's time, and part of His timing. In cooperation with Him, I can look back and find the lessons He intended for me to learn, and hopefully, to pass on to others. What follows is only one of those lessons.

**       **       **

Back in my employment with the big city, during the Tower portion of Firefighter training our days consisted of roll call, review of the SOP's (Standard Operating Procedures), practice of certain foundational skills, and the training evolutions scheduled to build upon the previous day's training. It started out in the same way one learns to shoot a gun: with basic safety (i.e. "dry firing") care and cleaning, etc,....and then we began to get into the real meat of it, slowly building the skills at the appropriate time.

The six weeks at "The Tower" were the final culmination of our training, where we put all the academics and practical skills to use in a systematic application of the SOP's. In other words, it was where our real mettle was tested, where we confronted our fears and failings and had to make the choice to push beyond...or fall back.

There were lessons learned, however, that applied to other things. Much of the process was reminiscent of my law enforcement training and work, and for others in my class, of their military experience.  Yet, what we learned wasn't limited to the practical realm.

While I was there, I was also experiencing my return to God. That adage about there being no atheists in foxholes?  Yeah, well, we weren't in foxholes, but when you realize your mortality in exercises that might well actually cost you your life in mere training, well, that tends to introduce you more often to your knees. (Given that I was at the Training Tower on 9/11/2001, that lesson came even more completely home.)

Truly, God was a part of my training even when religion wasn't a formal part of my life.

The Evolution

We were sent into the Residence, where natural gas-inspired fires would burn according to the control of the Training Captains (read: Drill Sergeants).

Each trainee was assigned a position, and we were expected to know the details of each role within that evolution. I happened to draw what was perhaps one of the physically easier roles, but one requiring the most courage with regard to being center stage:  I was on the nozzle for our first "fire".

We went into the building in full gear, airtanks engaged as if the smoke was real, and with a "charged" hoseline running from the Engine at the closest hydrant.  I had the nozzle in hand, felt the door with the back of my gloved hand, opened it, and crawled in under the smoke, my secondary (in real life would be my Captain pushing/yelling)  behind me, "rolling" the tankline just as he was supposed to do.

It was pitch black, so I relied on my training thus far to follow the wall, find the doorknob, find the fire. Finally I opened the door to the proper room and from the midst of the smoke came the hot glow of flames arising from the gas pilot lights, mimicking a real fire. I entered the room slightly, pointed the nozzle, and opened the line. The Drill Sergeant Training Captain yelled at me to get closer, so, holding the fully open hoseline I struggled against the force of the water to crawl in further, surprised by the blast of heat that hit me so quickly. (No textbook explanation can describe this experience.)

I knew about not "steaming us out". I knew I had to nail this thing and had to do it right. My backup person (cadet like me) came up behind me to provide physical support, and just as he was supposed to, pressed his forearm and elbow against my back to brace me. With this initially-helpful counterbalance, I directed the nozzle according to our shared will to make the fire go away.

"ADVANCE! GO! GET THAT NOZZLE UP! GO! GET IN THERE!" 

The Captain began yelling at me to advance. I tried, with all my might! 

 But my partner,expecting me to move on that command,  immediately put more pressure on me. 

The problem was this: he thought he was helping me to move forward, but in actuality, his main pressure point was against my upper back and shoulders. Instead of aiding a tactical advance, he was, in fact driving my entire upper body, and therefore the nozzle (our lifeline) into the ground. 

I tried to yell back at him to back off, but instead he only pushed harder, even while the Captain screamed even more loudly at me to get the nozzle up and to get closer to the fire.

I knew the Captains could see what was going on and wondered why they kept yelling for my advance when they could see that my face was nearly driven to the cement, such that the water stream had gone even lower than the base of the training fire!  I could see it splashing against the brown vents of the "fire source", far below the flames I was supposed to be hitting. With all my strength I was pushing the nozzle hard upward with my hand and biceps, painfully handicapped by the muscles I was not able to use as a result of my co-worker's own battle to get us into the mouth of the dragon. I was desperately attempting to relieve the pressure, desperately trying to crawl forward, completely unable to move because of the force against my upper back, continuing to drive me DOWN, not FORWARD.

Helpless

The screams of the other firefighters yelling at me to "PUT IT OUT!!" "ADVANCE!" "YOU'RE STEAMING US OUT!" still ring through my memory. I can't forget the struggle to push back against my backup, trying to raise the nozzle and put us all out of our misery.

To me, it felt like we were approaching the sun. To them, it felt like they were vegetables being steamed in a convection oven. We were all suffering. We were all miserable, and it seemed that perhaps no one, not even the Captains, realized that I was so totally, embarrassingly helpless.

I was helpless because my backup was oblivious to what he was actually doing, and our Captains, ALL three of them,  continued to scream at me to advance, in spite of the fact it was quite literally impossible to do anything other than lay down and die to get any other message across to them.

Instead, I struggled in utter physical and emotional agony, and finally, at long last, I made my way to the fire, close enough to satisfy the Captains, aiming the nozzle properly enough to satisfy my fellow "firefighters".

The fire went out and, well, I barely remember my exit. The only thing I wanted to do was to breathe fresh air. I exited that fire to an entirely new verbal blast from the other trainees. The Captains didn't even allow me to defend myself...they cut us all off immediately with a command to stand down.

As it turned out, they had a point and knew fully what was going on.

One of their points, from a "personnel" (note: not "personal") standpoint was to see how I would handle being pushed both physically and verbally, especially when the two factors made obedience to either impossible. They wanted to witness the struggle and final outcome.

I didn't know any of this when I stood with my immediate "team" from our first evolution. I only recall standing up wearily, drenched in sweat, listening to the complaints of my coworkers and friends, all of whom had no idea what had just happened and why. I left the training building feeling like a total failure, knowing that I had lost respect, certain that in the future, NONE of them would ever want to work with me, certain I would kill them and anyone we were sent in to save. 

Then the Captains surprised us all

Yes, they were critical of me; as this was a first-time attempt, certainly I made errors, and serious ones at that!  Those errors were expected and normal. Our superiors went through a litany of errors that didn't leave a single classmate within that evolution untouched. I was certain I would be crucified in this one, and waited, expecting the worst, but, well, that was the capstone:  the harshest criticism was reserved for my #2 person: the guy who was supposed to be backing me up!

The Captains pointed out that it wasn't my fault that they and my coworkers were getting steamed out; it was HIS fault. They actually noted how hard I struggled against him in my attempts to advance, the effect of his force, and spoke of the physics of leverage.

I am not a tall person, but this guy was. All his strength, although intended otherwise, was put into pushing my upper back and shoulders DOWNWARD. It was HE who drove the nozzle into the ground, and me with it. The Captains could see that I wasn't hesitating, but was quite literally trapped by "friendly fire".

They preached awareness, not just of ourselves, but of those we are backing up. As a shorter person, they emphasized where I would need to place support on a taller person, and actually reversed our physical positions to demonstrate this for the entire group, with an open hoseline. For the tall firefighters working with a shorter person, they emphasized the importance of proper position, for the force from behind in any case will quite literally redirect the nozzle, usually to detrimental effect.

They spoke of communication, of the need for both people to be close enough to know each other well, to speak freely and  to be aware of the other and what they needed. It had to be a team effort. They had seen me trying, my partner not listening. It had to be a two-way street or, well...people would die. Those were the stakes.

Oh, yes, I learned that day how important the #2 person is, and it's a lesson I've never forgotten. Even though I was personally vindicated in that particular scenario, I have come to realize that there's more to that lesson, and where it matters, well...I'm the #2 person and I've more than pushed others down: I've steamrolled right over them in a misguided effort to get them to where I thought they should go.

That brings me to the main point:

That lesson makes sense in Evangelization, too.

In Evangelization, we are trying to advance a soul towards the light of Christ, towards salvation. In effect, they are "on the nozzle".

If the backup person is too harsh, too overbearing, instead of helping that soul towards the Divine Fire, they are driving them into stagnancy, or perhaps even worse.

Coming on too strong is as bad as being too lax; in both cases, the soul in question is left in limbo and might actually be destroyed.

There is a balance to maintain, it relies upon teamwork, and God is the Source, the Catalyst, and the Captain.  Every effort comes FROM Him and is directed TOWARDS Him. Any effort that places pressure so as to direct the focus away from Him is, well...deadly. (Yes, there is a place for backfires, for containment, for "surround and drown"...in spiritual terms we call those techniques the Sacraments, Sacred Tradition, and the Intercession of the Saints, among other spiritual realities.)

Every so often, when I think of evangelization and the mistakes I've witnessed or those I have made myself, I recall that scene, there in the training house, and I recall the sense of panic, the steam, the heat, and the pressure that wouldn't allow me to either advance or flee...and I am brought to empathy.

We are called to lay down our lives in service to Christ. We are NOT called to sacrifice the lives and souls of others. If we deny others the free will given to them by God, we both deny Christ and become culpable for all those we cause to flee from Him.

Evangelization isn't about us; it's about Jesus Christ and the salvation of souls, and the second we lose that focus, we drive others away, and may, in fact, spiritually murder them.

Evangelization must be bound and driven by Divine Charity, directed towards Hope, underscored by Faith. We need to be able to step aside, recalling that conversion and salvation do not depend on us. Many souls need a gentle approach, and hard sales tactics do nothing other than scare them away, or in the terms I experienced, drive them into the ground, paralyzing them.

It is a great temptation for believers to pressure others we love to go where we want them to go, however we must remain cognizant that our pushiness may not be the will of God, no matter what we may think. Perhaps some souls need to suffer in order to be brought to conversion. Perhaps they need to fall away in order to understand what they have lost.(I fell into both categories, and then some).

We have to recall that God is the only one who can bring good out of evil, and He allows evil and suffering for just such a purpose. Look at Our Lord Jesus Christ for this example! Who are any of us to complain of suffering in the face of the One who suffered on our behalf and invites us to partake, to unite our own sufferings to His?

Everyone We Meet is Fighting a Hard Battle

We must act with mercy, in light of what we know of divine justice. For our part, we must temper all we do with true charity, which is not a "warm and fuzzy" type of "total acceptance of all things".  What I experienced that day in the tower was real charity:  I suffered what I perceived as injustice, but were it not for that experience, neither I nor my fellow cadets would have gotten that lesson from any side.

True charity can be harsh, for it has in its sight the ultimate good of every soul. It meets the soul where it is and directs it to something greater. It allows the soul to suffer for what it thinks it loves in order that it might become purified enough to experience what it truly loves.

We must take care of the souls who come across our paths, and be willing to be gentle where a gentle touch is needed. It is easy to be forceful in evangelization;  most of those called to this work in a serious way have strong personalities; it is hard to stand down when the love of Our Lord drives one onward. Yet that very love must be the cause of awareness, for when only one soul is lost, if only one soul flees....we are all deprived.

We all suffer. We are all steamed out.

We become less if only one is compromised.

We lose souls if, out of our pride we forget to take a backseat to those we love.

We lose our own souls if we forget to take a backseat to God.

What Firefighting Taught Me About Evangelization

I always become a little more reflective when I approach my next birthday, and given the movie I watched a few days ago, (Smokejumpers) I've been thinking a lot about the stuff I did in my 20's, the aspirations I had, and, well, the actual results of my efforts.

Although in many ways I often look back on those efforts and judge them as "failures", when I see them in light of the Cross, I can see something more, something that isn't about me, but tells a story that simply turns my experiences into a living parable.

To be honest, it is only in viewing my past through this lens that both gives me clarity and helps me come to terms with what happened, ensuring that I cannot possibly ever view my life as a "waste of God's time."

EVERYTHING is a part of God's time, and part of His timing. In cooperation with Him, I can look back and find the lessons He intended for me to learn, and hopefully, to pass on to others. What follows is only one of those lessons.

**       **       **

Back in my employment with the big city, during the Tower portion of Firefighter training our days consisted of roll call, review of the SOP's (Standard Operating Procedures), practice of certain foundational skills, and the training evolutions scheduled to build upon the previous day's training. It started out in the same way one learns to shoot a gun: with basic safety (i.e. "dry firing") care and cleaning, etc,....and then we began to get into the real meat of it, slowly building the skills at the appropriate time.

The six weeks at "The Tower" were the final culmination of our training, where we put all the academics and practical skills to use in a systematic application of the SOP's. In other words, it was where our real mettle was tested, where we confronted our fears and failings and had to make the choice to push beyond...or fall back.

There were lessons learned, however, that applied to other things. Much of the process was reminiscent of my law enforcement training and work, and for others in my class, of their military experience.  Yet, what we learned wasn't limited to the practical realm.

While I was there, I was also experiencing my return to God. That adage about there being no atheists in foxholes?  Yeah, well, we weren't in foxholes, but when you realize your mortality in exercises that might well actually cost you your life in mere training, well, that tends to introduce you more often to your knees. (Given that I was at the Training Tower on 9/11/2001, that lesson came even more completely home.)

Truly, God was a part of my training even when religion wasn't a formal part of my life.

The Evolution

We were sent into the Residence, where natural gas-inspired fires would burn according to the control of the Training Captains (read: Drill Sergeants).

Each trainee was assigned a position, and we were expected to know the details of each role within that evolution. I happened to draw what was perhaps one of the physically easier roles, but one requiring the most courage with regard to being center stage:  I was on the nozzle for our first "fire".

We went into the building in full gear, airtanks engaged as if the smoke was real, and with a "charged" hoseline running from the Engine at the closest hydrant.  I had the nozzle in hand, felt the door with the back of my gloved hand, opened it, and crawled in under the smoke, my secondary (in real life would be my Captain pushing/yelling)  behind me, "rolling" the tankline just as he was supposed to do.

It was pitch black, so I relied on my training thus far to follow the wall, find the doorknob, find the fire. Finally I opened the door to the proper room and from the midst of the smoke came the hot glow of flames arising from the gas pilot lights, mimicking a real fire. I entered the room slightly, pointed the nozzle, and opened the line. The Drill Sergeant Training Captain yelled at me to get closer, so, holding the fully open hoseline I struggled against the force of the water to crawl in further, surprised by the blast of heat that hit me so quickly. (No textbook explanation can describe this experience.)

I knew about not "steaming us out". I knew I had to nail this thing and had to do it right. My backup person (cadet like me) came up behind me to provide physical support, and just as he was supposed to, pressed his forearm and elbow against my back to brace me. With this initially-helpful counterbalance, I directed the nozzle according to our shared will to make the fire go away.

"ADVANCE! GO! GET THAT NOZZLE UP! GO! GET IN THERE!" 

The Captain began yelling at me to advance. I tried, with all my might!

 But my partner,expecting me to move on that command,  immediately put more pressure on me.

The problem was this: he thought he was helping me to move forward, but in actuality, his main pressure point was against my upper back and shoulders. Instead of aiding a tactical advance, he was, in fact driving my entire upper body, and therefore the nozzle (our lifeline) into the ground.

I tried to yell back at him to back off, but instead he only pushed harder, even while the Captain screamed even more loudly at me to get the nozzle up and to get closer to the fire.

I knew the Captains could see what was going on and wondered why they kept yelling for my advance when they could see that my face was nearly driven to the cement, such that the water stream had gone even lower than the base of the training fire!  I could see it splashing against the brown vents of the "fire source", far below the flames I was supposed to be hitting. With all my strength I was pushing the nozzle hard upward with my hand and biceps, painfully handicapped by the muscles I was not able to use as a result of my co-worker's own battle to get us into the mouth of the dragon. I was desperately attempting to relieve the pressure, desperately trying to crawl forward, completely unable to move because of the force against my upper back, continuing to drive me DOWN, not FORWARD.

Helpless

The screams of the other firefighters yelling at me to "PUT IT OUT!!" "ADVANCE!" "YOU'RE STEAMING US OUT!" still ring through my memory. I can't forget the struggle to push back against my backup, trying to raise the nozzle and put us all out of our misery.

To me, it felt like we were approaching the sun. To them, it felt like they were vegetables being steamed in a convection oven. We were all suffering. We were all miserable, and it seemed that perhaps no one, not even the Captains, realized that I was so totally, embarrassingly helpless.

I was helpless because my backup was oblivious to what he was actually doing, and our Captains, ALL three of them,  continued to scream at me to advance, in spite of the fact it was quite literally impossible to do anything other than lay down and die to get any other message across to them.

Instead, I struggled in utter physical and emotional agony, and finally, at long last, I made my way to the fire, close enough to satisfy the Captains, aiming the nozzle properly enough to satisfy my fellow "firefighters".

The fire went out and, well, I barely remember my exit. The only thing I wanted to do was to breathe fresh air. I exited that fire to an entirely new verbal blast from the other trainees. The Captains didn't even allow me to defend myself...they cut us all off immediately with a command to stand down.

As it turned out, they had a point and knew fully what was going on.

One of their points, from a "personnel" (note: not "personal") standpoint was to see how I would handle being pushed both physically and verbally, especially when the two factors made obedience to either impossible. They wanted to witness the struggle and final outcome.

I didn't know any of this when I stood with my immediate "team" from our first evolution. I only recall standing up wearily, drenched in sweat, listening to the complaints of my coworkers and friends, all of whom had no idea what had just happened and why. I left the training building feeling like a total failure, knowing that I had lost respect, certain that in the future, NONE of them would ever want to work with me, certain I would kill them and anyone we were sent in to save.

Then the Captains surprised us all

Yes, they were critical of me; as this was a first-time attempt, certainly I made errors, and serious ones at that!  Those errors were expected and normal. Our superiors went through a litany of errors that didn't leave a single classmate within that evolution untouched. I was certain I would be crucified in this one, and waited, expecting the worst, but, well, that was the capstone:  the harshest criticism was reserved for my #2 person: the guy who was supposed to be backing me up!

The Captains pointed out that it wasn't my fault that they and my coworkers were getting steamed out; it was HIS fault. They actually noted how hard I struggled against him in my attempts to advance, the effect of his force, and spoke of the physics of leverage.

I am not a tall person, but this guy was. All his strength, although intended otherwise, was put into pushing my upper back and shoulders DOWNWARD. It was HE who drove the nozzle into the ground, and me with it. The Captains could see that I wasn't hesitating, but was quite literally trapped by "friendly fire".

They preached awareness, not just of ourselves, but of those we are backing up. As a shorter person, they emphasized where I would need to place support on a taller person, and actually reversed our physical positions to demonstrate this for the entire group, with an open hoseline. For the tall firefighters working with a shorter person, they emphasized the importance of proper position, for the force from behind in any case will quite literally redirect the nozzle, usually to detrimental effect.

They spoke of communication, of the need for both people to be close enough to know each other well, to speak freely and  to be aware of the other and what they needed. It had to be a team effort. They had seen me trying, my partner not listening. It had to be a two-way street or, well...people would die. Those were the stakes.

Oh, yes, I learned that day how important the #2 person is, and it's a lesson I've never forgotten. Even though I was personally vindicated in that particular scenario, I have come to realize that there's more to that lesson, and where it matters, well...I'm the #2 person and I've more than pushed others down: I've steamrolled right over them in a misguided effort to get them to where I thought they should go.

That brings me to the main point:

That lesson makes sense in Evangelization, too.

In Evangelization, we are trying to advance a soul towards the light of Christ, towards salvation. In effect, they are "on the nozzle".

If the backup person is too harsh, too overbearing, instead of helping that soul towards the Divine Fire, they are driving them into stagnancy, or perhaps even worse.

Coming on too strong is as bad as being too lax; in both cases, the soul in question is left in limbo and might actually be destroyed.

There is a balance to maintain, it relies upon teamwork, and God is the Source, the Catalyst, and the Captain.  Every effort comes FROM Him and is directed TOWARDS Him. Any effort that places pressure so as to direct the focus away from Him is, well...deadly. (Yes, there is a place for backfires, for containment, for "surround and drown"...in spiritual terms we call those techniques the Sacraments, Sacred Tradition, and the Intercession of the Saints, among other spiritual realities.)

Every so often, when I think of evangelization and the mistakes I've witnessed or those I have made myself, I recall that scene, there in the training house, and I recall the sense of panic, the steam, the heat, and the pressure that wouldn't allow me to either advance or flee...and I am brought to empathy.

We are called to lay down our lives in service to Christ. We are NOT called to sacrifice the lives and souls of others. If we deny others the free will given to them by God, we both deny Christ and become culpable for all those we cause to flee from Him.

Evangelization isn't about us; it's about Jesus Christ and the salvation of souls, and the second we lose that focus, we drive others away, and may, in fact, spiritually murder them.

Evangelization must be bound and driven by Divine Charity, directed towards Hope, underscored by Faith. We need to be able to step aside, recalling that conversion and salvation do not depend on us. Many souls need a gentle approach, and hard sales tactics do nothing other than scare them away, or in the terms I experienced, drive them into the ground, paralyzing them.

It is a great temptation for believers to pressure others we love to go where we want them to go, however we must remain cognizant that our pushiness may not be the will of God, no matter what we may think. Perhaps some souls need to suffer in order to be brought to conversion. Perhaps they need to fall away in order to understand what they have lost.(I fell into both categories, and then some).

We have to recall that God is the only one who can bring good out of evil, and He allows evil and suffering for just such a purpose. Look at Our Lord Jesus Christ for this example! Who are any of us to complain of suffering in the face of the One who suffered on our behalf and invites us to partake, to unite our own sufferings to His?

Everyone We Meet is Fighting a Hard Battle

We must act with mercy, in light of what we know of divine justice. For our part, we must temper all we do with true charity, which is not a "warm and fuzzy" type of "total acceptance of all things".  What I experienced that day in the tower was real charity:  I suffered what I perceived as injustice, but were it not for that experience, neither I nor my fellow cadets would have gotten that lesson from any side.

True charity can be harsh, for it has in its sight the ultimate good of every soul. It meets the soul where it is and directs it to something greater. It allows the soul to suffer for what it thinks it loves in order that it might become purified enough to experience what it truly loves.

We must take care of the souls who come across our paths, and be willing to be gentle where a gentle touch is needed. It is easy to be forceful in evangelization;  most of those called to this work in a serious way have strong personalities; it is hard to stand down when the love of Our Lord drives one onward. Yet that very love must be the cause of awareness, for when only one soul is lost, if only one soul flees....we are all deprived.

We all suffer. We are all steamed out.

We become less if only one is compromised.

We lose souls if, out of our pride we forget to take a backseat to those we love.

We lose our own souls if we forget to take a backseat to God.

Frailty

I came across a great blog tonight, Firegirl Follies.

So far I've been impressed by what I've read. The author clearly has found her career calling, and is fueled by a heart of compassion for people in need, especially those our society at large might prefer to forget.

I was especially touched by her post on her elderly patients, and only wish I could have such a gentle disposition!

An excerpt:

Another common favorite, "Leave me ALONE!" well, you called us to come help you, "well don't touch me!" ok, do you need to go to the hospital? "NO!" ok, why did you call 911 then? "because I needed help!" ok, well let us help you then, "LEAVE ME ALONE!"


I have to giggle in the most professional of ways, but I can't help myself, bless them. I can't remember how many homes I've been to, that the walls are covered in photos of children and grandchildren. Or the veteran, whom has scores of military photos and medals across the wall. I love to hold their fraile and bony hands, some of them not knowing where or who they are, to just give them a sense of comfort. More often than not, their hands are freezing, from poor circulation. As upset as they are, and as rude as they can be, I always think of their loved ones, and the history they carry with them. I try to always remember I'll be in their place someday, and hope someone will treat me kindly and with dignity. In a lot of cases, it's hard for them to feel of importance anymore.

Please go read the rest. It's well worth your time. Maybe some of you have parents or family who are suffering from age and long-term illnesses.You worry about whether those who care for your loved ones, well...really do care.

Yes, they do.

I am reminded of the work I once did in my various health-care positions. First adolescent, then, later in life, in an adult facility.

I wrote of this in her combox, but I'm going to re-tell the tale here, too.

We had a particular gentleman who loved to go for walks, and given what this facility was, he was free to do so.

One night, I received a phone call from a local Perkins. The girl on the line identified herself as a waitress and explained that one of our residents had given her our number. The resident was lost, he had told them, so they sat him down, got him some coffee, and said they'd call us. Could we send a cab or someone to pick him up?

Oh, yes, absolutely.

I asked to speak with him so she put him on the line. He identified himself and with a humble chuckle told me, "Well...I've gotten lost again!"  *chuckle*

I laughed with him, told him it was fine, I was glad he was safe, he said that all the staff at the restaurant were very kind and he was fine until a cab could arrived. He wouldn't go anywhere else and was glad to rest for a moment.

I spoke again with the server, thanked her for her help and she expressed relief that she COULD help. I got the sense that perhaps she was familiar with the elderly and that helping him was perhaps the highlight of her evening.The coffee for him, she said, was on the house.

Shortly after this, the cab arrived to drop him off and he came in, smiling sheepishly, thanking me for my help. I welcomed him home and he went up to his floor to let his staff know he'd arrived safely and, well...to go to bed.

This man, this very lost and confused man....was a decorated hero. He dedicated his life to our country in military service, had seen combat, had saved lives.

I didn't know that until after this incident. When I learned it I considered his frail form, his sometimes-unsure smile, and his always-polite and respectful way of addressing others.

I don't think that I've EVER met such a humble soul in my life. When I think of the word "humility", he comes to the forefront of my mind. This dear gentleman, this dear, fierce, brave hero who fought so hard for our country and lost so much, taught me more in his "frailty" than he could probably ever have taught me at the pinnacle of his strength.
*

Redux for Lent: Hanging by a Fingertip

When I was hired by the Fire Department. and went to training, I knew that I'd have to overcome my irrational fear of falling, because this kryptonite translated very easily into a fear of climbing ladders. I had to climb with gloves on my hands, in boots, wearing equipment that weighed me BACKWARDS, and of course, what if there wasn't someone there to butt the ladder? The ladder could fall. With me on it. And others.

Gulp.

This particular post isn't about ladders; in fact, it's about something that didn't scare me at first. Until I was literally holding on to my life by my very fingertips.

My first rappel was off of the 4th floor of the concrete training tower. While my friends observed that it appeared that this evolution scared me more than my nemesis, the roof ladder, I was actually fairly comfortable. However, I was shaking with effort...the rope we were using was very heavy, and I wasn't clearly understanding the laws of physics that went against my nature: such as:


Rule # 1  "Open your hand and let go of the rope so it will slide!"

Overall, my first rappel was a good experience. I was slow as I tried to get the hang of it (no pun intended), but fear wasn't really a part of the picture because I felt very in control. I'd tied the knot we are all depending upon (and tied it well!), and although there was no safety officer on belay (contrary to SOP's), all was under control.

My second rappel was different. This time, while our Deputy Chief of Training actually decided we did not "need" someone on belay because "nothing had ever happened before", the FD Safety Officer happened on scene and took up his post....just in time. Apparently he saw this situation as being a very bad thing and realized that if he didn't take over, well....

Aside:   (Thank God he arrived when he did...two cadets fell that day and would have been seriously injured or killed if the Safety Officer had not been on hand, on belay with the rope in his own hands!)  

And the Deputy Chief heard about it, believe me. (No one outranks the Safety Officer when it comes to safety issues!)

I remember standing at the foot of the tower that warm, cloudy afternoon, waiting for my turn at the evolution, to carry the pump can (85 unweildy lbs) up the 6 floors + to the roof of the tower, to rappel down wearing an SCBA face piece with the ambient air valve open, tanks on our backs, but not turned on, an axe dangling from the spanner belt on one side, the spanner wrench on the other. While I watched those who went before me, I saw two of them fall. The first fell a story and a half (about 15 feet) before her descent was slowed, then stopped. ALL of us reacted in horror to this event.

Soon it was my turn. I labored the pump can up to the roof and tied my knot to the anchor. My facepiece was fogging over, I was already tired and winded, and the ambient air valve is not made for this kind of labored respiration. If the tank was on and the facepiece operating as it was designed to do, there would have been no problem, although admittedly my tank would have been dry in very short order. As it was, every single one of us was hyperventilating not so much from exertion (although that was a factor) but from a lack of being able to draw a decent breath!  It was absolute Hell, and every firefighter ever in this kind of training can verify this.

So I tied my knot and went to the parapet, took up the rope, ran it through my D-ring and stepped over it - straight into thin air.


I started out decently, holding my right hand high, palm up.

But I hadn't calculated the weight of the rope, and I wasn't adept at dropping my upper body perpendicular to the wall; and so the rope seemed that much heavier. For those who are not familiar with what we called "life-safety rope", this is not some piece of twine. This was heavy-duty rope, and I was holding 6 stories' worth of it. It probably weighed as much or more than I did at that height. (Seemed like it, anyway!)

It was a combination of errors that got me into a precarious position. The first was my body position. I could not seem to get myself to follow the directions to get my head lower. Instead, I was trying to "muscle" it. Mind you, at that time, in training I was doing 20-25 lb bicep curls...but that was nothing in the face of trying to muscle a rappel. The rope should have been sliding through my hand, but I had a death-grip on it.

As I descended towards the 4th floor balcony, where I'd have to "invert" and swing inward, my hand was being pulled further and further toward my hip. I was losing the rope. Desperately, I tried to abduct my hand outward. I tried thrusting my body hard to my left, trying to scoot "up" the rope, while pulling hard with my right arm to get the rope into my hand and get my hand back up. It backfired. I still remember my face crashing against the cement wall, helmet clunking, the rope sliding through my hand, losing grip.

I was shaking. I couldn't see because my facepiece was fogged over. I'll never forget the sound of my breath wheezing in desperate hitches through the ambient air valve, which sounded like it was about to give out. I couldn't get air. I couldn't think. My Captain was screaming at me: "YOU'RE FINE!"

 That was the most useless thing he'd ever screamed.. And he liked to scream. He was a useless Captain. All we cadets suspected as much but this particular suspicion was confirmed when he yelled at me, "LET GO OF THE ROPE!"

That was the first and last time I ever yelled back at him. "NO!"

I was NOT going to let go of the rope. 

He ordered me to let go. I was NOT going to let go. Period.

All I could think about as my breath rasped in and out, as sweat ran into my eyes, as my fingers tried to curl bone around the rope,  was the hard cold pavement 4+ stories below me. I thought about my friend falling more than a story before being stopped. I wasn't sure who was on belay, if anyone. I couldn't trust that ANYONE was there.   And I thought about my fear. Here I was, dangling high above the ground, facing my most terrifying fear become reality.

 I was going to fall.

You may think I'm exaggerating the situation. I'm not. This is NOT hyperbole; it's EXACTLY what happened that day.

I was flat against the cement wall. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see, and all I could hear was my Captain screaming at me to give up and let go.

 Don't use the argument that he was using "reverse psychology"; he wasn't. This guy was not fit to be a Captain, and only did it for the power trip. He was NOT well respected even among his own ranks...not as a firefighter, and certainly not as a Captain. (This is a fact).  And he'd already written me off, even before that day.

It does NOT help, when facing your worst nightmare, that the one guy who's supposed to be in your corner shouting helpful advice is instead leading the cheer for your destruction.

I still had the rope in a deathgrip. It was a fist-length away from my butt. (Not to be gross; it's just to convey where the rope was, and it's NOT the same thing as "hip". Ask a climber.)

Somehow, I managed to ignore my Captain's screaming....he was at that point screaming from the 4th floor balcony, just below me. I would have given him "The Finger" if I had one to spare. I'm thankful now that I did not, it being occupied with keeping me from splattering to the ground.

All I really knew was this: Very simply stated, I resolved only ONE thing: I was NOT. GOING. TO. FALL

There, in the cacaphony of the moment, was a snapshot of clarity; I had to make a decision. I envisioned falling, all that could happen, "good" or bad. None of the options was acceptable. I considered; "What if this is for real? What if there is no one on belay?"   (Remember in reality...I WASN'T sure there was someone on belay.)

This was about survival, and even if my dimwit Captain didn't see it, I did. I couldn't give up. In Law Enforcement training, they taught us that no matter how severe the injury, how intense the pain, how futile the situation....SURVIVE. I'd lived through thier courses, the raids, the tear gas, CS gas, and pepper spray straight to the eyes...twice. I was NOT going to let go of the rope. It was a very conscious decision in a time of panic.

Slowly, I managed to place my feet back against the wall and "walked" upwards, trying to take the weight off the rope. As I did this, the rope slid ever further, until it was only the pressure of the two first fingers of my  thickly-gloved right hand, pressed against the lower portion of my thigh. that kept me suspended.

It was agony. Every single muscle was shaking. I was crying, both from fear and the agony of trying to survive. From the punishment of the words of my Captain who clearly wanted me dead.  From the pain of my breath rasping harshly in my throat. From the frustration of not being able to see.

From the fear I was about to fall to my death to the great rejoicing of the one guy who was supposed to be on my side..but obviously wasn't.

I was not much of a Catholic at the time, but I was trying, and I had always believed in Guardian Angels. In that moment, I said a prayer to my Guardian Angel for help, but nothing happened. I asked God for mercy, and begged for help. I just wanted the rope back in my hand. That was all.

Carefully, I began to wiggle the tip of my finger, trying to work the rope back towards my palm. My Captain was still screaming at me to let go and give it up. I ignored him. He was an ass.

I slid again...and the rope was back where it had been. So I rocked to my left again and worked my fingers against the rope. My entire weight was suspended on one finger. Just one finger.  One leather-gloved finger.

Not giving up.

Slowly, the rope worked into my palm as I fought my fear to try to follow useful directions now being given by one of the other Captains, who had taken over my direction in that crisis as he was not interested in seeing me crash. My own Captain was pouting silently at this point. (I have a cartoon image in my mind of this Captain being bound and gagged by my Guardian Angel).

Somehow, the rope was back in my palm, and as I had descended, the rope had gotten lighter. It was time to invert at the 4th floor balcony. I inverted, swung inward...and found the rope sliding exactly where I wanted it. I was still shaking and panting with effort, the rope was heavy, but the remainder of the rappel went smoothly until I finally stepped off the wall and onto the cement apron.

Life in Defiance of Willed Destruction 

When I think about that day, I can still feel the rope in my hand, I can still see the pavement below me, and I can still hear my Captain shouting at me. But none of it matters; because on that day, I made a very conscious decision NOT to give up. I made a decision for survival and for life, even though the loudest voice was crying for destruction. Somewhere, in that maelstrom, I found God, I found trust, and I found a spine I didn't know I had.

Oddly enough, I look back on that moment of time with immense affection. Although it was a time of great suffering, it was, ultimately, a great triumph. Even though it might not seem very noteworthy to most people, it meant a great deal to me, and I pray I will never forget what it was like to know that all was lost...and then find the rope back in my palm again, refusing to give up - no matter what.

I just wish I had that kind of spine and discipline in my spiritual life.

*
Lent, 2010:  I'm still looking for the same kind of survival instinct in my spiritual life. But because I know I had it then, it encourages me now, I hope it is there for you, too, even if that proverbial rope is teasing the last bit of skin of your fingertips......


Don't give up. Don't ever give up, no matter WHO is screaming at you to let go...hold fast and keep trying!  
*

Exercise in Futility

Sometimes life is brutal, and we are beaten...badly.

Back when I was at the training tower for the Fire Dept., we had to climb onto a structure built specifically to teach us how to chop through a roof. We stood on roof ladders and chopped (with dull-bladed axes) through wooden pallets.

I still remember swinging with all my might at a rotted-looking wooden pallet. It literally looked as though I could STEP on the center of it and break the wood...yet my blade would not cut it. So I swung and swung again, my axe constantly bounding back at me, the wood barely even marked.

Finally, a friend of mine, fellow firefighter cadet B., stopped what he was doing and explained that it was better to hit near the frame, and he demonstrated on his own pallet. He even showed me the recoil in the center, explaining that.it wouldn't break in there because there was too much rebound; it was too flexible and absorbed the impact. FF. B.  said that I was hitting with enough power that the thing should be turning to tootpicks...but wasn't because I was striking the wrong point.

I literally stood up there and ARGUED with him, even as I watched him decimate another pallet. For you see...B. was a big muscle-laden guy. His "power swings" were atomic in comparison to my swats. I DID try to hit a few points, with his coaching, but the wood still wouldn't break.

And there was a certain amount of fear; the pallets were placed over a window-shaped grid, and one wrong step might mean falling through into the fresh pile of wooden spikes below, the pallets that had built up there throughout the day. (This was therefore indeed true-to-life on-the-job-training.)  Thus, I could break the rungs closest to me, but stepping off the ladder and swinging outward, where the weight and the momentum might throw me off-balance and into the pit below...well, that was terrifying to me.

Thus, I have to admit, my fear was a factor. The old fear, (falling)  rearing its head. I ended up returning to my rebounding swings, convinced the wood would break...because as anyone could see, it was weak in the center.

The funny thing was, the wood was strongest where it appeared to be weak, and I was weakest where I appeared to be strong.

In the end, I failed not because the wood refused to break; but because I refused to break. It was my own obstinance that was the direct cause of my failure. Finally, I was too exhausted to continue, I was beginning to get dizzy in the late summer heat, and my frustrated swings, even in the correct position, lacked the power to do much other than smash a random fly, if even that. As it was, I am certain some of my swings wouldn't even have taken the life of the tiniest fly.

The Captain finally ordered me off of the roof, directing me to get water, and asked my friend, B., to finish off my pallet. My descent of shame was barely noticed by my fellow cadets, but it was one of my first failures at the Tower, and added immensely to the doubt that had taken root in me; that I wouldn't make it through training.

As it was, I didn't finish.. I was injured a week later, I graduated with my class on light duty status, and in the process of rehabilitation, I was let go...with references. But the lessons from the Tower still guide me as they reveal both my own strengths and weaknesses...both of which were ultimately part of my journey to God.

I am reminded that no matter how futile seems the task in front of us, often it's not the task itself that has any meaning...it is in the lessons inherent in the completion of our task.

Even as I remember my descent of shame and exhaustion, I am grateful for those lessons and wouldn't change that history even if I could.

So often we fight against God as He asks us to accept our weaknesses, not relying on our own strength. We are so prideful so as to reject even the most logical of assistance, wanting to go at things in our own way, CERTAIN that our abilities are sufficient. Yet they are not, and so we find ourselves flailing in vain, and it is only by God's grace that the axe-head doesn't fly off the handle and give us what we deserve for our obstinance.

All we need is a little humility...and that opens the doors to success greater than anything we could ever envision. Because the success is not ours, but Our Lord's.

As from the Gospel of today (Luke 21:1-4) ...do not fear to give EVERYTHING, for it's not in what we have that gives us glory; it is what we are willing to offer, in what we are willing to suffer, that changes us and opens us up to what GOD has planned. All we can truly offer is from our own poverty, our own weakness, and there, God is glorified.

We Will Never Forget

I originally posted this in 2005 and 2006, but it seems appropriate to post it again, on this anniversary. We should never forget this event. We should never forget the lives lost, the lives saved, the tears, the tragedy, the heroism and the ultimate triumph of the American people. I'll admit that sometimes I hate this country; I hate the secularism, I hate the materialism, the petty politicization of EVERYTHING, the systematic removal of God from our culture, etc.

But on that day, September 11, 2001, the true soul of America was displayed in the very people before the politicians had the opportunity to spin it in their own image. We cannot help but remember, today, what happened then, where we were, and the renewal in faith that occurred, born of the ashes of the Towers, the Pentegon, and of Flight 93. That Day lives one because we can't erase the images we will NEVER forget......

**



Let us remember in prayer our brothers and sisters whose lives were lost on this historic day.

I will never forget this day only a few years ago. That Tuesday morning, I was a Firefighter Cadet at the ominous Training Tower, only a few weeks from graduation from the arduous course. The city which had employed me had a long program of academics, followed by six weeks of hell at "The Tower".

"This Isn't An Accident"

The Tower days consisted of roll call and SOP's (Standard Operating Procedures), a quiz in the morning, and a synopsis of the day's activities to come. On that morning, September 11, 2001, as we sat discussing "high fires", which refer to skyscraper fires and the procedures utilitzed to fight them, the Deputy Chief of Training walked in carrying a TV set.

He apologized for the interruption, stated that a plane had just flown into the World Trade Center, and hurriedly set up the TV until there was reception. All of us sat transfixed as we watched the South Tower burn. Then, before our eyes, another plane hit the second tower.

We had had trainng in Weapons of Mass destruction, terrorism, triage from our EMT class, etc., but nothing prepared us for what we saw that day.

The Training Captains used this as an example of what we were to cover that day. They explained what the New York firefighers were going to do as they approached, as they set up, etc. One Captain emphasized the need to coordinate the evacuation of citizens from the towers, the mass response due to the two planes, and the understanding that this was a terrorist attack...this was no accident.

I remember asking the Deputy Chief the following questions: At what point do they determine that it's time to leave? Who makes the decision that a structure should be evacuated?

I appraised the heavy fire showing in the upper floors of the South Tower, the fuel from the jets, and the obviously collapsed floors which were directly affected by the planes.

The Deputy Chief admitted that he and one of the other chiefs had an ongoing agument about this; he believed that the tower would hold...the other chief beliefed that the load was too much and would not withstand the assault. Our Deputy Chief gave me a very general answer regarding the evacuation of fire personnel which did not satisfy me.

Finally, our Chiefs and Captains told us that we would be watching this for days and weeks to come and it was time to hit the apron to begin our day. Just as we finished our warm-up exercises outside, the Deputy Chief threw open the door to his office in the temporary building in the yard and ordered us over. He revealed that a plane had just hit the Pentagon, and one crashed shortly after near Pittsburgh. He told us that the towers had fallen. His face was red; his voice shook with genuine emotion.

The good Deputy Chief apologized; he told us he had no idea this was going to be this big. Tearfully, he revealed to us that he had at least 20 friends with the New York department he knew had just perished beneath the weight of those buildings. He had to sit down as he discussed those he'd ridden with in the past; those NYFD collapse rescuse firefighters who had given him much of his knowledge. He apologized for his emotion, but without need; I think most of us were in tears already.

Others in our class also had friends and relatives in New York, and one of our training captains had family both in the city and in the Pentagon.

Those who were not directly affected still had tears in their eyes whether out of sympathy or just plain shock at what was happening on U.S. soil.

Our city, a major one, was placed on alert, of course, ready for an attack. Even though we were only cadets, for all practical purposes we were considered to be Firefighters, and in the event of an attack we would be put to work. We were not allowed to leave for lunch, but food was brought in for us, and we watched as the police officers from the canine training center nearby brought their dogs over to sniff all of our buildings and personal vehicles.

We did end up doing some training that day, each evolution taking on a special meaning.

We walked up the cement steps of our 6 story tower, carrying hose bundles and remembering dead firefighters with every step. We sprayed water onto non-existant fires, remembering the futility of the same actions in New York. We dragged wet hoselines down and cleaned up, considering those who had died that day never got a chance to clean up. We removed our turnouts and hung them in the shed, exchanged our air tanks, and finished our day, realizing that somewhere around 300 firefighters were not going home to their families that day.

We gathered in the classroom for the end of the day summary, and one of the captains gave us this speech:

"All of you saw today what happened in New York. Consider how many firefighters died today. You will never be able to claim that you don't know what this job is about. Every single day you go out there you don't know what's going to happen or if you'll make it home. Those who responded today planned to go home after their shift...and instead, we're going to be watching funerals of firefighters for weeks. You know what this job is about and you know the risk. So after witnessing something like this, if some of you, or all of you, choose not to come back tomorrow, we will all understand."

With that, we were dismissed and there was never such a somber, silent exodus from the Tower. There was no joking; there were no plans for the evening. There was only the knowledge that many had died that day, and we were in line to wear a similar uniform and do a similar job...and possibly pay a similar debt.

And the next day, all 22 of us returned.

I will never forget where I was that day because I was standing in the very shoes of those who died. I wore a similar uniform and I had similar aspirations. I went through the same movements as we set up a response to a fictional fire in a skyscraper and fought it. But training took on a new tone after that.

I was injured in training about a week later, and as a result, I am no longer a Firefighter although I was sworn in with my class and given the same title. I can't say that I'm disappointed to not be there anymore. However, that said, I will never forget where I stood, how I felt, or the weight of the turnouts I wore when I watched other firefighters die in a city far away. I'll never forget the pride when I saw the survivors respond to find either other survivors or recover their dead.

I will never forget the world turning to prayer, offering condolences, or their realization of the sacrifices real people made right under their noses day after day.

And so to all the firefighters and police officers, paramedics, EMT's, and other responders out there, I salute you, I offer my condolences, and I will continue to pray for your safety. Keep up the good fight! We would not be a community were it not for you. Perhaps I am not called to stand in your shoes, but I respect you so much more for I understand what it takes to be where you are, and to give what you are required to give.

And for all those who perished on September 11, 2001, firefighters, police officers, EMT's, paramedics and civillians...may you rest in peace in the arms of our beloved Savior, Jesus Christ.




We will never forget you

*

Never!

Clinging to the Rock

I was actually going to re-post an old one that seems to take today's readings to heart, but instead, I'm going to re-write it, following the Psalm, which our Music Director found it necessary to ignore today. I don't know what psalter from which she was reading, but the very idea did not even match in the most remote way, the readings for today! And I left Mass feeling somewhat deprived.

Responsorial Psalm
Ps 31:2-3, 3-4, 17, 25

R. (3b) Lord, be my rock of safety.
In you, O LORD, I take refuge;
let me never be put to shame.
In your justice rescue me,
incline your ear to me,
make haste to deliver me!
R. Lord, be my rock of safety.
Be my rock of refuge,
a stronghold to give me safety.
You are my rock and my fortress;
for your name’s sake you will lead and guide me.
R. Lord, be my rock of safety.
Let your face shine upon your servant;
save me in your kindness.
Take courage and be stouthearted,
all you who hope in the LORD.
R. Lord, be my rock of safety.

Back in September 2001 when I was at the Fire Dept. Training Tower, a friend A. and I were the first to experience one of the first evolutions. They "smoked up" one of the buildings and sent us in to fight the fire. It was just he and I and the "charged" hoseline which snaked back to the Engine, which in turn was attached to the hydrant.

We wore our full turnouts; coat, trousers, SCBA (Self-Contained-Breathing-Apparatus), helmets, gloves, etc. I was assigned to the nozzle, so my job was to go in first, keeping my hand on the cement wall and following in until we found the fire. A. was behind me, and his job was to "roll" the hoseline, trusting me to keep us on track. His was the harder job. Indeed, I had to lead inward, but he did more work.

(FYI: In the "real world", the rookie was on the nozzle and the Captain was in 2nd position so as to both roll the hoseline in properly and to push the rookie.)

We began outside, and I turned on my air tank, released the air from the hoseline, and when we were given the signal, I touched the exterior door with the back of my hand as we'd been trained and opened it. A. and I went in, entering into the smoke and pitch darkness, crawling, immediately going up the stairs because there was no other way to go. Step by step, we proceeded, agonizingly slowly. The turnout pants were slightly padded, but not a lot, and it didn't help that I nailed my already-aching knees on the corners of the steps! And I kept my hand on the wall, while behind me, A. was laboring to pull more hoseline, our grunts of effort and muffled conversation encouraging each other in our respective teamwork.

About half-way up, I began to panic. I knew I was sucking too much air. I knew that we were moving too slowly. I knew that somewhere, the fire, and even worse, the CAPTAIN awaited impatiently, and all I wanted to do was leave. I was enclosed in my mask. I couldn't see anything ahead of me or behind me. I had the nozzle in my right hand, the wall on my left, my knees on the hard cement below. I was sweating, breathing hard, and wanting only to escape this terrible blackness!

And then I realized; as long as my hand was against that wall, we were fine. We could follow the wall back out the door, easily. It didn't matter that we couldn't see; it only mattered that we knew our reference point, and that reference point was solid and it wasn't moving. Our scenario may change, our hoseline may even burst and drench us. But we couldn't lose contact with the rock that we followed and that rock would lead us back out the door to safety. No matter what happened, that rock was solid and we were safe.

Realizing this I continued onward, we proceeded to the top, found the fire (with some impatient direction from the dreaded Captain) and put it out. And we followed that wall back out.

OUR ROCK

Life isn't easy. We often don't know where we're going. We don't know if we're going into the fire, or if we're going into a collapse or even a storm. We only know that Christ is our Rock, our reference point, and as long as we don't let go, we'll be safe. Even if our lives are required of us, as long as we cling to Christ, we will never be lost.

I've been constantly amazed by the necessity and the solidity of Jesus and His Church which has remained firm and guided me in the worst life has thrown at me. Even when I didn't realize it, the tether that is the Sacraments, the indelible mark placed upon my soul, has kept me in contact with saving Grace. Even when I looked the other way, I see now that the Sacraments meant that although I had let go, Jesus had never let go of ME. He used everything to bring me back home, and He still does.

Our Rock saves us; we MUST cling to the Rock no matter what winds buffet us and seek to pull us away; but He also clings to us in return, reminding us to never let go, for He desires that not a single one of us be lost.

When we are crawling, painfully through all the darkness of life, we have to remember to never let go of Christ, to never stop believing, to never let us be pulled away. It's not enough to call the name of Jesus; we have to LIVE it. We have to keep working, to keep clinging, for it is not only faith that saves us, but our direct cooperation with saving grace, and our willingness to cling to Christ even if it means we face our own death in a darkness we cannot comprehend.

In my training as a firefighter, I realized that I may be called to give my life. The same applied to my training in law enforcement. Yet, we as Catholics are rarely reminded that we might truly be called to die for Christ.

I was willing to die for a building and the people who might be in it. I was willing to die for that ideal, but at the time, I didn't even consider that there was something far greater; to die for Christ.

In our world today many are dying for their faith in Christ, and all of us may be called to the same thing. And you have to ask yourself...are you willing to DIE for what you believe? Are you truly willing to DIE for the truth?

Eventually I did decide that I was not called to die to save buildings, but rather, I was called to consider something that transcends all of us; Jesus Christ. Am I willing to die for Him? Am I willing to die for His Church?

As long as I cling to Him, I think so, and I pray, if that time comes, that I won't ever let go, no matter what happens.
*

Daylight in the Garden of Good and Evil.

A few years ago I met some good southern "boys" at training for my last position. They were from Georgia and we became good friends during the month our company made us spend in Arizona. Both were from the Atlanta area and recommended to the group of us that hung out together to watch "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil" if we ever got a chance, as it has great scenes of Savannah. Well, several times it came on TV but it really didn't interest me, so I never took the time to watch it.

But tonight, my brain fried from a weekend of theology, and my channels limited by my recent cable downgrade to local-only, well, it was the only thing on. So I watched it. And you know what? I enjoyed the movie, and even saw the signature scene.

And thought of a few things to bring up with my Spiritual Director if I have one. (Must call him...I think the one I met with in November is it. Must get time to do this...). But I digress.

This is a movie set in Savannah, about a man who kills his gay lover. So the subject matter itself is actually not appropriate for children, so don't let them watch it. It also has occult content and truly shoddy crime scene investigation, which, I was happy to note, was not accidental but part of the story. And although I avoided this movie for a very long time, I have ALWAYS just LOVED the title.

As you note from the title of this post, however, I have somewhat modified the title, because I have my own dilemma of good and evil to discuss. And because I know Cathy and Terry love my stories, and because Adoro's brain is fried, well, it's story night. So sit back to read an Adoro Classic:

Daylight on the Training Ground of Good (me!) and Evil (the Captain!)

Several years ago, as you know, I was training for the Fire Department. And in fact, I'd been hired and had made it through several months of academic training. (And got PAID for this!). The last six weeks were at "the Tower" and this was the most unkindest cut of all. Because by then we were all flabby messes in comparison to how we'd been when we'd taken the test one year prior.

We were in good shape, but the brutality of the tower made everyone, almost, feel like we hadn't worked out in years. Much like I feel now when I go to the gym.

When I'd received the name of my Training Captain, I just cringed. At the time, my boyfriend of two years was a firefighter for the same department, and in fact, was the one who encouraged me to take the test. And when he'd told me who the captains would be, he gave me the scoop on all of them. And sure enough, I was sentenced to Captain B., known to his own peers and underlings as a Pompous * ahem *. Although my boyfriend used different words to describe him.

But it was what it was so I hoped to do well and fly under the radar. We got through the first week, pretty much so far so good...except that, on Friday, we had our first physical test. Completely solo, we had to pull the hoseline through a darkened building, using proper technique, open the window, point the nozzle out the window and "show water", in all streams, from a "fog" to a "straight stream." This latter can be difficult...you would NOT believe the force of the water without experiencing it yourself.

Suffice to say that I am a short-statured woman and the force of the water weighed far more than I did, meaning that technique needed to supplement my own weight.

The beginning of the test went fine. I had to roll the hoseline in and was happy to be able to do this even somewhat properly, although my captain was already yelling at me to hurry up. I felt along the wall following the hoseline I'd hauled, looking for the window. Finally I found it and opened the latch.

The smooth cement floor beneath me was already wet from the previous two students, and for that test, we weren't in full turnout gear. Just our coats, SCBA, helmets, and gloves. The water was soaking my pantlegs, and as I stood to position myself to open the line, I realized that my shoes were not ideal on this wet surface.

For a moment I considered dropping to one knee, but, having opened the line in a standing position prior to this, I felt comfortable with the concept and the student before me had done the same thing. I was very much of the mindset, "If HE can do it, I can do it!"

Well, the guy before me apparently had either better tread or a drier floor beneath his feet.

Just as I aimed the nozzle and leaned into it in anticipation, simultaneously I opened the line to a straight stream (the most forceful stream of water - a fully opened line) as directed by the Captain...my rear foot slipped.

I felt it going and tried to go with it in order to remain upright, and in the process, the force of the water caused me to jerk the hoseline upward. That force of the water turned me to my right and I opened the heaviest stream directly into the center of my Captain's chest!

He screamed a blue streak while I fought with all my might to get the hoseline back under control. He was screaming at me to shut it off (I was trying!), and I finally did so, although I'm not sure how. beyond the mechanical motions required in the task.

As soon as the water was off, silence reigned in that darkened training building.

I stared into the opaquely shadowed corner near the exit door, deafened by the baleful silence emanating towards me, just waiting...

Finally the Captain spoke, half-growl, half-yell: "Point that nozzle out the window and give me a straight stream NOW!"

I did as directed, and this time my feet did not betray me. The power of the water flowed perfectly as I willed, and I had no problem holding my position, advancing a few steps towards the window. He told me to reduce the stream to a "fog", and then to shut it off. I did as directed and set the line down when finished with the drill.

I had to approach him on the way out. I could hear him breathing like an angry bear.

My Captain was drenched and still fuming. He was so angry he was literally and visibly shaking.

"Did I fail?" I queried meekly, having to break that terrible, terrible silence. And I really did need to know if I should run quickly away!

I was certain I'd failed; I was quite sure that nailing one's Captain square in the chest with a straight stream was grounds for dismissal.

The Captain from Hell spoke through obviously clenched teeth. "Were you eventually successful at opening the stream out the window?"

"Yes."

"Then. you. passed."

It was very clear to me that those words were very painful for him to utter. That man did NOT want me to pass. It was the beginning of a vendetta, and he never got over it.

Really. Remember my rappeling story?

That afternoon I called by boyfriend and he asked how the first test had gone. I told him that I hit my Captain in the chest with a straight stream. He burst out laughing and I think he told the firefighter, a good friend of his,  sitting next to him. I think he was working at the time. When he came back to the line he said, "That's exactly what you SHOULD have done!"

Granted, I felt better after that.

So...here's the dilemma I'm facing now. At the time, my intention was actually to do as I was told, and it was really a complete accident that the water attacked my Captain.

But, as soon as I knew I really had passed the test, I didn't feel bad about it. Not a bit. And in fact, I was a bit gleeful. As were my classmates, my fellow cadets!

 They described to me how they'd heard him yell and a moment later he'd come out of the training building, drenched and fuming.....well, let's just say that their description of the events from their perspective warms my heart!

I need to go to Confession, don't I? It's been a few years, and I STILL think it's hilarious!

***

UPDATE FEBRUARY 2010: I have long ago forgiven that Captain for being a jerk. And actually realized after the fact that he was the best friend of a man I briefly dated, one of the worst human beings in the history of the world other than Judas.  And although I've been working on charity and all the virtues, I can't find a good reason to NOT laugh at the above scenario. I hope my fellow candidates at that time recall the incident as fondly as I do..and hope further that they only wish they were the ones at the helm of that straight stream that caused such a ruckus.

;-)

All I know is that I wish I could do it again and this time, deliberately!

For Tara...

Who's Got an Axe to Grind?

Back when I was in training for the Fire Department, having gone through mostly academics for four months, we were then subjected to the last six weeks of training. At "The Tower".

The dreaded Tower.

I had worked hard in the academics and rivaled another guy (whose Dad was a Chief) for the top spot in the class. But being a woman, I knew that I could not maintain that position, and this reality was brought home in our first week at the Tower.

They had a setup to include a six story building attached to a two-story "residential" building with a typical Minnesota roof. There was also a specially-built training building which allowed for different floor plans, smoke machines, and propane-fueled flames.

And they had the chopping simulator. This was a one-story building with four cutouts fit for wooden pallets. I remember my first experience and training evolution involving this; we had to climb a ground ladder, step onto a roof ladder, climb it, step out onto the peak, move along it to the far side and climb down the ariel ladder (from the ladder truck) which was extended up to the peak. Then we went to the chopping simulator.

Most of we women just didn't have the strength to grab a pallet, which was more unweildy than it was heavy (although some were very heavy!) and carry it up a ladder, so some of the guys helped with this. It was put in place, and when we could chop through it (by breaking ALL the boards, leaving only the frame, and then chop the frame and push it through the holes to "clear" it from the roof), we'd be done.

I was given a pallet, thrilled it seemed to be very weak. So I swung the ax, which had a dull blade - they all did - and it bounced back at me without a result. Surprised, I swung again, harder. It bounced higher.

Frustrated, I really went to town on this thing, determined that it would not win. And finally a board broke. I rejoiced and continued until the axe flew out of my had from an especially surprising rebound. While a fellow classmate retrieved the tool for me, one of the other guys stopped what he was doing long enough to make a few suggestions, which, at the time, I thought made no sense. The boards were clearly the weakest in the center. I could jump on it and break it...why wouldn't the axe cut through? So I initially ignored his advice, decided I just wasn't swinging hard enough, and redoubled my efforts, resulting only in futile swings, much sweat, much frustration...and a "failure". My coworker just shook his head as I descended the ladder in exhaustion and defeat.

I had to try again later as we went through other training evolutions. And the situation repeated itself. I exhausted myself trying to break the pallet at it's strongest point, which, in my mind, was the weakest point. And no matter how hard I tried, I could not get through the springy wood. It continued to repel my axe. All around me, the guys were turning their pallets into toothpicks...and I couldn't even get through ONE!

Finally the Captain ordered me down, and after taking off the SCBA, the coat, and my helmet so I could wipe off the sweat and pour water on my head in the ninety-degree September heat, one of the guys pulled me aside. Another joined him. They explained to me why my pallet wasn't breaking; it had nothing to do with a lack of strength, but was completely about technique. They explained how the weaker points were really up against the frame, how to hit it so it would break, and that I wouldn't have to work so hard. They gave the same instruction to a couple other of the women, because this wasn't an issue of men versus women; we were a unified group, and where one was failing, all were failing. If not individually, then at least as a team. It literally hurt all of us to see one person struggling, and of course, there was the practical concern; we had to be able to depend on each other. One day, our lives may be in that person's hands, and the trust factor was greatly needed. We had to build each other up and help them overcome their own weaknesses.

I recieved a similar lesson when fighting with the hose one day...I simply could not hold it, advance it while on my knees, and control a straight stream. When I had to hold my position, even on my knees, without someone to support me from the back, the water pressure literally pushed me backwards. It was exhausting.

I wasn't the only person with this problem, and one female coworker provided a tip she got from another firefighter who'd gone through this training the year prior. As it was, I never got the opportunity to test that particular technique, but I have no doubt it worked as others did try it and were able to maintain and advance as they needed.

Does anyone else see a metaphor for "fraternal correction"?

When another member of the mystical Body of Christ is suffering, we all suffer in some way. When that person is struggling, engaging in a futile and self-destructive act, which also may affect us all, we MUST speak up and offer constructive correction. They are destroying themselves and putting everyone else at risk.

In training, we had to focus on saving lives.

In the Church, we focus on saving souls. Can we trust one another with our souls?

If we are not willing to speak up in correction or guidance, we are helping to sever any unity that might exist. If we are the ones in error, we NEED that correction before the axe we're using to beat through our agenda goes flying out of our hands and into an innocent person's back. We NEED to be brought to bear, or we'll go so far off course that the rest of the Body is brought down. Conversely, if we recognize that someone is doing something wrong, we are obligated to step in and provide some instruction.

Ultimately, the decision to listen to truth or to disregard is in the hands of the one in error, yet, when the error is chosen over truth, it hurts everyone, it affects everyone, and we are wounded greviously.

I'll never forget the willingness of my class to come to my aid when I was in error, and I'll never forget how much it hurt when someone failed. Part of our training involved building and recognizing that special unity we had as a team, that special bond between us all, and the understanding the reality that we had to depend upon one another.

It is no different in the Church, whether we are considering our own personal conduct or public conduct when claiming to represent the Church as a Catholic. None of us is perfect; we all struggle with something, perhaps many things. So it is that we are responsible for knowing our faith and doing our best to live it, go to Confession when needed, and accept legitimate correction when we are wrong. Beating a pulpit in futility destroys us, causes schrapnel to fly, and wounds the rest of the Body. And when we see that someone else is engaging in such behavior, be it subtle and known only to us as a close friend, or be it publicly and loudly, we must intervene and attempt to put a stop to the damage being done.

And just to sum it up with another metaphor:

A properly sharpened axe, when used correctly, even though sweat and muscle are a part of the process, makes short work of big obstacles.

Thanks, guys, for taking the time to teach me how to do it right.

Life's Lessons in the Small Stuff

My family came up this weekend to celebrate my birthday, and after we went out for dinner, we watched a movie; The Guardian, which, for those who have not seen it, is about the Coast Guard.

Perhaps I watch this type of movie differently than most people; whenever I view these kinds of movies, I can't help but take a trip down memory lane and recall lessons learned in my training for Law Enforcement, Firefighting, and Ski Patrol.

Some of what the movie portrays drives me absolutely crazy; Hollywood consistently can't get CPR right, they love to ignore technical details which would actually IMPROVE the movie if they were even close to accurate. And it also drives me nuts how they tend to glamorize certain aspects of such training and the jobs. Yes, it does make a good story at times, and yes, they get some of the details right, but having sweated and suffered through some very real stuff, well, let's just say there's no glamor and there's no mystery. It's hard work.

That said, I still can't help but fondly remember some of that hardship, because even now, I look back and realize that it helped to form me as the person I am today. I'll never forget our first day of Law Enforcement Skills training; Grant put us in the pushup position and proceeded to tell his life story. He'd been a Green Beret, was built like a "brick s***house", and had no problem with causing us pain. He knew what built physical strength and intestinal fortitude and didn't care if we were men or women; he was going to give us the benefit of his experience and his own training, and that began from the very first moment.

I thank God to this day that he was so good at what he did; he was one of the first people to teach me how to break through my own barriers and strive for the next step, no matter how much it hurt.

We had another instructor; actually a pair. They were part-time, were on the loca SWAT team and assisted at the Skills program. In reality, they just LOVED to pepperspray the unsuspecting students. They were good teachers, they were professionals, and they were two more guys who had no problem teaching us how to be tough, how to survive in the face of painful physical adversity, and when outside of class, they were personable and approachable and loved to talk about "the job".

Just this weekend, I actually saw one of my instructors on TV; he's the Sheriff now. I'm proud of him and I congratulate him, and I'm proud to claim to be one of his former students. My own failures were not his; and the lessons he taught carry far beyond "the job".

Another one of the cast of characters from my past is also a Sheriff. He was a Deputy at the time I was in high school, and I got to know him while I was a lifeguard at the pool since he was one of the lapswimmers.

I actually first met him while training to become a lifeguard; I was faithfully going to lap swimming every evening, and he asked me about it one day as we both happened to be taking a breather in between the facets of our training regimens. Not many high school students swam laps; those who were swimmers were training with the team, so he was curious. I explained my training, he wished me well, and we went on with our routines. (There is a certain solidarity among everyday lapswimmers - we get to know each other).

Well, as it was, I passed every lifeguard test but the sprint, and I only missed that by .08 seconds. I had a certain amount of time to retest, so I hit the training hard, really focusing on speed drills. This particular Deputy, if the pool was crowded, offered me his lane for awhile if I needed to practice sprints and couldn't do so safely. (ie; it would interfere with other swimmers, etc.).

He also happened to be there on the day I took the retest, and stopped swimming in order to see the results. Many of the other lap swimmers did as well - that solidarity thing again. I remember actually having 2 false starts; I was so ready to go that I dove in before I was given the signal!

In the end, I passed with flying colors - at the time, the requirement was 18 seconds. (It has since been raised to something like 20-25 seconds. Ridiculous). I can't remember my final time, only that I passed. That was enough.

That deputy was first in line to congratulate my success, and he happened to also be the one to offer me the Deputies' Association Scholarship for college a few years later.

He became Chief Deupty when I was in college, and as far as I know, he is still the Sheriff. I salute him; he never said much, I didn't know him well, but his support and assistance in more than one facet of my life made a difference, and I can guarantee you that there are many other people out there who also owe him a debt of gratitude.

I realize it seems that I go off track when I write of these kinds of things, however, as usual, I promise you that I have a point.

Going back to "The Guardian". This really is a great movie, because the two main characters are facing certain demons; an instructor, and a cadet, and their demons are the same. Not only does the movie take us through what created the problems, but how they were or were not resolved, and ultimately, there is triumph. What is a good movie without triumph?

But I'm going to drop a bombshell; one of the other reasons I really like this movie is because it brought me back to high school, when I seriously considered skipping college and entering the Coast Guard.

Yup.

I was gonna be a "Puddle Pirate". As the Navy apparently calls them, according to the movie.

Almost every day, I went into the career center and perused information on the Coast Guard, going over the same things all the time. They had everything; they would train me, there were several things I wanted to do; law enforcement, paramedic, swimmer. I could do it all if I really desired it. There was career stability, in a way, and some of what my heart craved; adventure. But I wanted to be the hero, finally, get out of my life that was out of control, and move into the position of "savior" of sorts.

I told no one this. Some of my friends knew I was considering it, but my Mom would have flipped out, thinking I was going to war. (That's not what the Coast Guard is about).

Finally, though, I discerned it was not for me and I went to college and proceeded to build a great resume then failed my real-life tests.

Yet a part of me has always wondered "what it"? What if I had joined the Coast Guard? Where would I be? Would I love it? I know there's no glamour; time and experience in my own chosen fields taught me that even before I graduated college. But it's one of those things I never did, and I joked last night with my brother that, now, in the face of my career woes, I'll just go do what I almost did so long ago...enlist in the Coast Guard.

No, I'm not serious. And I smile to consider "what if", the idealism of my past, the hope I had so long ago, and the reality the these people face every single day. Yeah, maybe if I could do it over I'd take that leap (right out of a helicopter into a huge storm and 30 foot waves!), but in the end, it wouldn't have been the right decision, either. Besides, I didn't know anyone in the Coast Guard...still don't. I'd have been even more out of my element there than I was in real life. And all that's really just an aside.

My point is not really to discuss law enforcement instructors or Coast Guard instructors, but rather, to point out that all of us can be "that" person to someone else. It was never that someone did anything HUGE for me; the things that helped me along and gave me confidence were, in and of themselves, very small. They were simple things, courtesy, everyday encouragement, everyday affirmation, not things that stand out as one momentous moment.

We never know who we affect. We don't necesarily know why God puts certain people in our lives, and what their roles are, and very often, it's not about how they affect us; it's how WE are called to serve THEM.

I thank God for the people and situations he's placed in my life. I thank God for the lessons they taught me; not so much with regard to the jobs, but rather, how to treat others, how to help others, and how to remember it's the small things in life that move the biggest mountains.