A Change of an Era

There have been many dates in history that have changed the lives of many.  That changed the way people think, the way they act, and even how people see each other.  On Sunday September 11^th, we remember and honor the victims and the hero’s of Ten Years ago.  Just like when President Kennedy was shot on that somber day, the people who lived at that time can tell you the very thing they were doing at the very hour and minute that it was announced.  Just like them, those of us who where there on that date, and for the weeks and the months after, have our memories.

                  Memories of the many peoples of all races, religions, and political divides that put aside their biases and differences to join the family that was meant to be by God, joined by one common goal, to help their neighbor.   There were also the memories of the faces of the people working there; tired, scared, desperate and unsure of what was next. Unsure if we would have another attack, even if we would survive this attack.   I remember the smoke rising to the sky where once the symbol of pride for a city stood.  I remember the sirens of the Fire Trucks blaring, and a tsunami of humans running towards safety for there was imminent danger of a building collapse.   I remember, when the all clear sounded the reverse wave of workers running just as fast to get back to digging in the hopes of finding survivors not thinking about the impending dangers as if amnesia set in.   I remember walking to the red zone standing 500 feet away, the eerie glow in the night and the heat that radiated was unreal.  I remember thinking; this is what Hell must be like, unsure, desolate and chaos.  I remember praying, because I knew that survival would have been impossible in the rubble and that fire.  I remember standing at attention when the loved ones passed by us to visit the hallowed ground for the first time and without bring attention to our group, moving the red bag that contained the body parts of a soul, behind me and under the ambulance so the family would not see it. 

I remember treating the burns on the feet of the construction workers, because the rubble was so hot that their shoes melted and still they worked on till the pain became more than they could bear.  I remember the mountains of medical equipment on each city corner that was never used because there was no one left alive in the rubble.  I remember One construction worker by the name of “Moose”, who worked all night and day digging, he drank two bottles of cold water quick, and I watched him collapse in pain with all his muscles contracting, he fought to get up but dehydration had him in its grips.  I remember it took four of us to get him in the ambulance and to the hospital because all he wanted to do was dig.    

I remember the pain and I remember the tragedy and I remember the love the people showed.  I remember learning new word like Radical Islam, Al Qaeda, Osama Bin Laden, and I remember the hate I felt.  I remember the flowers outside the gates of ground zero.  I remember the looks that people gave us as we drove out the gates to go home at night, and I remembered all those that wouldn’t, my co-workers and my friends. 

That day changed a nation, changed many that worked at that hallowed ground.  I lost my ability to dream that day, and like many struggles to even look at a picture of that day without feeling all the emotions of that day.  I remember the change of an era.      

A Former Self

Today at work, my last assignment was a routine transfer of a bed confined patient to a nursing facility for long term care.  The assignment was a no brainer and by comparison of what I deal with during my average day, an easy one. Go to the transferring Hospital, make sure the paperwork is in order, make sure the patient is stable for the transfer, move them to my stretcher and watch him, easy.

When they nurse handed me the paperwork I recognized the name, at first I thought it could be just another with the same name, like so many times before.  I have treated Martha Stewart, William Clinton, Benny Hill etc., but never the actual ones.  So I took the papers and walked into the room, at first glance, it didn’t seem possible that the person I was looking at was he.  The person I was looking at was frail, contracted legs that could no longer walk, nor dance.  The hands where shriveled and diminutive compared to the rest of the Man.  He was fed through a G-tube, and he had the familiar tremors of Parkinson’s.  His arms bandaged at the elbows, because of bed sores.  This could not be the man that had his character represented in a movie. This could not be the man who was the Welterweight title holder. The man who had a record of 112 total fights, 85 wins, 23 wins by K.O., 24 losses, 2 draws, and 1 No contest.  A champion of his time, and no stranger to controversy, which in one fight his opponent was killed in the ring.

The man before me frail, with a blank stare, with no motor function, suffering from Pugilistic Parkinson’s, was a modern day Gladiator who commanded respect in the ring and now is at the mercy of his caregivers for the most basic of needs.  His room in the nursing home had a few pictures of his former self reminding those who may glance in, who he once was.  I felt pity, I felt sorrow, and I was overwhelmed by grief.  The only thing I could think of when I placed him into his Nursing Home bed was, has he ever accepted Jesus?  I have read about his life, his accomplishments and his recurring forty years of nightmares reliving the moment when his opponent died by his hand.  Some speculate he killed him because of rage. Forty years of nightmares can only tell me he never forgave himself, though he tried to make amends with his opponent’s family.  So I prayed for him silently, that our lord and Savior will give him peace, and grant him mercy. I can only imagine how a strong commanding man humbled by the very essence of his chosen career feels as he is lying in bed cognitive of his surroundings, because Pugilistic Parkinson’s can only occur if you’re a Boxer. 

Do we take into account what our actions in life may cause forty years from now?  The Positive or Negatives in our decision making is very important, not only to us but to those around us.   What will our future selves say about our former self?  Will we be just a few pictures on the nursing home wall, or could we shine so bright, in such a way that even if no one remembers who we were, we will be a light to future generations?  

What will your future self look like?

I Wonder What Would Have Happened If?

I wonder what would have happen if God didn’t speak?

I wonder what would have happen if God didn’t create?

I wonder what would have happen if Man obeyed God in Eden?

I wonder what would have happen if God didn’t love his children?

I wonder what would have happen if Abraham didn’t have Faith?

I wonder what would have happen if Moses chose not to lead because it meant change?

I wonder what would have happen if David wasn’t Brave?

I wonder what would have happen if Joseph backed out in Betrothing Mary?

I wonder what would have happen if Jesus didn’t come?

I wonder what could have happen if the Disciples declined the great commission because it meant hardship?

I wonder what would have happen if Saul didn’t become Paul?

I wonder what would have happen if the first church didn’t have Faith and “BOLDNESS”?

I wonder what would have happen if the “Reformation” didn’t happen?

I wonder what would happen if God came first before, feelings, concerns, hardships, and pride?

I wonder what would Happen if Love really meant LOVE?

I wonder what would, could, and Can happen if we talked to each other?

A Seers Vision of Wondering Family

Alone I drifted from house to house calling none home.  Promises and religion and boring sermons I listen to, but, unable to grasp and cling to a message. Then though a phone call during worship, I heard the blare of and electric guitar and voices singing.  The next week I had to see for myself, as Tim made his Guitar sing, as Jonathan followed with his Base, Laura made the keyboards dance as music filled the air.  The women danced and waved flags and screams of praised filled the air, not church that I knew, strange as it was, I was compelled to come back.    That Sunday things were different, a different twist to the music, more of a folk 60’s style, an angelic voice who made my soul melt and my spirit tremble, where the Angels of heaven joined in harmony to praise the Almighty.  I found a house I can inhabit for a while.  There was no Religion, there was no judgment, and there was no arrogance, everyone true to how they are, No Church Faces that I can see. 

                I spent some time studying the members, strange group of people but, I can relate, I have spent my religious life wanting MORE, Hungry, in search of wisdom, understanding, to Know who God is.  I wanted answers and received none.  I wanted to be counted but, I was only a number.  I had no importance under heaven, but yet I felt since my childhood a calling,  I found it odd that I could at time see the unseen, and know events to happen, not like a fortune teller, or a psychic claim to read the future, I just knew, couldn’t answer why or how, I JUST knew.  This group had similar things going on, there are intercessors whose prayers could move mountains, there are worshipers whose music and song was lifted to heaven and even the angels praises fell silent so the almighty can hear the song of his children, there are those who interpret the metaphoric dreams of Gods message, and there are those whose kind words heals the broken soul and lifts the spirit.  Every individual was a well oiled piece of the complex machine that they called family.  All are necessary I learned for this family to be united and work for the glory of God, but I still was an Outsider living in someone’s home.  I was welcomed but, still an outsider. 

                Change of time happened and what I thought was a well oiled machine was human in nature; there was feeling of betrayal and loss of Hope.  The hand of God was lifting was the consensus I felt.  I knew it was only the accuser testing and prying, to bring judgment and separation.  I knew.  But my gift was nothing compared to the ones around me. I am but a child learning to walk.  How do I fit?  I’m an outsider to this family.  I am abrupt in my mannerisms, crude in my speech, fast to react, and not easy to express my thoughts.  How do I HELP heal the pain?   Why do I feel like I need to be here?

                A few years passed and I was called to a higher position in the church.  Confusion set in and took some time to pray and ask why me?  Why me, when there have been members there from the beginning of the establishment of this church, whose children grew up in this church, this family.

Some have dreams, others hear, I knew.  I knew that I now belonged to a family, broken, in need of healing, in need of self-esteem, in need of answers.  Listen, observe, and heal.  In my daily life, I am a paramedic, I have to assess, diagnose and treat aggressively, I have to know, be right, or my patient suffers or dies.  Every person is important, every gift has its place, every member has their dream, and together we glorify the Name of God and in turn we become better to ourselves, our families, and our friends thus becoming an example.

                Now I know what my purpose is as the “Outsider Looking In”.   You know what your purpose is in this family called Christianity, and the Home that was built.  

Love, Peace and Grace of our Father be yours.