Am I A Fireman Yet?

He that saith he abideth in him ought himself also so to walk, even as he walked.

1 John 2:6

In Phoenix , Arizona , a 26-year-old mother stared down at her 6 year old son, who was dying of terminal leukemia. Although her heart was filled with sadness, she also had a strong feeling of determination. Like any parent, she wanted her son to grow up & fulfill all his dreams. Now that was no longer possible. The leukemia would see to that. But she still wanted her son's dream to come true. She took her son' s hand and asked,Billy, did you ever think about what you wanted to be once you grew up?Did you ever dream and wish what you would do with your life? Mommy, 'I always wanted to be a fireman when I grew up. Mom smiled back and said, 'Let's see if we can make your wish come true. Later that day she went to her local fire Department in Phoenix , Arizona , where she met Fire man Bob, who had a heart as big as Phoenix . She explained her son's final wish and Asked if it might be possible to give her 6 year-old son a ride around the block on a fire engine. Fireman Bob said, 'Look, we can do better than that. If you'll have your son ready at seven o'clock Wednesday morning, we'll make him an honorary Fireman for the whole day. He can come down to the fire station, eat with us, go out on all the fire calls, the whole nine yards! And if you'll give us his sizes, we'll get a real fire uniform for him, with a real fire hat - not a toy -- one-with the emblem of the Phoenix Fire Department on it, a yellow slicker like we wear and rubber boots. 'They're all manufactured right here in Phoenix so we can get them fast.' Three days later Fireman Bob picked up Billy,dressed him in his uniform and escorted him from his hospital bed to the waiting hook and ladder truck. Billy got to sit on the back of the truck and help steer it back to the fire station. He was in heaven. There were three fire calls in Phoenix that day and Billy got to go out on all three calls. He rode in the different fire engines, the Paramedic's' van, and even the fire chief's car.He was also videotaped for the local news program. Having his dream come true, with all the love and attention that was lavished upon him, so deeply touched Billy, that he lived three months longer than any doctor thought possible. One night all of his vital signs began to dr op dramatically and the head nurse, who believed in the hospice concept - that no one should die alone, began to call the family members to the hospital. Then she remembered the day Billy had spent as a Fireman, so she called the Fire Chief and asked if it would be possible to send a fireman in uniform to the hospital to be with Billy as he made his transition.The chief replied, 'We can do better than that. We'll be there in five minutes. Will you please do me a favor? When you hear the sirens screaming and see the lights flashing, will you announce over the PA system that there is not a fire?' 'It's the department coming to see one of its finest members one more time. And will you open the window to his room?' About five minutes later a hook and ladder truck arrived at the hospital and extended its ladder up to Billy's third floor open window--------16 fire-fighters climbed up the ladder into Billy's room. With his mother's permission, they hugged him and held him and told him how much they LOVED him.

Author Unknown

Orchard Of Heaven

Thy plants are an orchard of pomegranates, with pleasant fruits; camphire, with spikenard,
Song of Solomon 4:1

My younger son, Lance, and I walk out to the back of the house to the orchard one Sunday afternoon.

As we walk, so many memories come back to me. We planted apple, pear, and peach trees in the orchard.

More husband enjoyed walking out there everyday, and sometimes the boys walked with us.

He was a big teaser. He always teased the boys about how the trees were growing. "We'll soon have fruit on them," he picked. Well, being impatient little boys, they checked everyday. After checking everyday, they realized the trees would have to get along bigger before they bore fruit. So they learned that trees have to be taken care, and that it takes time, quite a bit of time, especially, to a 9 and 11 year old to mature. In time, the trees began to bear fruit.

My husband enjoyed going to the orchard to reflect and pray. He also enjoyed sharing his fruit with others. One tree in particular he called a Myrtle tree. He called it that after my mother's love for June apples. My mother was always informed first when the tree was ready for picking. He would gather her up a basket so she could make her famous apple preserves, right behind her famous pear preserves.

My father loved to eat the bounty my husband brought as gifts. Always this was a special time for my family to share in a harvest.

But as time went on I lost my mother, then father, and then my husband. Though they are gone, the orchard trees they loved still stand, and every season they bear fruit. I like to walk the old orchard paths and reminiscence. Walking the old paths gives me the assurance of where they are now. My boys, daughter in law, and grandchildren and I will walk with them again, on a celestial path, beside the crystal sea that feeds the orchard of heaven.

by

Louise Gargus

Wet Pants

Ointment and perfume rejoice the heart: so doth the sweetness of a man's friend ..

Proverbs 27:9

Come with me to a third grade classroom..... There is a nine-year-old kid sitting at his desk and all of a sudden, there is a puddle between his feet and the front of his pants are wet. He thinks his heart is going to stop because he cannot possibly imagine how this has happened. It's never happened before, and he knows that when the boys find out he will never hear the end of it. When the girls find out, they'll never speak to him again as long as he lives. The boy believes his heart is going to stop; he puts his head down and prays this prayer, 'Dear God, this is an emergency! I need help now! Five minutes from now I'm dead meat.' He looks up from his prayer and here comes the teacher with a look in her eyes that says he has been discovered. As the teacher is walking toward him, a classmate named Susie is carrying a goldfish bowl that is filled with water. Susie trips in front of the teacher and inexplicably dumps the bowl of water in the boy's lap. The boy pretends to be angry, but all the while is saying to himself, 'Thank you, Lord! Thank you, Lord!' Now all of a sudden, instead of being the object of ridicule, the boy is the object of sympathy. The teacher rushes him downstairs and gives him gym shorts to put on while his pants dry out. All the other children are on their hands and knees cleaning up around his desk. The sympathy is wonderful. But as life would have it, the ridicule that should have been his has been transferred to someone else - Susie. She tries to help, but they tell her to get out. You've done enough, you klutz!' Finally, at the end of the day, as they are waiting for the bus, the boy walks over to Susie and whispers, 'You did that on purpose, didn't you?' Susie whispers back, 'I wet my pants once too.'

Between The Lines

Holding his hands in mine I ask him,"Which hand do you want to use?" "Left," he says. So I clutch his left one, while trying to shape it in the right way to hold his crayon. Guiding his hand across the paper I try to help him keep between the lines. He's grown so much in three years. No longer looking like a baby, but like his mother's little man. He has his moments, as all children do at that age. Overall he has a good heart like his mom. He looks up at me and grins that mischevous grin. "No, let me lead your hand, son," I say. Still feels strange calling someone son, when that's what I had been called for so long.
Life's roles change so quickly though. The father has a son and then the son becomes the father. Time waits for no man, I know. It doesn't seem that long ago to me I was sitting on my dad's lap coloring. Saying almost the exact same things that once was spoken to me. How funny to consider the way I speak, and even the way I hold my head reminds me of him.
Now my son looks to me for guidance. He tries to follow my footsteps. "God help me, help my stupid self," comes to mind at the very thought of someone following me. My path isn't straight, more like one step forward, two to the left, five to the right, three back, and then right on my face.
Never have been much of a leader. And being a father scares me to death. Every move I make for better or worse is scrutinized by young eyes.
What dark blue eyes he has, too. He's always looking for an opportunity to show love to someone. The first hint from a person that they are going to be receptive to him, he's off. Arms wide open and always with a kiss on the cheek, he comes. One lady, at a restaurant, upon recieving one of his classic hugs, remarked,"Wouldn't it be great if we all could love like that?" How right she is. A child's love like that is unconditional. Maybe there is some part of me, long forgotten by me, at his core. It could be, like I referenced earlier, his mom's caring heart. I like to think the latter.
Looking at the clock I see it's time for me to go to work. "Gotta go, buckaroo," comes my good bye. "But, I'll miss you," is his reply. Now what I can say to that except choke up. "I'll miss you, too." He holds on a little tighter, laying his head on my shoulder. Boy, I tell you, it's hard to put him down after that. I hand him to my wife. And with a kiss good bye I leave.
Backing out of the driveway he waves, another moment in my memories. Oh, how fleeting are those moments. What kind of impact am I making in his life? Will I be able to keep between the lines to lead him?
I bow my head,"Father, oh Father, how can I lead, when I don't even know where this road leads in the end?"
Feeling a hand on mine as I hold the steering wheel, my answer comes. The answer comes in a voice so simple and low. The voice is from so long ago. Learning to drive my father said,"It's a long, narrow road. Only the good Lord knows where it leads in the end, but you've got to begin. Don't worry, if you need me, I'll help you keep it between the lines." And so life begins again, as my soul searching continues between the lines. The lines are God and us, and between them is Jesus. (For there is one God, and one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus; 1 Timothy 2:5)by
Lance Gargus