Under His Mighty Wing

He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the LORD, He is my refuge and my fortress; my God; in Him I will trust."
Ps 91:-1-2

My father once told me a story of a squadron of WWII fighter pilots. The commander, a devout Christian, had the men memorize Psalm 91—a beautiful poem of God’s promise of protection, His angels, and the fortress He provides His people against the perils of life. Every morning the men stood as a unit and recited the passage before climbing into their planes and flying off to fight. And as the story goes, not one of them was injured during the course of the war. Every man returned safely to his home.

That story changed my life…

*

"Kim, have you seen Dan?"

"No," my wife responded. "I thought he was with you."

I sighed and walked through the house calling my son’s name. I was used to it. Dan was a rascal. He was three years old, full of life, and we were late for church.

"Danny," I called. "Where are you, buddy?"

Silence.

I grunted, walked outside and called him again.

Nothing.

I trotted around the house shouting his name.

Still nothing.

"Dan?" I yelled. "Where are you?"

Panic gripped me.

"Kim," I shouted. "I can’t find him!"

My wife ran outside to join me and together we began a frantic search. Suddenly we heard a small voice. I ran to the side yard and saw him walking from our neighbor’s house. He held an apple in his hand and a huge smile on his face. "Look, Daddy."

"Dan," I said. "Where have you been?"

I picked him up and hugged him. I felt overjoyed. Relieved beyond words. My son was safe at home and that was all that mattered. We talked about it, of course. It was a short discussion, after all, he was only a child; but my father and I had another talk, and it wasn’t so short.

"Son," he said. "Listen to me. You won’t always be there to watch over Dan. He’s going to grow up, move out and have his own children, and someday, God forbid, no matter how much you pray for him, something bad could happen. That’s just life. You need to learn to trust the Lord."
And then he told me that story—the squadron…and Psalm 91.

"Do what those pilots did," he said. "Memorize it, and then let Dan go. God will watch over him."

That was twenty years ago. Kim and I have two sons now—Dan and Phillip. And they did grow up. And they ventured out. And today they’re healthy and happy and doing just fine. And to this day, I still murmur those precious words I memorized so long ago:

"Lord, hold them in the palm of your hand. Give your angels charge over them today, please. Cover them with your feathers that under your mighty wings they might trust."

*

I realize that life happens, and that despite my prayers, something could happen to one of my boys today, but I also know with certainty that if it should, my God will be watching over them at the time.

Is there someone you’re holding on to just a little too tight? Are you afraid, like I was, to let them go? Well don’t be afraid. Trust the Lord. Memorize Psalm 91 and recite it every day. Then let go. And if something should happen to your loved one, if tragedy strikes and they never do come home again, you’ll know in your heart that God was with them. They were covered by his feathers, tucked securely under the shelter of His mighty wing.

He is my refuge and my fortress; my God; in Him I will trust."

* * *

Fight for Position. Fight!

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Ps 23:1-4


Total loyalty. Total trust. Total dependence.

Every time I read Psalm 23 I imagine a flock of sheep fighting for position. They push, they struggle, each trying his best to draw close to the shepherd’s leg while an army of angry red eyes glares at them from the darkness. They hear vicious growling, angry pawing, and the relentless snarling of hungry creatures eager to tear at their soft pink flesh. But the flock remains safe. It grazes in perfect peace, totally aware of the dangers but secure in the knowledge that the shepherd is keeping watch, his rod and staff in hand.

What a beautiful image. No scripture encourages me more, but when I realize that it was written for me, about me, it fills me with understanding.

We are those sheep.

We live in a dangerous world, surrounded by terror. Evil men plot against us, to maim us, to kill us, and to destroy our way of life. Follow the world, stray off of God’s chosen path, and, in the end, we will be dragged down a road of destruction with the eternal darkness of hell at the end. Yes, death is all around us and it can strike at any moment. So what are we to do? Where is our shepherd? Who will raise his staff to fight on our behalf?

Do you know the answer?

*

Well this week as you remember the tragedy of 9/11, keep that question in mind, for on that terrible day seven years ago, 2,983 of our brothers and sisters felt the wolves’ teeth tear into their flesh. Evil attacked. And innocent people died.

A cruel picture? You bet it is, but it’s one we must never forget. And if we learn nothing else from their needless sacrifice, let us learn this: Like sheep, we are all vulnerable. We need a shepherd. We need salvation from this lost and dying world.

None of us knows when our time will come, no one knows the exact hour, so before you go to work tomorrow I want you to say a prayer. Ask the Lord Jesus Christ to walk into your life. He is the Great Shepherd. He’s our rock, our fortress against the dangers of this world. Just ask Him. He will gladly come in. And then, when the darkness closes in, when the killing wolves attack, draw as close to Him as you possibly can. Fight for position. Fight! And when your time comes—when it’s your turn to walk into that Valley of the Shadow of Death—your shepherd will be standing by your side. His rod and his staff, they will protect you!

*

In memory of the first responders who died that terrible day—the police officers, the firefighters, the EMT’s and the paramedics…

You didn’t realize when you went to work that morning that your life would be demanded of you, but you would have gone anyway. I know it! You were heroes, each and every one of you. Jesus said, "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." And that is exactly what you did. My God, what devotion! May God hold a special place in His Kingdom just for you. May you dwell in the shadow of the Almighty for all eternity, safe and secure in the Shepherd’s right hand.

* * *

I Couldn't Do It Without You

Just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. We have different gifts, according to the grace given us. Ro 12:4


I have a difficult job—jump when others call, wallow in their blood, manage life-threatening emergencies and occasionally save a life—and I’m proud of it. But my pride has its limits. I depend on others more than I’d like to admit. I could never do this job by myself. No way!

*

"Pat," Captain David Young shouted as I climbed from the ambulance. "You need to intubate him, dude. He’s crashing fast!"

I grabbed my trauma bag and started toward the scene. It looked bad, a Ford pickup wrapped around a tree, its front end crumpled in upon itself like aluminum foil.

"Bring your suction unit too," Young yelled. "He’s full of blood!"

I ran back, grabbed the necessary equipment, and trotted over. "Whatcha got?"

"It ain’t good," Young said. "He was leaning against the tailgate when the truck hit the tree. Flew into the back of the cab headfirst." Young pulled away a blood-soaked trauma dressing. Blood poured from a gash in the center of the victim’s head. He quickly recovered the wound and applied direct pressure. "Like I said, not good."

I climbed aboard the truck and gazed at the victim. His eyes looked lifeless. He breathed in short gurgling gasps.

"What’s his name," I murmured.

"Jose Gonzales," someone answered, "Why?"

"Never mind. Someone open his mouth." Young grabbed the victim’s head and forced open his jaw. I inserted a hard plastic catheter. "Okay," I said. "Turn it on." My partner hit the switch. A long line of bright red blood coursed up the tube. The catheter sucked and hissed, but I was unable to keep up with the steady stream of blood flowing into the mouth. I felt myself begin to panic. "We’re losing him. Help me!"

"What can I do?"

I handed Young the catheter.

"You suction…I’ll intubate."

And so, we did the job. My partner, the firefighters, all of us, we worked as a team. We suctioned. We intubated. We dressed the bleeding head wound and immobilized our patient. We did everything within our collective power to achieve the impossible, but I could tell by his injuries, I knew in my heart, Jose Gonzales was already gone.

*

I transported a young woman a few years later. She spoke of a bad wreck—pickup truck versus tree. She’d been the driver, her cousin, Jose, the victim.

"He almost died," she explained. "The impact threw him forward. He hit his head on the cab. "He lives on Holloway Street now. He’s—"

"Wait a minute," I said interrupting her. "What’s your cousin’s name?"

"Jose Gonzalez."

"Gonzalez?" I felt my eyes widen. "Are you telling me he’s alive?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "His fingers tingle a little, but he’s fine. The paramedics saved him."

*

It wasn’t just the paramedics who saved Jose Gonzales, it was the entire team. My hat goes off to the men on Engine-5, and to all of the other firefighters who work so tirelessly to make my job easier. They make a difference. They save lives. And sometimes, when we work together, we can even accomplish the impossible.

Thank you, guys. I couldn’t do it without you!

* * *

Welcome Home

Therefore, my brothers, be all the more eager to make your calling and election sure. For if you do these things, you will never fall, and you will receive a rich welcome into the eternal kingdom of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. 2Pe 1:10-11

It was powerful!

Bagpipes played as the horse drawn caisson rolled past an army of gray-clad Troopers. Upon its carriage deck lay a flag covered casket that held the body of an old friend of mine. A true warrior. A brother in Christ—Trooper 352: Andrew James Stocks, N.C. Highway Patrol. We called him A.J.

The Caisson moved quietly to the clicking hooves of six magnificent black creatures, well groomed horses in regal parade dress, one without rider to signify loss. The horses stopped. Six Troopers stepped forward and removed the casket. They marched quietly into the building and set it in a place of prominence in the front of the church. And the service was awe inspiring, a beautiful memorial to the life of a true first responder—A.J.: U.S. Marine-Crash Firefighter, N.C. Paramedic, N.C. Paramedic Instructor, U.S. Army Ordinance Soldier, and lastly, N.C. State Trooper. Yes, A.J. dedicated his entire career to the service of others. He lived so that others might live and, in the end, gave his life selflessly in the line of duty. He was and still is a true hero.

I felt myself jump at the offering of the twenty-one gun salute. Tears filled my eyes as I heard the bagpipes play and the peaceful closing hymns. But I felt my life change at the offering of the radio report that ended the service. A strong male voice came over the air. I felt confused. It surprised me.

"Raleigh, Troop C—"

Silence fell over the room. At first I thought it was a mistake, someone’s radio, a Trooper’s handheld crackling to life. But then it came again, crisp and clear, a strong voice from somewhere overhead.

"Troop C—"

Dead silence this time. It wasn’t a radio; it was a real dispatch going over the air for N.C. Troopers everywhere to hear.

"Troop C…Attention! Trooper 3-5-2 is 10-42."

10-42…Ending tour of duty.

A.J.’s work on earth was complete, and with that God moved him to his new home in heaven. I know he’s there because we talked about it. I asked him one day, "A.J., how can you know for sure?" And he answered, "Because Jesus Christ died for my sins."

So now A.J. has a new home, and oh, what a mansion! Can you imagine it? Built by God’s own hands? It must be marvelous. And Jesus said, "In my Father’s house are many rooms. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And I will come back and take you to be with me." He did too. Jesus came and got A.J. that day.

It was his last day on earth, his first day in heaven.

*

I believe A.J. would have been proud of his funeral. I know I was. But you know, something occurred to me as my wife and I walked away from the church. The N.C. Highway Patrol, A.J.’s family, the United States Army, and what, I’m sure, amounted to dozens of unnamed friends and volunteers who worked tirelessly to produce that service, had but three short days to do it. Three days! And look what they accomplished. It was the most touching, the most powerful service I have ever witnessed. So just think: Our God—the maker of all creation—has had an eternity to create our next home. Eternity! What will it be like? We can only imagine. But guess what, A.J. already knows. So wait for us there, A.J., we’ll be home soon enough. In the meantime, rest in peace, Trooper. And, welcome home!

* * *

True Warriors

Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective. Jas 5:16

It’s my routine. Leave the house, drive north 2.5 miles, and then hang a left. The highway is long and straight, and for fifteen miles I’m alone with my thoughts. I use that time to think. And to pray. "Help me to be a good paramedic. Please don’t let me hurt anyone tonight. And, Lord, please help me to be a gentleman."

I clocked in at 7:00 p.m. and right away the calls began. Tough calls. The kind that make me wonder why I still do this job? One patient lied to me, another one spit. A belligerent female cursed at me, blamed me for her plight in life and then outright accused me of racism. And the calls rolled on. I became exhausted, weary from the workload, frustrated by the onslaught of personal insults. But I handled myself well. Remained a gentleman.

Until 4:00 a.m…

I found the vehicle atop a grove of broken pines. Prickly vines tore at my skin as I climbed down the embankment and into her car. "Hello," I said scanning her for major injuries. "My name’s Pat. What’s yours?"

She sat in the front seat screaming, "Get me out of here."

"We will," I said. "But tell me, are you breathing okay? Are you hurt?"

"Get me out!"

I ignored the verbal stabs and continued my assessment—trauma victims sometimes speak irrationally, say things they don’t mean—but I found no major injuries, no reason for her to be so rude.

I explained the situation to her as the firefighters approached the car. She continued to fuss as they pulled open her door, continued to gripe as we immobilized her and carried her up the hill.

Uncooperative and difficult she abused me the whole way to the hospital, pulling at her bindings and yelling for me to cut her loose. I tried to remain patient, continued trying to help. I even stabilized her on a particularly rough section of road—grabbed her belt and held on tight to keep her from rolling as the truck rocked side to side—but she turned it into something else.

"Don’t you do it," she said her voice cold and threatening. "Don’t you do it!"

"Do it? Do what?" I said suddenly realizing her implication. "Are you serious? Are you accusing me of—"

I was shocked.

She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but I cut her off this time. I’d had enough!

"Shut up!"

"What?"

"I said, SHUT UP!"

And she did. She remained as passive as a lamb for the rest of the ride. But me? I marched into the ER angry as a hornet and left just as mad, a trail of verbal destruction in my wake. I got in trouble of course—the ER doc is still fuming.

*

Where did I go wrong? I prayed, didn’t I? I was only trying to help. What am I supposed to do when the whole world turns against me? Attacks me from every side? Well this morning something occurred to me—I need more than routine prayer. I need other Christians praying for me, true warriors who will lift me up every time I go to work.

So here’s a challenge: Call a friend. Ask them to pray for you. Promise to pray for them and do it. And always remember—the prayer of a righteous man is a powerful, effective weapon.

And do me a personal favor—please pray for me. Pray for my partner too. Tonight we go back out and face it all again. Ask God to help me to be a gentleman this time…regardless of what the night brings.

* * *