Do You Believe This?

Jesus said, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?" Jn 11:25-26

I can’t believe it!

Another year has come to an end. And in a couple of days, if you’re like most people, you’ll be asking yourself this question: How did I do? Well if you find yourself down, full of regrets and depressed by the realization that you once again missed the mark, relax, you’ll soon get a chance to do it all over again. Most of us will anyway…

"Medic-seven," the dispatcher said. "Cardiac arrest."

My heart still skips a beat every time I hear those words. Cardiac arrest means someone else’s heart has stopped beating, and the way I respond, the way I function and hold it all together may be the determining factors as to whether that victim lives or dies. We call it a code. It’s actually one of the most well rehearsed calls a paramedic ever runs, a scenario we practice over and over and over again to perfection, but somehow it always seems to produce the same effects: mild tachycardia, sweaty palms, and a feeling of impending doom followed by a few moments of controlled fury as we feverishly struggle to save another person’s life. But this time there was nothing my partner and I could do.

"A ninety-two year old female," the dispatcher continued. "Not breathing."

My partner entered the address into the GPS unit. I hit the gas. We made excellent time weaving through traffic and arrived on scene only four minutes after the dispatch, but it wasn’t soon enough. Our patient was already gone. She lay on the floor beside her bed with no sign of life. Her eyes, frosty and opaque, painted a picture of recent death. Her heart made not a sound. No rigor mortis gripped her limbs, but it was easy to see she was dead. Any resuscitation attempt would be futile.

"And right before Christmas," I murmured. "How sad."

We returned to base feeling a little blue. I backed the truck into the bay at Station-2 and was just about to climb out of it when we received another call similar to the first, only this time the victim was much younger. Only four months old. We found her lying in bed, her tiny limbs stiff and cool, her skin a sickening shade of blue.

I felt my heart break. I glanced at the young family standing on the other side of the room. I wanted to say something to them but couldn’t think of the words. On the children’s faces I saw shocked innocence, and on their mother’s unimaginable pain. A bright Christmas tree glowed in the corner of the room but it seemed to lack the luster it might have just hours earlier, before death entered their home robbing them of Christmas joy.

*

The loss of these two fragile lives should serve as a grim reminder to us that death is inevitable. And no man knows when his time will come. So I have a question for you: Are you ready to die? Do you know where you will spend eternity? Death can come at any moment and will eventually visit us all, so don’t let another year go by. Make it your New Year’s resolution to consider this: Jesus said, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?"

I do! Christ came to bring everlasting life, and now death is just the beginning. Yeah, I believe. I hope that you will too.

* * *

A Child Is Born

"For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given; and the government shall be on his shoulder; and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace." Isaiah 9:6

"Hey, I know you!" I stared at the woman trying to make a connection. She looked vaguely familiar to me, standing in the booking area of the police station with handcuffs about her wrists, but I couldn’t place her face. "You delivered my baby," she said as the arresting officer removed the cuffs. "Six months ago in the elevator? Remember?"

And suddenly I did remember. Oh, how I remembered…

The house was cluttered. Dingy and hot. A drunk, heavyset male lay passed out on the living room floor. She lay by his side in the middle of the room cursing, her knees apart, her swollen belly exposed. "How far along are you?" I asked kneeling to begin my assessment.

"Don’t touch me," she shouted. "Just take me to the hospital!"

"Relax, I’m only here to help."

"Well I don’t want your help, I just want a ride!"

Her face drew up tight. She took a breath and held it. Her cheeks turned red. And then suddenly, as if releasing the energy of an internal explosion, a loud cry burst forth. She moaned and screamed and panted and cried until the contraction eased. Then she sat there panting, angry and belligerent. And the rest of the call was pretty much the same. She griped and complained all the way to the hospital, fussing about her treatment in life and all of the bad things people had done to her. "I deserve better," and on, and on, and on.

I ignored her vulgar language and pulled together the equipment for a complicated delivery, all the time praying for the baby yet to be born. We backed into the ambulance bay. My partner opened the doors. We wheeled her inside the hospital and entered the elevator that would take us upstairs to Labor & Delivery. Another contraction gripped her. Tore her at the seams. "It’s coming," she screamed as the elevator began to rise. "Oh God, it’s out!"

I lifted the sheet and saw a small baby boy lying on the stretcher between her legs—small and blue and slippery looking…and still.

I picked him up and toweled him off and suctioned his mouth and nose, then vigorously rubbed his tiny back to stimulate respiration. He gasped and took a breath, then began to cry and pink up. I felt an excitement one can only understand upon having witnessed the arrival of new life. But my heart sank a few moments later. The doctor told me the mother had confessed to smoking crack—that night! Well no wonder he’s premature, I thought, so small, depressed, and unprepared for life.

I left the hospital with a sick feeling in my stomach. "That poor child," I said. "He doesn’t have a chance."

*

I can’t help but wonder: what kind of life will he have? Will he delve into alcohol and drugs like his mother? Join a gang? Kill or be killed? Well when I think of his birth, and the circumstances surrounding his untimely delivery, I am reminded of another poor baby born in a lonely stable in Bethlehem, before hospitals, before medical care. I mean, who would have thought he had a chance? And yet on that first Christmas morning two thousand years ago, with cattle lowing and shepherds keeping watch, a wonderful event occurred: A child was born, and unto us a son was given.

I believe in Christmas, the day eternal life entered the world. In Christmas I find hope, for the lowly, for the down and out, and for those born under the worst possible conditions. So please join me in praying for a baby boy who was born in an elevator six-months ago this week. In the eyes of the world, he doesn’t have much of a chance. But then, this is Christmas. And unto that small baby boy, a savior was born—Jesus Christ. The Lord.

***

We Need A Revival

I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes… Ro 1:16

Someone needs to tell these kids. They’re all gonna die…

"Medic-7," the dispatcher announced. "We’ve got a subject shot!" I grabbed my stethoscope and headed for the ambulance. Colorful images flashed through my mind as I climbed into the passenger seat. The dispatcher continued her voice high and sharp. "A teenaged male shot once in the head. Police officer on the scene requesting Code-3 response. Code-3."

"10-4," my partner responded jumping behind the wheel. "Medic-7 en route."

I tried to calm myself as we hurried to the scene. Relax. You’ve been a medic a good long time. Surely by now you’ve seen it all. But as we pulled onto Hopkins Street and arrived on the scene, I felt my stomach tighten. My palms began to sweat. There’s just something unsettling about a young man with a bullet hole in the side of his head, his life blood spilling out all over the ground and a dangerous crowd pressing in on you demanding you get to work.

There was nothing we could do of course. He was already dead. But for the sake of our own skins and the fact that we were standing on their turf and outnumbered about a hundred to one, we made a good show of it. Loaded him up and moved to the truck assuring the angry crowd we would do our best to save him. Once clear of the scene, however, my partner killed the lights and sirens and slowed down to normal traffic. I stared into the victim’s lifeless eyes trying to guess his age. Eighteen years old, maybe? Nineteen? Oh, Lord, what a waste.

"Duke ER," I said keying the radio mike. "I’m sorry but we’re bringing you a corpse. Another gang member. There’s nothing we can do."

*

What in the world is happening out there? It’s like warfare. The gang situation in our cities has never been worse. Drugs, robbery, murder—they’re as common on our streets as rain. And I often find myself angry, craving righteous revenge. After all, those kids are killers. Punks! We should just put ‘em all away and be done with them, right?

Well that might be the thing to do if we had nothing more to offer them, but we do.

This is Christmas. The time we celebrate Jesus—the light of the world. And I can personally attest to that light. If it weren’t for him I would be lost, living in darkness, with no hope for the future and no idea which way to go. But thank God for Jesus Christ, and for the people who cared enough to lead me his way. He saved my life. And if he can do it for me, he can do it for them. So it occurs to me, why don’t we tell them about Jesus too?

Now I realize that gangs are here to stay. I’m not naïve enough to believe they’ll disappear. Shootings will still occur. People will always die. But sending those kids to prison, just locking them away, that won’t solve the problem. And one thing is certain: they will never know the truth if no one tells them. So I think it’s time for a revival. Time to stop talking and start acting. The gospel of Christ is the power of God unto salvation. Are we using it? Are you? Let’s take our streets captive for Jesus. Take the gospel out there and see what God can do.

*

Please join me in praying for a revival in the city where I work. Pray that God will organize a group of people with a burden for the gangs. Pray for power and protection. Pray for opportunity. And pray that when the time comes we might find the courage to risk it all for Christ.

Lord, we need a revival. Every one of these kids is going to die. Send someone to tell them before it’s too late. Send someone soon!

* * *

Rejoice! It's Christmas!

For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord. Ro 6:23

Oh, Lord, I thought, why now? It’s Christmas…

Larry’s compressions were perfect. Two inches deep, a hundred a minute, right out of the book. John had the airway under control, an endotracheal tube in place, properly secured and ventilated. My partner, Warren, started the IV and handed me drugs. Epinephrine. Atropine. I pushed them into the IV line, delivering just the right amount to stimulate the old man’s heart. In all it was a perfect code, an organized attempt to save a human life, and it couldn’t have gone any better, but deep inside I knew it was futile. He wasn’t going to make it.

"I don’t know," I said shaking my head. "This just isn’t working. I think it’s time to stop." I glanced at Warren. "What do you think?"

"No," a voice behind me said. "Don’t stop! C’mon, daddy," the young woman cried. "You can do it!"

I glanced around me at my patient’s family, a wife and three grown children. Their cries of support, the hope I saw on their faces, it all just about broke my heart. We’d done everything right, run a perfect code in the middle of their living room—a beautiful home decorated with Christmas tree and lights—but a flat green line still traced across the ECG screen. It painted a picture of finality, a portrait of hopelessness and death.

"It’s Christmas, dad. You can’t leave us now!"

"Honey, stay with us. We need you here."

I felt my eyes well up. I shook my head. "It’s no use," I murmured. "He’s already had three rounds of epi and atropine. One of bicarb. Pacemaker won’t capture…"

I glanced at the family again. I could feel their pain. But as I considered my protocol I knew what I had to do.

"Larry," I said with a sigh. "Hold compressions."

I placed my fingertips against the old man’s neck. Larry paused and took a much-needed breather. I squinted and stared at the cardiac monitor hoping to detect a sign of life—a blip, a pulse, any indication that my patient’s heart had responded to treatment—but I couldn’t. The thin green line continued its lonely trek across the screen. My fingers felt nothing but cool dry skin beneath them. No pulsation. No warmth. No life.

I glanced at Larry and shook my head.

"You can stop."

Then I stood and faced the family.

"Folks—"

I took a deep breath. A fist-sized lump threatened to close my throat.

"I’m so sorry…"

*

It’s hard to lose a loved one, especially this time of year when our thoughts turn homeward and old memories of Christmas fill us with hope and joy. But there’s never a convenient time. Death always seems to surprise us. It’s so final, and at times seems so unfair. So what’s a family to do when they face such terrible loss? Where can they find peace? Where’s the hope?

Well this year as you enter the holiday season, remember there is hope. Even in death, real hope. That’s what Christmas is all about, a new beginning. Life. You see if we were all perfect, totally obedient to God, we wouldn’t need a savior. But we’re not perfect. The Bible says we have all sinned. And with sin comes darkness. Death.

Sounds pretty bleak, huh?

Well if that were the end of the story it would be, but it’s not. For two thousand years ago God sent us hope, a way back into His presence where we all truly belong. And His plan was revealed through the birth of a child, His son—Jesus Christ.

*

Yes we have all sinned. And we will each take our turn at death. It’s inevitable. No one can escape it. But don’t fear, for you have been given the greatest gift of all—Jesus Christ. He was born. He’s still here today. And in him you can find life. And peace. And hope.

So rejoice. Be of good cheer. It’s Christmas!

* * *

Coolest of the Cool

"Boldly and without hindrance he preached the kingdom of God and taught about the Lord Jesus Christ." Acts 28:31

I couldn’t believe it! He was my hero. The coolest of the cool. Warlord of the most vicious gang of teenagers that ever roamed the streets of New York, and he was coming to my hometown. I had to see him! It was a teenaged boy’s dream come-true.

I had read his book several times, at least to the point where he became a Christian, but I never ventured past that page; I just wasn’t interested. But what I didn’t realize at the innocent age of 13 was that God was interested in me. He had a plan for my life and it all seemed to begin the day I first picked up that paperback book—Run Baby, Run.

“Nicky Cruz? He’s coming to town?”

“Yeah,” my sister said. “You wanna go?”

“Are you kidding? Yes!”

I felt wild with anticipation. Something thrilling was about to happen. I put on my coolest denim jacket and boots, slid a fake switchblade knife into my pants pocket, and followed my sister downtown.

The auditorium was packed. A feeling of intensity gripped the room. And then suddenly I saw him. He walked to the podium. I gazed in utter amazement. He was everything I had imagined and more, solid, tough looking and scarred with a no-nonsense approach that thrilled me to the core. I couldn’t believe I was actually looking at him.

Nicky Cruz!

And then he started to talk. He spoke of the ghetto, and of switchblades, and of zip guns and chains and blood. Of girls, of killing, of drinking and fighting and drugs. His story came to life. Filled me with wonder and awe. But as he continued to speak and shared the rest of the story that I had avoided so many times—of the skinny preacher who walked into Brooklyn and boldly shared the gospel that had forever changed his life—something happened to me. I began to feel a deep yearning, an emptiness that longed to be filled. And whatever it was that tough Puerto Rican kid had found after so many years of fighting and running from God—I wanted it.

“Jesus,” Nicky exclaimed. “He saved me. He can save you too!”

The service drew to a close. He gave the altar call. I inched forward with a hundred other people. I didn’t even know why. But as I made my way to the foot of the stage and gazed into his eyes something remarkable happened.

“Did you do it?” my sister asked me. “Did you pray to receive Christ?”

“Me?” I said, coolly shaking my head. “Nah, I just wanted to see what Nicky looked like. He was cool!”

But you know the truth—I did do it. I bowed my head and prayed. I asked Jesus Christ to come into my heart, and since that night my life has never been the same.

*

Fifty years ago a bold young preacher walked into Brooklyn and risked his life to share his faith with the gangs, and a boy named Nicky Cruz responded. And the night Nicky came to my hometown, I responded too. Now what about you? Have you met the Lord Jesus? Have you responded to his call? If not, don’t waste another day. Get down on your knees tonight and invite Christ into your life. Take it from a man who knows—from a naïve teenaged boy who responded almost forty years ago—you’ll be glad you did!

*

Dear Nicky, God used you to ignite a fire in my heart. Then Jesus did the rest. I thank God for your boldness. I thank God for you. Happy Birthday! You are still the coolest of the cool! --Pat Patterson

Learn more about Nicky Cruz and his outreach at http://nickycruz.org/