“Here comes the sirens.”
I was parked directly below the red light, waiting my turn to battle traffic on US 301. With 6 days until Christmas, schools were out and shoppers and snow birds efficiently filled empty spots on the roads. Christmas music tickled the air, drifting from a nearby car. Open windows allowed Florida’s enviable weather into the confines of our truck.
The boys’ chattering broke off as the sound of the sirens expanded.
“Look, a fire truck.” Chase’s voice.
The boys have grown accustomed to my agitation when cars don’t clear a path for an emergency vehicle’s approach. Apathy toward ambulances and fire trucks is a gigantic pet peeve of mine, and I sighed gratefully as cars quickly moved out of the fire truck’s way.
Sometimes drivers honestly don’t notice the flashing lights and blaring sirens, but other times it appears a lack of respect for the seriousness of the situation.
Someone’s life is most likely at stake. Move, people, move, I often say with gritted teeth.
I was in the middle of praying when one of the boys asked, “Did you pray?” Of course it was Chase.
I hold onto the sweet sound of Chase’s voice, my memory reversing a few years. December 2006. It isn’t pleasant. Chase, 9 months old…a sudden, spiked fever, frighteningly pale skin and bluish lips. Limp, dazed, so different from his usual animated self.
I can picture Trevor cradling him, gently squeezing, trying to revive our second son while stroking his hot skin. My husband’s perpetual calm breaking as he glances at me with fear in his eyes.
Adrenaline kicked in – my mind races then stills. Options…too late for Tylenol? Cold bath? Should I call 9-1-1?
I called. Moments after hanging up with the 9-1-1 operator, Chase threw up and the strange trance that held him hostage broke. I reveled in his crying and physical straining. It was normal.
Thank you Lord for normal.
So soon, I heard them. The sirens, coming for us. Moments later three blue-clad, equipment-laden angels burst through our front door. My heart filled with such relief and joy at the sight of those large, shiny black boots on our berber carpet.
“When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceedingly great joy.” ~ Matthew 2:10
It was a febrile seizure, the doctor later said, which – praise the Lord – never occurred again. But it’s that dark experience I remember when I hear the sirens cry out for others in need. And I pray for the people who need that emergency vehicle and who are desperate to see those shiny black boots. I pray those boots make it in time and that travelers on the road see and hear the life-saving vehicles.
But I still wonder about those lights…bright, revolving lights. How can people not see them? And how can people not hear the piercing siren? Don’t they realize how important they are?
Someone’s life is most definitely at stake. Move, people, move.
It’s Christmastime. As we wrap presents and shop and bake cookies and spend time with family, I desperately want people to move. Move toward the shining Star, the Child Who was born to serve and born to save…born to die in our place, for our sin. The Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.
“For we have seen His star in the East and have come to worship Him.” ~ Matthew 2:2
Christmas is a season of the heart, a season layered snugly with warm coats and warmer memories. Yet in the busyness and amidst earthly trappings of materialism, we lose sight of the Reason we celebrate. Jesus is the Bright and Morning Star, the soul-piercing Voice calling us out of our wilderness.
Move, people, move. Move toward the Star.
“And we declare to you glad tidings – that promise which was made to the fathers. God has fulfilled this for us their children, in that He has raised up Jesus…and by Him everyone who believes is justified from all things which you could not be justified by the law of Moses.” ~ Acts 13:32-33, 39