Romans 13:1-4, "Let every soul be subject unto the
higher powers. For there is no power but of God: the powers that be are ordained
of God. 2 Whosoever therefore resisteth the power, resisteth the ordinance of God:
and they that resist shall receive to themselves damnation. 3 For rulers are not a
terror to good works, but to the evil. Wilt thou then not be afraid of the power? do that
which is good, and thou shalt have praise of the same: 4 For he is the minister of God
to thee for good. But if thou do that which is evil, be afraid; for he beareth not the
sword in vain: for he is the minister of God, a revenger to execute wrath upon him
that doeth evil."
Well, Mr. Citizen, it seems you've figured me out. I seem to fit neatly into the category where you've placed me. I'm stereotyped, standardized, characterized, classified, grouped, and always typical. Unfortunately, the reverse is true I can never figure you out.
From birth you teach your children that I'm the bogeyman, then you're shocked when they identify with my traditional enemy ... the criminal!
You accuse me of coddling criminals......until I catch your kids doing wrong.
You may take an hour for lunch and several coffee breaks each day, but point me out as a loafer for having one cup.
You pride yourself on your manners, but think nothing of disrupting my meals with your troubles.
You raise hell with the guy who cuts you off in traffic, but let me catch you doing the same thing and I'm picking on you. You know all the traffic laws...but you've never gotten a single ticket you deserve.
You shout "foul" if you observe me driving fast to a call, but raise the roof if I take more than ten seconds to respond to your complaint. You call it part of my job if someone strikes me, but call it police brutality if I strike back.
You wouldn't think of telling your dentist how to pull a tooth or your doctor how to take out an appendix, yet your always willing to give me pointers on the law.
You talk to me in a manner that would get you a bloody nose from anyone else, but expect me to take it without batting an eye. You yell something's got to be done to fight crime, but you can't be bothered to get involved.
You have no use for me at all, but of course it's OK if I change a flat for your wife, deliver your child in the back of the patrol car, or perhaps save your son's life with mouth to mouth breathing, or work many hours overtime looking for your lost daughter.
So, Mr. Citizen, you can stand there on your soapbox and rant and rave about the way I do my work, calling me every name in the book, but never stop to think that your property, family, or maybe even your life depends on me or one of my buddies.
Yes, Mr. Citizen, it's me...the lousy cop!
The author of this article was Trooper Mitchell Brown of the Virginia State Police. He was killed in the line of duty two months after writing the article.
When God Made Paramedics
When the Lord made Paramedics. he was into His sixth day of overtime when an Angel appeared and said: "You're doing a lot of fiddling around on this one." And the Lord said, "have you read the specs on this order?"
"A Paramedic has to be able to carry an injured person up a wet grassy hill in the dark, dodge stray bullets to reach a dying child unarmed, enter homes the health inspector wouldn't touch, and not wrinkle his uniform."
"He has to be able to lift 3 times his own weight, crawl into wrecked cars with barely enough room to move, and console a grieving mother as he is doing CPR on a baby he knows will never breath again."
"He has to be in top mental condition at all times, running on no sleep, black coffee and half eaten meals. And he has to have six pairs of hands." The Angel shook her head slowly and said," Six pairs of hands... no way."
"It's not the hands that are causing me the problem," said the Lord. "It's the three pairs of eyes a Medic has to have." "That's the standard model?" asked the Angel/ The Lord nodded, "One pair that sees the open sores as he's drawing blood and asks the patient if they may be HIV positive, when he already knows, and wishes he had taken that accounting job. Another pair in the side of his head for his partner's safety, and another pair here in the front that can look reassuringly at a bleeding victim and say 'you'll be all right ma'am...' when he knows it isn't so."
"Lord, said the Angel, touching His sleeve, "rest, and work on this one tomorrow." I can't", said the Lord, "I already have a model that can talk a 250 pound drunk out from behind a steering wheel without incident and can feed a family of five on a private service paycheck."
The Angel circled the model of the county service Paramedic very slowly, "can it think?" she asked. "You bet," said the Lord. "It can tell you the signs and symptoms of over 150 illnesses, recite drug calculations in it's sleep, intubate, defibrillate, medicate, and continue CPR over terrain any doctor would fear... and still keep it's sense of humor. This medic also has phenomenal personal control. He can deal with a multi-victim trauma, coax a frightened elderly person to unlock their door, comfort a murder victim's family, and then ready in the daily paper how paramedics were unable to locate a house quickly enough, allowing the person to die. A house which had no street sign, no house numbers, and no phone to call back."
Finally, the Angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek of the Paramedic, " There's a leak," she pronounced. "Maybe you're trying to put too much into this model." "That's not a leak," said the Lord. It's a tear."
"What is that for?" asked the Angel.
"It's for bottled up emotions , for patients he has tried in vain to save, for commitment to that hope that he will make a difference in a person's chance to survive."
"You're a genius!" exclaimed the Angel.
The Lord looked somberly at the Angel and said, "I didn't put it there."
I am sure all the Doctors ; Nurses ; Fireman and people in service to the hurts of humanity can identify with this . There are never enough thank you's