Totally random but funny…

TOP TEN REASONS WHY 9-1-1 IS MORE THAN JUST A JOB:

10. You get a stronger sense of your own humanity by helping others.
9.   You get a better feeling about your own loser life compared to the life stories of
       pathetic RPs.
8.   Chance to meet, date, marry, and divorce a cop.
7.   Can do #8 more than once.
6.   Fashionable uniform prepares you to be a trend-setter  when polyester comes back
      in style.
5.   Abundance of  “challenged” citizens insures job security.
4.   Tales told by  “mentally evacuated” callers are often more entertaining than TV.
3.   Dealing with the multicultural community allows you to learn swear words in many
      different languages.
2.   Potential for being “discovered” when media arrives to cover department screw-ups.
1.   Can drive like hell and good chance you’ll never get a ticket.

 

 

THINGS YOU’D LOVE TO SAY TO THE PUBLIC BUT CAN’T…

• And your crybaby, whiny-assed opinion would be…?

• Do I sound like a people person?

• This isn’t a Comm Center… it’s Hell with fluorescent lighting.

• I pretend to work, they pretend to pay me.

• Sarcasm is just one more customer service benefit we offer.

• You.. off my planet!

• Does your train of thought have a caboose?

• Did the aliens forget to remove your anal probe?

• And what law school did you graduate from, Matlock?

• I’m okay because the voices tell me so.

• Am I getting smart with you? No, I’ll keep it on your level.

• And which one of the Seven Dwarfs are you?

• I don’t have an attitude problem.  You have a perception problem.

• I’d explain it to you, but I’m afraid your brain would explode.

• I’m sorry you got a speeding ticket. You feel you don’t deserve it? What, did the officer interrupt your qualifying lap?

• There are two things on Earth that are universal: hydrogen and stupidity.  You don’t look like an atomic weapon, so that leaves us with one alternative…

• Errors have been made. Others will be blamed.

• Do they ever shut up on your planet?

• I’m trying to imagine you with a personality.

• How many times do I have to flush before you go away?

• Earth is full. Go home.

• Is it time for your medication or mine?

• Aw, did I step on your poor little bitty ego?

• Don’t start with me!  You won’t win.

• WARNING: I have an attitude and I know how to use it.

• When I want your opinion, I’ll give it to you.

• Sorry if I sounded interested… I’m not!

• And your point is?

• You have the right to remain silent, so please shut up.

• Don’t upset me!  I’m running out of places to hide the bodies.

A Dispatchers Prayer

Dear Lord, help me keep safe those who depend on me. Give me
healthy ears, for they are my link with those who need me. Keep my
mind sharp and alert, my fingers quick and nimble. Grant that I never forget how to do ten things at once, and do them all equally well. Bless me with patience Lord. Patience to deal with the public, with the officers, with the boss, and with everyone else who makes me want to grit my teeth and yell. Give me nerves of steel, that I may listen to a mother screaming for her child to live, the man with a gun, or an officer yelling for backup, and not give way to panic. Grant me empathy, that I may help the battered wife, the rape victim, the abused child, and not cause them more pain than they already have. God, give me the ability to learn what I need, to remember it quickly, and give me the wisdom to use the knowledge properly. Bless my family Lord, for they will have to make sacrifices to shift work, overtime, canceled plans, and times when I just can’t take on
one more thing. Help them understand the missed ball games, school
programs, and dinners for two. Lord, give me courage. Courage to persevere when I feel undervalued, unappreciated, overworked, and unrecognized. Courage to keep trying when I feel in my heart it’s hopeless. Last of all Lord, help me to never forget why I chose to do this job in the first place, to never lose sight of what is important in the midst of the stress. Help me to remember that I make a difference, however small it may seem some days, and that I matter. 

I am a dispatcher, Lord, grant me peace.

What is expected..

Someone once asked me if I thought that answering telephones for a living was a profession. I said, “I thought it was a calling.”And so is dispatching. I have found in my law enforcement career that dispatchers are the unsung heroes of public safety. They miss the excitement of riding in a speeding car with lights flashing and sirens wailing. They can only hear of the bright orange flames leaping from a burning building. They do not get to see the joy on the face of worried parents as they see their child begin breathing on its own, after it has been given CPR.

Dispatchers sit in darkened rooms looking at computer screens and talking to voices from faces they never see. It’s like reading a lot of books, but only half of each one.

Dispatchers connect the anxious conversations of terrified victims, angry informants, suicidal citizens and grouchy officers. They are the calming influence of all of them – the quiet, competent voices in the night that provide the pillars for the bridges of sanity and safety. They are expected to gather information from highly agitated people who can’t remember where they live, what their name is, or what they just saw. And then, they are to calmly provide all that information to the officers, firefighters, or paramedics without error the first time and every time.

Dispatchers are expected to be able to do five things at once – and do them well. While questioning a frantic caller, they must type the information into a computer, tip off another dispatcher, put another caller on hold, and listen to an officer run a plate for a parking problem. To miss the plate numbers is to raise the officer’s ire; to miss the caller’s information may be to endanger the same officer’s life. But, the officer will never understand that.

Dispatchers have two constant companions, other dispatchers and stress. They depend on one, and try to ignore the other. They are chastened by upset callers, taken for granted by the public, and criticized by the officers. The rewards they get are inexpensive and infrequent, except for the satisfaction they feel at the end of a shift, having done what they were expected to do.

Dispatchers come in all shapes and sizes, all races, both sexes, and all ages. They are blondes, and brunettes, and redheads. They are quiet and outgoing, single, or married, plain, beautiful, or handsome. No two are alike, yet they are all the same. They are people who were selected in a difficult hiring process to do an impossible job. They are as different as snowflakes, but they have one thing in common. They care about people and they enjoy being the lifeline of society – that steady voice in a storm – the one who knows how to handle every emergency and does it with style and grace; and, uncompromised competence.

Dispatchers play many roles; therapist, doctor, lawyer, teacher, weatherman, guidance counselor, psychologist, priest, secretary, supervisor, politician, and reporter. And few people must jump through the emotional hoops on the trip through the joy of one callers birthday party, to the fear of another callers burglary in progress, to the anger of a neighbor blocked in their drive, and back to the birthday callers all in a two minute time frame. The emotional roller coaster rolls to a stop after an 8 or 10 hour shift, and they are expected to walk down to their car with steady feet and no queasiness in their stomach – because they are dispatchers. If they hold it in, they are too closed. If they talk about it, they are a whiner. If it bothers them, it adds more stress. If it doesn’t, they question themselves, wondering why.

 

Dispatchers are expected to have:                                                                                                             

-the compassion of Mother Theresa;
-the wisdom of Solomon;
-the interviewing skills of Oprah Winfrey;
-the gentleness of Florence Nightingale;
-the patience of Job;
-the voice of Barbara Streisand;
-the knowledge of Einstein;
-the answers of Ann Landers;
-the humor of David Letterman;
-the investigative skills of Sgt. Joe Friday;
-the looks of Melanie Griffith or Don Johnson;
-the faith of Billy Graham;
-the energy of Charo;
-and the endurance of the Energizer Bunny.

Is it any wonder that many drop out during training? It is a unique and talented person who can do this job and do it well. And, it is fitting and proper that we take a few minutes or hours this week to honor you for the job that each of you do. That recognition is overdue and it is insufficient. But, it is sincere. I have tried to do your job, and I have failed. It takes a special person with unique skills. I admire you and I thank you for the thankless job you do. You are heroes, and I am proud to work with you.

This is why I am the way I am.. lol

You Might Be a Dispatcher If… 

You can carry on more than 4 conversations simultaneously!

You have a bladder capacity of a tanker!

You can resume a conversation with co-workers 4 hours later, in mid-sentence and everyone knows that you are talking about!

You have a long term telephonic relationship with one or more paranoid schizophrenic PTSD suffering relatives of a public official.

You have ever had to explain to a college educated, gainfully employed, tax paying property owner that: His/her child’s lack of interest in vegetables was not a police matter!

You inform your new teenage driver, “I will always know!”

You have ever muttered the phrase: “They let him carry a GUN?”

You find yourself typing “height” and “weight” instead of “width” and “height” when adding dimensions to the HTML “IMG SRC” tags on your web-site.

You answer your home phone “9-1-1, what is your emergency?”

You spend more on fast food than utilities.

You see nothing wrong with eating a Taco Bell Grande Meal or pizza at 3 a.m

You consider coffee an indispensable work tool.

You answer your home phone “dispatch”.

You answer dispatch phone “hell” instead of “hello”.

The only thing that gets your adrenaline going is the walk to and from your car.

You find humor in other people’s misery.

You’re only happy if you have something to complain about.

You consider patience a weakness ,not a virtue.

Your idea of a good night involves someone burning a house down, getting shot, chased or dismembered.

You have forgotten what it is like to actually eat a warm meal.

Your dog doesn’t recognize you and the kids think you’re just the person who drops by every now and then to bring groceries and do the laundry.

You think it’s funny when a would-be suicide gets bored waiting for the gas from the stove to do it’s thing and lights a cigarette to pass the time resulting in an explosion that leaves her neighbors homeless but she still survives.

You truly believe stupidity should be painful.

Dinner consist of a 2 liter bottle of soda and whatever you can scrounge out of the vending machine.

Antacid tablets, or better known as dispatcher candy, become your regular desert.

You read newspaper accounts of a major incident that occurred during your shift and can point out all the incorrect information…and then laugh about it.

Family members comment about how nice you “used” to be before you started this job.

You believe in aerial spraying of Prozac and/or birth control over certain parts of your city.

You have no idea what a holiday is, other than it’s the day when everyone gets drunk and beats up their family members.

You can carry on more than 4 conversations simultaneously.

You have the bladder capacity of a tanker truck or of a small third world army.

You can resume a conversation with coworkers 4 hours later in mid-sentence and everyone knows what you are talking about.

You have a long term telephonic relationship with one or more paranoid schizophrenic PTSD suffering relatives of a public official.

You inform your teenager,” I will always know”.

You get impatient listening to people relate a story – You want “just the facts”.

You believe 90% of people can’t look up a telephone number.

You get easily bored with happy content people.

You can talk on the phone, listen to the radio and type request into the computer at the same time without missing anything.

You think it is funny when a “regular client” kills himself while breaking into a business.

You can give directions to any location in your city off the top of your head.

You can relate a 10 minute story over a 2 hour time period, after many interruptions, without losing your place.

You refuse to allow anyone to say “have a quiet shift”.

You believe that the statement, “It sure is quiet!” will bring down the wrath of god upon you.

You can give anyone the exact address of every bar in your jurisdiction.

You question the motives of anyone who makes an effort to get to know you after they learn your profession.

You know the phone number of every restaurant or business that delivers food, especially late at night.

You spell everything phonetically.

You can only tell time on a 24 hour clock.

You acknowledge your friends and families remarks with the time.

You have spent time explaining to officers, firefighters or EMTs the difference between a dispatcher and a personal assistant.

You live in fear of a full moon.

You are on a first name basis with every crazy lunatic in your jurisdiction.

You find no comfort in knowing that the equipment that you depend on to do your job and protect others was purchased at the lowest bid possible.

You respond faster to the name “RADIO” or “CENTRAL” than you do to your own name.

You find yourself talking to family and friends in codes.

You have a tendency to giggle at your friends “big” problems.

You respond 10-4 when told to please pull around to the first window at a fast food restaurant.

You tell cops and firefighters where to go without fear.

GOD CREATED DISPATCHERS

AND GOD CREATED DISPATCHERS

The angel walked in and found the Lord walking around in a small circle and muttering to himself. “What are you working on now lord?’ he asked. “Well I finished creating a peace officer, now I’m working on a dispatcher”

Since the angel could see nothing in the room, he asked God to tell him about it. “It’s some what like the police officer model, it has 5 hands-one for answering the phone, two for typing, one for answering the radio, and one for grabbing a cup of coffee. The arms had to be placed fairly carefully since all the tasks a dispatcher does, have to be done simultaneously. The digestive system is a little complicated, since it runs on coffee, and food that can be delivered, but seldom needs to get up for the rest room. I made the skin tempered duralite covered with Teflon. A dispatchers hide has to be tough enough to withstand darts from cranky officers, jabs from citizens, and lack of attention by administration, but not show any signs of wear and tear. Unlike a police officer it only needs one pair of eyes, so that left extra room for the ears. There are five sets of ears, one set for the telephone, one for the main radio, two for the other radios it has to monitor, and one to hear everything else going on around it. They fit all right on the head, since it had to be extra large for the brain. The brain has to be enormous so it can remember a full set of 10 codes, phonetic alphabet, at least two hundred different voices, the entire contents of three different SOP manuals, two Teletype manuals, and an NCIC code book. Of course I left enough extra space for it to learn the individual quirks of every different SGT., LT., Shift commander, fire chief, and other supervisor, and the ability to keep them all straight.

There also has to be room for it to learn which situations need an officer and which don’t, and also the ability to determine in less than two minutes what to do for any given event. There is a built in condenser so it can take an hour long explanation, put it into 30 seconds worth of radio transmission, but still get the whole story across. Those switches on the front are for the emotions. It has to be able to talk to a mother who’s child has just died without pain, a rape victim with empathy, a suicidal person with calmness and reassurance, and abusive drunk without getting angry. When one of the officers yells for help, it can’t panic, and when someone doesn’t make it, the dispatchers heart mustn’t break. The little soft spot just to the left of the emotion switch is for abandoned animals, frightened children, and little old ladies who are lonely and just want to talk to someone for a few minutes. The dispatcher has to care very much for the officers and firefighters it serves, without getting personally involved with any of them, so I added another switch for that. Plus of course, the dispatcher can’t have any of its own issues to worry about while it is on duty, so that last switch turns those off. The patience switch is turned up to high all the time on the CTO model, and I’ve added an extra fuse to those to those to handle the overload. A dispatcher has to be able to function efficiently under less than good physical conditions, and be flexible enough to withstand whatever whim the administration comes up with, while still retaining it’s general shape and form. That warm fuzzy shoulder is, there for officers to use when they gripe, other dispatchers when they hurt, and for those who are shell shocked by a horrible call and just need someone to be there.

The voice gave me a little trouble, it has to be clear and easy to understand, calm and even when everyone else is screaming, but still able to convey empathy and caring while remaining totally professional. It runs for a full 12 hours on very little sleep, requires almost no days off, and gets paid less than an executive secretary. “The dispatcher sounds wonderful lord”, said the angel, “Where is this amazing creation?” “Well you see,” answered the supreme being “Dispatchers are invisible unless they make a mistake. So it’s practically impossible to tell when they are run down, worn out or in need of repair. Now that I’ve created them, I can’t see the original model to make enough of them to go around.

Who Am I?

Who Am I?

I am the voice that calms the mother into breathing life back into her infant son.

I am the invisible hand that holds and comforts the elderly man who woke up this morning
to find his wife of 50 years has passed away during the night.

I am the friend who talks the disgruntled teenager out of ending her own life.

I sent help when you had your first automobile accident.

I am the one who tries to obtain the information from callers to ensure that the scene is safe
for those I dispatch to emergencies – all the while anticipating the worst and hoping for the best.

I am the psychologist who readily adapts my language and tone of voice to serve the
needs of my callers with compassion and understanding.

I am the ears that listen to the needs of all those I serve.

I have heard the screams of faceless people I never will meet nor forget.

I have cried at the atrocities of mankind and rejoiced at the miracles of life.

I was there, though unseen by my comrades in the field during the most trying emergencies.

I have tried to visualize the scene to coincide with the voices I heard.

I usually am not privy to the outcome of a call, and so I wonder…

I am the one who works weekends, strange shifts and holidays.

       Children do not say they want my job when they grow up. Yet, I am at this vocation by choice.

Those I help do not call back to say thank you.

Still there is comfort in the challenge, integrity, and purpose of my employment.

I am thankful to provide such a meaningful service.

I am a mother, father, sister, brother, son or daughter.

I am where you need me and still here when you don’t.

My office is never empty, and the work here is never done.

I am always on call.

The training is strenuous, demanding and endless.

No two days at work are ever the same.

Who am I?

I am an Emergency 9-1-1 Dispatcher

I know how he feels

A farmer had some puppies he needed to sell. He painted a sign
advertising the 4 pups. And set about nailing it to a post on the edge of
his yard. As he was driving the last nail into the post, he felt a tug on
his overalls. He looked down into the eyes of little boy.

“Mister,” he said, “I want to buy one of your puppies.”

“Well,” said the farmer, as he rubbed the sweat off the back of his neck,
“These puppies come from fine parents and cost a good deal of money.”

The boy dropped his head for a moment.  Then reaching deep into his pocket, he pulled out a handful of change and held it up to the farmer.

“I’ve got thirty-nine cents.  Is that enough to take a look?”

“Sure,” said the farmer.  And with that he let out a whistle.  “Here, Dolly!” he called.  Out from the doghouse and down the ramp ran Dolly followed by four little balls of fur.

The little boy pressed his face against the chain link fence. His eyes
danced with delight.

As the dogs made their way to the fence, the little boy noticed something else stirring inside the doghouse.  Slowly another little ball appeared, this one noticeably smaller. Down the ramp it slid. Then in a somewhat awkward manner, the little pup began hobbling toward the others, doing its best to catch up.

“I want that one,” the little boy said, pointing to the runt. The
farmer knelt down at the boy’s side and said, “Son, you don’t want that
puppy.  He will never be able to run and play with you like these other dogs would.”

With that the little boy stepped back from the fence, reached down,
and began rolling up one leg of his trousers.  In doing so he revealed a steel brace running down both sides of his leg attaching itself to a specially made shoe.  Looking back up at the farmer, he said,
“You see sir, I don’t run too well myself, and he will need someone who understands.”

With tears in his eyes, the farmer reached down and picked up the
little pup.  Holding it carefully handed it to t he little boy.

“How much?” asked the little boy. “No charge,” answered the farmer,
“There’s no charge for love.”

The world is full of people who need someone who understands.

Think about this..

“Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by the moments
that take our breath away.”
Think about this. You may not realize it, but it’s 100% true.

1.  At least two people in this world love you so much they would die for
you.

2.  At least 15 people in this world love you in some way.

3   A smile from you can bring happiness to anyone, even if they don’t like
you.

4.  Every night, SOMEONE thinks about you before they go to sleep.

5.  You mean the world to someone.

6.  If not for you, someone may not be living.

7.  You are special and unique.

8&9.  When you make the biggest mistake ever, something good can still come
from it.

10. When you think the world has turned its back on you, take a look: most
likely, you turned your back on the world.

11. Someone that you don’t even know exists loves you.

12. Always remember the compliments you receive. For get about the rude
remarks.

13. Always tell someone how you feel about them; you will feel much better
when they know and you’ll both be happy .

14. If you have a great friend, take the time to let them know that they
are great.

I want to thank you for your time..

I want to THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME. Once you read this you will understand!
A young man learns what’s most important in life from the guy next door.
It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man. College, girls,
career, and life itself got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear across
the country in pursuit of his dreams. There, in the rush of his busy life,
Jack had little time to think about the past and often no time to spend
with his wife and son. He was working on his future, and nothing could stop
him.
Over the phone, his mother told him, “Mr. Belser died last night. The
funeral is Wednesday.” Memories flashed through his mind like an old
newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days.
“Jack, did you hear me?”
“Oh, sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It’s been so long since I thought of
him. I’m sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago,” Jack said.
“Well, he didn’t forget you. Every time I saw him he’d ask how you were
doing. He’d reminisce about the many days you spent over ‘his side of the
fence’ as he put it,” Mom told him.
“I loved that old house he lived in,” Jack said.
“You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure
you had a man’s influence in your life,” she said.
“He’s the one who taught me carpentry,” he said. “I wouldn’t be in this
business if it weren’t for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things
he thought were important.Mom, I’ll be there for the funeral,” Jack said.
As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his
hometown. Mr. Belser’s funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children
of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away.
The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to see
the old house next door one more time.
Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing
over into another dimension, a leap through space and time. The house was
exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories. Every picture, every
piece of furniture. Jack stopped suddenly.
“What’s wrong, Jack?” his Mom asked.
“The box is gone,” he said.
“What box?” Mom asked.
“There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must
have asked him a thousand times  what was inside. All he’d ever tell me was
‘the thing I value most,’” Jack said.
It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it,
except for the box.. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken
it.
“Now I’ll never know what was so valuable to him,” Jack said. “I better get
some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom.”
It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from work
one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox. “Signature required on a
package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within the
next three days,” the note read.
Early the next day Jack retrieved the package. The small box was old and
looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was
difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention. “Mr. Harold
Belser” it read. Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the
package. There inside was the gold box and an envelope. Jack’s hands shook
as he read the note inside.
“Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett.
It’s the thing I valued most in my life.” A small key was taped to the
letter. His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefully
unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch.
Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the
cover. Inside he found these words engraved:
“Jack, Thanks for your time! -Harold Belser.”
“The thing he valued most was…my time.”
Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared
his appointments for the next two days. “Why?” Janet, his assistant asked.
“I need some time to spend with my son,” he said.
“Oh, by the way, Janet, thanks for your time!”

Thru a child…

It was one of the hottest days of the dry season. We had not seen rain in almost a month. The crops were dying. Cows had stopped giving milk. The creeks and streams were long gone back into the earth. It was a dry season that would bankrupt several farmers before it was through.
Every day, my husband and his brothers would go about the arduous process of trying to get water to the fields. Lately this process had involved taking a truck to the local water rendering plant and filling it up with water. But severe rationing had cut everyone off. If we
didn’t see some rain soon…we would lose everything. It was on this day that I learned the true lesson of sharing and witnessed the only miracle I have seen with my own eyes. I was in the kitchen making lunch for my husband and his brothers when I saw my
Six-year-old son, Billy, walking toward the woods. He wasn’t walking with the usual carefree abandon of a youth but with a serious purpose. I could only see his back. He was obviously walking with a great effort … trying to be as still as possible. Minutes after he disappeared into the woods, he came running out again, toward the house. I went back to making sandwiches; thinking that whatever task he had been doing was completed. Moments later, however, he was once again walking in that slow purposeful stride toward the woods. This activity went on for an hour: walking carefully to the woods, running back to the house.

Finally I couldn’t take it any longer and I crept out of the house and followed him on his journey (being very careful not to be seen…as he was obviously doing important work and didn’t need his Mommy checking up on him). He was cupping both hands in front of him as he walked, being very careful not to spill the water he held in them … maybe two or three tablespoons were held in his tiny hands. I sneaked close as he went into the woods. Branches and thorns slapped his little face, but he did not try to avoid them. He had a much higher purpose. As I leaned in to spy on him, I saw the most amazing site.

Several large deer loomed in front of him. Billy walked right up to them. I almost screamed for him to get away. A huge buck with elaborate antlers was dangerously close. But the buck did not threaten him…he didn’t even move as Billy knelt down. And I saw a tiny fawn lying on the ground; obviously suffering from dehydration and heat exhaustion, lift its head with great effort to lap up the water cupped in my beautiful boy’s hand. When the water was gone, Billy jumped up to run back to the house and I hid behind a tree.
I followed him back to the house to a spigot to which we had shut off the water. Billy opened it all the way up and a small trickle began to creep out. He knelt there, letting the drip, drip slowly fill up his makeshift “cup,” as the sun beat down on his little back. And it came clear to me: The trouble he had gotten into for playing with the hose the week before. The lecture he had received about the importance of not wasting water. The reason he didn’t ask me to help him. It took almost twenty minutes for the drops to fill his hands. When he stood up and began the trek back, I was there in front of him.

His little eyes just filled with tears. “I’m not wasting,” was all he said. As he began his walk, I joined him…with a small pot of water from the kitchen. I let him tend to the fawn. I stayed away. It was his job. I stood on the edge of the woods watching the most beautiful heart I have ever known working so hard to save another life. As the tears that rolled down my face began to hit the ground, other drops…and more drops…and more suddenly joined them. I looked up at the sky. It was as if God, himself, was weeping with pride.
Some will probably say that this was all just a huge coincidence. Those miracles don’t really exist. That it was bound to rain sometime. And I can’t argue with that… I’m not going to try. All I can say is that the rain that came that day saved our farm…just like the actions of one little boy saved another.
I don’t know if anyone will read this…but I had to send it out. To honor the memory of my beautiful Billy, who was taken from me much too soon… But not before showing me the true face of God, in a little, sunburned body.