This year as I celebrate the birth of Jesus, the ole ranch hand will be as eagerly awaiting/celebrating the arrival of Lucille Dawn (grandbaby #6).
Wish I could see what she will see in her life. In my life I have witnessed the advent of computers, the internet, cell phones, and space travel. I'm not sure my feeble mind could comprehend the technological advances during her tenure.
Wish I could know how she will live life, her education, her occupation, and most of all, her children. I don't want to live forever, but how neat would it be to know so much about my grandbabies and their babies.
Wish I could always be there to battle her enemies, heal her hurts, mentor her achievements, and tell her fascinating stories. (I've told the "fascinating" stories enough to my kids that likely they can repeat them after my demise)
Wish I could impart to her the secret to meaningful relationships, lifelong passion for life, and everlasting joy, but I suspect that information is unique to every living soul.
Wish I could, by the grace of God, be a small part of her life that makes a positive difference.
I love you more than you can ever know, Lucy, and it shall always be so.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
FINAL RESTING PLACE
We bought the Tin Star four years ago this month. Soon thereafter we chose the perfect spot to build our nest.
To make a long story short, we changed our mind about where to put the house 7 times. Time before last we moved it back 30 feet. Last time we moved it back 10 more feet.
Today we used the floor plan dimensions to put down flags to mark where the walls, corners, porch etc. would be.
Hard decisions. Once that concrete slab is poured, the location for our abode will be set forever. If we had a small lot, no big deal to pick where to place it. We have 15 acres to choose from with many good building sites. That makes it a bigger deal?
Anyway, to put some lipstick on this pig, I reckon we will pull the trigger in September and just let the chips fall as they may.
Pray for our endeavor. A body needs a comfortable final resting place.
To make a long story short, we changed our mind about where to put the house 7 times. Time before last we moved it back 30 feet. Last time we moved it back 10 more feet.
Today we used the floor plan dimensions to put down flags to mark where the walls, corners, porch etc. would be.
Hard decisions. Once that concrete slab is poured, the location for our abode will be set forever. If we had a small lot, no big deal to pick where to place it. We have 15 acres to choose from with many good building sites. That makes it a bigger deal?
Anyway, to put some lipstick on this pig, I reckon we will pull the trigger in September and just let the chips fall as they may.
Pray for our endeavor. A body needs a comfortable final resting place.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
FREE AIR CONDITIONING
I don't go to movies much. However, when I was a kid the only available entertainment choice was a movie.
Our "theater" was the Turnertown drive-in. The admission price was 50 cents. A coke and some hot french fries ran about 35 cents.
Today my bride suggested we go to a movie to relax and enjoy the free air conditioning. The theater is close to the house, but the wife suggested that we leave an hour before the announced movie start. She is a seasoned cinema buff, so I curiously followed her advice.
We arrive at the movie house and I immediately see a parking lot that is about four times the size of the lot for the Turnertown drive-in. As almost every available spot was occupied, we had to drive around for a spell.
We get our tickets ($23.75) and go to the snack bar for cokes and popcorn (also $23 and change). Another words, counting the gasoline, I got over $50 invested and I haven't got to sit down yet!!!
Turnertown had only one viewing screen. I don't know how many screens were in today's hollywood palace, but we were slated for #20? Then I notice a long line outside screen #20? Seems you wait in line to get tickets, wait in line to get snacks, then wait in line to sit down (I was wondering if they were going to charge us for something else?)
Best I remember, the Turnertown show would start at dark (bout 8:30P) and be done by 11:30P including previews, cartoon and mid-movie break to change the movie reels (and get you in the snack bar).
We got to the theater bout 3P today. The movie wasn't stopped in the middle, but there was commercials and previews out the wazoo. The movie itself was 2 1/2 hours. If you are counting, I sat there needing to pee for 3 1/2 hours. When it was over, I could barely walk and at the bathroom, yep, another line to wait in.
Bottom line: it was a nice outing, but damn the world has changed over the last 50 years.
Our "theater" was the Turnertown drive-in. The admission price was 50 cents. A coke and some hot french fries ran about 35 cents.
Today my bride suggested we go to a movie to relax and enjoy the free air conditioning. The theater is close to the house, but the wife suggested that we leave an hour before the announced movie start. She is a seasoned cinema buff, so I curiously followed her advice.
We arrive at the movie house and I immediately see a parking lot that is about four times the size of the lot for the Turnertown drive-in. As almost every available spot was occupied, we had to drive around for a spell.
We get our tickets ($23.75) and go to the snack bar for cokes and popcorn (also $23 and change). Another words, counting the gasoline, I got over $50 invested and I haven't got to sit down yet!!!
Turnertown had only one viewing screen. I don't know how many screens were in today's hollywood palace, but we were slated for #20? Then I notice a long line outside screen #20? Seems you wait in line to get tickets, wait in line to get snacks, then wait in line to sit down (I was wondering if they were going to charge us for something else?)
Best I remember, the Turnertown show would start at dark (bout 8:30P) and be done by 11:30P including previews, cartoon and mid-movie break to change the movie reels (and get you in the snack bar).
We got to the theater bout 3P today. The movie wasn't stopped in the middle, but there was commercials and previews out the wazoo. The movie itself was 2 1/2 hours. If you are counting, I sat there needing to pee for 3 1/2 hours. When it was over, I could barely walk and at the bathroom, yep, another line to wait in.
Bottom line: it was a nice outing, but damn the world has changed over the last 50 years.
Friday, July 25, 2008
FOR THE LOVE OF FAMILY
Today (July 25, 2008) is cause to celebrate the birth of HERMAN EUGENE WALLER.
Seventy six years ago, Ola Mae and Granvil brought into this world a (grandmother said he was 11 or 12 pounds) male child they called Gene.
Gene did not get his first hair cut until he had a long curly black mane that any gal would have wanted. It was only when other kids started hoo-rah-ing him that it was bobbed for the first time.
As he matured, it became obvious that he had a keen interest in all things mechanical. His family said he would take apart anything he could get his hands on to see how it worked. He also had a special knack for "fixing" things that manifested itself throughout his life.
Grandaddy would tell you that Gene liked to fight. Man, boy, or buzz-saw, he would wade into any fray and always came out the winner. Dad and his older brother Curtis used to get into regular free-for-alls and pound on each other until Grandaddy pulled them apart. When Grandaddy "whupped" them with the razor strop, Gene always wanted his "whupping" first because he would go around the corner of the house and wait on Curtis. After Curtis got his turn, he would follow around the corner of the house and Gene would bust him in the mouth to get the fight going again.
Dad told it plain one day when he said that he had never been afraid of another man in his entire life. He simply had the complete confidence that he could best anyone in battle.
Early on Dad developed a life long passion for vehicles and speed. Anything that had a motor on it captured his interest. He never had the resources for fancy cars, but he drove anything he owned like a demon. In later years he never got over 45 MPH. People who didn't know him previously would have never guessed how he used to terrorize the highways and byways.
In spite of all, Gene's overriding passion was his family. All that he loved knew that he would give them anything he had control over and that he would kill anyone who hurt them.
Did Gene have faults? The Lord only knows if anyone ever had more.
Does his family continue to love him and the memories he provided? Damn straight!
I, as his only son, continue to think of him as the best friend I ever had and love him with all my heart.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD
Seventy six years ago, Ola Mae and Granvil brought into this world a (grandmother said he was 11 or 12 pounds) male child they called Gene.
Gene did not get his first hair cut until he had a long curly black mane that any gal would have wanted. It was only when other kids started hoo-rah-ing him that it was bobbed for the first time.
As he matured, it became obvious that he had a keen interest in all things mechanical. His family said he would take apart anything he could get his hands on to see how it worked. He also had a special knack for "fixing" things that manifested itself throughout his life.
Grandaddy would tell you that Gene liked to fight. Man, boy, or buzz-saw, he would wade into any fray and always came out the winner. Dad and his older brother Curtis used to get into regular free-for-alls and pound on each other until Grandaddy pulled them apart. When Grandaddy "whupped" them with the razor strop, Gene always wanted his "whupping" first because he would go around the corner of the house and wait on Curtis. After Curtis got his turn, he would follow around the corner of the house and Gene would bust him in the mouth to get the fight going again.
Dad told it plain one day when he said that he had never been afraid of another man in his entire life. He simply had the complete confidence that he could best anyone in battle.
Early on Dad developed a life long passion for vehicles and speed. Anything that had a motor on it captured his interest. He never had the resources for fancy cars, but he drove anything he owned like a demon. In later years he never got over 45 MPH. People who didn't know him previously would have never guessed how he used to terrorize the highways and byways.
In spite of all, Gene's overriding passion was his family. All that he loved knew that he would give them anything he had control over and that he would kill anyone who hurt them.
Did Gene have faults? The Lord only knows if anyone ever had more.
Does his family continue to love him and the memories he provided? Damn straight!
I, as his only son, continue to think of him as the best friend I ever had and love him with all my heart.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
YOUNG LIONS
Today I viewed a list of folks retiring at DPS.
The list was extremely long, but I have seen that happen in past decades.
The list included a lot of "brass", but I have seen that happen on occasion.
However, this list put me to thinking:
1. In 1980 I served as a platoon sergeant for a Highway Patrol school. There were many of those folks on the list. I remember them as shiny new recruits. Now they are grizzled veterans at the end of their journey. Makes ya ponder when employees you mentored have started and finished their careers on your watch.
2. Most of the retirees are people that I supervised or worked with during my career. It feels like the passing of an era in the sense that any "body of work" will be forgotten. As an example, almost no one will be left who will remember who I am or anything that I might have accomplished. Such is the way of the world since Moby Dick was a minnow.
3. From past experience, I know this much brass retiring means a "change of the guard" will occur. New management personnel will try their personal policies, methods, and philosophies. Some of this will be good. Some of this will not be good. Due to inexperience, the new managers will make mistakes that many before them have made. Fortunately, they will learn and things will work out.
4. From my perspective, the people retiring are young. From the perspective of the employee they leave behind, the retirees are old farts. This is the way it has always been.
5. Throughout these employees careers, they have had status. Now they are just plain folks. For the ones who were defined by the job, they will not fully enjoy retirement. For the ones that had lives separate and apart from the job, their lives will be enriched and happier.
6. The new guys need to heed the young lions or risk being devoured. Being the boss don't make you smart and it don't make folks follow. You have to listen and learn or you will be eaten alive. The young lions have no mercy and no conscience.
The list was extremely long, but I have seen that happen in past decades.
The list included a lot of "brass", but I have seen that happen on occasion.
However, this list put me to thinking:
1. In 1980 I served as a platoon sergeant for a Highway Patrol school. There were many of those folks on the list. I remember them as shiny new recruits. Now they are grizzled veterans at the end of their journey. Makes ya ponder when employees you mentored have started and finished their careers on your watch.
2. Most of the retirees are people that I supervised or worked with during my career. It feels like the passing of an era in the sense that any "body of work" will be forgotten. As an example, almost no one will be left who will remember who I am or anything that I might have accomplished. Such is the way of the world since Moby Dick was a minnow.
3. From past experience, I know this much brass retiring means a "change of the guard" will occur. New management personnel will try their personal policies, methods, and philosophies. Some of this will be good. Some of this will not be good. Due to inexperience, the new managers will make mistakes that many before them have made. Fortunately, they will learn and things will work out.
4. From my perspective, the people retiring are young. From the perspective of the employee they leave behind, the retirees are old farts. This is the way it has always been.
5. Throughout these employees careers, they have had status. Now they are just plain folks. For the ones who were defined by the job, they will not fully enjoy retirement. For the ones that had lives separate and apart from the job, their lives will be enriched and happier.
6. The new guys need to heed the young lions or risk being devoured. Being the boss don't make you smart and it don't make folks follow. You have to listen and learn or you will be eaten alive. The young lions have no mercy and no conscience.
Monday, July 21, 2008
GET IT RIGHT
The bride and I acquired the Tin Star Ranch four years ago this month.
We have slaved and dreamed since that time trying to prepare our little piece of heaven for a blessed retirement life.
Over the last year we went thru the process of selecting a house plan. There must be a gozillion on the internet and I'm thinking we looked at all of them twice.
After settling on a plan, we thought we might have the architect "tweak" it a mite? Turns out "tweaking" has made the plan unrecognizable from the original. We have spent several months and over $3,000 (@ $75 hour) for said "tweaking". We have mentally strolled around, in, and out of the plan trying to visualize the perfect combination of functionality and appearance.
I think (pray is more like it) that this next set of "check" plans will lead to the final draft. If so, we will be ready to negotiate construction financing, choose a builder, and break ground before Christmas.
This is exciting and intimidating at the same time. There ain't no mulligans and there ain't no do-overs. We either get it right, or we just live with it for eternity.
All ya'll pray for the "get it right" ending.
We have slaved and dreamed since that time trying to prepare our little piece of heaven for a blessed retirement life.
Over the last year we went thru the process of selecting a house plan. There must be a gozillion on the internet and I'm thinking we looked at all of them twice.
After settling on a plan, we thought we might have the architect "tweak" it a mite? Turns out "tweaking" has made the plan unrecognizable from the original. We have spent several months and over $3,000 (@ $75 hour) for said "tweaking". We have mentally strolled around, in, and out of the plan trying to visualize the perfect combination of functionality and appearance.
I think (pray is more like it) that this next set of "check" plans will lead to the final draft. If so, we will be ready to negotiate construction financing, choose a builder, and break ground before Christmas.
This is exciting and intimidating at the same time. There ain't no mulligans and there ain't no do-overs. We either get it right, or we just live with it for eternity.
All ya'll pray for the "get it right" ending.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE
I've been living in "town" for 38 years.
For the most part of that time I have tended a lawn. I enjoy the mowing and edging, but I universally HATE pulling hoses around to water grass.
We are hip deep in another Texas summer that is so dry the fish have ticks and the trees have been bribing dogs. Another words, for the last 45 days I have drug all the hide off my water hoses trying to keep the St. Augustine from dying at the roots.
Let the following be publicly known:
When we move into our house on the ranch I shall never again water grass. The native ground cover on my beloved Tin Star will shrivel or thrive according to God's rain plan, not my hose draggin'.
Whatever weed crop survives will make me as proud as a hound dog pup with his first flea.
For the most part of that time I have tended a lawn. I enjoy the mowing and edging, but I universally HATE pulling hoses around to water grass.
We are hip deep in another Texas summer that is so dry the fish have ticks and the trees have been bribing dogs. Another words, for the last 45 days I have drug all the hide off my water hoses trying to keep the St. Augustine from dying at the roots.
Let the following be publicly known:
When we move into our house on the ranch I shall never again water grass. The native ground cover on my beloved Tin Star will shrivel or thrive according to God's rain plan, not my hose draggin'.
Whatever weed crop survives will make me as proud as a hound dog pup with his first flea.
LARD REPORT
My reader(s?) may recall that I have valiantly fought the battle of the bulge (198 pounds) since January 2th .
Climbed on the electromechanical lard analyzer this morn and witnessed 180. Hadn't seen that number in a lustrum or two so thought I would commemorate it in a blog.
My goal has been to once again in my life see the magical, mystical 170's.
Stay tuned for more exciting episodes as the ole fat boy continues to try to eat wisely, exercise a bit (August heat permitting?), and squeeze 179 from the infernal bathroom scale.
Climbed on the electromechanical lard analyzer this morn and witnessed 180. Hadn't seen that number in a lustrum or two so thought I would commemorate it in a blog.
My goal has been to once again in my life see the magical, mystical 170's.
Stay tuned for more exciting episodes as the ole fat boy continues to try to eat wisely, exercise a bit (August heat permitting?), and squeeze 179 from the infernal bathroom scale.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
LADDER LESSONS
Chain saws and ladders don't mix. Even if I am about a taco shy of a combination plate, there ain't no doubt in my feeble brain about that one.
Bout three years ago I got the genius idea of climbing to the top step of my 6 foot step ladder to cut some tree limbs. That went like a charm until a falling limb knocked me off the ladder and sent the chain saw spinning.
Not being the brightest crayon in the box, bout 6 months later I climbed up on that dang widow-maker again with the killer saw. This time the limb hit the ground, bounced, and flipped the ladder out from under me. In a nanosecond, I fell on the ladder with my head between a stump and the running saw. My hip was bruised from can to cain't and some hide was missing, but otherwise I was intact.
Wasn't but one thing to do. Ole dumbutt rolled up on his knees and started talking to the Lord along the lines of, "I get it now, you won't have to 'splain this again." I made God a heartfelt, solemn promise that never again in my life would I get on a ladder with a chainsaw (and I have kept that vow).
Today I started down another path with the purchase of a gasoline powered pole saw ($617). It's a chain saw motor attached to a long pole with the bar and cutting chain out on the end. I cranked that puppy up at the ranch and in 30 minutes had more limbs on the ground than a show dog could jump over. After two hours on the business end of that bad boy, I felt like I had been eaten by a bear and crapped off a tall cliff (shouldn't a feller be at least 10% smarter than the machinery he's runnin'?).
Somehow I'm wondering if the good Lord is teaching me another "ladder" lesson? If so, I hope I ain't as dense as the last time and I figger this one out a lot sooner?
Bout three years ago I got the genius idea of climbing to the top step of my 6 foot step ladder to cut some tree limbs. That went like a charm until a falling limb knocked me off the ladder and sent the chain saw spinning.
Not being the brightest crayon in the box, bout 6 months later I climbed up on that dang widow-maker again with the killer saw. This time the limb hit the ground, bounced, and flipped the ladder out from under me. In a nanosecond, I fell on the ladder with my head between a stump and the running saw. My hip was bruised from can to cain't and some hide was missing, but otherwise I was intact.
Wasn't but one thing to do. Ole dumbutt rolled up on his knees and started talking to the Lord along the lines of, "I get it now, you won't have to 'splain this again." I made God a heartfelt, solemn promise that never again in my life would I get on a ladder with a chainsaw (and I have kept that vow).
Today I started down another path with the purchase of a gasoline powered pole saw ($617). It's a chain saw motor attached to a long pole with the bar and cutting chain out on the end. I cranked that puppy up at the ranch and in 30 minutes had more limbs on the ground than a show dog could jump over. After two hours on the business end of that bad boy, I felt like I had been eaten by a bear and crapped off a tall cliff (shouldn't a feller be at least 10% smarter than the machinery he's runnin'?).
Somehow I'm wondering if the good Lord is teaching me another "ladder" lesson? If so, I hope I ain't as dense as the last time and I figger this one out a lot sooner?
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
JUST SWALLER AND KEEP GRINNIN'
The family of my Highway Patrol partner (Carlos) lived in Karnes County. They had a few acres with an occasional deer and I was invited for an early morning hunt.
We arrived before daylight and I was taken to an ancient single horse trailer sitting in a corner of the pasture. It was pitch black inside, but I was assured I would find a chair if I felt around (no flashlight?).
Sure enough, among some moldy hay, old lumber, and feed sacks I found a rickety chair to sit on. I settled in with resolve to be still and quiet until shooting light.
Unfortunately the "still and quiet" part of me didn't know that when I sat down field mice would begin to crawl on me from head to toe.
Now picture this, I am in a small metal trailer that has solid walls and ceiling. If I put my arm out a bit I will touch the walls of the trailer. Now picture me periodically FLAILING my arms like a windmill in a hurricane while trying to dislodge mice that are crawling down my collar and up my britches leg?
Obviously no self-respecting deer appeared on this day. Well, every path has a few puddles, but the day brightened when Carlos invited me to share lunch with his hispanic family.
In family tradition, his mom stood to one side of the table and served freshly made flour tortillas that were so good I thought I was ridin' a gravy train on biscuit wheels. We had awesome pinto beans, rice, and a tender and tasty meat from a clear plastic cooking bag that had come from the oven.
About halfway thru the meal while putting a second helping of the "meat" on my plate, Carlos' father asked me in Spanish how I liked the little armored one?
This is the part where my brain said, "OK, you know a bit of Spanish, but no way you heard that that right????"
"Scuse me Sir, what did you say?"
Carlos grinned and repeated, "How do you like the armadillo?"
We arrived before daylight and I was taken to an ancient single horse trailer sitting in a corner of the pasture. It was pitch black inside, but I was assured I would find a chair if I felt around (no flashlight?).
Sure enough, among some moldy hay, old lumber, and feed sacks I found a rickety chair to sit on. I settled in with resolve to be still and quiet until shooting light.
Unfortunately the "still and quiet" part of me didn't know that when I sat down field mice would begin to crawl on me from head to toe.
Now picture this, I am in a small metal trailer that has solid walls and ceiling. If I put my arm out a bit I will touch the walls of the trailer. Now picture me periodically FLAILING my arms like a windmill in a hurricane while trying to dislodge mice that are crawling down my collar and up my britches leg?
Obviously no self-respecting deer appeared on this day. Well, every path has a few puddles, but the day brightened when Carlos invited me to share lunch with his hispanic family.
In family tradition, his mom stood to one side of the table and served freshly made flour tortillas that were so good I thought I was ridin' a gravy train on biscuit wheels. We had awesome pinto beans, rice, and a tender and tasty meat from a clear plastic cooking bag that had come from the oven.
About halfway thru the meal while putting a second helping of the "meat" on my plate, Carlos' father asked me in Spanish how I liked the little armored one?
This is the part where my brain said, "OK, you know a bit of Spanish, but no way you heard that that right????"
"Scuse me Sir, what did you say?"
Carlos grinned and repeated, "How do you like the armadillo?"
Monday, July 14, 2008
AGING
At age 26 I was promoted to Highway Patrol Sergeant and stationed in Houston. As I met the Troopers that I would supervise, I began to realize that they were consistently older than me.
Finally I met Burt. Burt had less time as a Trooper and was a bit younger than I (At least I could feel "mature" around one subordinate).
Today I attended Burt's retirement from the Department of Public Safety (32 years after I first met him). Burt got older. I mean much older. So did all the others I remembered who came to his retirement party.
I can't understand how all those folks got gray hair (bald?) and paunchy while I remain a svelte, youthful figure.
Must be something in the water?
Finally I met Burt. Burt had less time as a Trooper and was a bit younger than I (At least I could feel "mature" around one subordinate).
Today I attended Burt's retirement from the Department of Public Safety (32 years after I first met him). Burt got older. I mean much older. So did all the others I remembered who came to his retirement party.
I can't understand how all those folks got gray hair (bald?) and paunchy while I remain a svelte, youthful figure.
Must be something in the water?
Sunday, July 13, 2008
GOD'S LOVE
God's love provides children. You raise them. You teach them. You cry for them and with them. Mostly, you love them.
At some point, your children produce children (God's love again!).
Only this time God's love is intensely magnified as GRANDCHILDREN!
As with your own kids, you pray that the grandkids are healthy and mature wisely. You cry for them and with them. Mostly, you love them.
At the same time, you realize that with grandkids there is a level of wonder and appreciation that perhaps you didn't have with your own kids. Maybe it is because you are more mature, more stable, or now take more time to better watch and listen.
Regardless, by the time grandkids come around you know that life does not last forever. In that regard, you also have a better appreciation for the miracle of life.
I thank God for his love, the miracle of life, and for the eternal blessing of my children and grandchildren who I utterly adore!
At some point, your children produce children (God's love again!).
Only this time God's love is intensely magnified as GRANDCHILDREN!
As with your own kids, you pray that the grandkids are healthy and mature wisely. You cry for them and with them. Mostly, you love them.
At the same time, you realize that with grandkids there is a level of wonder and appreciation that perhaps you didn't have with your own kids. Maybe it is because you are more mature, more stable, or now take more time to better watch and listen.
Regardless, by the time grandkids come around you know that life does not last forever. In that regard, you also have a better appreciation for the miracle of life.
I thank God for his love, the miracle of life, and for the eternal blessing of my children and grandchildren who I utterly adore!
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
GOD'S WILL
Every other year for 38 years I have dutifully recertified in cardiac pulmonary resuscitation (CPR). Today was my most recent schoolin' on the subject. In addition, I received my first certification in the operation of an automatic external defibrillator (AED). (I'm sure there is something about "old dogs and new tricks" in this somewhere?)
The instructor explained that during CPR, the object is to breath into the lungs of the victim in order to oxygenate their blood. You then utilized chest compressions of the heart to pump oxygen to the brain in order to delay or defeat mortality. The AED, when used in concert with CPR, is intended to end either atrial fibrillation or tachycardia and restore a normal sinus heart rhythm.
As I spent today struggling to save my "victim" (mannequin) I struggled philosophically with questions. I reckon advancing age played a part in these questions, because they never occurred to me until today.
If a "victim" incurs a heart event, and if it is according to God's will, is my intervention in vain? Am I attempting to flaunt His will with the arrogant impunity of a mere man? Or am I too, a part of His plan as an emergency responder?
If the "victim" lives or dies, will my participation in the event be part of a larger plan to influence my own life and/or understanding of the meaning of life?
Ideally one continues CPR and utilizes an AED until Emergency Medical Technicians appear. What if they never come? How long should I continue my efforts? At some point exhaustion will settle this conundrum. Have I failed, or has God's will occurred?
How do I know I am prolonging "life" during CPR. Am I pointlessly maintaining the viability of human cells without retention of the immortal soul? Am I being being tested for faith? Am I frustrating or facilitating?
I don't know the answer to any of these questions. I only know that each time I encountered a medical emergency during my life, I reacted according to my training and my personal philosophy of service to others.
With these concerns, I pray that my Lord and Savior forever guide my future use of the skill I acquired this day.
The instructor explained that during CPR, the object is to breath into the lungs of the victim in order to oxygenate their blood. You then utilized chest compressions of the heart to pump oxygen to the brain in order to delay or defeat mortality. The AED, when used in concert with CPR, is intended to end either atrial fibrillation or tachycardia and restore a normal sinus heart rhythm.
As I spent today struggling to save my "victim" (mannequin) I struggled philosophically with questions. I reckon advancing age played a part in these questions, because they never occurred to me until today.
If a "victim" incurs a heart event, and if it is according to God's will, is my intervention in vain? Am I attempting to flaunt His will with the arrogant impunity of a mere man? Or am I too, a part of His plan as an emergency responder?
If the "victim" lives or dies, will my participation in the event be part of a larger plan to influence my own life and/or understanding of the meaning of life?
Ideally one continues CPR and utilizes an AED until Emergency Medical Technicians appear. What if they never come? How long should I continue my efforts? At some point exhaustion will settle this conundrum. Have I failed, or has God's will occurred?
How do I know I am prolonging "life" during CPR. Am I pointlessly maintaining the viability of human cells without retention of the immortal soul? Am I being being tested for faith? Am I frustrating or facilitating?
I don't know the answer to any of these questions. I only know that each time I encountered a medical emergency during my life, I reacted according to my training and my personal philosophy of service to others.
With these concerns, I pray that my Lord and Savior forever guide my future use of the skill I acquired this day.
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