Lights and Sirens

After the call goes out to the ready rig filled with a tag team of fit and dapper rescuers, fitted with emblematic hats, strategic action fills duty like black turnout boots. In first gear, the first responders are on their way. Adrenaline rushes through his vein mileage. Another fix for an adrenaline junkie. Best in pairs, speed to get there, clear wrap ripped off flies through the air like discarded wrappers. There and here for the impaired. Street sweep rappers fling past burnout. In a flash, Luke Hawkinson appears on the emergency scene. On the street, it’s the truck everyone yields to when the far off sirens quickly draw near. Soon the decibel level blares into ear canals slashing the city’s silence with piercing violence. Some hold their ear lobes closed. Cherry red and bright white LEDs flood the field with hot spot flare ups. Almost there.

All the angles from which the light devastates the darkness with truthful illumination is marvelous. Chaotic encounters of anyone meeting everyone drips from the script in still cinema. Anonymity is revealed on the statement.  One frame shows the bravery captured in a Caravaggio. Eyes fixed. Burning midnight oil wicks. Both ends burn. Nothing left to earn. It is finished. Most think pay stub, but it’s the power of love. The code of the streets is spontaneous yet sometimes strict. Death tries to forcefully evict life with painful gripes. The commotion of dazzling lights and sirens during the acute adventure toward half dead humans stuns untrained ones. It’s a service road with no parking restrictions unlike campers, mobile homes and RVs. On the ground how much more profound is the light of God: flooding the subject of his story.

As his last name reads HAWKINSON in white stitching on the right breast of his EMS uniform the direct number to reach him is 911. It’s like dialing in 311 (Three Eleven) and Hawk answers like the lead singer of Green Day. The dim flicker of red light lowlights the star of life with a snake entwined staff. When you understand its meaning, it’s like the buzz caused by a fat lipper. The truth will make one quiver. The removal and placement of bodies from one place to another is a lawful service during the code three dispatched directive. Like the Ten Commandments men try to remove the biblical imprint given to Moses not realizing the written transitioned from stone to throbbing hearts. The crowd spoke out against God. The word became flesh and dwelled among us: first responder to the despondent. Will the removal of the star of life decal be next? They’ll be garage kept along with the other polished symbols. These too will burn in the event of a foretold emergency. As the truth is revealed they’ll order a recall.

The people grew irritable and impatient along the long route of Californiacation to deCaliforniacation. It’s all real. Lies are quakes. Live debates act like red and blue blood of states. The fire is coming. Mudslides. Everybody dies, but still we rise with the truth. Believing is free so do it. The cost to acquire the numbers is increasing at an alarming rate. Many are headed in the same direction increasing the development of freeway parking lots. The selves are trafficked with little time to be deceased rather than be slaughtered for the increase. The multiplication of the martyrs looks bleak. Let’s take another look at the good book. Another look at the decal.

Numbers 21:4-9 says, “The people became irritable as they traveled through rugged land. They spoke out against God and Moses: “Why did you drag us out of Egypt to die in this godforsaken country? No decent food; no water—we can’t stomach this stuff any longer.” So God sent deadly poisonous snakes among the people; they bit them and many in Israel died. The people came to Moses and said, “We sinned when we spoke out against God and you. Pray to God; ask him to take these snakes from us.” Moses prayed for the people. God said to Moses, “Make a snake and put it on a flagpole: Whoever is bitten and looks at it will live.” So Moses made a snake of fiery copper and put it on top of a flagpole. Anyone bitten by a snake who then looked at the copper snake lived.”

The fiery red Israeli saw-scale viper inhabits the rocky terrain of the arid Arava Valley. When threatened they strike from a coiled position and then leap toward the prey with a lightning fast strike. The deadly venom injected from fangs of the snake bite causes immediate internal bleeding by destroying blood and tissue. Internal and external hemorrhaging causes great pain and suffering.

John 3:13-15 says, “No one has ever gone up into the presence of God except the One who came down from that Presence, the Son of Man. In the same way that Moses lifted the bronze snake on the pole in the desert so people could have something to see and then believe, it is necessary for the Son of Man to be lifted up—and everyone who looks up to him, trusting and expectant, will gain a real life, eternal life.”

The centrality of the Father’s Son fatality lifted up on the torture tree is Christ’s atoning sacrifice for the sins of the world. Look up the gross set design without net neutrality. His suffering, bleeding and dying in our place is a gaze lit with holy light leading into grace. It wasn’t brief like he died and rose again, but the culmination of brave strategy back to a mansion of vacant rooms raked three years. Jesus did not take the main highway, he took the service road.

If a snake bitten Israelite would merely fix their eyes on the symbol of the Redeemer on the staff, the Israelite’s unbearable suffering and possible death by internal bleeding would be healed. In exchange, Jesus the Savior would suffer an excruciating death on the crucifix. The original rugged cross not a mass produced replica. Our salvation involved terrible bleeding and suffocation. Jesus, Lord of all, would extend not only the opportunity of physical healing, but the promise of spiritual healing and eternal life. As the time ticks, will you fix your eyes? The Israeli saw-scale viper sent by God were fiery and flying serpents in the Old Testament. The simple yet powerful story dynamics the Lord provided to heal the Israelites of horrific snake bites increases our understanding of the reality and power of the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ.

In the safety of a grassy green and wooden fenced backyard on the outskirts of Chicago, Illinois Luke had a deep seeded dream to move to California. The considerable distance kept the fairytale confined in the cookie-cutter developmental neighborhood of West Chicago. He swore over locked pinkies and Pad Thai with his socialite sister Brooke, they’d go. Early on with an associates degree in Fire Science and working as an EMT, Luke decided to make a phone call to Los Angeles Fire Station Number One. The fleeting whim ignited a wick all the way to the other end of the line where Captain Paul Ybarra heard Luke’s dream. Paul gave free advice over the line. Luke quickly learned how Paul is a super Christian. He learned how to do ordinary things well while serving in the U.S. Air Force. Early in the morning he devotes quiet time as an offering to the Lord. Paul left Luke with three main points: say the Lord’s prayer with conviction every night before he goes to bed; get your paramedic’s license and read, “Mere Christianity.” The orchestral arrangement between Luke and Paul set the movement toward the west coast. Like the book of Acts, Luke seemed to, “Rise and enter the city, and you will be told what you are to do.”

When the lights and sirens sear the streets with high pitched signals, adrenaline rushes through Hawk’s body like paddling for eight to ten foot overhead waves in Playa El Tunco, El Salvador. Like emerging from the submersion for precious air, Hawk has to prove himself to the Santa Monica Fire Department. No call is the same in the emergency calling. Until he becomes a full-fledged firefighter, catching the wave he was made to ride will require a God-shaped sea sled. As he abides set-after-set he will glide over the wash of disorientation as nervousness dissipates. A washboard stomach stays calm over the sticky bumped surfboard until he pops up ready to slay waves waking up as monsters. By the Spirit, he was led away from the party group partying until the sun came up. They floated on bottomless mimosas while inside knit hammocks. Inside a beautiful beach bungalow, he lied in bed all day while receiving affluent accouterments from the house maid at their beck and call. No one wanted to surf because his friends were fancy living. After binging on episodes of the OC and eating piled plates of unlimited food Luke was desperate to get out and explore El Salvador.

Luke was led to a surf shop in El Tunco. It’s where the surfers are a mile down from the beach bungalow. With a rented surfboard tucked underneath his armpit he carefully walked up an alcove to the rocky shoreline. The biggest wave sets he’s ever seen crashed down hard. The break was about a mile off the boundary edge of the Pacific Ocean. Luke couldn’t get out past the break to a spot where he could catch a wave. The waves crashed and pounded into him like a gang fight. They robbed him of his determination, strength and might. They were eight to ten feet overhead. After four hours of struggling in the buoyant salt water he could only make it past the break water twice. Not being aware of how waves are delivered in sets he missed the first wave and was smashed by the three trailing behind the first. Below the surface he was being torn up like an airless rag doll. Death was very close in the moment until he was pushed in enough; closer to the rocky shore. He crawled up the rocks as they held his weight like a sea creature. He slowly stood up determined to surf the tough waves out there. No doubt in his mind.

Luke walked back to the surf shop to see if they had any instructors. Nope. In Spanish, a local man who may or may have not been a surfer told Luke to pay him fifteen dollars to take him out. Arcángel, was his name. About thirty minutes passed when Luke caught a glorious wave right on the point break. He rode out the wave for what seemed to be several minutes of exhilaration. The waters were crashing as he had time to look around. It wasn’t like surfing in California where you do not have a lot of time to take in your surroundings. It’s quick, you’re up and then you’re down. This wave changed Luke’s life because he was able to grind the learning curve after brutal failed attempts. It wasn’t fun.

Skating and snowboarding his whole life did not make surfing any easier. His skill level has made surfing fun. Now he’s able to catch a wave when he goes out. God sent a guardian angel to Luke when he needed help catching his first wave. Arcángel gave Luke an extra push forward. It was the orchestration of God’s perfect plan for his life, but it was in agreement with Luke doing his part by paddling his ass off toward the goal. He put everything into his passion to become a wave rider. God came alongside Luke and made a way. Arcángel came to guide, push and protect God’s child in the unforgiving salty waters. In hind sight, it took Luke four hours to finally ask for help. It’s not something he does very much. He’s more of a giver than receiver. Luke would rather be the hero and fix things for people. He cringes at the thought of owing a favor to someone else.

Luke reminds himself how he’s worthless and worthy. A punk kid from Chicago who chose to leave a Chicago house and a Chicago job and a Chicago wife and Chicago kids and Chicago sports. He doesn’t know much, but foolishness. There’s nothing special about him. It’s all God. Whatever the challenge will be, he knows he will succeed not by his own capabilities and will power; however, by the Spirit of the living God. He does not even breathe on his own accord. He has to stay humble and remember how, “The joy of the Lord is my strength.” Not his own. Every single time, he personally invites the Holy Spirit into everything he’s doing to lead because it’s Jesus living inside him. In the midst of it, regardless if he does well or trips up, Luke relies on God’s strength and Holy Spirit power. A firetruck flies by. Lights and sirens like concert lasers. Offensive decibels. Make a way. Agile in human traffic. Know your direction cuz life is fragile. The last song.  Luke says it’s “Sixty-Three. It’s the only one I know because it would be a cool spot to work. Venice.”

The emergency call goes out. Code 3. Epinephrine spikes Luke’s body. Immediately, Luke transforms into Hawk. As the adrenaline rush runs it’s course like raging white rapids he goes into action mode from the training where he rattles off the medical talk of a certified paramedic. The saving acts begin. Blood pressure rises like the heart rate as the thrill drills into a seeker. Type-A personality. His first taste of the rush was in the grand ballroom at Pheasant Run, St. Charles, Illinois. Hawk jumped into the pool during his senior prom like a feeling-suppressed bomb. Hawk spikes the punch by being himself while remaining attentive to those around him.

Until he’s a full-fledged firefighter Hawk has to prove himself as not being a scrub to the Santa Monica Fire Department. The captain’s eyes are vigilant upon his every move like a hot-headed head coach awaiting the opportunity to slam Hawk down for any medical procedure done incorrectly by a newbie. Although receiving a Paramedic degree from UCLA with the highest grades in his class and mastering rescue drills with a killer physique his hawk eyes are still well aware of the paramilitary-esque pecking order on the scene. Lightning bolts strike inside Hawk as he flips on the lights and sirens of the rig. Not emojis. Hawk must know where the address is and how he’s going to arrive within the spread of Los Angeles. Then he has to know the best route from the pick-up location to the hospital. Long ago, Code 3 became Code 3 by tricking private companies listening on radios who wanted to be the first vehicle to pick up the body and transport them to the hospital. Code 3 made it so they wouldn’t be the first. Therefore private companies would not get paid.

When Hawk was still new to the exact layout of the city he did not know which streets were 0ne way and which streets have speed bumps. Apps like Waze are not used for navigational directions. There’s no time. A great mind is a terrible thing to waste. One time, a 3 a.m. call sneakily came in during the night. Waking out of a dead sleep, Hawk was out of it. He was like, “Where am I? Oh yeah, I’m at work, get your clothes on!” He ran to the rig with his pants hula-hooping around his knees. He made it to the address in time with the exact route to the hospital being thought out. At a residential house there was a dude upstairs in the backroom. He had a large fleshy mass hanging outside of his armpit. It was tumor-like as if his insides were outside. The chief reason for the call for help wasn’t known. The captain called for the stair-chair to be deployed. A stretcher couldn’t have been maneuvered around corners in the backroom and the patient would have slid off going down the interior steps. Stare at the fleshy mass too long and you won’t get the job done.

Hawk went down to the rig to pick up the stair-chair. When he returned to the backroom with the chair an I.V. and morphine drip were being inserted into the vein lines of the patient. Morphine is an opioid. The more morphine you inject the less the patient will be able to breathe. Normal breaths per minute are 12 to 20, but on a narcotic like morphine it could go down to one. That’s how people die on an overdose of heroine. The medics gave the guy too much morphine. He was snowed. He passed out with a low breath rate of six while moving into the stair-chair. Now that Hawk is a paramedic he knows it’s not the end of the world if the patient isn’t breathing. There are solutions. He doesn’t need to freak out. You pull out the breathing bag and breathe for the patient; 12 – 20 times per minute.

The captain of this run was a super hard ass. He was always on peoples’ cases who worked below him. When the shit hits the isolating fan he’d freak out with no composure to calm himself down. The captain is yelling at the top of his lungs with an intensity of a head coach reaming out the quarterback for throwing an interception, “We can’t use the stair-chair now. What’s the matter with you! Get him on the fuckin’ sheet!” Even though Hawk had three different ideas about the next step, he knows who the captain is and how he is supposed to direct the peons. It was a scene right out of Second Timothy Two and Four. Hawk waited for direction and didn’t act on his own.

In an emergency situation there’s no etiquette. You’ve got to get the patient going. You’re not going to safely put him in a stair-chair and strap him with all these belts. The captain’s idea was to use a sheet to transport him out of the backroom, fast! He freaked out because using the sheet wasn’t the first action. Hawk had to pick up the patient from the stair-chair. It was lightning fast. He grabbed the patient from underneath his armpits like protocol. The huge meaty mass was squishing and juicing blood all over Hawk’s arms and hands. He laid him on the sheet. The other medics grabbed the sheet ends to bring him out of the house into the pitch black night at three-thirty in the morning. They loaded the patient in the back. As Hawk boarded the ambulance driver’s side he forget where he was. The mental strain from moving the patient under stringent duress made him blank. Lights and Sirens. Phase three kicks in. Hawk pulled away in the darkened residential area not knowing where he was en route to one of the several local hospital. The street signs were not in plain view.

Hawk freaked out while driving, hoping to hit a main road so he’d recognize it. Santa Monica Boulevard appeared. The streets intersecting Santa Monica Boulevard are numbered with the occasional worded street. By 26th Street farther east the streets turn into more names than numbers. Hawk was driving West toward the hospital. But, he was at two numbered streets and then a named street appeared. Hawk thought, “Oh shit! I’m going the wrong way. I’m going East.” The captain, EMT, and paramedic are inside the back cab treating the patient while Hawk is driving. Lights and Sirens!

Hawk pulled a U-turn. It was dead on the streets. As soon as you pull a You-e, they can feel it in the back of the rig. They know. He could have taken it easy because it’s not that serious, but the captain got Hawk red and flustered. Hawk was driving away from the numbers so he thought, “Cool, I’m headed West now. He hit multiple numbers. Now, he sees how originally he was going the right way.” The random named street threw off his route: 24, 25, 26th and a named street then 27th, 28th, 29th then other named streets. He was on 27th Street going West down in numbers when he hit the named street. So Hawk pulled another You-e. Then he was going up again through the numbered streets and realized he had to pull another You-e. The captain in the back yelled out, “What the fuck are you doing?!” He was hot-headed and red. Hawk continued to drive with the worst feeling inside the pit of his stomach going with lights and sirens. Code 3. He had the right direction at first. It’s too bad he didn’t stick to his guns.

The Emergency Response Team arrived at the hospital. The patient was dropped off. Everything was fine. It wasn’t like the patient was dying. He wasn’t breathing. There’s a big difference between the two. Right outside the hospital in the Emergency drop-off area, the captain called Hawk over. The monologue was one of the most brutal ass-chewings Hawk had ever received to date. Hawk took it like a man by responding to what the captain said. It’s what he has always said to his commanding officers, “Sir, Yes Sir!”

“Join with me in suffering, like a good soldier of Christ Jesus. No one serving as a soldier gets entangled in civilian affairs, but rather tries to please his commanding officer. Similarly, anyone who competes as an athlete does not receive the victor’s crown except by competing according to the rules. The hardworking farmer should be the first to receive a share of the crops. Reflect on what I am saying, for the Lord will give you insight into all this.”