About MFD :
Fire Fighter's Prayer
When I am called to duty, God
Whenever flames may rage,
Give me the strength to save some life
Whatever be its age,
Help me embrace a little child
Before it is too late
Or save an older person from
The horror of that fate
Enable me to be alert and
Hear the weakest shout
And quickly and efficiently
To put the fire out
I want to fill my calling and
To give the best in me,
To guard my every neighbor and
Protect his property
And if according to my fate
I am to lose my life,
Please bless with your
My children and my wife.
I Wish You Could . . .
. . . see the sadness of a business man as his livelihood
goes up in flames, or that family returning home, only too find their
house and belongings
damaged or lost for good.
. . . know what it is like too search a burning bedroom
for trapped children, flames rolling above your head, your palms and
knees burning as you
crawl, the floor sagging under your weight as the kitchen below you
. . . comprehend a wife's horror at 3a.m. as I check
her husband of 40 years for a pulse and find none. I start CPR anyway,
back, knowing intuitively it is too late. But wanting his wife
and family to know everything possible was done to try to save his
. . . know the unique smell of burning insulation, the
taste of soot-filled mucus, the feeling of intense heat through your
turnout gear, the sound
of flames crackling, the eeriness of being able to see absolutely nothing
in dense smoke-sensations that I've become too familiar with.
. . . understand how it feels to go to work in the morning
after having spent most of the night, hot and soaking wet at a multiple
. . . read my mind as I respond to a building fire "Is
this a false alarm or a working fire? How is the building constructed? What
hazards await me? Is anyone trapped?" Or to an EMS call, "What
is wrong with the patient? Is it minor or life-threatening? Is
the caller really in distress or is he waiting for us with a 2x4 or
. . . be in the emergency room as a doctor pronounces
dead the beautiful five-year old girl that I have been trying too save
25 minutes - who will never go on her first date or say the words, "I
love you Mommy" again.
. . . know the frustration I feel in the cab of the engine
or my personal vehicle, the driver with his foot pressing down hard
on the pedal,
my arm tugging again and again at the air horn chain, as you fail to
yield the right-of-way at an intersection or in traffic. When
you need us however, your first comment upon our arrival will be, "It
took you forever to get here!"
. . . know my thoughts as I help extricate a girl
of teenage years from the remains of her automobile. "What if
this was my sister, my girlfriend or a friend? What were her parents
reaction going to be
when they opened the door to find a police officer with hat in hand?"
. . . know how it feels to walk in the back door and
greet my parents and family, not having the heart to tell them that
I nearly did not come
back from the last call.
. . . feel the hurt as people verbally, and sometimes
physically, abuse us or belittle what I do, or as they express their
will never happen to me."
. . . realize the physical, emotional and mental drain
or missed meals, lost sleep and forgone social activities, in addition
my eyes have seen.
. . . know the brotherhood and self-satisfaction of helping
save a life or preserving someone's property, or being able to be there
of crisis, or creating order from total chaos.
. . . understand what it feels like to have a little
boy tugging at your arm and asking, "Is Mommy okay?" Not
even being able to look in his eyes without tears from your own and
not knowing what
to say. Or to have to hold back a long time friend
who watches his buddy having rescue breathing done on him as they take
him away in the
You know all along he did not have his seat belt on. A sensation
that I have become too familiar with.
Unless you have lived with this kind of life, you will never truly
understand or appreciate who I am, we are, or what our job really means
I wish you could though.