Ride Alongs (continued)

Black and whites that are patrolling on any given shift might be "crime" cars or they may be "traffic" cars. Of course there are emergencies that call all cars together to handle a crisis. But other than that rare occasion, there is a world of difference between a crime car and a traffic car.

As the name implies a traffic car is to concentrate it efforts on enforcement of traffic laws. These deputies seem to have a different world view than others. A rolling stop is treated like a major crime. And yes, they do hide in alleys and behind obstructions to catch you speeding or running through a boulevard stop. I've been there with the deputy. He taught me to stare at the spoked wheels, and if I was not able to see the spokes when the car made a stop, it was considered a rolling stop, and he nailed the driver. She adopted a coy demeanor and under-played flirting in hopes of avoiding the ticket. When the deputy returned to the car to check her registration, he told me how he reacted so poorly to this tactic that he was sure to nail her for something. In this particular case he could have written two violations because the children were jumping around in the back seat, and they had been doing that even before we pulled them over. Obviously they were not in seat belts. She ended up thanking the deputy for not writing up both violations so that she could erase the demerits with her insurance carrier by attending traffic school. Evidently if there are two violations even traffic school cannot keep her rates from rising.

In all fairness, however, when you see a cop "hiding" behind a billboard or someplace else like that, it is even more likely that he is a crime car catching up on his paper work. These poor deputies are required to write up every call to which they respond, and after two or three of them it is absolutely necessary to catch up on this record-keeping. They are good at finding the most remote places for this privacy. I was treated to lunch (hamburger) which we consumed in the abandoned parking lot of an industrial complex. The local greasy spoon seemed glad to give the deputy the burgers because they are glad to have police presence. It makes for cheap insurance.

Once when I was riding in a crime car and we were waiting at a red light, some brainless driver whooshed right by us and through the red light. My driver swore some disgusting obscenity and caught and ticketed this idiot. I think the swearing was due to the fact that this was not a traffic car and had it not been for the flagrancy of the violation the deputy would not have been required to clutter his evening with this offense.

Somehow all the fun of ride alongs dissipated after the death of one of our guys. Bruce Bryan was youth minister in our local Calvary Chapel, and he regularly did ride alongs with the deputies. He was especially interested in ministering to gang members and other troubled teens. They were called to a local restaurant where a known gang member was creating a little havoc. They talked this gang banger into letting them take him home, even though it was a bit out of the district. When they reached their destination the deputy opened the door for the boy who suddenly grabbed the deputy's service pistol and shot him in the face. When Bruce saw what was happening he bolted and ran. The perp shot him too, and after he hit the ground the kid shot him in the back of the head. He tossed the pistol and went into the house to watch TV. The deputy survived (though he lost his eye), but the minister did not. Because he sought troubled kids Bruce was used to wearing a vest during ride alongs, but the first bullet caught his shoulder beyond the vest. The kid who did this was given a long prison sentence, and Bruce's funeral was a record breaker. Chaplains from law enforcement agencies came from Sacramento to San Diego.

Ride Alongs

Before a person can ride along with a deputy Sheriff, he must sign away his life. That is to say, the document contains a wide disclaimer that eliminates my family from profiting in a lawsuit over my demise when it occurs during a ride along. I have survived long enough to tell you that there is more than one reason for that disclaimer. The odds that I might be taken out by a criminal are very slim. It's the wild driving of the deputy that put my life in jeopardy.

I want to tell you up front that the Sheriff deputies are easily the worst drivers I have ever endured. Clergy Volunteers usually rode along for only half a shift, and that was enough white knuckling for the evening. One of the deputies told me he wanted to be a Sheriff deputy so he could shoot a gun and drive fast. I'm not at all sure he was kidding. Sometimes the deputy with whom I rode treated me like part of a team. Other times I was made to feel like I was in the way--a mister butinski. Sometimes I rode in a "crime car" and other times I was in a "traffic car". Those two are different worlds.

Only when the call determines may a car use siren and flashing lights. But the deputies drove as though they were always on code 3. This makes for some harrowing experiences. I was sure we were going to be in a wreck, and the anticipated impact would have been at my side door. Thanks to the good brakes of a citizen, left swearing behind us, we were spared the accident.

One of the deputies taught me how to unlock the shotgun, "just in case". I remember tiptoeing behind him as we surveyed the halls of a local business. With his piece drawn, we were looking for a burglar in action. Nothing came of it, but the code we had received indicated burglary in progress.

More than once I was disdained as a potential hazard and certain to be useless during my tour of half the deputy's shift. I'm sure that clergy more clever than I were able to share the gospel with more deputies than I did. We had a captain at the local precinct who was a Christian, and he wanted us to be there. We were intended to be a liaison between the uniform and the general public, and sometimes it worked well.

Once on a code 3 call we arrived after the rescue team treated and transported a little girl who had swallowed something toxic from under the kitchen sink. But when grandma saw that I was a minister she grabbed hold of me and wept. We sat in the living room and I talked her down from her fear and panic. The deputy had another call, but he saw I was doing some good for this lady so he left me there to answer the next call, promising to pick me up after that. I knew the minister who baptized this woman and that enhanced my rapport with her. The deputy is never supposed to leave his ride along, but it worked this time.

Sheriff duties

I'm registered with the local Sheriff precinct as a Clergy Volunteer. They have my photo and fingerprints, so I'd better think again about any crime I might have contemplated.

I have been called upon for special duty in a suicide case to sit with the parents while the investigators dealt with the young man's body in the other room. He was an overweight loner who seemed to have just found his nitch in a computer science major at UCLA. But apparently he came home the night before, but a plastic bag over his head and ended it all. They were Roman Catholic people, and they gave me a courteous hearing as I explained the gospel of grace, and how suicide is not the unpardonable sin. I hope they saw the difference between sovereign grace in the Bible and what their superstitions had taught them. But at this time of crisis in a person's life it is hard to know what they might remember. This too is in the Lord's hands.

They called me to counsel with the mother of a 4 yr old girl who died from a fall off the cliff at Point Fermin Park. The mother was certain that the father of the child threw her over the side to keep from paying support for the child. Interestingly enough that case is in the local paper now, and the second hung jury has just reported. It seems they cannot agree on the degree of responsibility with which to charge the dad.

Then there was the time I was called to help keep two families separated in the waiting room of the ER at the local hospital. The boy of one family had been shot in the head and was dying. The other family's boy did the shooting. But he had been shot by responding deputies, and was cuffed to the bed in the same ER. It was a potential for serious conflict, as you might imagine. It turned out that the victim's family were black Muslims, and I told them I was a Christian minister, and asked if I could pray for them. They kindly gave me permission and I prayed for them to find comfort in the gospel. It is important to try to comfort and yet not compromise the gospel. No one seemed to be angry so I don't know how to grade my performance of duty.

Next blog post will tell about my ride along experiences. Stay tuned.

Tidying up

We are actually going to move. Not far. Only to Lakewood. Yes we already have a home "bought" in Lakewood. It is the home of my daughter and her husband. Since they have purchased a home in Lake Havasu, AZ, they are trying to hurry us into selling our home so we can complete the deal, and move into their home. The hold up has been with 25 years of treasures/trash that have accumulated knee high around us.

Unfortunately Barbara and I are both pack rat types, and we just can't bring ourselves to toss that book or give away that appliance that we haven't used for 10 years. Barbara would be happy to give away her iron (I know she hasn't used it in the past 10 years and more!). She just sold her Singer featherweight machine to our friend Beth who is an avid quilt manufacturer (see her blog: "love, laugh, quilt" where I understand she features a photo of the machine). No sacrifice there, since she bought it the year we were married and has used it maybe three times to repair clothing.

Enter Donna and Jim, lovingly attempting to help us move our treasures/trash to the new premises. It's like pulling eye teeth to gain our consent to throw anything away. The 10 or 15 pounds of disgusting candy left without debate. But everything else seems to maintain some redeeming features to argue in favor of holding onto it. I had never heard of a "Morgan" dollar before. Barbara swears it is a treasure given her by her grandmother. So I checked out the Internet, and sure enough EBay is selling them for something in excess of $17. Some different dates are selling in the hundreds of dollars. They are named for George T. Morgan, the chief engraver of the US Mint at that time.

Then there are special notes and cards that must be packed in the "Barnabas box". These are special encouragements for a favor done or a sermon that was especially appreciated. We need to keep them together for those times when we feel useless or forgotten. Here's a hand made get well card done in crayon by one of my little friends. How precious is the love of a child!

Okay, here are Donna and Jim again to pack a few more boxes. Bless them for their patience and hard work.

The Organ Recital

Well I passed another milestone. Three quarters of a century has witnessed my presence on this planet, and we find ourselves increasingly engaged in the organ recital. You know, I need to check my blood sugar. How's your blood pressure? The doctor says my kidneys are working a bit better than this time last year. My PSA is high so I need to take antibiotics and do the test again. My last molar on the top right cannot take a simple crown over the expensive root canal. It needs $600 more work, so I had them pull it out instead. Extractions are so much more reasonably priced than canal/crowns. I won't be needing any molars for the next 6 months anyway.

When I went to urgent care to see if I had pneumonia (I don't, and I am truly grateful to God for that!) I got a shock when I stepped on the scale. It seems that I have gained 24 pounds since June! The doctor said a lot of that seemed to be water. I elevated my legs a little and after a few trips to the restroom I lost 6 of those pounds over the weekend. But something snapped in my head. I am no longer inordinately corpulent--I'm fat! When I mount the stairs, I am carrying a 100 pound body suit with me. I must be killing myself. I know I will feel better and be much healthier if I might lose my pillow.

Someone needs to pray me through this one. Kaiser has a program called "Optifast" that is specifically for folks who are 40 or more pounds overweight. It is a 20 week, physician supervised, liquid diet. I go for orientation on Nov. 4, and I suppose the program begins shortly after that. I have already enjoyed my "thanksgiving dinner" of turkey and stuffing at Hofs Hut on Monday. Actually I suppose you need to pray for my wife who has to live with me through this whole thing. I have promised myself that I will not carp, whine and complain, but I am a weak and sinful man.

What snapped in my head was the sudden light that said "do this or die". I will let you know how things are going from time to time. I promise not to bore you with daily details, however.

Ecclesiastical Snobbery

On vacation in Branson, MO, we found ourselves engaged in ecclesiastical snobbery. It's not an unwholesome allegiance to the OPC. We have lived long enough in this denomination to realize that John Mitchell was right when he dubbed us the "Overly Prickly Church" rather than the "Only Perfect Church" as some aver.

My friend, John Toebe, drinks voraciously of reformed preaching, and he says, "Rollin, you just don't know what it's like out there." Well on vacation away from reformed centers is the only time I can get a taste of what John says. And we did get a taste this last week. We were in Branson, MO, a thoroughly "churched" tourist trap.

We scanned the Internet and perused the yellow pages and the consensus was to try the local "Bible" church. I figure that any church that respects the Bible enough to put it in the church's name must be worth trying. They also have an evening service, which is another good sign.

We were rather bitterly disappointed, however. It was not really because the pastor was an emotionless monotone. Nor was it the fact that cute pictures were flashed on the screen during the sermon (I guess to keep us awake and wondering where he was going). The order of service did not include a scripture reading of any sort. The fatal flaw, however, was the tragic fact that the pastor did not preach Christ! He sorta worked his way through John 13 for the account of the washing of the disciples' feet. What a wonderful text to display our servant Savior, who came not to be served, but to give His life a ransom for many! But instead we were given a moralistic harangue about how we ought to wash each other's feet. He told us about a time when he actually did wash the feet of another minister and they both felt humiliated. Aww, how good it is to be humbled. But it was not the humbling that comes from seeing the Savior bearing our sins. It was just the awkward social circumstances of culture.

So for the evening service we chose the local Southern Baptist Church. We thought we knew what to expect, but we did hope to hear the gospel preached. Again we were disappointed. The text was Ephesians 6 and the Christian armor. We should have guessed we were in for disappointment when the preacher said this text was going to be a jumping off point for his message. Here too there were distracting slides on the overhead to help us follow the sermon outline. But by his own admission, the sermon outline did not come from the scripture, but from literature published for a neighborhood watch group. There was some cleverness here, and even some good advice given, but I wanted the minister to bring me to Christ, and he did not do that. It really is amazing how close and yet how far one can get from preaching Christ while using the Bible.

Many years ago (again while on vacation) we visited a church where the minister announced as his text a paragraph from Elizabeth Elliot's book, "Through Gates of Splendor." We met some wonderful Christian people who took us to their home and treated us to ice cream and fellowship. I wept internally to think how these brothers and sisters were being fed with sand instead of the pure milk of the word.

When I ponder these experiences I tell myself, "These are by brothers in Christ. They will be sitting on the same pew with me in glory. While I think so harshly of their preaching, they are out there talking to people about Jesus and bringing them to the Savior. Who do I think I am to pass judgment?" Is it possible that Jesus will tell me that I was right about good preaching, but I ruined my contribution to the kingdom work on earth with pride and laziness and fear of conflict?

Covering the bases

Just to make sure that no proverbial stone was left unturned, Kaiser scheduled my wife for two consultations (not one, but two). One was with a radiation oncologist. The other was with a thoracic surgeon. Now I surmise that within the parameters of medical propriety, there is room for a little salesmanship for one discipline over against the other.

If Barbara were to authorise action against this schwannoma by her spine, the question is should we bomb it with radiation, or should we cut the whole thing out. Not surprisingly the radiation oncologist listed the benefits of his approach. It is not as invasive. It would not shrink the tumor, but it would stop its growth. A few sittings a week for a few weeks and it would all be over.

But the surgeon seemed to think it would be easy to extract this thing with arthroscopic methods. Just a couple little holes, inject a light and a camera and go for it. He warned us that if we allow it to grow into the spine it would get more complicated. He also suggested that if (and there is a very high degree of improbability) this tumor is or becomes malignant, the biopsy would not have detected that because only a small tissue sample is taken. When the tumor is removed the whole specimen is sent to the lab and it becomes certain that there were no cancerous cells.

We arranged the appointments to occur on the same day since this facility is in Hollywood. One was in the morning and the other in the afternoon. We thought it might be nice to have lunch in Hollywood between appointments. Of course we could not find our "Entertainment" coupon booklet. I'm sure there are some eateries in Hollywood who advertise in this book. So we let our GPS tell us what was available in the neighborhood. Well, since this GPS is now two years old we have discovered that these things get out of date. We must have tried three different restaurants listed in this thing, and all of them were long gone. We found a little Italian hole in the wall that turned out to be a nice establishment. My eggplant parmigiana and Barbara's cheese raviolis were excellent.

It seems that it is hard to decide where to eat in a strange neighborhood, and it is just as difficult to decide how to handle a benign tumor. We have already decided to wait until December and scan it again to see if there is noticable growth. We will make a decision then.