"BLESSED ARE THE PEACEMAKERS, FOR THEY SHALL BE CALLED SONS OF GOD." Matthew 5:9
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Please pray for your local law enforcement officers.
Thank you, Bob "Crosswalker" Hanus
POLICE
OFFICER POEM
When the Lord was creating
police officers, he was into his sixth day of overtime when an angel appeared
and said, "You're doing a lot of fiddling around on this one."
And the Lord said,
"Have you read the spec on this order?
A peace officer has to be
able to run five miles through alleys in the dark, scale walls, enter homes the
health inspector wouldn't touch, and not wrinkle his uniform.
"He has to be able to
sit in an undercover car all day on a stakeout, cover a homicide scene that
night, canvass the neighborhood for witnesses, and testify in court the next
day.
"He has to be in top
physical condition at all times, running on black coffee and half-eaten meals.
And he has to have six pairs of hands."
The angel shook her head
slowly and said, "Six pairs of hands... no way."
"It's not the hands
that are causing me problems," said the Lord, "it's the three pairs of
eyes an officer has to have."
"That's on the
standard model?" asked the angel.
The Lord nodded. One pair
that sees through a bulge in a pocket before he asks, "May I see what's in
there, sir?" (When he already knows and wishes he'd taken that accounting
job.) "Another pair here in the side of his head for his partners' safety.
And another pair of eyes here in front that can look reassuringly at a bleeding
victim and say, 'You'll be all right ma'am, when he knows it isn't so."
"Lord," said the
angel, touching his sleeve, "rest and work on this tomorrow."
"I can't," said
the Lord, "I already have a model that can talk a 250 pound drunk into a
patrol car without incident and feed a family of five on a civil service
paycheck."
The angel circled the
model of the peace officer very slowly, "Can it think?" she asked.
"You bet," said
the Lord. "It can tell you the elements of a hundred crimes; recite Miranda
warnings in its sleep; detain, investigate, search, and arrest a gang member on
the street in less time than it takes five learned judges to debate the legality
of the stop... and still it keeps its sense of humor.
This officer also has
phenomenal personal control. He can deal with crime scenes painted in hell, coax
a confession from a child abuser, comfort a murder victim's family, and then
read in the daily paper how law enforcement isn't sensitive to the rights of
criminal suspects."
Finally, the angel bent
over and ran her finger across the cheek of the peace officer. "There's a
leak," she pronounced. "I told you that you were trying to put too
much into this model."
"That's not a
leak," said the lord, "it's a tear."
"What's the tear
for?" asked the angel.
"It's for bottled-up
emotions, for fallen comrades, for commitment to that funny piece of cloth
called the American flag, for justice."
"You're a
genius," said the angel.
The Lord looked somber.
"I didn't put it there," he said.
THE GREAT POLICE OFFICER
Well, Mr. Citizen, it seems you've figured me out. I seem to fit
neatly into the category where you've placed me.
I'm stereotyped, standardized, characterized,
classified, grouped, and always typical. Unfortunately, the reverse is
true.....I can never figure you out.
From birth you teach your children that I'm
the bogeyman, then you're shocked when they identify me with my traditional
enemy....the criminal!
You accuse me of coddling criminals......until
I catch your kids doing wrong.
You may take an hour for lunch and several
coffee breaks each day,
but point me out as a loafer for having one cup.
You pride yourself on your manners, but think
nothing of disrupting my meals with your troubles.
You raise hell with the guy who cuts you off
in traffic, but let me catch you doing the same thing and I'm picking on you.
You know all the traffic laws...but you've never gotten a single ticket you
deserve.
You shout "foul" if you observe me
driving fast to a call, but raise the roof if I take more than ten seconds to
respond to your complaint.
You call it part of my job if someone strikes
me, but call it police brutality if I strike back.
You wouldn't think of telling your dentist how
to pull a tooth or your doctor how to take out an appendix, yet your always
willing to give me pointers on the law.
You talk to me in a manner that would get you
a bloody nose from anyone else, but expect me to take it without batting an eye.
You yell something's got to be done to fight
crime, but you can't be bothered to get involved.
You have no use for me at all, but of course
it's OK if I change a flat for your wife, deliver your child in the back of the
patrol car, or perhaps save your son's life with mouth to mouth breathing, or
work many hours overtime looking for your lost daughter.
So, Mr. Citizen, you can stand there on your
soapbox and rant and rave about the way I do my work, calling me every name in
the book, but never stop to think that your property, family, or maybe even your
life depends on me or one of my buddies.
Yes, Mr. Citizen, it's me...the lousy cop!
-------------------------------------------
The author of this article was Trooper
Mitchell Brown of the Virginia State Police. He was killed in the line of duty
two months after writing the article.
"Make
a Police Officer Cry"
Would you
like to see him bury his face in his hands, bawl like a baby and slam his fist
into the side of his patrol car? It's easy
Start by
refusing to listen to your wife when she suggests that she drive. Don't be a
whimp. Assert yourself. Say, "Aw heck, I can drive better with a few beers
under my belt than you can cold sober."
Twenty
minutes later you are standing in the dark on the side of the highway with
broken glass and spilled gasoline around. Your wife is screaming, pinned beneath
the jagged edges of twisted metal.
Your two year
old daughter is silent. Your six year old son is sprawled face down 30 feet away
The Officer
smells the alcohol on your breath when you try to explain, and he's not gentle
as he pushes you into the patrol car and tells you to shut up
Then he turns
his attention to what's left of your family and your car
Congratulations.
You've made a Police Officer cry.
What
is a Cop?
Cops are human (believe it or not) just like the rest of us.
They come
in both sexes. They also come in various sizes. This
sometimes depend on whether you are looking for one that is hiding
something, however, they are mostly big.
Cops are found everywhere- on land, on the sea, in the air, on horses,
in cars, sometimes in your hair. In spite of the fact that "you cant
find one when you want one", they are usually there when it counts the
most. The best way to get one is to pick up the phone.
Cops deliver lectures, babies, and bad news. They are required to have
the Wisdom of Solomon, the disposition of a lamb and the muscle of steel
and are often accused of having a heart to match. He's the one who rings
the doorbell, swallows hard and announces the passing of a loved one;
then spends the rest of the day wondering why he ever took such a
"crummy" job.
On TV, a cop is an oaf who couldn't find a bull fiddle in a telephone
booth. In real life he's expected to find a little blond boy "about so
high" in a crowd of a half million people. In fiction, he gets help from
private eyes, reporters, and " who-dun-it." In real life, mostly all
he
gets from the public is "I didn't see nuttin'".
When he serves a summons, he's a monster. If he lets you go, he's a
doll. To little kids, he's either a friend or a bogeyman, depending on how
the parents feel about it. He works "around the clock", split shifts,
Sundays and holidays, and it always kills him when a joker says, "Hey,
tomorrow is Election Day, I'm off, lets go fishing" (that's the day he
works twenty four hours).
A cop is like the little girl who, when she was good was very, very
good, but, when she was bad, was horrid. When a cop is good, "he's
getting paid for it." When he makes a mistake, "He's a grafter, and
that
goes for the rest of them too." When he shoots a stick- up man he's a
hero except when the stick-up man is "only a kid, anybody could have seen
that."
Lots of them have homes, some of them covered with ivy, but most of
them covered with mortgages. If he drives a big car, he's a chiseler, a
little car, "who's he kidding?" His credit is good; this is very
helpful, because his salary isn't. Cops raise lots of kids; most of them
belong to other people.
A cop sees more misery, bloodshed, trouble, and sunrises than the
average person. Like the postman, cops must also be out in all kinds of
weather. His uniform changes with the climate, but his outlook on
life remains the same: mostly a blank, but hoping for a better world.
Cops like days off, vacations, and coffee. They don't like auto horns,
family fights, and anonymous letter writers. They have unions, but they
can't strike. They must be impartial, courteous, and always remember
the slogan "At your service." This is sometimes hard, especially when
a
character reminds him, "I'm a taxpayer, I pay your salary."
Cops get medals for saving lives, stopping runaway horses, and shooting
it out with bandits (once in a while his widow gets the medal). But
sometimes, the most rewarding moment comes when, after some small
kindness to an older person, he fills the warm handclasp, looks into
grateful eyes and hears,
"Thank you and God bless you son.
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