Firefighter's Wife

I am a firefighter's wife. A volunteer firefighter's wife, I may add. There is a difference. All firefighter's wives carry the burden of worry as their husbands respond to the call of duty, but a volunteer firefighter's wife hears every page that is called out. We carry an extra burden called knowledge. We know if a grass fire is burning out of control and families need to evacuate. We know if there is a serious car accident with possible fatalities. We know if someone's loved one is lost in the woods when the temperature is subzero. Not only do we worry of the potential dangers our husbands face, we also worry about the families our husbands are serving.

There is a special camaraderie when you are a firefighter's wife. There is an unspoken word that's shared, for each of us knows the others fears. There is a pride we carry deep in our hearts, but we dare not boast. We are fervent prayer warriors, as prayers are lifted at every page, "Keep him safe, oh Lord, and bring him home to me."

I used to resent being a firefighter's wife. I couldn't understand why my husband could devote so much of himself to a job. I told myself countless times that he loved the job more than me. I know now that isn't the truth. He doesn't do the job because he loves me less, he does the job because I love him. Loving him gives him the strength to do the job. Firefighting is his passion and it's who he is. I couldn't ask him to turn away from himself.

As I write these thoughts, the pager goes off. Grass fire in Mayhew township, section 18. "Keep him safe, oh Lord, and bring him home to me."