What About Me? - Pat Patterson

“Do not love the world or anything in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For everything in the world—the cravings of sinful man, the lust of his eyes and the boasting of what he has and does—comes not from the Father but from the world.” 1 John 2:15-16

Okay, I admit it—I love the world. I always have. But there was a time when it had me in chains, dying to get out there in it, to live a little. My situation simply wouldn’t allow it. And God? He never seemed to answer my question, What about me? So I decided to put my foot down. One of two things would happen: he’d talk to me, or I’d run until I dropped. I had to get his attention…

“Lord, do you hear me?” I took off down the lakeside trail shaking my fist at him as I ran. “Are you listening to me? There’s so much I want to see. So many things I want to do. My friends are having fun. What about me?”

Silence.

“Why won’t you answer me? All I ever do is work. I deserve more.”

More silence.

“It’s not fair!”

And, boy, I sure showed him! I ran until I couldn’t take another step, still God remained silent. Finally I stopped in the middle of the trail, doubled-over, dejected and frustrated, sweating and gasping for air. Physically and emotionally I felt drained. Spiritually I was spent.

“Oh, God,” I cried, tears flooding my eyes. “Where are you?”

A funny croaking sound answered me. I turned as a frog leapt into the lake. “Very funny,” I muttered. “Is that the best you can do?” Then a deer caught my eye. She lifted her head from the water’s edge, glanced and trotted into the woods. “Hmm.” A fish jumped and landed with a splash. “What is this?” I murmured. And then I noticed this dragonfly. Crazy thing buzzed past my face, landed on a small branch less than three feet away, and sat there staring at me. I felt puzzled. Was someone trying to tell me something?

Then a high-pitched mechanical sound caught my attention. Distracted, I looked up. A fancy motorboat zoomed across the lake. I glanced back at the dragonfly. It sat perched on the end of the stem watching me. I felt a strange paradox in my heart. Then another boat cruised past. My face hardened again. I wanted a boat so bad I could taste it. I balled up my fist and opened my mouth to yell at God, but something stopped me—His voice. It came to me, powerful and resounding, and yet as gentle as a whisper…

You listen to me now. This world…all those things you so desperately want and can’t get your hands on…don’t you see? You love those things more than you love me.

My problems were still waiting for me when I got home, but something about me had changed. I ran into the woods that morning angry, frustrated, and shaking my fist at God, but I walked out at peace, quietly acknowledging Him and thanking Him for my life.

*

Are you angry with God? Do you ever shake your fist at Him? Demand your rights? Then maybe you love this world just a little too much. Put your foot down. Run out there and find Him. And when some silly bug lands on a branch in front of you and boldly stares you down, close your mouth and listen for God’s voice. Then follow Him out of that deep, dark forest. He has a better life waiting for you…a life of contentment, of hope, and of joy.

Pat Patterson is a writer, a photographer, and an instructor of Emergency Medical Science. His stories are true, based on real life experiences and from time spent on the streets of Durham, North Carolina where he served as a paramedic for seventeen years.

Pat is a winner of the Blue Ridge Christian Writers Conference.
Read Pat's devotions.

I Am Not Ashamed - Pat Patterson

“For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth; to the Jew first, and also to the Greek.”
Romans 1:16

“Excuse me,” I said, looking up. The man was huge. Powerful. Broad chest and shoulders clothed in a white karate ghi. He looked every bit the part, a professional fighter with a knack for breaking bones. In fact he had just broken a pile of concrete blocks…with his head. “Um, Mr. Barlow?”

“Yes?” Frank Barlow turned and looked at me. “I’m in a hurry. How can I help you, son?”

“I, uh, I just wanted to ask you…” I hesitated and then just blurted it out. “Do you know Jesus?”

Mr. Barlow appeared stunned, caught off guard, but then he chuckled and retaliated as a humored smile broke the stiffness on his face. “Son,” he said, “I don’t have time for religion right now. I have more important things on my mind.”

I grinned sheepishly. I knew when I was licked. Besides I didn’t know what to say or do next. For that matter, I had no idea why I’d even asked him the question. It was just something I felt compelled to do.

“Okay,” I said. “I really enjoyed your presentation.”
Mr. Barlow nodded, smiled at me, and walked away. I never saw him again.

A few months later my mother told me a story. She had been at a gathering of Christian women that day, a lady’s luncheon of sorts. “We had a guest speaker,” she said. “He was a karate expert.”

“Really?” I was enamored with the notion of karate. Of black belts and fists. Of breaking boards and blocks and people’s heads with nothing but hands and feet. “Who was it?”

“Frank Barlow.”

“What?”

“He gave his testimony,” she explained. “About how he’d become a Christian. About how he was on his way back to his car after a karate exhibition when this high school kid came up to him and asked him if he knew Jesus.”

“Mama, that was me!”

“I know,” my mom said with a smile. “I just thought you might want to know you had an impact on his life. He accepted Christ.”

That was thirty-five years ago. For more than twenty of those years Mr. Barlow operated a dojo in my hometown, called “Judo and Karate for Christ.” Today he is a Karate Master, with a 6th Dan black belt in Shorin Jiu Te Do Karate and expertise in numerous other disciplines. But today something else is different about him too…today Frank Barlow knows Jesus.

Are you a Christian? Is there someone you know who needs to know the truth? Then tell them about Jesus. If a skinny eighteen year-old kid can turn a powerful karate expert around by asking him a simple question, then imagine what you could do.

Pat Patterson is a novelist, a paramedic, and an instructor of Emergency Medical Science. His stories are true, based on real experiences from the streets of Durham, North Carolina where he has served as a paramedic since 1992. Pat is a winner of the Blue Ridge Christian Writers Conference.

The Scourging -- Pat Patterson

"Then Pilate took Jesus and had him flogged. The soldiers twisted together a crown of thorns and put it on his head. They clothed him in a purple robe and went up to him again and again, saying “Hail, King of the Jews!” John 19:1-3

Do you realize what Christ did for you? The suffering he endured? Well in EMS we see a lot of cruelty. A lot of mean cases, and a lot of needless blood. But most of us will never see anything to compare with this...

"Spread his arms," the chief guard roared. "That's it, now lash them tight. Tight I said! Tighter!"

He knew what was coming. The anticipation alone would have been enough to make most men cry for mercy, but not him. He stood like a man. He knew what he needed to do and he did it. He loved us that much.

"Ha," the chief guard growled. "You call yourself a king? Let's see what you got."

The scourgers readied themelves, one to each side, each with an evil grin on his face and a cat-of-nine-tails in his hand. But these Roman soldiers weren't savages. Not at all. They were artists, skilled in the art of torture, and they carried out their jobs with practiced precision. They knew just how much punishment to inflict, and exactly how to do it to evoke maximum pain. It was a well rehearsed performance, a punishment equal to the crime.

"Proceed!"

The first scourger stepped forward gripping his lethal weapon. "King of the Jews, huh?" He spat on Christ's back. Whacked the side of his head. "Take this, your majesty!" He swung with all his might. The wicked instrument flew. Its deadly thongs whipped through the air then struck with exacting purpose, ripping and tearing at Christ's bare flesh. Blood spewed forth. The scourger stepped back grinning; the second one stepped in. He repeated the brutal onslaught as if part of a terrible game. And back and forth they went with their sick, sadistic sport, whipping and lashing, and lashing and whipping, and on and on and on...

Christ cried out in agony. His flesh fell away in bloody chunks leaving behind a mural of horrible stripes. The battered skin swelled and oozed. Capillaries leaked. Shock soon set in and his blood pressure began to drop.

"Enough," the chief guard roared quickly tiring of the game. "Cut him down. He's done."

The soldiers cut him loose and The King of Kings stood on shaky legs, his physical body robbed of strength, his spirit pushed to its near limit. "Here," a guard said stepping forward and placing a purple robe across his back. "A gift. A garment fit for a king."

"No, here," another guard bellowed. "Take mine." He brought an ugly crown of twisted thorns and shoved it onto Christ's head. "Behold, your majesty. Your crown!"

Then they placed a staff in his hands, and the crowd of soldiers knelt before him and mocked him. Then they grabbed the staff and hit him over the head with it, again and again, crying, "Hail, king of the Jews. Hail!"

*

Of course I didn't witness this terrible event, but the Bible paints a clear picture of what happened. Pilate took Jesus and had him flogged. He was scourged. A common form of punishment in Christ's day, and one well documented in the history books.

Today my coworkers and I still see a lot of blood-battered skulls, broken limbs, gunshot wounds and burns-and these images will be forever written on my mind as terrible reminders of the savagery of man, but for me one image remains the most vivid of all. And it's not a pretty one. It's the picture of my Lord walking away from that ill-conceived whipping post and picking up that awful cross. Lacerated. Punctured. Beaten and bleeding to the point of death. Most people would have died from those injuries alone, but not Christ. He still had a job to do, and this torture was only beginning.

The worst was yet to come...




Pat Patterson is a novelist, a paramedic, and an instructor of Emergency Medical Science. His stories are true, based on real experiences from the streets of Durham, North Carolina where he has served as a paramedic since 1992.

Respond, Your Life Depends on It -- Pat Patterson

As Jesus was walking beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon called Peter and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. “Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will make you fishers of men.” Mt 4:18-19

Imagine if you called for help and nobody responded. How terrified would it make you feel to realize you were all alone? Well what I’m speaking of here is far more important than that.We’re speaking of eternity. I’m talking about someone’s life…

“C’mon, partner, we need to go!”

“Unh uh, I’m not going.”

“Right. Put your boots on, man. I’ll be in the truck.”

“I’m serious. I wanna see the end of this game.”

His partner gazed at him, incredulous, as if trying to see the humor in a sick joke without a punchline. At first his face revealed confusion, and then a small degree of anger, and then outright disbelief.

“You what?”

“I want to see this game.”

“Medic-seven?” the dispatcher exclaimed. The station radio crackled as if to emphasize the frustration in her voice. “Are you en route yet?”

“Don’t answer her.”

“What? We can’t just ignore this, man. We have to go!”

“Look, I’m not wasting my time on another silly call. It’s a cardiac arrest for crying out loud. There’s nothing we can do for the poor guy anyway.”

The radio crackled again. “Medic-seven?”

“Seven to dispatch—stand by please.” His partner’s expression deepend. A stern frown soured his face.

“Are you insane? Do you realize what you’re doing?”

“Sure I do.”

“Medic-seven!”

“Seven,” his partner answered, his voice revealing total confusion.

“I-I’m sorry, but you’ll have to send another unit. It’s my partner, he’s…well he’s refusing to take this call.”

A few seconds of uncomfortable silence passed before the radio erupted in a swarm of heated responses. The dispatcher, their supervisor, the fire department squad unit already en route to the scene—everyone fighting for radio space trying to understand the madness taking place. His partner stared at him dumbfounded.

“I can’t believe this, man! Someone’s life is on the line and you’re just gonna sit there and watch that game?”

"Sit down and relax. Ignore it. It’ll go away."

*

Sound ridiculous? Well sure it does. But what if it really happened? I meanwhat if you dialed 911 and nobody came? Be pretty scary, huh? Well don’t worry, no serious first responder would ever consider ignoring an emergent call. In fact, as a whole, EMS personnel are some of the most dedicated people I know. They jump into action whenever the tones sound, regardless of the weather, or the time of day, or of how crummy they might be feeling at the moment. They jump, and as a result lives are changed. Many are saved. And yet I wonder, do these people care as much for themselves as they do for others?

You guys understand what I’m talking about. All of you firefighters. You police officers and paramedics. And all you ER nurses and doctors. You understand the importance of diligence. That another’s life may hang in the balance each time you’re called to act. You do it because you care. But I have a question for you—what about you?

Jesus said, “Here I am! I stand at the door and knock.”

Will you dare to answer it? Will you respond with the same diligence that you would an everyday call? I mean, listen! This is the call of your life! It will determine your ultimate destiny. Where you’ll spend eternity. So will you open the door? Answer Christ’s call and let him in? Or will you sit there and ignore him and hope he simply goes away?

When Peter and Andrew heard Christ’s call they jumped. They followed him. And on their backs Christ built his church. If Jesus Christ is knocking on the door of your heart today, please don’t ignore him. Do as they did. Respond to his call. You must, for someone’s life depends on it…

Yours!

Pat Patterson is a novelist, a paramedic, and an instructor of Emergency Medical Science. His stories are true, based on real experiences from the streets of Durham, North Carolina where he has served as a paramedic since 1992.

Do You Believe This? -- Pat Patterson

"Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?”' Jn 11:25-26

I can’t believe it! Another year has come to an end. And in a couple of days, if you’re like most people, you’ll be asking yourself this question: How did I do? Well if you find yourself down, full of regrets and depressed by the realization that you once again missed the mark, relax, you’ll soon get a chance to do it all over again. Most of us will anyway…

*

“Medic-seven,” the dispatcher said. “Cardiac arrest.”

My heart still skips a beat every time I hear those words. Cardiac arrest means someone else’s heart has stopped beating, and the way I respond, the way I function and hold it all together may be the determining factors as to whether that victim lives or dies. We call it a code. It’s actually one of the most well rehearsed calls a paramedic ever runs, a scenario we practice over and over and over again to perfection, but somehow it always seems to produce the same effects: mild tachycardia, sweaty palms, and a feeling of impending doom followed by a few moments of controlled fury as we feverishly struggle to save another person’s life. But this time there was nothing my partner and I could do.

“A ninety-two year old female,” the dispatcher continued. “Not breathing.”

My partner entered the address into the GPS unit. I hit the gas. We made excellent time weaving through traffic and arrived on scene only four minutes after the dispatch, but it wasn’t soon enough. Our patient was already gone. She lay on the floor beside her bed with no sign of life. Her eyes, frosty and opaque, painted a picture of recent death. Her heart made not a sound. No rigor mortis gripped her limbs, but it was easy to see she was dead. Any resuscitation attempt would be futile.

“And right before Christmas,” I murmured. “How sad.”

We returned to base feeling a little blue. I backed the truck into the bay at Station-2 and was just about to climb out of it when we received another call similar to the first, only this time the victim was much younger. Only four months old. We found her lying in bed, her tiny limbs stiff and cool, her skin a sickening shade of blue.

I felt my heart break. I glanced at the young family standing on the other side of the room. I wanted to say something to them but couldn’t think of the words. On the children’s faces I saw shocked innocence, and on their mother’s unimaginable pain. A bright Christmas tree glowed in the corner of the room but it seemed to lack the luster it might have just hours earlier, before death entered their home robbing them of Christmas joy.

*

The loss of these two fragile lives should serve as a grim reminder to us that death is inevitable. And no man knows when his time will come. So I have a question for you: Are you ready to die? Do you know where you will spend eternity? Death can come at any moment and will eventually visit us all, so don’t let another year go by. Make it your New Year’s resolution to consider this: Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?”

I do! Christ came to bring everlasting life, and now death is just the beginning. Yeah, I believe. I pray that you will too.




Pat Patterson is a novelist, a paramedic, and an instructor of Emergency Medical Science. His stories are true, based on real experiences from the streets of Durham, North Carolina where he has served as a paramedic since 1992.

A Child is Born -- Pat Patterson

"For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given; and the government shall be on his shoulder; and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace." Isaiah 9:6


“Hey, I know you!” I stared at the woman trying to make a connection. She looked vaguely familiar to me, standing in the booking area of the police station with handcuffs about her wrists, but I couldn’t place her face. “You delivered my baby,” she said as the arresting officer removed the cuffs. “Six months ago in the elevator? Remember?”

And suddenly I did remember. Oh, how I remembered…

*

The house was cluttered. Dingy and hot. A drunk, heavyset male lay passed out on the living room floor. She lay by his side in the middle of the room cursing, her knees apart, her swollen belly exposed. “How far along are you?” I asked kneeling to begin my assessment.

“Don’t touch me,” she shouted. “Just take me to the hospital!”

“Relax, I’m only here to help.”

“Well I don’t want your help, I just want a ride!”

Her face drew up tight. She took a breath and held it. Her cheeks turned red. And then suddenly, as if releasing the energy of an internal explosion, a loud cry burst forth. She moaned and screamed and panted and cried until the contraction eased. Then she sat there panting, angry and belligerent. And the rest of the call was pretty much the same. She griped and complained all the way to the hospital, fussing about her treatment in life and all of the bad things people had done to her. “I deserve better,” and on, and on, and on.

I ignored her vulgar language and pulled together the equipment for a complicated delivery, all the time praying for the baby yet to be born. We backed into the ambulance bay. My partner opened the doors. We wheeled her inside the hospital and entered the elevator that would take us upstairs to Labor & Delivery. Another contraction gripped her. Tore her at the seams. “It’s coming,” she screamed as the elevator began to rise. “Oh God, it’s out!”

I lifted the sheet and saw a small baby boy lying on the stretcher between her legs—small and blue and slippery looking…and still.I picked him up and toweled him off and suctioned his mouth and nose, then vigorously rubbed his tiny back to stimulate respiration. He gasped and took a breath, then began to cry and pink up. I felt an excitement one can only understand upon having witnessed the arrival of new life. But my heart sank a few moments later. The doctor told me the mother had confessed to smoking crack—that night! Well no wonder he’s premature, I thought, so small, depressed, and unprepared for life.

I left the hospital with a sick feeling in my stomach. “That poor child,” I said. “He doesn’t have a chance.”

*

I can’t help but wonder: what kind of life will he have? Will he delve into alcohol and drugs like his mother? Join a gang? Kill or be killed? Well when I think of his birth, and the circumstances surrounding his untimely delivery, I am reminded of another poor baby born in a lonely stable in Bethlehem, before hospitals, before medical care. I mean, who would have thought he had a chance? And yet on that first Christmas morning two thousand years ago, with cattle lowing and shepherds keeping watch, a wonderful event occurred: A child was born, and unto us a son was given.

I believe in Christmas, the day eternal life entered the world. In Christmas I find hope, for the lowly, for the down and out, and for those born under the worst possible conditions. So please join me in praying for a baby boy who was born in an elevator six-months ago this week. In the eyes of the world, he doesn’t have much of a chance. But then, this is Christmas. And unto that small baby boy, a savior was born—Jesus Christ. The Lord.



Pat Patterson is a novelist, a paramedic, and an instructor of Emergency Medical Science. His stories are true, based on real experiences from the streets of Durham, North Carolina where he has served as a paramedic since 1992.

We Need a Revival -- Pat Patterson

"I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes…" Romans 1:16

Someone needs to tell these kids. They’re all gonna die…

“Medic-7,” the dispatcher announced. “We’ve got a subject shot!” I grabbed my stethoscope and headed for the ambulance. Colorful images flashed through my mind as I climbed into the passenger seat. The dispatcher continued her voice high and sharp. “A teenaged male shot once in the head. Police officer on the scene requesting Code-3 response. Code-3.”

“10-4,” my partner responded jumping behind the wheel. “Medic-7 en route.”

I tried to calm myself as we hurried to the scene. Relax. You’ve been a medic a good long time. Surely by now you’ve seen it all. But as we pulled onto Hopkins Street and arrived on the scene, I felt my stomach tighten. My palms began to sweat. There’s just something unsettling about a young man with a bullet hole in the side of his head, his life blood spilling out all over the ground and a dangerous crowd pressing in on you demanding you get to work.

There was nothing we could do of course. He was already dead. But for the sake of our own skins and the fact that we were standing on their turf and outnumbered about a hundred to one, we made a good show of it. Loaded him up and moved to the truck assuring the angry crowd we would do our best to save him. Once clear of the scene, however, my partner killed the lights and sirens and slowed down to normal traffic. I stared into the victim’s lifeless eyes trying to guess his age. Eighteen years old, maybe? Nineteen? Oh, Lord, what a waste.

“Duke ER,” I said keying the radio mike. “I’m sorry but we’re bringing you a corpse. Another gang member. There’s nothing we can do.”

*

What in the world is happening out there? It’s like warfare. The gang situation in our cities has never been worse. Drugs, robbery, murder—they’re as common on our streets as rain. And I often find myself angry, craving righteous revenge. After all, those kids are killers. Punks! We should just put ‘em all away and be done with them, right?

Well that might be the thing to do if we had nothing more to offer them, but we do.

This is Christmas. The time we celebrate Jesus—the light of the world. And I can personally attest to that light. If it weren’t for him I would be lost, living in darkness, with no hope for the future and no idea which way to go. But thank God for Jesus Christ, and for the people who cared enough to lead me his way. He saved my life. And if he can do it for me, he can do it for them. So it occurs to me, why don’t we tell them about Jesus too?

Now I realize that gangs are here to stay. I’m not naïve enough to believe they’ll disappear. Shootings will still occur. People will always die. But sending those kids to prison, just locking them away, that won’t solve the problem. And one thing is certain: they will never know the truth if no one tells them. So I think it’s time for a revival. Time to stop talking and start acting. The gospel of Christ is the power of God unto salvation. Are we using it? Are you? Let’s take our streets captive for Jesus. Take the gospel out there and see what God can do.

*

Please join me in praying for a revival in the city where I work. Pray that God will organize a group of people with a burden for the gangs. Pray for power and protection. Pray for opportunity. And pray that when the time comes we might find the courage to risk it all for Christ.

Lord, we need a revival. Every one of these kids is going to die. Send someone to tell them before it’s too late. Send someone soon!



Pat Patterson is a novelist, a paramedic, and an instructor of Emergency Medical Science. His stories are true, based on real experiences from the streets of Durham, North Carolina where he has served as a paramedic since 1992.

Rejoice! It’s Christmas! - Pat Patterson

"For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 6:23


Oh, Lord, I thought, why now? It’s Christmas…

Larry’s compressions were perfect. Two inches deep, a hundred a minute, right out of the book. John had the airway under control, an endotracheal tube in place, properly secured and ventilated. My partner, Warren, started the IV and handed me drugs. Epinephrine. Atropine. I pushed them into the IV line, delivering just the right amount to stimulate the old man’s heart. In all it was a perfect code, an organized attempt to save a human life, and it couldn’t have gone any better, but deep inside I knew it was futile. He wasn’t going to make it.

“I don’t know,” I said shaking my head.

“This just isn’t working. I think it’s time to stop.”

I glanced at Warren. “What do you think?”

“No,” a voice behind me said. “Don’t stop! C’mon, daddy,” the young woman cried. “You can do it!”

I glanced around me at my patient’s family, a wife and three grown children. Their cries of support, the hope I saw on their faces, it all just about broke my heart. We’d done everything right, run a perfect code in the middle of their living room—a beautiful home decorated with Christmas tree and lights—but a flat green line still traced across the ECG screen. It painted a picture of finality, a portrait of hopelessness and death.

“It’s Christmas, dad. You can’t leave us now!”

“Honey, stay with us. We need you here.”

I felt my eyes well up. I shook my head. “It’s no use,” I murmured. “He’s already had three rounds of epi and atropine. One of bicarb. Pacemaker won’t capture…”

I glanced at the family again. I could feel their pain. But as I considered my protocol I knew what I had to do.

“Larry,” I said with a sigh. “Hold compressions.”

I placed my fingertips against the old man’s neck. Larry paused and took a much-needed breather. I squinted and stared at the cardiac monitor hoping to detect a sign of life—a blip, a pulse, any indication that my patient’s heart had responded to treatment—but I couldn’t. The thin green line continued its lonely trek across the screen. My fingers felt nothing but cool dry skin beneath them. No pulsation. No warmth. No life.

I glanced at Larry and shook my head.

“You can stop.”

Then I stood and faced the family.

“Folks—” I took a deep breath. A fist-sized lump threatened to close my throat. “I’m so sorry…”

*

It’s hard to lose a loved one, especially this time of year when our thoughts turn homeward and old memories of Christmas fill us with hope and joy. But there’s never a convenient time. Death always seems to surprise us. It’s so final, and at times seems so unfair. So what’s a family to do when they face such terrible loss? Where can they find peace? Where’s the hope?

Well this year as you enter the holiday season, remember there is hope. Even in death, real hope. That’s what Christmas is all about, a new beginning. Life. You see if we were all perfect, totally obedient to God, we wouldn’t need a savior. But we’re not perfect. The Bible says we have all sinned. And with sin comes darkness. Death.

Sounds pretty bleak, huh?

Well if that were the end of the story it would be, but it’s not. For two thousand years ago God sent us hope, a way back into His presence where we all truly belong. And His plan was revealed through the birth of a child, His son—Jesus Christ.

*

Yes, we have all sinned. And we will each take our turn at death. It’s inevitable. No one can escape it. But don’t fear, for you have been given the greatest gift of all—Jesus Christ. He was born. He’s still here today. And in him you can find life. And peace. And hope.

So rejoice. Be of good cheer. It’s Christmas!



Pat Patterson is a novelist, a paramedic, and an instructor of Emergency Medical Science. His stories are true, based on real experiences from the streets of Durham, North Carolina where he has served as a paramedic since 1992.

The Coolest of the Cool -- Pat Patterson

"Boldly and without hindrance he preached the kingdom of God and taught about the Lord Jesus Christ." Acts 28:31

I couldn’t believe it! He was my hero. The coolest of the cool. Warlord of the most vicious gang of teenagers that ever roamed the streets of New York, and he was coming to my hometown. I had to see him! It was a teenaged boy’s dream come-true.

I had read his book several times, at least to the point where he became a Christian, but I never ventured past that page; I just wasn’t interested. But what I didn’t realize at the innocent age of 13 was that God was interested in me. He had a plan for my life and it all seemed to begin the day I first picked up that paperback book—Run Baby, Run.

“Nicky Cruz? He’s coming to town?”

“Yeah,” my sister said. “You wanna go?”

“Are you kidding? Yes!”

I felt wild with anticipation. Something thrilling was about to happen. I put on my coolest denim jacket and boots, slid a fake switchblade knife into my pants pocket, and followed my sister downtown.

The auditorium was packed. A feeling of intensity gripped the room. And then suddenly I saw him. He walked to the podium. I gazed in utter amazement. He was everything I had imagined and more, solid, tough looking and scarred with a no-nonsense approach that thrilled me to the core. I couldn’t believe I was actually looking at him.

Nicky Cruz!

And then he started to talk. He spoke of the ghetto, and of switchblades, and of zip guns and chains and blood. Of girls, of killing, of drinking and fighting and drugs. His story came to life. Filled me with wonder and awe. But as he continued to speak and shared the rest of the story that I had avoided so many times—of the skinny preacher who walked into Brooklyn and boldly shared the gospel that had forever changed his life—something happened to me. I began to feel a deep yearning, an emptiness that longed to be filled. And whatever it was that tough Puerto Rican kid had found after so many years of fighting and running from God—I wanted it.

“Jesus,” Nicky exclaimed. “He saved me. He can save you too!”

The service drew to a close. He gave the altar call. I inched forward with a hundred other people. I didn’t even know why. But as I made my way to the foot of the stage and gazed into his eyes something remarkable happened.

“Did you do it?” my sister asked me. “Did you pray to receive Christ?”

“Me?” I said, coolly shaking my head. “Nah, I just wanted to see what Nicky looked like. He was cool!”

But you know the truth—I did do it. I bowed my head and prayed. I asked Jesus Christ to come into my heart, and since that night my life has never been the same.

*

Fifty years ago a bold young preacher walked into Brooklyn and risked his life to share his faith with the gangs, and a boy named Nicky Cruz responded. And the night Nicky came to my hometown, I responded too. Now what about you? Have you met the Lord Jesus? Have you responded to his call? If not, don’t waste another day. Get down on your knees tonight and invite Christ into your life. Take it from a man who knows—from a naïve teenaged boy who responded almost forty years ago—you’ll be glad you did!

*

Dear Nicky, God used you to ignite a fire in my heart. Then Jesus did the rest. I thank God for your boldness. I thank God for you. Happy Birthday! You are still the coolest of the cool! --Pat Patterson

Learn more about Nicky Cruz and his outreach at http://nickycruz.org/

Pat Patterson is a novelist, a paramedic, and an instructor of Emergency Medical Science. His stories are true, based on real experiences from the streets of Durham, North Carolina where he has served as a paramedic since 1992.

...Before It's too Late -- Pat Patterson

Therefore, get rid of all moral filth and the evil that is so prevalent and humbly accept the word planted in you, which can save you. James 1:21

*

“Medic-7, hemorrhage! A 38 year-old female with a severe laceration. Caller reports heavy bleeding! Respond Code-3.”

My partner and I didn’t need to hear the dispatch twice. We jumped in our truck and drove out of the bay. I pushed some buttons and the ambulance lit up like a Christmas tree, lights flashing, siren wailing—Code-3. Bloody images consumed my thoughts as we raced to the call. Walking onto the scene those images came to life—a raucous crowd filled a room decorated with bloody wallpaper and jagged pieces of clear broken glass. My patient stood in the center of the room with a blood soaked towel wrapped around her wrist. Crimson drops fell from her fingertips and splattered onto the floor.

I reached for her arm to remove the towel.

“No,” someone shouted. “Don’t take it off!”

“Relax,” I said. “I need to see the wound.” But as I removed the last of the towel I realized I had made a big mistake. A bright red stream spurted from the severed artery, shot across the room, and sprayed the far wall with crimson-colored paint. “Quick,” I shouted to my partner. “Hand me a dressing!”

My partner handed me a trauma dressing and a bandage roll, and within seconds I had the wrist tightly wrapped. But the bleeding was far from controlled. Blood continued to drip from her fingertips. Her skin continued to pale.

“I feel dizzy,” she mumbled.

“Let’s go,” I said to my partner. “She’s lost too much blood.”

A moment later we had her in the back of our ambulance with the lights flashing and the siren wailing again—Code-3. I tied the tail of the bandage to the overhead railing hoping that elevating her arm would lessen the flow of blood, but it didn’t. I tried using a pressure point, pressing my fingers against the artery above the wound, but the blood still flowed. I had one more option, a last-ditch effort that needed to work. I wrapped a tourniquet around her arm and tightened it. The bleeding stopped.

After starting a large bore IV and giving her a good fluid bolus I called the ER to notify them of our arrival. And they were waiting for us when we arrived, gloved and gowned in surgical scrubs, ready for business.

“Be careful,” I said, as an eager resident stepped forward. “This thing will shoot across the room if you let it go.”

“Relax,” he said with a chuckle. “I got it.”

“Oh, really?”

I shrugged and watched him remove the tourniquet. The bleeding resumed. He began removing the dressing. I left the room. I couldn’t watch.

I returned a few moments later to find an empty room. But the gurney, the floors, the walls…they were covered with blood.

Hemorrhage. Once it starts it’s hard to stop.

*

We’re hemorrhaging too, you know. Our society. Bleeding. Losing the core values that once made us great. We no longer allow prayer in the classrooms of our schools, for example, and the Pledge of Allegiance has been all but outlawed. And to many people the United States flag has become a personal affront. Imagine! I mean, what’s next, our National Anthem? Our moral values and our devotion to God are at an all time low. So from where I sit, we’re hemorrhaging. We’re becoming pale and dizzy, and in the end, if no one responds, we too, like every great empire before us, will fall.

We need to start acting like Christians again, restore our moral values and the guiding principles that made this country great, because sooner or later the bleeding always stops and when it does, the victim dies.

So, America, apply some direct pressure to this ever-increasing problem. Use a tourniquet if you must. But let’s stop the hemorrhage. We must humble ourselves and turn our faces back to God…before it is too late!



Pat Patterson is a novelist, a paramedic, and an instructor of Emergency Medical Science. His stories are true, based on real experiences from the streets of Durham, North Carolina where he has served as a paramedic since 1992.

The Best of the Best -- Pat Patterson

"Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might…”
Ecclesiastes 9:10

To be the best: To excel, to outdo all others, to reach a level of accomplishment unsurpassed in one’s field. And for a brave young man I know—my good friend’s son— it means even more than that. It means to be willing to lay down your life, to sacrifice your freedom that others might live…

“Pat-Man, I need your help.”

“Are you okay?” I said. “What is it?”

“They’ve called him up again.They’re sending him back over there. I called to ask for your prayers.”

As he explained the situation I could hear the fear in his voice. I assured him I would pray for his son, and that everything would be all right, but my heart felt heavy as I hung up the phone. His young man had just gotten home, retired from the military and started a bright new career, and suddenly without warning, they had decided to call him back. It didn’t seem right.

“But that’s not fair,” I said. “He’s already given so much. Why can’t they just leave him alone?”

But deep inside I knew the reason why. It’s because he’s one of the best shooters in the U.S. Army. One of the elite. The best of the best.

Now I’ve known many brave 1st responders: police officers and firefighters, EMTs and paramedics. Men with tough jobs who work hard to save other lives. But this young soldier has the hardest job of all. Surgical removal. One shot, one kill.

“A sniper! Wait a minute,” you say. “How can that be right?”

Well first of all, that’s war. But tonight when you’re lying in bed, comfortable and warm and leading a normal life, consider this too: God has a divine plan and He uses men to accomplish it. Men who are willing to follow and obey, to use the gifts He gave them, and to serve without question regardless of the cost.

Look at King David, that humble shepherd boy. He attacked and killed the giant Philistine with a simple sling and a stone. And what about Samson, the man empowered by God to kill a thousand Philistines with the jawbone of a mule? You see, some men are asked to do the job no one else will. And when I consider this young man’s sacrifices, his skills and his God-given talents, I suddenly understand what it means to be the best: It means to do whatsoever your hand finds to do, and to do it with all of your might!

So, Lord, please tell him how proud I am to know him, how much his sacrifice means, and how much I appreciate his willingness to fight…for my family, for my country, for my home. Honor and bless him, Lord. Grant him the strength to do his job well—with all of his might—and then bring him back home again so that he, too, may enjoy the blessings of liberty for which he has fought.

*

Dedicated to a good friend’s son whose name must remain unspoken. Thank you! God knows you’ve made a difference.




Pat Patterson is a novelist, a paramedic, and an instructor of Emergency Medical Science. His stories are true, based on real experiences from the streets of Durham, North Carolina where he has served as a paramedic since 1992.

He Knows Exactly What to Do! -- Pat Patterson

"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."
Isaiah 41:10


“I don’t know what to do!”

Actress Jennifer Garner spoke that line in the 2001 Academy Award winning film, Pearl Harbor. She starred as Sandra, a young Army nurse serving in a makeshift hospital on Pearl Harbor on the morning of December 7, 1941. Walking wounded arrived by the score, bleeding profusely their charred and broken bodies beaten to shreds, many with wounds too deep to fix. The doctors, nurses, and Army corpsmen did everything they could to manage the unfathomable catastrophe, but the scene was overwhelming. It was too much to manage, too unbelievable to comprehend. Terrified, the young nurse looked around her at the mayhem and cried, “I don’t know what to do!”

I can only imagine the horrors of that infamous day when our nation came under attack. Bombs fell from the sky. Torpedoes exploded. Over 2300 brave sailors died and countless more were injured. It was the first time in modern history that we felt the pounding of our enemy’s feet on our own soil—this sacred ground, the United States of America—and it angered us! We knew our enemy. We saw the whites of his eyes and the evil of his cause, and in our righteous determination we fought back. And thank God, we won!

But 67 years later we live in a different America. Our moral values have slipped. We’ve grown politically correct. And the Godly principles on which this country was founded no longer seem important. People, what’s going on here? Are we so quick to forget all that God has done for us? Well make no mistake—we need Him again. Our world is at war, and just as in 1941 we are the battleground. Only this time we can’t see our enemy. We don’t know whom to trust. And many Americans have floundered, looking around them at the chaos and crying, “I don’t know what to do!”

Well this is still sacred ground. America is still worth fighting for. And God is still in control. So stand up. Remember the Christian principles on which our country was founded. Turn to the one in whom we still trust. And stand your ground. God said, “Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

So I ask you, as you consider the fate of our great nation—this indivisible union that still provides liberty and justice for all—what are you so worried about? Why are you so afraid? God is still in charge. And if we will humble ourselves, turn back to Him and ask Him to heal our land, in His righteous determination He will do just that. He’s still in charge. And He still knows exactly what to do!

*

Dedicated to all veterans of the United States Armed Forces. Thank you for your sacrifice. And may God bless our home, The United States of America.
-Veterans Day 2008

Pat Patterson is a novelist, a paramedic, and an instructor of Emergency Medical Science. His stories are true, based on real experiences from the streets of Durham, North Carolina where he has served as a paramedic since 1992.

Are You Ready for This? -- Pat Patterson

"Nothing in all creation is hidden from God’s sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give account." Hebrews 4:13-14

“Pat! Come here quick!”

“What?”

“Hurry, I’ve got something to show you!”

I rushed into Trauma Room-1. An attentive crowd stood around the gurney. I didn’t find that unusual—that particular ER belongs to a teaching hospital, so it’s quite common to find people standing around watching the ER docs work—but as we pushed into the room I noticed something wrong.

“Are you ready for this?” my associate whispered. “Look.”

The crowd parted. I felt my jaw drop. A beautiful young woman lay on the gurney in the center of the room. She was about eighteen years old, with long blond hair and a magnificent figure laid bare for everyone in the room to see. I had to force myself to look away. I glanced around me at the other people in the room, stunned. The physicians and nurses were justified in being there, of course, but the rest? Most of the rest of the people in the room were men, and they just stood there. Gawking.

Now I’m no pious, self-righteous, super Christian, believe me. I’m a healthy American male who appreciates female beauty as much as any man alive, but what I saw there that day bothered me. That poor girl was totally naked, and totally defenseless, and I’m sure, if she had been alert to what was going on around her at the time, she would have been totally humiliated.

But she is not alone. We all have it coming. Like her body, our hearts will be laid bare for everyone to see and there will be no place to hide. It’s called Judgment Day, a day when each and every one of us must stand before the Lord and give an accounting for all we have done. And no deed, no thought, no ill-conceived fantasy or spoken word will remain hidden. Each of us will be exposed exactly as we are.

Rev 6:2 I looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a bow, and he was given a crown, and he rode out as a conqueror bent on conquest.

Rev 20:11-15 Then I saw a great white throne and him who was seated on it. Earth and sky fled from his presence, and there was no place for them. And I saw the dead, great and small, standing before the throne, and books were opened. Another book was opened, which is the book of life. The dead were judged according to what they had done as recorded in the books. The sea gave up the dead that were in it, and death and Hades gave up the dead that were in them, and each person was judged according to what he had done. Then death and Hades were thrown into the lake of fire. The lake of fire is the second death. If anyone’s name was not found written in the book of life, he was thrown into the lake of fire.

*

Can you picture that white horse? Can you see its rider? The one with the blazing eyes and the head with many crowns? Well get ready. He’s the King of Kings—Jesus Christ. He’s coming for His people, and when He gets here every knee will bow and every tongue confess that He is Lord. If you know Him you have nothing to fear. He’s already been laid bare. He faced death so that you won’t have to.

Do you know Him? Has he already written your name in the Book of Life? Jesus is coming, you know. Are you ready for this?





Pat Patterson is a novelist, a paramedic, and an instructor of Emergency Medical Science. His stories are true, based on real experiences from the streets of Durham, North Carolina where he has served as a paramedic since 1992.

What's Your Gift -- Pat Patterson

"Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God's grace in its various forms…" 1 Peter 4:10


"How're you doing, brother? Working hard or hardly working?"

My friend, Steve, always greets me that way. It's his trademark and I love it. It usually makes me laugh, helps me prepare for the shift. But I didn't feel much like laughing that night. My heart was heavy; I needed to talk. Steve clocked in and followed me out to the ambulance bay to check the truck.

"So," he said opening the airway bag. "What's bothering you, brother?"

"I didn't realize it showed."

"It shows." Steve chuckled and gave the wrench atop the oxygen bottle a twist. He glanced at the regulator, nodded, and then retightened it and slid the cylinder back into the bag. "You wanna talk?"

"Yeah," I said with a hearty nod. "I think I need to."

"Go."

"Well you know that book I've been writing?"

"Your novel?" he said. "Sure. What about it?"

"It was rejected again."

"Again?"

"Yeah, another publisher said no. But that's not all—this time my agent sent the manuscript back to me. She's giving up on it. Says she can't sell it."

"Hmmm." Steve bit his lip as if trying to hold back a smile. "I probably shouldn't tell you this," he said with a grin, "but deep down, I'm kind of glad."

"Glad?"

"Well, ever since you started writing that book your head's been somewhere else. Your heart's not here anymore, dude. It's like you've already left."

"Well, Steve, I've been writing for over five years! I've worked hard to get published. You don't know how—"

"You've worked hard for this!"

"This? Steve, this job's chewed me up and spit me out so many times I can't think straight anymore. I mean, c'mon, man, we work longer hours than anybody I know, and where's the payoff? When am I ever going to get mine?"

"Is that why you write? To get yours?"

"Well—" My shoulders shrugged themselves. "That's not the only reason."

"Look," Steve said. "You may not want to hear this, brother, but I believe God put you here for a reason, and it's not to make money. He's using you in more ways than you know. I mean just think of all the lives you've touched. The people you've saved over the last twenty years. All those students you've trained to be great paramedics. Brother, there are a lot of folks out there who would be much worse off today if not for you. Shoot, a lot of ‘em wouldn't even be here."

"So, what am I supposed to do, Steve? Just give it all up?"

"No. Write. But do it for the right reason. And don't even think about giving up EMS. God's given you a wonderful gift, brother. You need to use it!"

*

And so, to answer Steve's question—hardly working…that's how I've been doing. I've been so busy worrying about my own agenda that I forgot all about God's. Steve was right. God has given me a special gift and it's time I started using it again. I'll still write, of course, but from now on I'll do it for the right reason. So, Lord, please forgive me for being so selfish. And thank you for my good friend, Steve. And thank you, too, for this awesome gift: I'm a paramedic. I've been blessed with the ability to save other people's lives.

What's your gift? Are you using it? If you are then good for you! Keep up the good work. But if not, it's time you got started. Discover that gift, then get out there…and use it!



Pat Patterson is a novelist, a paramedic, and an instructor of Emergency Medical Science. His stories are true, based on real experiences from the streets of Durham, North Carolina where he has served as a paramedic since 1992.