They get me every time.

The sirens.

Every time I hear them, my heart skips a beat.

Knowing someone is rushing to help care for another in danger.

Knowing that this person might be rushing into danger, too. 

Every time, my heart skips a beat.

And every time, I stop to pray.

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Over the years, our six little ones have learned what the sirens mean—unfortunately, once with a very real first-hand near-tragedy involving their grandpa.

So, now?

Now, they stop to pray, too. 

It doesn’t matter where we are.

It doesn’t matter what we are doing.

It doesn’t matter if we see the emergency vehicle or just hear it.

We pray.

For those involved.

And especially, for our front-line workers, risking their lives each and every day.

Because, as a mama trying to raise my children in all the best ways—and to love others as God asks us to do—I want to raise the kind of children who stop and pray at the sirens.

I want to raise the kind of children who never put politics before God.

I want to raise the kind of children who leave a table of gossip to let their integrity shine.

I want to raise the kind of children who thank God each day for their food. 

I want to raise the kind of children who pick up trash and hold doors for others.

I want to raise the kind of children who acknowledge those who provide their freedom.

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I want to raise the kind of children who put character before comparison.

I want to raise the kind of children who lead others to do each of the same.

Every time I hear the words, “Mommy, there are sirens!” my heart bursts just a little bit more, knowing they have learned the importance of praying for others, especially those who risk their lives each and every day, to keep us safe.