That little phrase that signals the end of most job descriptions…the catch all-end all-fine print that we normally don’t think about until it applies to us…ahhh yes….those other duties.

It means different things for different folks. For teachers it may mean bus duty, lunch room duty, staff meetings after classes, playground duty, or a myriad of other assignments that are unpaid but considered part of the job. For doctors it could mean phone calls from new parents terrified of their newborns hiccups, comforting family members after the loss of a loved one or extra time spent explaining a new medication. For clerical staff it might mean making another pot of coffee, sending a fax for an elderly client, serving on another committee or making sure the bulletin board in the lobby is visually appealing. For each person those extra parts of the job are different. My job is no different…well…to be perfectly honest my job is very different, but the added duties exist for me too.

My extra assignments include things most people would really rather not do. Heck…most days I’d rather not do them to tell you the truth. But like any good employee…I do them with little to no complaint because they are just part of my job.

Things like listening to a string of profanity without getting offended and still providing excellent customer service are part of my job. Doing one thing, while talking about another, and listening and responding to a third thing is nothing unusual. Dealing with frantic, hysterical folks are an everyday occurrence. Making sense of complicated and sometimes conflicting information is a skill I have developed over the years. This is my normal. This is normal for the thousands of others like me.

Hearing the anguish in a child’s voice as they describe the fight Mommy and Daddy are having…again tonight…and telling them how brave they are for calling is a routine situation for me. Ignoring my shock when speaking to someone describing their friends body after a successful suicide is not an uncommon occurrence. Listening to the grief stricken sobs of an elderly person as they try to explain that the neighbors dog is chasing their beloved cat again today is not an extra duty. The excited shouting of a bystander telling me about a fight, or shouted commands on my radio are the song of my people. I am a 911 dispatcher.

I hear your screams and I take them home with me. That ‘s extra. You’re welcome.

I see a vivid mental picture of what you’re reporting to me. I usually store those little gems in my dreams. It’s horrifying. That’s extra. You’re welcome.

My heart breaks, and my tears flow like rain over your sorrows and your hurts. That too is extra and you are welcome.

You can call me names, curse and shout, threaten me and demand unrealistic service and I will do my very best every time. Later I will blame myself and secretly wonder if I did enough, typed fast enough, or could have done better when the worst happens. That’s extra, and you’re welcome.

I will answer the first and every time your child calls 911 because you allowed them to play with your phone again. I will be professional and polite and try to educate you about how serious this is even when you don’t take it seriously and hang up while I am still talking. That’s extra…and….<sigh> you’re welcome.

The helpless feeling I get because I can’t physically come and help you is extra too, and you know what??? YOU’RE WELCOME, FOLKS! YOU. ARE. WELCOME!

I understand that you don’t call me when you’re having your best day and living your best life. I know you can’t say “Thank you” because you are handling your worst minute-worst day-worst life-worst things. You. Are. Welcome.I know it’s not personal, but gosh it sure feels that way sometimes.

I am probably just as exasperated with your noisy neighbors as you are. Maybe more.

I am right there in the trenches with you. I know your name. I know the sounds of your sorrow and fear. I know your secrets. I grieve with you. I am a 911 dispatcher. I am a telephone, radio or computer operator that connects people in need with fire, police and medical emergency services and other duties as assigned. That’s really my job description…but it sure feels like so much more most days.

Someone told me last week that pastors and dispatchers were always in need of prayer. I don’t think I have ever heard a more true statement. For me and for the thousands of those like me I covet your prayers. Please pray for us. Pray for our mental health. We get PTSD too. Pray for our physical health. The continuous stress is not good for us. Pray that others will rise up and want to do what we do. Most centers are shockingly understaffed. Pray for our spiritual health. We need Jesus. Lord, I don’t know how anyone could do this job without Him. We are sitting in the chaos, waiting to be of service. We are 911.