My last three columns

Editor's note: I am writing a memoir about my experiences as the chaplain at the Air Force Field Hospital in Balad Iraq in 2009. The following excerpt is about my encounter with a boy whose Iraqi father brought him to us with third degree burns over fifty percent of his body.

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Compassion Can't be Lost in the Translation

"This is Hakeem," the ICU doctor said from beneath his surgical mask.

The boy was a handsome eight-year-old who viewed his world with wholesome and moistened eyes. I beamed a smile toward his perfect face, but found his emotional echo flat. His father's eyes directed my observation below Hakeem's waist where he was one massive blister.

The doctor managed to whisper, "Iraqi grade schools don't admonish their kids to 'stop, drop and roll.' The kid was playing with matches and cooking fuel. Bad combo," he added in even lower tones.

"I brought something," I murmured.

The head nurse shot me a rapid glance, "Whatcha got, Chap?"

I responded by turning toward Hakeem's father who was not much more than a head taller than his son. His sunken eyes projected a familiar fear. While we didn't share the language, we shared the title of dad, the role of Baba.

I reached into my satchel and withdrew a bilingual Koran. In accordance with their tradition, I kissed its cover and motioned an invitation for the father to read an Arabic passage. "The true servants of the merciful Lord are those who say to him: 'Make our families happy, and make us examples to all who honor you."

He responded by imprinting his own chapped lips on the cover and then placed it with trembling hands on Hakeem's pillow above his head. He turned to me and brought his hand to his heart. I shadowed the same movement and pulled my hand to my heart as if trying to reach for something else to give him.

The next day, I returned to our ICU to find the staff teaching Hakeem's father how to rewrap the burns. In the father's culture, nursing is a "feminine" role, but the father bucked his traditions and accepted the fact that loving Hakeem was more than our reckless war gave anyone the right to do.

The touching scene had an unfortunate background. The staff had just informed Hakeem's dad that his son had a stroke and his burn infections were septic. He was dying. We were sending him home on the strongest pain dose so that he could be with a family that anxiously longed to hold him again.

When the bandage lesson was complete, none of us wanted to face what was next. Nurses pretended to be reading charts and technicians took meaningless measurements. Sniffles pulled back the emotion no one could afford.

Finally, the doctor placed Hakeem into the same strong paternal arms that had brought him to us. Our translator walked them out of the unit and into a waiting car, leaving a torrent of staff tears in his wake.

Later that day, a nurse complimented me on how well I had translated my compassion to the boy and his father.

I threw a glance toward our ceiling and simply said, "I offered my sympathy the only way to I knew how. I did what I also hope you do. In the midst of chaos, I pray. I share a laugh. I wipe a tear. I offer a shoulder. I lend an ear. And at the end of the day -- whether quiet or rushed -- I strive to be a visible reminder of the holy to a place that desperately needs it."
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Norris Burkes is a syndicated columnist, national speaker and author of No Small Miracles. He also serves as an Air National Guard chaplain and is board-certified in the Association of Professional Chaplains. You may leave recorded comments at 321-549-2500, or email them to ask@thechaplain.net, or send comments to P.O. Box 247, Elk Grove, CA 95759. Please visit his website thechaplain.net

Look closely, the miracle often is not-so-obvious at first glance

In the mid 1990s, I was working for Houston Northwest Medical Center when I got a call from our ICU nurse manager, Grace Heffron.

"Chaplain, what are you doing at 2 p.m.?'' she asked in a tone that fell short of the quality for which she was named.

"Huh?"

"We have an end-of-life conference with a family. Can you make it?"

Frustrated over the lengthy use of ICU beds, Grace called the conference to discuss continuing life support for a 75-year-old man who had shown no real brain activity for 60 days after a stroke.

"Life support" is a misnomer. We should have called it "mechanical maintenance," because this man wasn't being "supported," he was being preserved. He was literally decaying.

If you get your medical information from TV dramas, you might think the process of discontinuing life support is a nurse yanking 20 tubes from every orifice. Actually, the process is far less dramatic, involving only a few dials. It's a peaceful process when done properly.

When the family appeared in our conference room, it was apparent that their hearts weren't anywhere in the vicinity of our agenda. They refused to discontinue life support because they were "claiming a miracle." They fully believed that their brother would rise from his deathbed in three days.
Their definition of a miracle was fully defined and customized. That's the problem with miracles, but it can also be their beauty.

Shifting the conversation, I asked them what it might be like if they redefined what the word miracle means for this situation. I asked them to consider what a miracle might look like if they allowed God to customize the miracle instead of them.

"Let God loose outside the borders you've set for him," I suggested.

Redefining miracles can be uncomfortable because it can feel like you are going against what the Bible teaches, but even Jesus could be uncomfortable with miracles.

He told one group of scoffers that even if he were to raise someone from the dead, they would not believe. He was telling his hearers that miracles don't prove God.

In fact, Jesus often avoided our definition of miracles. For instance, as he hung on the cross, he was taunted by people who were demanding more miracles: "He saved others, but he cannot save himself.''

The cross began a miracle that even his closest followers couldn't see — this despite the fact Jesus had told them he would return.

Like those disciples, we often overlook the real miracles. The true miracle isn't always going to be that Dad walks away from cancer. Maybe the miracle becomes the prodigal children returning to make things right.

Maybe the true miracle won't be a baby surviving, but that the baby will introduce a presence of God. Perhaps the true miracle won't always be about getting something back, but rather finding a fuller appreciation for what you have left.

Maybe the true miracle won't always be about saving the world, but about gaining new appreciation for a piece of it.

During the following week, when the family finally decided to discontinue life support, I saw at least two miracles.

I saw three sisters find agreement in prayer as they united at their brother's bedside and gave him permission to walk into the arms of a waiting God.
Their brother didn't walk out of our hospital, but we did see a real miracle when the sisters discovered an infinite God they could not control with prayer formularies.

And knowing a God you cannot control is the first step toward knowing God is in control.


Have you read a good book lately?

When people ask me what I am currently reading — or more accurately stated, when I tell them what they should be reading — they often are surprised by what I don't read.

My reading doesn't include anything from the biblical apocalypse series or anything from the grinning libraries of televangelism. In fact, my reading list includes very few books from the Bible bookstore.

I try to read books that challenge my faith, ethics and outlook. In that spirit, I've compiled my annual book list that I recommend to folks. This year, as in last, my recommendations had to be limited to the nonfiction books I'm reading for a master's degree in creative writing at Pacific University in Oregon. I've listed the books below, starting with my favorite read of the year.

"Slavery by Another Name: The Re-enslavement of Black Americans from the Civil War to World War II" (New York: Anchor, 2009) by Douglas Blackmon. If you think slavery ended in 1865, you'll be plen-ty disturbed by the claims of this Pulitzer-winning journalist. He maintains that slavery continued into World War II through laws enacted specifically to arbitrarily incarcerate blacks for hard labor with farms and corporations. I recommend this book because of its insight into how 19th-century slavery is a legitimate factor in today's racial issues.

"This Boy's Faith: Notes From a Southern Baptist Upbringing" (New York: Crown, 2011) by Hamilton Cain. This book follows the story of a man who is raised in a manipulative and toxic church experience. However, when he becomes a new father, he must find a way to reconcile his own childhood faith with his baby's life-threatening disease. I recommend it because it incorporates a healthy dose of doubt into the search for a working faith.

"Wired for War: The Robotics Revolution and Conflict in the 21st Century" (New York: Penguin, 2010) by P.W. Singer. This is a book about warriors who may be living in your neighborhood and who kill insurgents by remote control from a nearby base. With amazing clairvoyance, Singer describes the revolution that is taking place not only with how wars are fought but also the politics, economics, laws and ethics that surround war itself. I recommend this book because I am the chaplain for many of these people.

"The Devil in Pew Number Seven" (Carol Stream, IL: Tyndale House, 2010) by Rebecca Nichols Alonzo and Robert G. DeMoss isn't your typical true crime story. It is the childhood memoir of a daughter who forgives the man who killed her parents. The killer was a stalwart church member where her father was the pastor. I recommend the book because there is a great deal to learn from people who can forgive such horrific things.

"A Rope and a Prayer: A Kidnapping From Two Sides" (New York: Viking, 2010) by David Rohde and Kristen Mulvihill. This is a story of the kidnapping ordeal of journalist David Rohde. I recommend the book because it shows how a husband and a wife separately draw on their individual faith traditions.

"The Last Lecture" (New York: Hyperion, 2008) by Randy Pausch and Jeffrey Zaslow. This best-seller was written by a computer science teacher who delivers his final lecture after learning he has a terminal diagnosis. I recommend the book because Pausch will encourage you to appreciate the gifts you receive, seize the moment, to laugh and to overcome obstacles.

Finally, (shameless plug approaching) if you like my column, you may want to read my compilation book called "No Small Miracles: Heartwarming, Humorous, and Hopefilled Stories From a Pediatric Chaplain" (Thomas Nelson 2009).