New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
column for last week of March 2017


Column:

2 Life Stages Share Much in Common

The author of Ecclesiastes says there is "a time to every purpose under the heaven; a time to be born, and a time to die." In my job as healthcare chaplain, I've seen both of these times.

In the 2000s, I comforted the parents of premature babies born in our Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, NICU (pronounced as "nick-u"). These days, I work the other end of life's journey with hospice patients, most of whom are elderly and struggling for a few more weeks of time.

When I compare my former job in NICU with my current job in hospice, I'm struck by a bit of whiplash as I consider the opposite poles of health care.

In the NICU, I met patients like little Johnny. He lived in a world of wires, IV bottles, and back-lit beds. Doctors, nurses and respiratory therapists constantly squeezed through tangled tubes to deliver highly specialized health care to the tiniest people you'd ever see.

In hospice, our patients remain in their homes, under homemade quilts crafted by our volunteers. Our staff attends them in simple ways with smiles, encouraging words and shared tears. Not much tech, unless you count the electronic tablet we carry for charting.

In hospice, I visit Miss Joni, who like little Johnny marks each breath as a victory. There is a drastic age difference between patients like Johnny and Joni, but they share many similarities.

Both enjoy the gift of life. In the NICU, you can peek at the gift long before you are supposed to peek. In hospice, you must look carefully to find the gift that's nearly faded beyond recognition.

Both patients are in a race. For Johnny, getting a head start doesn't mean he will finish the race early — it means his race is longer and full of obstacles. For Miss Joni, it means she sees the finish line come sooner than she wanted.

Both patients struggle to live just one more day. Little Johnny's parents hope that another day suggests the possibility of a healthy life. For Miss Joni, one more day holds out the tease of another.

Prayers go up for both patients. Prayers for Johnny are offered with fervency and purpose. Miss Joni prays with less certainty, not knowing if she should ask for another day or for a more peaceful departure.

Nurses attend both patients, but Johnny shares his nurse with only one other baby, while Miss Joni shares a nurse and a few aides with 30 other patients.

Machines are a concern to both patients. Machines sustain the hopes of parents while Miss Joni signed papers that declare she refuses to let machines rob her of dignity.

Cost is a concern for both patients. Medical ethicists debate spending so much of the health care dollar to save Johnny. Miss Joni turned to hospice when the bills became impossible.

Both cry. Johnny can't tell you why he's crying and Miss Joni can't stop telling you why she's crying.

Both have family who think medical staff ought to do more. Both are attended by staff members who think family should be visiting more.

Both require their diapers changed — one by nurses with loving coos and the other by underpaid aides with grimacing faces.

Both are rich — Johnny with potential and Miss Joni with history.

Both face the possibility of death every day. If it comes for Johnny, it will inspire the grief that naturally follows the loss of such potential.

When it comes for Miss Joni, it may likely come with a mixture of grief and relief.

Life will cease for both patients eventually—one at the beginning and one at the end. All of which serves to remind us that, also from Ecclesiastes, "the race is neither to the swift nor the battle to the strong, but time and chance happens to them all."

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Read Norris' past columns at www.thechaplain.net. Write him at comment@thechaplain.net or P.O. Box 247, Elk Grove, Calif., 95759. Twitter @chaplain or call (843) 608-9715

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
correction to the tenth paragraph


Column:

The second question asked in the column (in the 10th graph) should read "What do I want to do?"

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
4th column in march 2017


Column:

Seeking God's Will or Willing God's will?

In the years I served as a pastor, military chaplain and hospital chaplain, I was often asked how to find God's will for one's personal life.

Most questions came from young people wanting to know things like, should they marry a certain someone or become a missionary.

However, as my gray hair began to imply wisdom, other folks hit me with more advanced questions.

A military sniper sought my counsel wondering if God approved of him killing enemy combatants. Unhappy couples questioned if God was OK with divorce. The aging sought God's will on disconnecting life-support machines. And in my present role as hospice chaplain, patients seek wisdom related to life-ending medications.

From the lovelorn to the life-torn, they all wanted to discern if something was God's will. Some were truly seeking God's will, while others seemed to be willing God to do as they wanted.

To distinguish the difference, I counseled them with the following questions:

How does my faith inform me?

By this I mean principles – not just a single text proving your point. Recently I wrote about getting a tattoo and a reader chided me with a single bible verse he thought forbad tattoos.

"Doesn't work that way" I told him. "The Bible isn't a rulebook; it's a handbook."

If the first question doesn't illuminate your choices, then ask yourself, What do I want you want to do?

I ask that because, if you're honestly seeking God's will, then I don't think God will require you to do what you don't want to do. "What about Jonah?" you say. "I know God sent a whale to get his attention." Well, for the most part, God wasn't the enemy Jonah had to surrender to, Jonah was.

What do your friends say?

I know Job's friends misled him. Friends don't always help you with God's will, but on the other hand, all my friends affirm that God didn't call me to dance.

However, when several high school classmates were impressed with my speaking ability, I declared a religion major. By the way, my wife says that God made me a minister because I can't sit still in a pew.

What role are my addictions or desires playing in the issue?

Are you considering moving to Las Vegas? Don't do it if you're addicted to money, power or sex.

That's not to say God can't tame addictions. A friend of mine served as a chaplain on the Vegas strip and spent his time talking to bare chested women backstage. He had no issues with it, but that wasn't God's calling for me. My wife said so.

How will this help others? God's will isn't about us. It's about helping people. If a divorce helps children out of an abusive home, then it might be God's will. If divorce is about finding a more attractive mate, then it's NOT.

At the end of the day, there are some things I don't ask God about. I wanted an RV, so I bought one. Last week I sold it. Materialism doesn't interest God. God is more concerned with what owns us, not what we own. He's concerned about our unhealthy attachment to things and our unhealthy detachment from those we love.

Finally, my father-in-law, a serious Bible student and pastor for 50 years, has always said that the most certain way you will know God's will is when you know the misery from being out of it.

I suppose that's what Phil Vischer, the creator of Veggie Tales and voice of Bob the Tomato meant when he said, "There is no happier place than the intersection of God's will and your giftedness."

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Read Norris' past columns at www.thechaplain.net. Write him at comment@thechaplain.net or P.O. Box 247, Elk Grove, Calif., 95759. Twitter @chaplain or call (843) 608-9715

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
column for 3rd week of March 2017


Column:

Perfect Days come from Perfect Love

Do you ever have such good start to your day that you could describe it with the Mary Poppins moniker, "practically perfect in every way"? In the years I served as a pediatric chaplain, those days were hard to find.

However, I remember starting one such "practically perfect" day by finding a perfectly shaded spot in our hospital parking lot. Though there wasn't a cloud in the sky, I was overwhelmed with such synchronicity that my head filled with the syrupy lyrics of "Singing in the Rain."

When my day starts this well, I like to reward myself with a cup of hot chocolate. Sure enough, the perfect cup was served with a greeting as sweet as the chocolate itself: "Chaplain, is that a new tie? Very cool!"

On the go with cocoa, I took a too-slow elevator to the pediatric floor for a visit with my 5-year-old friend, Opal.

Opal was dressed in street clothes awaiting discharge orders. She greeted me with the largest smile ever pasted on such a small face. "Swing me! Swing me!" she said, seizing my fingers with a full-handed grip. As we swung, I caught a glimpse of two nurses giving us one of those "aren't they perfectly cute!" smiles.

Just then, Opal's doctor arrived and I said my good-byes to pediatrics and wandered off toward the pediatric intensive care unit (which we pronounce "pick-u").

Why can't every day be as flawless as this one? I thought.

The PICU would give me a new perspective on the "perfect day" when I met a 13-year-old boy named Alex.

Alex's mom explained to me how they'd recently learned on a not-so-perfect Mother's Day that their son's cancer had returned. I motioned for her to step out of the room to say more as Alex slept.

Just then, an alarm called her back to his bedside. I followed. The blood-oxygen indicator told us that Alex's oxygen levels had fallen dangerously low. Mom was the wife of a military officer, and she found her voice by issuing an urgent motherly command: "Breathe, Alex. Breathe. Take a deep breath."

Her son followed the orders and we watched his chest rise and fall a few times. The indicator showed Alex's blood oxygen returning to normal levels, but this mom wasn't taking anything for granted.

"Take one more," she urged through a deep inhale she hoped he would mimic. She placed an approving hand on Alex's forehead and said, "There, that's perfect. Just perfect."

Suddenly the syrupy "Singing in the Rain" lyrics vanished from my head and were replaced with a new song: "Holy, Holy, Holy." I knew I was standing in the presence of perfect and holy love and my understanding of a perfect day was instantly transformed.

Who was I kidding? There was no rain in my life that I could sing in. There had been only sunshine and a slow elevator to mar my morning. Here was a mom huddled under a downpour of anguish, holding such a full heart of loving sunshine that it transformed all who witnessed it.

I was humbled to be in the presence of such holy love. It was obvious now that a perfect day needn't be defined by events that happen or don't happen. Nope. "Perfect" is about knowing the kind of love this young man knew, love that was there for him, no matter what, to help him in the most basic things, to love him through the best and the worst parts of his life.

While Alex lived only a few more months, he gave me new perspective on what makes a perfect day, a perspective I will always hold close to my heart. A perfect day is not what happens around you, it's what happens within you. If you spend your days loving someone and being loved, then no matter how difficult the circumstances, the day will always be a perfect day.

My prayer for this week is that we find opportunities to share such perfect and holy love.
______________________________
Column adapted from Norris' book, "No Small Miracles." Contact Norris at comment@thechaplain.net or P.O. Box 247, Elk Grove, Calif., 95759. Twitter @chaplain or call (843) 608-9715

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Image_Column for second weekend of March 2017


Column:

See image attached for latest Column.

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Column for second weekend of March 2017


Column:

The Teacher Gets Schooled

First, I need to assure you that my wife, Becky, only wears dead things around her neck during S-week. That's the week she challenges her pre-kindergarten class of 4-year-olds to wear something that starts with the letter S.

The dead thing was a necklace her brother made from snake vertebrae and turquoise. It must sound terribly gross to the uniformed, but believe me it was a real attention-getter when she taught fourth grade.

Last year during S-week, my wife stood fingering her serpentine skeleton and asked, "Class, who knows what this is?"

One kid said, "Your fingers," but that's how literally little guys think.

"No," Becky said. "This is a necklace made of snake bones, 'Ssss', she said, making the snake hiss. "S-nake for S-week."

"Ewww. Is it dead?" asked a prissy girl in the front row.

"Yes."

"How did it die, Ms. Burkes?"

"Things just die," she said with a dismissive inflection.

The kids seemed unprepared for that word "die," so I'm guessing "dead" never came up during D-week.

"Aww," exclaimed a sympathetic boy.

"Do squirrels die?" asked a kinetic boy who often chases the figurative squirrels.

"Yes," my wife said slowly. She was beginning to see this line of questioning as a stacked deck.

Hoping to draw a better hand, Becky called on a favorite, little Brayden, whose parents she sees regularly at the gym.

Braydon put his cards face up on the table. "Do people die?"

"Yes. Every living thing dies eventually," she explained.

Just then, an eerie stillness paralyzed their up to now wiggly bodies. My wife offered what she hoped would be one last touching example. "My mom died."

"Is my mom going to die?" Brayden asked.

"Oh, don't worry." Becky said. "My mom was much older than your mom."

Of course, the question no one would dare ask was, "Will I die too?"

As a hospice chaplain, I can tell you that the unquestionable answer to that unasked question is "yes."

As we move through the holy season of Lent we recall the wisdom of the one who made it clear that he was going to die. He knew the timing of his death and he knew how he would die. Yet his followers resisted his predictions despite his saying, "It's appointed unto a man once to die and after this the judgment."

Since those words were first recorded, many seek to emphasize the judgment part. Yet, I think there's a deeper meaning. Jesus was calling us to live our lives with a heightened sense of expectation and joy. He wants us to live at peace with all men as well as our God.

Alcoholics Anonymous calls this kind of life, "Keeping your side of the street clean." That means we can't predict our lifespan, but we can choose the way we live our lives.

Still searching for meaning, those kids kept drilling their teacher.

"My grandmother is old," chimed one. "Is she going to die?"

My wife had reached a dead end. This was the moment every public speaker knows, the point stage actors describe as "dying out there."

She thought about quoting Ecclesiastes, "To everything there is a season… a time to be born and time to die." But instead, she glanced at her watch and said,

"Oh my, kids! It's time for recess!"
________________________________
To see Norris's latest book, "Thriving Beyond Surviving," or to contact him about speaking, visit www.thechaplain.net. Or write him via P.O. Box 247, Elk Grove, Calif., 95759. Twitter @chaplain or call (843) 608-9715.

 

Attachment:

New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Column for second weekend of March 2017


Column:

The Teacher Gets Schooled

First, I need to assure you that my wife, Becky, only wears dead things around her neck during S-week. That's the week she challenges her pre-kindergarten class of 4-year-olds to wear something that starts with the letter S.

The dead thing was a necklace her brother made from snake vertebrae and turquoise. It must sound terribly gross to the uniformed, but believe me it was a real attention-getter when she taught fourth grade.

Last year during S-week, my wife stood fingering her serpentine skeleton and asked, "Class, who knows what this is?"

One kid said, "Your fingers," but that's how literally little guys think.

"No," Becky said. "This is a necklace made of snake bones, 'Ssss', she said, making the snake hiss. "S-nake for S-week."

"Ewww. Is it dead?" asked a prissy girl in the front row.

"Yes."

"How did it die, Ms. Burkes?"

"Things just die," she said with a dismissive inflection.

The kids seemed unprepared for that word "die," so I'm guessing "dead" never came up during D-week.

"Aww," exclaimed a sympathetic boy.

"Do squirrels die?" asked a kinetic boy who often chases the figurative squirrels.

"Yes," my wife said slowly. She was beginning to see this line of questioning as a stacked deck.

Hoping to draw a better hand, Becky called on a favorite, little Brayden, whose parents she sees regularly at the gym.

Braydon put his cards face up on the table. "Do people die?"

"Yes. Every living thing dies eventually," she explained.

Just then, an eerie stillness paralyzed their up to now wiggly bodies. My wife offered what she hoped would be one last touching example. "My mom died."

"Is my mom going to die?" Brayden asked.

"Oh, don't worry." Becky said. "My mom was much older than your mom."

Of course, the question no one would dare ask was, "Will I die too?"

As a hospice chaplain, I can tell you that the unquestionable answer to that unasked question is "yes."

As we move through the holy season of Lent we recall the wisdom of the one who made it clear that he was going to die. He knew the timing of his death and he knew how he would die. Yet his followers resisted his predictions despite his saying, "It's appointed unto a man once to die and after this the judgment."

Since those words were first recorded, many seek to emphasize the judgment part. Yet, I think there's a deeper meaning. Jesus was calling us to live our lives with a heightened sense of expectation and joy. He wants us to live at peace with all men as well as our God.

Alcoholics Anonymous calls this kind of life, "Keeping your side of the street clean." That means we can't predict our lifespan, but we can choose the way we live our lives.

Still searching for meaning, those kids kept drilling their teacher.

"My grandmother is old," chimed one. "Is she going to die?"

My wife had reached a dead end. This was the moment every public speaker knows, the point stage actors describe as "dying out there."

She thought about quoting Ecclesiastes, "To everything there is a season… a time to be born and time to die." But instead, she glanced at her watch and said,

"Oh my, kids! It's time for recess!"
________________________________
To see Norris's latest book, "Thriving Beyond Surviving," or to contact him about speaking, visit www.thechaplain.net. Or write him via P.O. Box 247, Elk Grove, Calif., 95759. Twitter @chaplain or call (843) 608-9715.

 

Attachment:

New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
picture with this week's column


Column:

I thought I attached a picture, but apparently it's not working with this web based system. IF you don't find a picture attached, but you would like a picture to go with this story, please reply by email that you would like a picture.

Also, if you did not respond to my previous question, please try and do so.

Subject:
Still running my spirituality column?


Editors,

Are you still running my spirituality column? yes/no

If so, please can I have contact info, email and phone, for the one editing my column?

PS. Please be sure only this email address on my tagline -- comment@thechaplain.net

Thanks so much

 

Attachment:

New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Column for second weekend of March 2017


Column:

The Teacher Gets Schooled

First, I need to assure you that my wife, Becky, only wears dead things around her neck during S-week. That's the week she challenges her pre-kindergarten class of 4-year-olds to wear something that starts with the letter S.

The dead thing was a necklace her brother made from snake vertebrae and turquoise. It must sound terribly gross to the uniformed, but believe me it was a real attention-getter when she taught fourth grade.

Last year during S-week, my wife stood fingering her serpentine skeleton and asked, "Class, who knows what this is?"

One kid said, "Your fingers," but that's how literally little guys think.

"No," Becky said. "This is a necklace made of snake bones, 'Ssss', she said, making the snake hiss. "S-nake for S-week."

"Ewww. Is it dead?" asked a prissy girl in the front row.

"Yes."

"How did it die, Ms. Burkes?"

"Things just die," she said with a dismissive inflection.

The kids seemed unprepared for that word "die," so I'm guessing "dead" never came up during D-week.

"Aww," exclaimed a sympathetic boy.

"Do squirrels die?" asked a kinetic boy who often chases the figurative squirrels.

"Yes," my wife said slowly. She was beginning to see this line of questioning as a stacked deck.

Hoping to draw a better hand, Becky called on a favorite, little Brayden, whose parents she sees regularly at the gym.

Braydon put his cards face up on the table. "Do people die?"

"Yes. Every living thing dies eventually," she explained.

Just then, an eerie stillness paralyzed their up to now wiggly bodies. My wife offered what she hoped would be one last touching example. "My mom died."

"Is my mom going to die?" Brayden asked.

"Oh, don't worry." Becky said. "My mom was much older than your mom."

Of course, the question no one would dare ask was, "Will I die too?"

As a hospice chaplain, I can tell you that the unquestionable answer to that unasked question is "yes."

As we move through the holy season of Lent we recall the wisdom of the one who made it clear that he was going to die. He knew the timing of his death and he knew how he would die. Yet his followers resisted his predictions despite his saying, "It's appointed unto a man once to die and after this the judgment."

Since those words were first recorded, many seek to emphasize the judgment part. Yet, I think there's a deeper meaning. Jesus was calling us to live our lives with a heightened sense of expectation and joy. He wants us to live at peace with all men as well as our God.

Alcoholics Anonymous calls this kind of life, "Keeping your side of the street clean." That means we can't predict our lifespan, but we can choose the way we live our lives.

Still searching for meaning, those kids kept drilling their teacher.

"My grandmother is old," chimed one. "Is she going to die?"

My wife had reached a dead end. This was the moment every public speaker knows, the point stage actors describe as "dying out there."

She thought about quoting Ecclesiastes, "To everything there is a season… a time to be born and time to die." But instead, she glanced at her watch and said,

"Oh my, kids! It's time for recess!"
________________________________
To see Norris's latest book, "Thriving Beyond Surviving," or to contact him about speaking, visit www.thechaplain.net. Or write him via P.O. Box 247, Elk Grove, Calif., 95759. Twitter @chaplain or call (843) 608-9715.

 

Attachment:

New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Still running my spirituality column?


Column:

Editors,

Are you still running my spirituality column? yes/no

If so, please can I have contact info, email and phone, for the one editing my column?

PS. Please be sure only this email address on my tagline -- comment@thechaplain.net

Thanks so much

 

Attachment:

New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
column for first weekend of March 2017


Column:

The Chaplain Does Puppet Ministry

Ten years ago, I was working as the Chaplain for Women and Children in a local pediatric hospital, visiting patients in our oncology ward and ICUs. I spent most days visiting children and their parents, but sometimes it was the staff that needed my attention.

One day, I was coming out of a patient's room when I noticed our cardiac surgeon standing at the ICU nurse's station. He was gazing into the distance with that thousand-yard-stare I recognized from traumatized soldiers.

I had just finished entertaining a sick kid with my trusty sidekick, a zebra marionette I called Stripes. So, we casually slid up to the doc, Stripes rubbing up against his scrubs.

"What's up doc?" I asked.

"I noticed you visiting that kid in Room 3."

"Yes. He seems good," my attempt at half-question, half-prognosis.

"I doubt that, but I might be wrong."

Surgeons, like Air Force Pilots don't use the W word unless something is terribly out of place.

"That child," he said, "has every medical reason to survive, but he probably won't."

Stunned by his pessimism, I asked him to say more.

The surgeon told me he had numerous negative encounters with the boy's parents. He was highly doubtful that they were mentally capable of making the follow up appointments necessary for the boy's survival.

"He's going to die, Chaplain, and there's not a thing I can do about that."

I started to say something like how we can't win them all, but the doc interrupted, pointing to another ICU room.

"That child will also most certainly die.

"She has the most loving parents. They would go to the moon to cure her, but there's nothing we can do for her. She'll go home to die."

Now I was getting his mindset. He was forming a verbal version of a compare-and-contrast essay on his two young patients.

"Why is that, Chaplain?"

I'll admit I tried to pretend I didn't understand the question, but he persisted.

"Why do I have one patient who would live if he had caring parents and another patient whose caring parents can't do a thing to save their only child?"

Of course, I didn't and still don't have an answer to that question.

"I guess some days we have to lean on the Serenity Prayer," I said.

"The one where we ask God to grant us the wisdom to know what we can change and not change?"

I nodded.

"That prayer doesn't give me the mileage I need," he admitted.

I sensed the doc needed to know he was making some kind of difference, so I pointed to Stripes.

"I wish people were marionettes like Stripes here. I wish we could make them do things for their own good, but you know we can't.

"They're free to make their own decisions about helping themselves or hurting themselves, or," I added with a glance toward the patient rooms, "even to the point of hurting their children."

"Where do you get the strength to do all that?" His eyes reflected maybe a trace of moisture.

"I do what I also hope you do," I told him. "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 in a place that desperately needs it."

He nodded in reverent agreement. And for the moment, we agreed to table our discussion because we both knew there was no satisfying answer. At least not in this life.
________________________________
To read more about pediatric chaplaincy, read Norris' book, "No Small Miracles" or visit www.thechaplain.net. Write Norris at comment@thechaplain.net or P.O. Box 247, Elk Grove, Calif., 95759. Twitter @chaplain or call (843) 608-9715.

 

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