Photos for column

 

You may choose one or even all of these pictures for this week's column

 

The first one show people worshiping inside the sun-lit lobby of Bell Road Baptist Church during power outage.

 

The second picture shows my backyard, noisy, generator,

 

The third and fourth show my extension cords running through my house.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photos for column

You may choose one or even all of these pictures for this week's column

 

The first one show people worshiping inside the sun-lit lobby of Bell Road Baptist Church during power outage.

 

The second picture shows my backyard, noisy, generator,

 

The third and fourth show my extension cords running through my house.

 

 

 

 

 

 

New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
First column of November 2019


Column:

POWERLESS TO A POINT

Not far above Sacramento, at 1,500 feet, on the border that divides the towns of Grass Valley and Auburn, I'm sitting in the dark.

This a different kind of darkness than that implied by some readers who think I'm often in the dark. This is a planned "public safety power shutoff" (PSPS) – among the first of many – instigated by our local power company to mitigate California fire danger in windstorms.

I'm still not sure why someone thought it'd be a good idea to recommend a gas-powered generator to someone as hapless as me. Nor am I really sure how filling my house with extension cords will help prevent fires, but I've bought into it – even driving 100 miles to buy the generator.

If you don't live here, you should know that it rarely rains in the summer months. So with our humidity in the teens and wind gusting more than 45 mph in places, cutting power may not be as far-fetched as it sounds.

Fortunately, we feel safer in a community that implements "fire-wise" practices in spite of living with a few inconveniences like my jammed electric recliner and no TV to watch.

Yet despite those annoyances, my wife, Becky, and I are doing OK. We have the portable generator, a woodstove, gas water heater, just enough battery to write this column and Internet access to file it with editors.

Some of my neighbors have it much worse. Many homes are all-electric while residents face nighttime temperatures in the 30s and 40s. They can't cook or enjoy the comfort of a hot shower.

Even worse, some folks have wells that depend on electric pumps. And on properties with livestock, ranchers scurry ahead of the power outage to fill water troughs. Sadder still, some don't have normal sewer service because they live on inclines where the sewer depends on electric pumps.

All of this "inconvenience" can turn tragic when it's saddled on the elderly or disabled needing medical devices like oxygen and electric wheelchairs, beds or CPAP machines.

But compared to the thousands who are evacuating as fire licks their neighborhoods, we are dealing with minor setbacks. Our community is still thriving, finding hope even in the darkness.

Becky offered our shower and stove to neighbors. We shared our generator with neighbors, Todd and Laius, for their backyard wedding. Fifty people enjoyed the communal glow of lights and good food, and I performed the ceremony.

Meanwhile, our hospice offices light up thanks to a generator and busy staff. Our nurses and team work hard driving to patient homes to deliver a caring touch that brings light into the darkest of days.

At church, we scooch our chairs up tight in our lobby where we enjoy the light coming freely through the big windows. A generator runs our keyboard, and pastor Mike Bivens delivers encouraging words.

We pay close attention to him since we are fortunate that he's present at all. Immediately after church, he swings into full gear as Director of the Disaster Relief Ministry for the California Baptist Convention.

We expect things to return to normal when the wind dies down and the fall rain shows up. In the meantime, we pray the Serenity Prayer, working to help others and change the things we can.

And like farmers though the centuries we follow the biblical advice from James 5:7: "Be patient, then, brothers…. See how the farmer waits for the land to yield its valuable crop and how patient he is for the autumn and spring rains."

_______________________________________

100 percent of the Donations given to Disaster Relief Ministry for the California Baptist Convention will go to fire victims. Visit https://tinyurl.com/fires123, scroll down to bottom of page to see the video and donate. Or write checks to: "Disaster Relief Ministry," California Southern Baptist Convention, 678 East Shaw Ave., Fresno, CA 93710.

 

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Easy as riding a bike

Easy as Riding a Bike (Chaplain column) Planning to Live If you walked with me down the egg-white hallway of St. Joseph Hospital in Stockton, California, I could take you into the room where I met the man who inspired my retirement. While I don't remember his name, I will never forget the impression he left on me. It was a fall afternoon in 2015 when I walked through the east wing making my room-by-room introductory visits. My catholic employer required me to visit every new admission within 24 hours. I accomplished that on most days, but some were impossible.   This day I was trying to do the impossible—make 12 visits by the end of my shift. I nicknamed this necessity "speed dating." If you're unfamiliar with the term "speed dating," imagine musical chairs at a restaurant or coffee house. Eligible singles assemble at tables around the room and rotate in timed intervals to meet potential partners.  With this analogy in mind, you might imagine me introducing myself to patient after patient, trying to make a quick assessment as to what spiritual support I might offer.   But on this day, I was the one to receive some very needed spiritual support. As I pushed open the last door on the hallway, I found an elderly female patient lying in a darkened room. I spoke to her, but she seemed to be under heavy sedation. Since I couldn't offer much support, I made a pivot in hopes of ending a long day. Instead, my exit was blocked by the lanky silhouette of an elderly man standing in the doorway. "Hello," I said, "I'm Norris Burkes, the hospital chaplain." The man moved across the room to greet me, introducing himself with a broad smile and a twinkle in his eyes. I don't remember his name, but his build and his demeanor brought "Mr. Rogers" to mind. Mr. Rogers told me the patient was Mrs. Rogers and proceeded with her story. She was 75, he 86. It was their second marriage and he'd tried to make her happy during their ten-years of matrimony, but from the beginning it seemed to him that she was prepping to die. She'd struggled with the typical things of old age, a bad back, memory issues, and poor eyesight, and the doctor visits became more frequent. "It's as if," he said, "that she was always searching for something more serious, like she needed a better reason to die." "Depression can hit hard in the elderly," I said. Mr. Rogers nodded at my conjecture, so I said more. "I see you've decided to make her a DNR," referring to the medical order "Do Not Resuscitate." Since it's part of my job to clarify DNR to families, I added, "So if her heart stopped right now, we would do nothing to restart it." "Yup. It's what she stated in her living will." Hoping to affirm him some, I added, "It's good that she planned for this moment."  "I suppose it's a good idea to plan for death, but my wife seemed to make death her plan." He said. "All she talked about was dying." Although a bit rehearsed, he wisely quipped, "If you're not planning to live, you are planning to die."  I agreed with caution, aware that I was hearing a one-sided story about my patient.  Still, the man seemed fit, certain and thriving.  Even with his own death likely close, he proclaimed to be living his life to the fullest. After about twenty minutes, we both began walking to the door, ending our visit. "Do you drive yourself here?" I asked. "No, no." he said. Oh, good," I said, expecting a man of his age to have given up driving. "I keep the car in the garage. It's just four miles." I squinted to signal I wasn't following his meaning. "I rode my bike here. I only drive if it's raining." Suddenly, the man's life philosophy came into sharper focus. I had stopped riding my bike a few years before out of safety concerns, but this octogenarian wasn't planning on braking his bike—or his life. He was still going full speed. Looking back on that visit now, Mr. Rogers' influence is clear. Within a year of meeting him, my wife and I sold our house to embark on three years of travel. While we are back into home ownership, I've never forgotten Mr. Rogers' inspiration to make life my plan and accept death only when it finally comes. The best part is that after my wife read this man's story, she said she's planning to keep up with me.  —————————————————————— Sign up to receive this column by email at https://thechaplain.net/columns/  Contact Chaplain Norris at comment@thechaplain.net or 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715.  Copyright © 2019 Norris Burkes, All rights reserved. You signed up to be on Norris' list! Our mailing address is: Norris Burkes 10566 Combie Rd Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 Add us to your address book Want to change how you receive these emails? You can update your preferences or unsubscribe from this list.

New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
25-27 Oct column


Column:

Editors -- this is a bit long at almost 800 words. Feel free to edit for size.


Planning to Live

If you walked with me down the egg-white hallway of St. Joseph Hospital in Stockton, California, I could take you into the room where I met the man who inspired my retirement.

While I don't remember his name, I will never forget the impression he left on me.

It was a fall afternoon in 2015 when I walked through the east wing making my room-by-room introductory visits. My catholic employer required me to visit every new admission within 24 hours. I accomplished that on most days, but some were impossible.

This day I was trying to do the impossible—make 12 visits by the end of my shift. I nicknamed this necessity "speed dating."

If you're unfamiliar with the term "speed dating," imagine musical chairs at a restaurant or coffee house. Eligible singles assemble at tables around the room and rotate in timed intervals to meet potential partners.

With this analogy in mind, you might imagine me introducing myself to patient after patient, trying to make a quick assessment as to what spiritual support I might offer.

But on this day, I was the one to receive some very needed spiritual support.

As I pushed open the last door on the hallway, I found an elderly female patient lying in a darkened room. I spoke to her, but she seemed to be under heavy sedation. Since I couldn't offer much support, I made a pivot in hopes of ending a long day.

Instead, my exit was blocked by the lanky silhouette of an elderly man standing in the doorway.

"Hello," I said, "I'm Norris Burkes, the hospital chaplain."

The man moved across the room to greet me, introducing himself with a broad smile and a twinkle in his eyes. I don't remember his name, but his build and his demeanor brought "Mr. Rogers" to mind.

Mr. Rogers told me the patient was Mrs. Rogers and proceeded with her story. She was 75, he 86. It was their second marriage and he'd tried to make her happy during their ten-years of matrimony, but from the beginning it seemed to him that she was prepping to die.

She'd struggled with the typical things of old age, a bad back, memory issues, and poor eyesight, and the doctor visits became more frequent. "It's as if," he said, "that she was always searching for something more serious, like she needed a better reason to die."

"Depression can hit hard in the elderly," I said.

Mr. Rogers nodded at my conjecture, so I said more.

"I see you've decided to make her a DNR," referring to the medical order "Do Not Resuscitate." Since it's part of my job to clarify DNR to families, I added, "So if her heart stopped right now, we would do nothing to restart it."

"Yup. It's what she stated in her living will."

Hoping to affirm him some, I added, "It's good that she planned for this moment."

"I suppose it's a good idea to plan for death, but my wife seemed to make death her plan." He said. "All she talked about was dying."

Although a bit rehearsed, he wisely quipped, "If you're not planning to live, you are planning to die."

I agreed with caution, aware that I was hearing a one-sided story about my patient. Still, the man seemed fit, certain and thriving. Even with his own death likely close, he proclaimed to be living his life to the fullest.

After about twenty minutes, we both began walking to the door, ending our visit.

"Do you drive yourself here?" I asked.

"No, no." he said.

Oh, good," I said, expecting a man of his age to have given up driving.

"I keep the car in the garage. It's just four miles."

I squinted to signal I wasn't following his meaning.

"I rode my bike here. I only drive if it's raining."

Suddenly, the man's life philosophy came into sharper focus.

I had stopped riding my bike a few years before out of safety concerns, but this octogenarian wasn't planning on braking his bike—or his life. He was still going full speed.

Looking back on that visit now, Mr. Rogers' influence is clear. Within a year of meeting him, my wife and I sold our house to embark on three years of travel. While we are back into home ownership, I've never forgotten Mr. Rogers' inspiration to make life my plan and accept death only when it finally comes.

The best part is that after my wife read this man's story, she said she's planning to keep up with me.

——————————————————————
Sign up to receive this column by email at https://thechaplain.net/columns/ Contact Chaplain Norris at comment@thechaplain.net or 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715.

 

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My first column recording -- Does Doubt add to Faith

Will the Firefighter rekindle his faith?

Readers: I'm so excited to tell you that this column is my first attempt to record the column.  If you will click on this link, you will be able to hear the column. You may also cut and paste this link to your browser. https://soundcloud.com/norris-burkes/faith-column    Doubt Rekindles the Fire of Fatih   Not long ago, I posed a routine question to a doubtful hospital patient.   "Do you have any kind of spirituality, religion or philosophy that gives you guidance in life?"    I know it's a mouthful, but the question will often rattle a person's spiritual doors long enough for me to find if there is one that's unlocked.   Occasionally, patients will scratch their heads, perplexed at the breadth of the question and say, "No, I'm not really spiritual. I'm just a Baptist."    However, this guy was sharper than that.   "No," he said, "but I wish I did."   "Can you say more about that?" I asked. My guess was that his answer could be a step toward rediscovering the faith he might already possess.   Yes, in fact, he would say more.    He was a firefighter and he'd seen too much tragedy to believe in God. "People tell me, 'It's all part of God's plan,' but I don't buy that."   I nodded sympathetically. As a chaplain, I'd seen enough children die to share his contempt for that platitude.    "It's a phrase people use when they don't know what to say," I said.   He seemed to agree, but he had another surprise for me.   "I still talk to God," he admitted. "I never pray for myself, just for family and friends. I only hope God hears me."    I pulled back at that one. He seemed to be trying to navigate some complicated angles.   "Sounds like you're a 'believing unbeliever.'" I said.   His quizzical look confirmed that I'd caught him off guard.    It was my turn to "say more."   "You want to believe, but you feel like your doubts are incongruent with your belief."   "Do you think that I'm just hedging my bets?" he asked.   "Not at all," I said. "Your reservations give me the impression that you are intellectually honest about your faith."   His smile suggested he'd finally found a minister who understood.   I understood because there are days when I am this man. There are days I struggle to be that spot-on believer people expect a minister to be.   Frankly, my doubts used to worry me a bit, but as I've aged I've come to see those doubts as an honest wrestling match — not the fixed fights on late night television, but the kind of struggle that sharpens my wit, keeps my mind open and builds my spiritual strength.   While many of you can relate, there are likely a few of you who are tossing the yellow penalty flag.   "Doesn't the Bible warn against doubt?" you ask. Yes, but those warnings address our failure to trust God, not the honest doubt that emerges from our humanity.   So I asked the patient, "Will you allow me a story?"    He gave me the nod, and I shared the biblical story of the distraught father who brought his son to Jesus for healing. In what sounded like a doubtful moment, the man said, "If you can do anything … help us."   "'If you can'?" mimicked Jesus. "Everything is possible for one who believes."   Immediately the boy's father exclaimed, "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!"   When I compared this patient with the father who brought his son and his doubts to Jesus, I saw a clear strategy for dealing with doubt.   First, we can begin with what we already have and claim that faith as our starting place. A friend of mine likes to say, "Show up at the starting line and God will meet you there." By showing up, we often find the faith necessary to finish the race.    Second, we should admit our doubts. This is where I like to say, "Don't talk about God behind of his back." We can express our doubts to his face. Say them aloud and investigate them. God is not afraid or put off by our misgivings.   Finally, it's entirely possible to simultaneously express faith and doubt. Just because we have faith doesn't mean we aren't scared. Scared only tells us that we are approaching real life.   "'Help me in my unbelief' is a prayer worth adopting." I told the patient. "I think you will be amazed at how this honesty may refresh your faith."   The old firefighter shifted his weight in his chair, leaning forward and nodding at my story. It was plain to see that he still held a spark of belief. The flames of his faith might yet be rekindled.    —————————————————————— Sign up to receive this column by email at https://thechaplain.net/columns/  Contact Chaplain Norris at comment@thechaplain.net or 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715.        Copyright © 2019 Norris Burkes, All rights reserved. You signed up to be on Norris' list! Our mailing address is: Norris Burkes 10566 Combie Rd Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 Add us to your address book Want to change how you receive these emails? You can update your preferences or unsubscribe from this list.

New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
My first attempt to make a podcast like recording of this column


Column:

Hi editors,

I've just begun a masters in journalism program and enrolled in a podcast class.

If it's not too late, you can ebed this link into this week's column so that your readers can hear the column too. https://soundcloud.com/norris-burkes/faith-column

AND yes, I will be improving the quality as we go. I hope to make one good recording per month.

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
18-20 Oct 2019 column


Column:

Doubt Rekindles the Fire of Fatih

Not long ago, I posed a routine question to a doubtful hospital patient.

"Do you have any kind of spirituality, religion or philosophy that gives you guidance in life?"

I know it's a mouthful, but the question will often rattle a person's spiritual doors long enough for me to find if there is one that's unlocked.

Occasionally, patients will scratch their heads, perplexed at the breadth of the question and say, "No, I'm not really spiritual. I'm just a Baptist."

However, this guy was sharper than that.

"No," he said, "but I wish I did."

"Can you say more about that?" I asked. My guess was that his answer could be a step toward rediscovering the faith he might already possess.

Yes, in fact, he would say more.

He was a firefighter and he'd seen too much tragedy to believe in God. "People tell me, 'It's all part of God's plan,' but I don't buy that."

I nodded sympathetically. As a chaplain, I'd seen enough children die to share his contempt for that platitude.

"It's a phrase people use when they don't know what to say," I said.

He seemed to agree, but he had another surprise for me.

"I still talk to God," he admitted. "I never pray for myself, just for family and friends. I only hope God hears me."

I pulled back at that one. He seemed to be trying to navigate some complicated angles.

"Sounds like you're a 'believing unbeliever.'" I said.

His quizzical look confirmed that I'd caught him off guard.

It was my turn to "say more."

"You want to believe, but you feel like your doubts are incongruent with your belief."

"Do you think that I'm just hedging my bets?" he asked.

"Not at all," I said. "Your reservations give me the impression that you are intellectually honest about your faith."

His smile suggested he'd finally found a minister who understood.

I understood because there are days when I am this man. There are days I struggle to be that spot-on believer people expect a minister to be.

Frankly, my doubts used to worry me a bit, but as I've aged I've come to see those doubts as an honest wrestling match — not the fixed fights on late night television, but the kind of struggle that sharpens my wit, keeps my mind open and builds my spiritual strength.

While many of you can relate, there are likely a few of you who are tossing the yellow penalty flag.

"Doesn't the Bible warn against doubt?" you ask. Yes, but those warnings address our failure to trust God, not the honest doubt that emerges from our humanity.

So I asked the patient, "Will you allow me a story?"

He gave me the nod, and I shared the biblical story of the distraught father who brought his son to Jesus for healing. In what sounded like a doubtful moment, the man said, "If you can do anything … help us."

"'If you can'?" mimicked Jesus. "Everything is possible for one who believes."

Immediately the boy's father exclaimed, "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!"

When I compared this patient with the father who brought his son and his doubts to Jesus, I saw a clear strategy for dealing with doubt.

First, we can begin with what we already have and claim that faith as our starting place. A friend of mine likes to say, "Show up at the starting line and God will meet you there." By showing up, we often find the faith necessary to finish the race.

Second, we should admit our doubts. This is where I like to say, "Don't talk about God behind of his back." We can express our doubts to his face. Say them aloud and investigate them. God is not afraid or put off by our misgivings.

Finally, it's entirely possible to simultaneously express faith and doubt. Just because we have faith doesn't mean we aren't scared. Scared only tells us that we are approaching real life.

"'Help me in my unbelief' is a prayer worth adopting." I told the patient. "I think you will be amazed at how this honesty may refresh your faith."

The old firefighter shifted his weight in his chair, leaning forward and nodding at my story. It was plain to see that he still held a spark of belief. The flames of his faith might yet be rekindled.

——————————————————————
Sign up to receive this column by email at https://thechaplain.net/columns/ Contact Chaplain Norris at comment@thechaplain.net or 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715.

 

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Column for 11 Oct 2019

I Choose Life!

I Choose Life By Norris Burkes, Oct 11 2019 Eighteen years ago this month, I wrote my very first column, and my wife, Becky, still insists that it was my very best column. Her claim puzzles me. "Does that mean they became worse after that?"  She has no answer. So I'll ask you to judge. The following is my first column, abridged, from Oct. 5, 2001 when editor Tom Clifford, then of Florida Today, asked me to pen a spiritual response to 9/11. --------------------- Our culture has made Job Safety an art form so that most of us do our jobs without much risk.  From puberty, we learn contraception, rape prevention and AIDS awareness. We host Prevention Conventions. We wear hats, helmets and seatbelts. We take lifesaving classes in smoking cessation, self-defense, defensive driving and CPR. We read books on diet, exercise and stress management. But last month – everything changed. Aboard four different aircraft, it didn't help anyone to know how to buckle seatbelts, operate breathing masks or use seat cushions as floatation devices. No exit-aisle lights led passengers to safety. Now, we are doubling our efforts to pursue the ever-evasive idea of safety. If you fly, you must leave the bobby pins, toothpicks, nail files and box cutters at home. We are doing all the right things to make our world safe again. But no matter what we do, most of us know death can come in the most unexpected ways at unimaginable speed. I learned that lesson in a profound way one afternoon in 1995 when I watched a mother follow her 3-year-old son into our Houston hospital emergency room.   The staff greeted the parents with our usual game of 20 questions we play with trauma patients. You see, if we could identify at least two or three stupid things that the victim had done, then we would assure ourselves that there was no way anything this tragic could happen to us. Then the facts began clouding our judgment. Facts are tricky that way. Mom had taken her son on a play date to a beautifully swept tennis court in an exclusive metropolitan suburb. The court was supervised, gated, cleaned and staffed by background-checked employees. "Can I take off my shoes, Mommy?" "Sure," she replied. He began exploring his environment and kicking at the tennis fence. This was fun.  "I'm in a giant playpen with mommy," he must have thought. It was safe. There was no way out and no way in for anyone else. If any trouble did come, mom was close enough to meet it. Close enough, but not fast enough.  Sometimes trouble comes at the speed of light. Barefoot, the 3-year-old kicked the fence near an outdoor outlet that wasn't properly grounded. The fence was electrified. Standing barefoot on a court damp from morning rain, the little boy's life spirit left with the morning dew. "Damn!" The staff expressed. "There was nothing any of us would have done differently. This could have been our child." So before we use the incidents of 2001 to propel us back to Orwell's 1984 and fill our streets with more cameras than a voyeuristic web site, I think we must ask ourselves a few questions.  How can we balance our need for safety with our need to be free? Too what degree is death preventable? If we fill our days with extraordinary amounts of effort to prevent death, won't we somewhere along the way be missing life?  Some would suggest that the events of 9/11 have ushered in a new reality. They say we now have to live with the reality of death at the hands of madmen or misguided zealots. But the truth is that ever since the University of Texas tower, McDonald's in San Ysidro, Calif, Oklahoma City, Cleveland Elementary and Columbine, I have lived in that reality. So it is not new! But since 9/11, it is undeniable. Death has always been unquestionably closer than we think, and on September 11th America joined the rest of the world in this realization.  The Christian scripture teaches that "It is appointed unto a man once to die and after this the judgement." The teaching admonishes us to live our lives the way we would if we knew with certainty that death was coming tomorrow.  There is no way we can prevent death and stamp out evil. Some might say that the school ban on cargo pants at my son's school has prevented another Columbine, but I suspect evil will always find a way. And I think before we try to impose a ban on evil, we have to remember that the prophet Jerimiah reminded us that "the heart is desperately wicked, who can know it?" If the fear of death stops us from living, loving and longing for a peaceful future, the planes that toppled the World Trade Center will also have succeeded in toppling the foundation of a peaceful society. Death is close, but life can be closer. I choose life. —————————————————————— Sign up to receive this column by email at https://thechaplain.net/columns/  Contact Chaplain Norris at comment@thechaplain.net or 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715.    Copyright © 2019 Norris Burkes, All rights reserved. You signed up to be on Norris' list! Our mailing address is: Norris Burkes 10566 Combie Rd Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 Add us to your address book Want to change how you receive these emails? You can update your preferences or unsubscribe from this list.

New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Slight correction


Column:

The year is misstated in the third graph as 2011.

It should read:

The following is my first column, abridged, from Oct. 5, 2001

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Column for October 11-13 2019


Column:

I CHOOSE LIFE
Eighteen years ago this month, I wrote my very first column, and my wife, Becky, still insists that it was my very best column.
Her claim puzzles me. "Does that mean they became worse after that?"
She has no answer. So I'll ask you to judge. The following is my first column, abridged, from Oct. 5, 2011 when editor Tom Clifford, then of Florida Today, asked me to pen a spiritual response to 9/11.
---------------------
Our culture has made Job Safety an art form so that most of us do our jobs without much risk.
From puberty, we learn contraception, rape prevention and AIDS awareness. We host Prevention Conventions. We wear hats, helmets and seatbelts. We take lifesaving classes in smoking cessation, self-defense, defensive driving and CPR. We read books on diet, exercise and stress management.
But last month – everything changed. Aboard four different aircraft, it didn't help anyone to know how to buckle seatbelts, operate breathing masks or use seat cushions as floatation devices. No exit-aisle lights led passengers to safety.
Now, we are doubling our efforts to pursue the ever-evasive idea of safety. If you fly, you must leave the bobby pins, toothpicks, nail files and box cutters at home. We are doing all the right things to make our world safe again.
But no matter what we do, most of us know death can come in the most unexpected ways at unimaginable speed. I learned that lesson in a profound way one afternoon in 1995 when I watched a mother follow her 3-year-old son into our Houston hospital emergency room.

The staff greeted the parents with our usual game of 20 questions we play with trauma patients. You see, if we could identify at least two or three stupid things that the victim had done, then we would assure ourselves that there was no way anything this tragic could happen to us.
Then the facts began clouding our judgment. Facts are tricky that way. Mom had taken her son on a play date to a beautifully swept tennis court in an exclusive metropolitan suburb. The court was supervised, gated, cleaned and staffed by background-checked employees.
"Can I take off my shoes, Mommy?"
"Sure," she replied.
He began exploring his environment and kicking at the tennis fence. This was fun.
"I'm in a giant playpen with mommy," he must have thought. It was safe. There was no way out and no way in for anyone else. If any trouble did come, mom was close enough to meet it.
Close enough, but not fast enough.
Sometimes trouble comes at the speed of light. Barefoot, the 3-year-old kicked the fence near an outdoor outlet that wasn't properly grounded. The fence was electrified. Standing barefoot on a court damp from morning rain, the little boy's life spirit left with the morning dew.
"Damn!" The staff expressed. "There was nothing any of us would have done differently. This could have been our child."
So before we use the incidents of 2001 to propel us back to Orwell's 1984 and fill our streets with more cameras than a voyeuristic web site, I think we must ask ourselves a few questions.
How can we balance our need for safety with our need to be free? Too what degree is death preventable? If we fill our days with extraordinary amounts of effort to prevent death, won't we somewhere along the way be missing life?
Some would suggest that the events of 9/11 have ushered in a new reality. They say we now have to live with the reality of death at the hands of madmen or misguided zealots. But the truth is that ever since the University of Texas tower, McDonald's in San Ysidro, Calif, Oklahoma City, Cleveland Elementary and Columbine, I have lived in that reality. So it is not new! But since 9/11, it is undeniable.
Death has always been unquestionably closer than we think, and on September 11th America joined the rest of the world in this realization.
The Christian scripture teaches that "It is appointed unto a man once to die and after this the judgement." The teaching admonishes us to live our lives the way we would if we knew with certainty that death was coming tomorrow.
There is no way we can prevent death and stamp out evil. Some might say that the school ban on cargo pants at my son's school has prevented another Columbine, but I suspect evil will always find a way. And I think before we try to impose a ban on evil, we have to remember that the prophet Jerimiah reminded us that "the heart is desperately wicked, who can know it?"
If the fear of death stops us from living, loving and longing for a peaceful future, the planes that toppled the World Trade Center will also have succeeded in toppling the foundation of a peaceful society. Death is close, but life can be closer.
I choose life.
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My Birthday Prayer Oct 5 column

MY BIRTHDAY PRAYER   I celebrated my birthday this week with six decades of candles atop a cake. Fortunately, we safely executed what is known in California as a "controlled burn."   Lately, I find myself checking the birth dates of hospice patients I visit and wondering if the patient is too young to die.   For the longest time, I assumed that anyone born in my decade is "too young to die."  I made that assumption in my twenties and I'll probably feel the same way twenty years in the future.    On the opposite side, I often consider if the patient is really old enough to die. I mean, can one ever be considered "old enough" to die? At what age do we grow into the idea of dying?    Most people would rather die when they get "old." But when does "old" happen? 65? 75? 90?   My experience with hospice patients is that most feel they still have things to do. I meet folks in their nineties that imply they are too young to die because they want to go back to driving, cooking or traveling.    On the other hand, I've heard a few patients question God as to why he's allowed them to live so long. I know several patients beyond 80 who say they want God to "get on with it already."   Sometimes, no matter how young or old the patient, he or she wants to die quickly. In California, they ask hospice to help them exercise their right to die by prescribing end-of-life medications.    As a chaplain, I've attended a lot of deaths of people too young to die --, infants, children, young mothers, and soldiers. Seeing those early deaths, I can only guess what my reaction would be if I contracted a terminal illness now. Would I consider myself of qualified age and be grateful for the years I had? Would I be selfish or ungrateful to pray for more time?   I suppose all this musing gives rise to the scripture from Hebrews 9:27, "It is appointed unto a man, once to die and after this the judgment."    But the judgment I want to redirect us to is self-judgment, now, in the present tense. It's here on this side of the dirt we must answer what we are doing with our lives.   With that in mind, I wrote the following birthday prayer asking God for just enough birthdays and just enough chances:   Help me seek forgiveness from those I've wronged Guide me to grant forgiveness to those who need your healing touch Help me sow seeds of love in those who feel unloved. Show me how to infuse joy in those who are joyless. Give me understanding to share with those who thirst for it Most of all, help me be authentic in my witness for you.   Of course, I think the best birthday prayer is the Serenity Prayer written by the American Protestant theologianReinhold Niebuhr.   Most of you know the first verse…   God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change;  courage to change the things I can;  and wisdom to know the difference. …but you might not be as familiar with the remaining verse: Living one day at a time;  enjoying one moment at a time;  accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;  taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it;  trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His Will;  that I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with Him forever in the next.  Amen.       —————————————————————— Contact Chaplain Norris at comment@thechaplain.net or 10566 Combie Rd.Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715.       Copyright © 2019 Norris Burkes, All rights reserved. You signed up to be on Norris' list! Our mailing address is: Norris Burkes 10566 Combie Rd Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 Add us to your address book Want to change how you receive these emails? You can update your preferences or unsubscribe from this list.