New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
First column of new decade


Column:

Did you Fumble the Ball Last Year?

By the time you read this, I'll be home from New Orleans where – hopefully – I've watched my alma mater, Baylor University, beat the stuffing out of the Georgia Bulldogs at the New Year's Day Sugar Bowl game.

But now that the season is over, I have a New Year's confession: I don't really understand football. In fact, I failed my 2019 New Year's resolution in which I promised I'd learn more about the rules and strategy of football.

Not a life-changing resolution, but I made it because I love the game and I wanted to be conversant with my friends.

It's a hard thing for a man of my age to admit, but I know almost nothing about football. When guys circle around after church to talk play-off chances, I nod and mumble.

Usually, I can't even recall the standing of my favorite team, the San Francisco 49ers.
Why would a learned and manly man (also modest) such as myself know so little about this testosterone-filled game? I suppose I could blame elementary school for my shortsighted ignorance.

During a crucial time of my education, between third and fourth grade, I transferred from Balboa Elementary to Alvarado Elementary. Balboa taught football in fourth grade while Alvarado had already taught football to the third graders.

As a result, I was trapped in an educational gap, arriving at my new school completely ignorant of football. You've heard of "No Child Left Behind." Well, I was left behind and quickly labeled as a pigskin-illiterate fourth-grader.

I have learned a few things in the fifty-plus years since. For instance, I know each team gets four chances, called "downs," to advance the football 10 yards across a 100-yard field toward their goal line. If they are successful, they get four more, etc. Until eventually, they attempt to score a touchdown.

Since making my 2019 well-meaning resolution however, I have yet to learn more significant details. I don't know what a play-action pass is. I don't know the difference between a fullback and a halfback. I still find the rules a bit confusing, and no one has been able to successfully explain why one touchdown should equal six whole points.

But here's what I absolutely know for sure about football: I know that I love to watch it. I love to see the aerobatic catches of the receivers and the acrobatic gyrations of ball carriers as they dance through a tough defense.

And despite my ignorance, my love for football keeps me watching season after season.
Because love doesn't need details. If you love someone, you needn't have a detailed schematic of his life. If you love ice cream, you don't need the recipe. You simply know what you love.

I guess that's what is so amazing about the love of God. For you see, God does have a schematic of our lives. He knows the details. He made the recipe. He knows the rules. He knows the players.

Most especially, he knows our important stats. He knows how many resolutions we've failed to complete. He knows how many of his passes we've missed. He knows how many times we've fumbled the ball.

He knows all of this and yet he still loves us.

So this year, as you review your stats and accomplishments, take it easy on yourself. You've had some failures, you've had some dropped balls, but God knows that. He's still at work in your life. He still loves you.

As for football, I'm going to try and learn a little bit more this year — even though it might involve calling my friends to ask what night "Monday Night Football" comes on.
——————————————————————
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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Do you Ever Read those Holiday Newsletters? Holiday Newsletters Bring Surprises   By Norris Burkes Dec27 2019   It's the time of year when those holiday newsletters overflow from the mailbox. They're sent by family and friends who believe you want to know that Suzie made the honor roll or how Aunt Mary had her cataracts removed.   If you read each letter in its entirety, you're a better person than I, and you may be rewarded with a surprise or two.   Like the writers of those Christmas newsletters, I'm never sure who is reading my column during the busy holidays – even my editors. With that in mind, I'll use this year-end space to update four columns from 2019. And who knows, if you'll read carefully there might be a surprise at the end.   First, since I write a lot about my wife Becky, you should know that we celebrate our 40th wedding anniversary next week.    We were married at 26 years old and had four children by the age of 35. Since 1980, we've occupied 15 homes from California and Texas to Florida and Turkey. I've been a parish pastor as well as a chaplain in hospitals, the Air Force and for hospice.    Becky stayed steady, teaching 30 years in every elementary-school grade. Mostly, I'm glad that she's remained steady with me for four decades.   Next, you'll likely remember the column I wrote last month about "Brotherman."  He's my sibling whose psychosis makes him noncompliant with his blood pressure and diabetic meds.    Last week, he was admitted to the Las Vegas VA Medical Center with life threatening lab numbers. I spent the entire week watching him grow physically and mentally healthier. By week's end, we secured a bed for him in the skilled-nursing unit at Southern Nevada State Veterans Home. With any luck, he'll live his remaining life under much better care than he was receiving from his independent-living facility.   If you're still following along in this recap, you'll remember that a few weeks ago, I made brief mention that I've gone back to school.   Yes, I know I'm 62. But that only means it's time to spend my remaining GI Bill benefits. Because of my deployments, these benefits include books, tuition and a monthly housing stipend.    I've just finished my first semester in the Master of Journalism program at University of Nevada, Reno (a two-hour drive from my home). I took courses in writing and podcasting and received an A in both classes. Ha! Me and "Suzie" made the honor roll. (Listen to recorded columns at www.thechaplain.net.)    Finally, I've received a lot of email asking me how to help the Chispa Project. This is the nonprofit charity my daughter, Sara, started in 2015 to establish libraries in Honduran elementary schools.   I am taking 20 of my readers to help establish a library in Honduras, March 8-15, 2020. Half of our crew is returning from last year, but if you act NOW, there may still be room for two more volunteers.    If you can't go on the trip with us, please consider helping us buy more books. You can donate online at www.chispaproject.org/thechaplain or write a check to "Chispa Project" and send it to the address below.   And now, I congratulate you for reading this entire Christmas" newsletter" column. Here is my surprise: Log on to Amazon this weekend and download a free Kindle version of my books, "Thriving Beyond Surviving" and "Heroes Highway."    If you need a hardbound book, send me your own Christmas newsletter along with a $20 check. Or just send me the newsletter. I promise I'll read most of it.    Maybe.   —————————————————————— 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.

This email was sent to burkesn.norris@blogger.com why did I get this?    unsubscribe from this list    update subscription preferences Norris Burkes · 10566 Combie Rd · Suite 6643 · Auburn, CA 95602 · USA

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If you are not familiar with this, I will explain.
Trojan Virus gives me full access and control over a computer or other device.
This means that I can see everything on your screen, turn on the camera and microphone, but you do not know about it.

I also have access to all your contacts and all your correspondence.

Why your antivirus did not detect malware?
Answer: My malware uses the driver, I update its signatures every 4 hours so that your antivirus is silent.

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With one click of the mouse, I can send this video to all your emails and contacts on social networks.
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transfer the amount of $500 to my bitcoin address (if you do not know how to do this, write to Google: "Buy Bitcoin").

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If I find that you have shared this message with someone else, the video will be immediately distributed.

Best regards!

New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
2019 yearend column


Column:

Holiday Newsletters Bring Surprises

It's the time of year when those holiday newsletters overflow from the mailbox. They're sent by family and friends who believe you want to know that Suzie made the honor roll or how Aunt Mary had her cataracts removed.

If you read each letter in its entirety, you're a better person than I, and you may be rewarded with a surprise or two.

Like the writers of those Christmas newsletters, I'm never sure who is reading my column during the busy holidays – even my editors. With that in mind, I'll use this year-end space to update four columns from 2019. And who knows, if you'll read carefully there might be a surprise at the end.

First, since I write a lot about my wife Becky, you should know that we celebrate our 40th wedding anniversary next week.

We were married at 26 years old and had four children by the age of 35. Since 1980, we've occupied 15 homes from California and Texas to Florida and Turkey. I've been a parish pastor as well as a chaplain in hospitals, the Air Force and for hospice.

Becky stayed steady, teaching 30 years in every elementary-school grade. Mostly, I'm glad that she's remained steady with me for four decades.

Next, you'll likely remember the column I wrote last month about "Brotherman." He's my sibling whose psychosis makes him noncompliant with his blood pressure and diabetic meds.

Last week, he was admitted to the Las Vegas VA Medical Center with life threatening lab numbers. I spent the entire week watching him grow physically and mentally healthier. By week's end, we secured a bed for him in the skilled-nursing unit at Southern Nevada State Veterans Home. With any luck, he'll live his remaining life under much better care than he was receiving from his independent-living facility.

If you're still following along in this recap, you'll remember that a few weeks ago, I made brief mention that I've gone back to school.

Yes, I know I'm 62. But that only means it's time to spend my remaining GI Bill benefits. Because of my deployments, these benefits include books, tuition and a monthly housing stipend.

I've just finished my first semester in the Master of Journalism program at University of Nevada, Reno (a two-hour drive from my home). I took courses in writing and podcasting and received an A in both classes. Ha! Me and "Suzie" made the honor roll. (Listen to recorded columns at www.thechaplain.net.)

Finally, I've received a lot of email asking me how to help the Chispa Project. This is the nonprofit charity my daughter, Sara, started in 2015 to establish libraries in Honduran elementary schools.

I am taking 20 of my readers to help establish a library in Honduras, March 8-15, 2020. Half of our crew is returning from last year, but if you act NOW, there may still be room for two more volunteers.

If you can't go on the trip with us, please consider helping us buy more books. You can donate online at www.chispaproject.org/thechaplain or write a check to "Chispa Project" and send it to the address below.

And now, I congratulate you for reading this entire Christmas" newsletter" column. Here is my surprise: Log on to Amazon this weekend and download a free Kindle version of my books, "Thriving Beyond Surviving" and "Heroes Highway."

If you need a hardbound book, send me your own Christmas newsletter along with a $20 check. Or just send me the newsletter. I promise I'll read most of it.

Maybe.

——————————————————————
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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What does Christmas Feel Like?

Stuck on an airplane Christmas Day

Feeling the Feeling of Christmas It had already been a dark and stormy night -- then it was Christmas, 2008.   The flight attendants instructed us to buckle our seatbelts in preparation for departure. The pilot told us to expect a rough 3 ½ hours flight from Sacramento to Chicago.    But what he said next got my attention.   "If you are continuing with us through to Baltimore, you may be delayed by the weather in Chicago."   "Great, just great." I thought. "I really hadn't been dreaming of a white-out Christmas."   The only thing keeping my "sit-upon" in that airplane seat were the military orders I was sitting upon. The orders directed me to proceed by commercial plane to Baltimore where I'd board a military chartered DC-10. That plane would take me to Balad, Iraq where I would serve as the senior chaplain at the Air Force Field Hospital.   With the weather worsening, I rubbed my face, wondering if I could volunteer to return to my warm house. My clothing had been slightly damped in the morning rain. The plane was cold, and even among 180 people, I was feeling alone.   One hour earlier, at 5 a.m., I had embraced my wife, Becky, in a tearful departure from the airport tram. It felt like the worst Christmas ever.   For years, she'd watched the news of military deployments, adding, "It feels like the president only sends the military to war at Christmas." Now she nurtured anecdotal proof of that.   But I was one to follow orders. I did what I was told.    I set the alarm for "0'Dark-thirty," drove to the airport, kissed my bride goodbye and I buckled that wretched seatbelt!    Chaplain Norris was going to war, but he wasn't exactly a "happy chappy."   I nestled my forehead into the foggy windowsill and tried to feel Christmas. "What should it feel like?" I wondered.   I suppose yuletide emotions can differ between person and place, but it occurred to me that there may be a reason that I experience the Christmas spirit best between Thanksgiving and New Year's.    Every year, Thanksgiving introduces me to Advent. It helps arrest my headlong fall into the commercial frenzy of the holidays. It gives me pause to express gratitude toward people who care for me, who worry about me, and who pray for me.   When Christmas finally arrives, I have an abundance of gratitude in my soul. From this reserve, I choose to shower my family and friends with gifts and meaningful appreciation. But moreover, my gratitude extends to charity toward those who depend on year-end gifts to sustain their budget.   If Thanksgiving is the introduction to Christmas, then New Year's Day is the benediction for the holidays. This day is all about celebrating a new chance at grace. New Year's Day teems with opportunities for do-overs in our lives. For that matter, it's a time to grant grace to others and make amends to those we may have hurt.   The overhead speaker crackled with uncertainty. The pilot began as if he had something to say but uncertain how to say it. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm afraid…"   He might have been "afraid," but he still managed to overcome his fears and say it.    "We aren't going anywhere today. Weather has canceled this flight."    Of course, the pilot had no authority to cancel my orders, so I would have to fly the next day.   But, for the time being, I was feeling Thanksgiving gratitude bound with the do-over spirit of New Year's Day.   I reached for my cell phone and punched Becky's number.   And with the certainty of Father Christmas himself, I said, "Turn that sleigh around, Mrs. Claus! Looks like I'll be home for Christmas."   —————————————————————— 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:
Column for 20-22 December 2019


Column:

Feeling the Feeling of Christmas

It had already been a dark and stormy night -- then it was Christmas, 2008.

The flight attendants instructed us to buckle our seatbelts in preparation for departure. The pilot told us to expect a rough 3 ½ hours flight from Sacramento to Chicago.

But what he said next got my attention.

"If you are continuing with us through to Baltimore, you may be delayed by the weather in Chicago."

"Great, just great." I thought. "I really hadn't been dreaming of a white-out Christmas."

The only thing keeping my "sit-upon" in that airplane seat were the military orders I was sitting upon. The orders directed me to proceed by commercial plane to Baltimore where I'd board a military chartered DC-10. That plane would take me to Balad, Iraq where I would serve as the senior chaplain at the Air Force Field Hospital.

With the weather worsening, I rubbed my face, wondering if I could volunteer to return to my warm house. My clothing had been slightly damped in the morning rain. The plane was cold, and even among 180 people, I was feeling alone.

One hour earlier, at 5 a.m., I had embraced my wife, Becky, in a tearful departure from the airport tram. It felt like the worst Christmas ever.

For years, she'd watched the news of military deployments, adding, "It feels like the president only sends the military to war at Christmas." Now she nurtured anecdotal proof of that.

But I was one to follow orders. I did what I was told.

I set the alarm for "0'Dark-thirty," drove to the airport, kissed my bride goodbye and I buckled that wretched seatbelt!

Chaplain Norris was going to war, but he wasn't exactly a "happy chappy."

I nestled my forehead into the foggy windowsill and tried to feel Christmas. "What should it feel like?" I wondered.

I suppose yuletide emotions can differ between person and place, but it occurred to me that there may be a reason that I experience the Christmas spirit best between Thanksgiving and New Year's.

Every year, Thanksgiving introduces me to Advent. It helps arrest my headlong fall into the commercial frenzy of the holidays. It gives me pause to express gratitude toward people who care for me, who worry about me, and who pray for me.

When Christmas finally arrives, I have an abundance of gratitude in my soul. From this reserve, I choose to shower my family and friends with gifts and meaningful appreciation. But moreover, my gratitude extends to charity toward those who depend on year-end gifts to sustain their budget.

If Thanksgiving is the introduction to Christmas, then New Year's Day is the benediction for the holidays. This day is all about celebrating a new chance at grace. New Year's Day teems with opportunities for do-overs in our lives. For that matter, it's a time to grant grace to others and make amends to those we may have hurt.

The overhead speaker crackled with uncertainty. The pilot began as if he had something to say but uncertain how to say it. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm afraid…"

He might have been "afraid," but he still managed to overcome his fears and say it.

"We aren't going anywhere today. Weather has canceled this flight."

Of course, the pilot had no authority to cancel my orders, so I would have to fly the next day.

But, for the time being, I was feeling Thanksgiving gratitude bound with the do-over spirit of New Year's Day.

I reached for my cell phone and punched Becky's number.

And with the certainty of Father Christmas himself, I said, "Turn that sleigh around, Mrs. Claus! Looks like I'll be home for Christmas."

——————————————————————
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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Spiritual Care turns to Spit Care

Spiritual Care Becomes Spit Care In 2002, I was so thrilled to begin work as a chaplain for Sutter Medical Center in Sacramento that I failed to notice the typo on my ID badge. It took more than a year, but a patient finally spotted the missing 'r' in Spiritual. She cupped a hand over her mouth and nose and said, "I probably shouldn't get any closer if you're from the "SPIT-ual Care Department."  After we shared a good laugh, I skedaddled downstairs to have HR (Human Resources) correct the badge.   Little did I know that twelve years later, the identifier "Spit-ual Care" might be appropriate for my new position as a staff chaplain at St. Joseph's Medical Center in Stockton, Calif.   One summer day I entered the room of a patient recovering from minor surgery. The man didn't speak English, but his wife and granddaughter did. After introductions, I learned that the wife was also a shaman. Shamans are spiritual leaders and healers in the earth-based spirituality of southeast Asia. So with careful exploration, I asked what I might do to facilitate their faith traditions.  "My grandmother wants to conduct a Hmong ritual."  "Can you say more?" I asked. "The rite involves my grandmother putting water in her mouth and spewing it on my grandfather's surgical site," the granddaughter said with little emotion. "Excuse me for a moment," I said. "Let me ask the nurse how we can do that." I dismissed myself and ducked into the nurses' break room to Google the request. My search told me that the patient's wife was likely blaming "misplaced energy" for precipitating her husband's illness. She needed the water to perform an "extraction" that would remove the displaced energy that had invaded his body. I slid my phone back in my pocket and stopped at the nurses' station for a consult. "Can she spit water on the wound without risking an infection?" I asked the startled charge nurse.  She thought for a minute and replied, "Yes. The surgical site is stitched and closed. Just use bottled water." With that permission, I returned to the room and handed over the sterile water I'd picked up from the nurse.  The patient's wife opened the bottle, held it to her lips and sloshed the water around in her mouth. Then she tilted her head and – "Plah!" – she spat a mouthful on her husband.  I tried hard not to show skepticism by allowing my inner Baptist preacher to run amuck.  I mean, what just happened? I saw no evil spirits come out of the man and there was no instant healing of the wound. I felt uneasy that this family was relying on such archaic beliefs amidst such modern medicine. My discomfort reminded me of a story from the post-WWII occupation of Japan. An American serviceman was watching a Shinto worshiper distribute rice over his ancestor's grave and asked, "When do you think your ancestor will eat the rice you left?"   The man replied, "About the same time that your ancestors smell the flowers you left." As simply as the shaman had begun, she concluded. I was thanked for intervening with nursing staff and given a dismissive nod. I returned to my office cubicle where I sat wondering what I would write in this patient's chart. I wasn't entirely sure what I'd accomplished.  However, as much as anything, good spiritual care had been merged into the Hippocratic Oath – "First, do no harm." I had not ridiculed the woman or passed judgment on her request. I had not put up barriers or implied that she was inconveniencing the staff. But more concretely, I noted an observable change in contentedness within the family. Reverence for their request had helped build a sacred, nonjudgmental space for worship.  In the midst of medical uncertainty, the family rekindled and celebrated their own truths. The ritual helped them navigate the harsh maze of medicine and restored meaning to their world.  And that's what I charted.  I was left with only one more thing to consider. How would my new employer respond if I asked them to change my badge ID to read "Spit-ual Care?"   ______________________________________________________________ Join Norris' mailing list at www.thechaplain.net  or leave voicemail at (843) 608-9715 or email comment@thechaplain.net or @chaplain. Snail mail received at 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602.               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:
Column fo 13-15 December 2019


Column:

A Misspelling Redefines Spiritual Care

In 2002, I was so thrilled to begin work as a chaplain for Sutter Medical Center in Sacramento that I failed to notice the typo on my ID badge.

It took more than a year, but a patient finally spotted the missing 'r' in Spiritual.

She cupped a hand over her mouth and nose and said, "I probably shouldn't get any closer if you're from the "SPIT-ual Care Department."

After we shared a good laugh, I skedaddled downstairs to have HR (Human Resources) correct the badge.

Little did I know that twelve years later, the identifier "Spit-ual Care" might be appropriate for my new position as a staff chaplain at St. Joseph's Medical Center in Stockton, Calif.

One summer day I entered the room of a patient recovering from minor surgery. The man didn't speak English, but his wife and granddaughter did. After introductions, I learned that the wife was also a shaman.

Shamans are spiritual leaders and healers in the earth-based spirituality of southeast Asia. So with careful exploration, I asked what I might do to facilitate their faith traditions.

"My grandmother wants to conduct a Hmong ritual."

"Can you say more?" I asked.

"The rite involves my grandmother putting water in her mouth and spewing it on my grandfather's surgical site," the granddaughter said with little emotion.

"Excuse me for a moment," I said. "Let me ask the nurse how we can do that."

I dismissed myself and ducked into the nurses' break room to Google the request.
My search told me that the patient's wife was likely blaming "misplaced energy" for precipitating her husband's illness. She needed the water to perform an "extraction" that would remove the displaced energy that had invaded his body.

I slid my phone back in my pocket and stopped at the nurses' station for a consult.

"Can she spit water on the wound without risking an infection?" I asked the startled charge nurse.

She thought for a minute and replied, "Yes. The surgical site is stitched and closed. Just use bottled water."

With that permission, I returned to the room and handed over the sterile water I'd picked up from the nurse.

The patient's wife opened the bottle, held it to her lips and sloshed the water around in her mouth. Then she tilted her head and – "Plah!" – she spat a mouthful on her husband.

I tried hard not to show skepticism by allowing my inner Baptist preacher to run amuck.

I mean, what just happened? I saw no evil spirits come out of the man and there was no instant healing of the wound. I felt uneasy that this family was relying on such archaic beliefs amidst such modern medicine.

My discomfort reminded me of a story from the post-WWII occupation of Japan. An American serviceman was watching a Shinto worshiper distribute rice over his ancestor's grave and asked, "When do you think your ancestor will eat the rice you left?"

The man replied, "About the same time that your ancestors smell the flowers you left."

As simply as the shaman had begun, she concluded. I was thanked for intervening with nursing staff and given a dismissive nod.

I returned to my office cubicle where I sat wondering what I would write in this patient's chart. I wasn't entirely sure what I'd accomplished.

However, as much as anything, good spiritual care had been merged into the Hippocratic Oath – "First, do no harm." I had not ridiculed the woman or passed judgment on her request. I had not put up barriers or implied that she was inconveniencing the staff.

But more concretely, I noted an observable change in contentedness within the family. Reverence for their request had helped build a sacred, nonjudgmental space for worship.

In the midst of medical uncertainty, the family rekindled and celebrated their own truths. The ritual helped them navigate the harsh maze of medicine and restored meaning to their world.

And that's what I charted.

I was left with only one more thing to consider.

How would my new employer respond if I asked them to change my badge ID to read "Spit-ual Care?"

 

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Pearl Harbor - Hear a survivor’s story

Surviving Pearl Harbor  Pearl Harbor Veteran Remembers Where WW2 Began Hear Joe tell story in his own words "My name is Joe Feld," he tells me on our first visit. He pauses to chuckle. "My name is on of the few things I remember."   Feld is one of 15 patients I visit in my chaplain job for Hospice of the Foothills, Grass Valley, Calif. During my past ten visits with him, I've learned that he remembers more than his name. Much more.    Feld joined the U.S. Navy in 1939. After boot camp in San Diego, he was quickly assigned to the spanking-new USS Enterprise – "The Big E," as the aircraft carrier was nicknamed.   On board, Joe joined a remarkable group of men called metalsmiths, who fixed everything broken on the aircraft except the engine. Joe spent 18 months cruising the Pacific on almost leisurely trips between San Diego and Hawaii. He describes the gorgeous tropical duty almost dismissively: "All in all, it was nothing exciting, but it was fine."   And it was still "fine" when he and 30 other sailors were sent ashore in late November for a temporary assignment to fix land-based aircraft. As they went to work, the Enterprise returned to sea.   On December 7, hours before the Enterprise was scheduled to return, Feld tells me he heard an explosion outside his barracks and thought one of our planes had crashed.    "I looked out the window to see Japanese fighters strafing the airfield. I was close enough to see the red circle on the plane.   "I called to the other fellows, 'We're under attack!'   "We took cover in the mess hall. Outside, the explosions were huge. I'm sure I heard when the Arizona was hit.   "The ships were sitting two in a row. Hitting one ship caused chain reactions and it was like shooting ducks in a barrel. After the Japanese took care of the ships, they came after us.    "We fell on our stomachs as bullets flew through the barracks. The wood splintered on the columns that supported the roof and plaster rained down on us."   There wasn't much more Feld and the others could do until it was over about three hours later.   Now, nearly 80 years later, the next part of his story adds extra trembling to his aging voice.   A Chief Boatswain mate detailed Feld and others to go recover bodies at the dock. Feld remembers seeing six battle ships lined up, all burning. The water itself seemed to be an inferno, with flames shooting eight inches high from burning surface oil.   "But," Feld said, with a most certain pause, "We had our job to do, so we retrieved them out of the water, placed them on a blanket and brought them back to the mess hall.   "When you're 20 years old," he told me, "and you start fishing bodies out of the harbor, you don't last very long. It's a part of the war that I can hardly talk about because these guys had tried to swim in burning water to get to shore.   "But, he says again, "that's what we did."   He pauses for a nervous chuckle as if he still doesn't know where to store this information.    "We stood next to burning ships with flames going maybe 100 foot high. It was hot. You're not equipped to take all that in.    "We made three trips down to the battleships to help recover men. Well, three trips were all I could take. I had never ever seen even a broken bone in my life.    "However, we survived it and went on to other jobs that had to be done around the air station."   Feld and his fellow sailors stayed on the island another six weeks under blackout conditions, doing those various jobs. By the first of the year, most of them returned to the Enterprise believing it was their ticket home.   Not so.   Instead, he and his shipmates would sail into naval warfare history. The Enterprise drew first enemy blood in the war. Feld was aboard when the Enterprise participated in the Wake Island landing and the Doolittle Raid on mainland Japan. He personally witnessed the turn of the war in the Battle of Midway as Enterprise planes helped sink three enemy aircraft carriers and a cruiser.   On this 78th anniversary of Pearl Harbor, I think you'd have to agree that Joe Feld can still remember quite a bit more than his name.   ****Listen to the audio of Joe Feld telling his full story at www.thechaplain.net*****. https://thechaplain.net/chap-col/pearl-harbor-veteran-remembers-where-ww2-began/   ______________________________________________________________ Join Norris' mailing list at www.thechaplain.net  or leave voicemail at (843) 608-9715 or email comment@thechaplain.net or @chaplain. Snail mail received at 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602.               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.