CHANGE to Chaplain's Column -- Feb 3 2023

Editors: Apologies, but I felt strongly about changing the last three paragraphs.  Hope you can use this copy instead of last.

 

 

 

Let Your "Yes" be "Yes" and Your "No" be "No"

 

I know you'd never expect to see the word "hate" in a spiritual column, but I hate

surveys.

 

I'm a sworn enemy of long questionnaires and confusing forms that require multiple yes, no or "If-yes-then …" questions.

 

In my world, forms are like puzzles – I can do neither. My carelessly rushed answers tend to skew the results.

 

If I forget to check a box, I must redo the form. My pencil slips. Loan denied.

 

Wrong info on my resume. Application rejected. (Or maybe elected to Congress?)

 

However, there's one inquisition I'll tolerate. It's the 50-question health questionnaire I complete each time I donate platelets at the Vitalant blood bank. (Vitalant.org)

 

"What are platelets?" you ask.

 

They are the cells circulating in our blood that bind together when they recognize damaged blood vessels. In short, they stop us from bleeding to death from a papercut.

 

I began donating platelets in the Air Force where our officers tended to get a lot of papercuts.

 

Aside from the finger-prick blood test, the worst donor moment is the insufferable questionnaire.

 

Since most responses are a simple "no," I'm usually able to quickly complete the questionnaire on my smartphone.

 

It starts easily enough, asking me to verify current info: Last name, first, address, phone, date of birth … okay, I can do this.

 

Then, the medical-history questions.

 

"Did you eat any angry cow in Europe between 1980 and 1990?"

 

No.

 

"Have you ever had a positive test result for Babesia? Do you have hereditary hemochromatosis?"

 

Uh, "no," I think.

 

Next question.

 

"Has your doctor told you that you or a family member has Human Werewolf Syndrome or Geographic Tongue disease?

 

No??

 

OK, I was daydreaming on that one, but when I'm asked if I've had any tattoos or piercings recently, I mostly answer, "No."

 

However, I make regular trips to Honduras for Chispa Project, but not into the malaria-prone countryside.

 

The final questions always get personal, asking if I've made contacts in a "biblical" way.

 

"In the past 3 months, have you received money, drugs or other payment for sex?"

 

I can never say "no" fast enough. I submit my finished questionnaire and

present my clean arms for the 90-minute event.

 

Then, perhaps still thinking of those intrusive sex questions, I told the nurse that my wife and I were celebrating our 43rd anniversary.

 

"Congratulations," she said with a questioning tone.

 

"Yet according to your responses, you're saying you've had sex with a prostitute during the last three months."

 

"No!"

 

"Before that, then?"

"No, not before, not ever. This is my 43rd anniversary today," I said, repeating my claim to fidelity and pure blood.

 

"Yes, you mentioned that. So, I assumed you mistakenly answered, 'yes.'"

 

"I get in a hurry sometimes. Can't you change it?"

 

With a cherub expression, I piously laced my argument with my unbroken fidelity record -- all in hopes I would influence the nurse to fix my careless mistake.

 

Alas, I began to see that sometimes to do some good, I have to tolerate annoying things like health questionnaires.

 

I can't excuse myself from doing good just because I have to do the uncomfortable. Doing good sometimes requires a precise plan with carefully considered answers.

 

After an hour trying to talk some sense into the computer, the nurse announced, "The computer has 'deferred' you, meaning we should wait until next week."

 

She spoke with an insinuation that there was a proper way to say "Yes" and "No."

 

And my donation was a hard "NO" go.

 

As a person of faith, I probably should've heeded the words of Jesus when he encouraged his followers to be straightforward and deliberate with their answers.

 

"You don't make your words true by embellishing them with religious lace. In making your speech sound more religious, it becomes less true. Just say 'yes' and 'no.'"

(The Message. Matthew 5:37).

 

Gladly, the nurse was able to grant me a "yes" for my return the following week.

 

 

Just say "yes" for the next Chispa volunteer trip to Honduras March 12 – 19 or June 18 – 25. Learn more at https://www.chispaproject.org/volunteertrip.html

 

Please read past columns or purchase books at Norris's website, www.thechaplain.net. Send comments to comment@thechaplain.net or 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or via voicemail (843) 608-9715.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHANGE to Chaplain's Column -- Feb 3 2023

Editors: Apologies, but I felt strongly about changing the last three paragraphs.  Hope you can use this copy instead of last.

 

 

 

Let Your "Yes" be "Yes" and Your "No" be "No"

 

I know you'd never expect to see the word "hate" in a spiritual column, but I hate

surveys.

 

I'm a sworn enemy of long questionnaires and confusing forms that require multiple yes, no or "If-yes-then …" questions.

 

In my world, forms are like puzzles – I can do neither. My carelessly rushed answers tend to skew the results.

 

If I forget to check a box, I must redo the form. My pencil slips. Loan denied.

 

Wrong info on my resume. Application rejected. (Or maybe elected to Congress?)

 

However, there's one inquisition I'll tolerate. It's the 50-question health questionnaire I complete each time I donate platelets at the Vitalant blood bank. (Vitalant.org)

 

"What are platelets?" you ask.

 

They are the cells circulating in our blood that bind together when they recognize damaged blood vessels. In short, they stop us from bleeding to death from a papercut.

 

I began donating platelets in the Air Force where our officers tended to get a lot of papercuts.

 

Aside from the finger-prick blood test, the worst donor moment is the insufferable questionnaire.

 

Since most responses are a simple "no," I'm usually able to quickly complete the questionnaire on my smartphone.

 

It starts easily enough, asking me to verify current info: Last name, first, address, phone, date of birth … okay, I can do this.

 

Then, the medical-history questions.

 

"Did you eat any angry cow in Europe between 1980 and 1990?"

 

No.

 

"Have you ever had a positive test result for Babesia? Do you have hereditary hemochromatosis?"

 

Uh, "no," I think.

 

Next question.

 

"Has your doctor told you that you or a family member has Human Werewolf Syndrome or Geographic Tongue disease?

 

No??

 

OK, I was daydreaming on that one, but when I'm asked if I've had any tattoos or piercings recently, I mostly answer, "No."

 

However, I make regular trips to Honduras for Chispa Project, but not into the malaria-prone countryside.

 

The final questions always get personal, asking if I've made contacts in a "biblical" way.

 

"In the past 3 months, have you received money, drugs or other payment for sex?"

 

I can never say "no" fast enough. I submit my finished questionnaire and

present my clean arms for the 90-minute event.

 

Then, perhaps still thinking of those intrusive sex questions, I told the nurse that my wife and I were celebrating our 43rd anniversary.

 

"Congratulations," she said with a questioning tone.

 

"Yet according to your responses, you're saying you've had sex with a prostitute during the last three months."

 

"No!"

 

"Before that, then?"

"No, not before, not ever. This is my 43rd anniversary today," I said, repeating my claim to fidelity and pure blood.

 

"Yes, you mentioned that. So, I assumed you mistakenly answered, 'yes.'"

 

"I get in a hurry sometimes. Can't you change it?"

 

With a cherub expression, I piously laced my argument with my unbroken fidelity record -- all in hopes I would influence the nurse to fix my careless mistake.

 

Alas, I began to see that sometimes to do some good, I have to tolerate annoying things like health questionnaires.

 

I can't excuse myself from doing good just because I have to do the uncomfortable. Doing good sometimes requires a precise plan with carefully considered answers.

 

After an hour trying to talk some sense into the computer, the nurse announced, "The computer has 'deferred' you, meaning we should wait until next week."

 

She spoke with an insinuation that there was a proper way to say "Yes" and "No."

 

And my donation was a hard "NO" go.

 

As a person of faith, I probably should've heeded the words of Jesus when he encouraged his followers to be straightforward and deliberate with their answers.

 

"You don't make your words true by embellishing them with religious lace. In making your speech sound more religious, it becomes less true. Just say 'yes' and 'no.'"

(The Message. Matthew 5:37).

 

Gladly, the nurse was able to grant me a "yes" for my return the following week.

 

 

Just say "yes" for the next Chispa volunteer trip to Honduras March 12 – 19 or June 18 – 25. Learn more at https://www.chispaproject.org/volunteertrip.html

 

Please read past columns or purchase books at Norris's website, www.thechaplain.net. Send comments to comment@thechaplain.net or 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or via voicemail (843) 608-9715.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chaplain's Column -- Feb 3 2023

Let Your "Yes" be "Yes" and Your "No" be "No"

 

I know you'd never expect to see the word "hate" in a spiritual column, but I hate

surveys.

 

I'm a sworn enemy of long questionnaires and confusing forms that require multiple yes, no or "If-yes-then …" questions.

 

In my world, forms are like puzzles – I can do neither. My carelessly rushed answers tend to skew the results.

 

If I forget to check a box, I must redo the form. My pencil slips. Loan denied.

 

Wrong info on my resume. Application rejected. (Or maybe elected to Congress?)

 

However, there's one inquisition I'll tolerate. It's the 50-question health questionnaire I complete each time I donate platelets at the blood bank.

 

"What are platelets?" you ask.

 

They are the cells circulating in our blood that bind together when they recognize damaged blood vessels. In short, they stop us from bleeding to death from a papercut.

 

I began donating platelets in the Air Force where our officers tended to get a lot of papercuts.

 

Aside from the finger-prick blood test, the worst donor moment is the insufferable questionnaire.

 

Since most responses are a simple "no," I'm usually able to quickly complete the questionnaire on my smartphone.

 

It starts easily enough, asking me to verify current info: Last name, first, address, phone, date of birth … okay, I can do this.

 

Then, the medical-history questions.

 

"Did you eat any angry cow in Europe between 1980 and 1990?"

 

No.

 

"Have you ever had a positive test result for Babesia? Do you have hereditary hemochromatosis?"

 

Uh, "no," I think.

 

Next question.

 

"Has your doctor told you that you or a family member has Human Werewolf Syndrome or Geographic Tongue disease?

 

No??

 

OK, I was daydreaming on that one, but when I'm asked if I've had any tattoos or piercings recently, I mostly answer, "No."

 

However, I make regular trips to Honduras for Chispa Project, but not into the malaria-prone countryside.

 

The final questions always get personal, asking if I've made contacts in a "biblical" way.

 

"In the past 3 months, have you received money, drugs or other payment for sex?"

 

I can never say "no" fast enough. I submit my finished questionnaire and

present my clean arms for the 90-minute event.

 

Then, perhaps still thinking of those intrusive sex questions, I told the nurse that my wife and I were celebrating our 43rd anniversary.

 

"Congratulations," she said with a questioning tone.

 

"Yet according to your responses, you're saying you've had sex with a prostitute during the last three months."

 

"No!"

 

"Before that, then?"

"No, not before, not ever. This is my 43rd anniversary today," I said, repeating my claim to fidelity and pure blood.

 

"Yes, you mentioned that. So, I assumed you mistakenly answered, 'yes.'"

 

"I get in a hurry sometimes. Can't you change it?"

 

With a cherub expression, I piously laced my argument with my unbroken fidelity record -- all in hopes I would influence the nurse to fix my careless mistake.

 

Alas, I began to see that sometimes to do some good, I have to tolerate annoying things like health questionnaires.

 

I can't excuse myself from doing good just because I have to do the uncomfortable. Doing good sometimes requires a precise plan with carefully considered answers.

 

After an hour trying to talk some sense into the computer, the nurse announced, "The computer has 'deferred' you, meaning we should wait until next week."

 

She spoke with an insinuation that there was a proper way to say "Yes" and "No."

 

And my donation was a hard "NO" go.

 

I don't think Jesus was a fan of surveys either. He said, "Let your "Yes" be "Yes" and your "No" be "No" (Matthew 5:37).

 

So it was the nurse who happily said "yes" to my return the following week.

 

 

Just say "yes" for the next Chispa volunteer trip to Honduras March 12 – 19 or June 18 – 25. Learn more at https://www.chispaproject.org/volunteertrip.html

 

Please read past columns or purchase books at Norris's website, www.thechaplain.net. Send comments to comment@thechaplain.net or 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or via voicemail (843) 608-9715.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chaplain's Column -- 27-29 Jan 2023

Life is Complicated

 

Last Sunday was Sanctity of Life Sunday, a day proclaimed by President Ronald Reagan in 1984. And it was a hard subject to preach in my new church.

 

Unfortunately, the Bible gave me little help. The Old Testament only hints at abortion in Numbers 5:11-31. You might find some favored assumptions in the New Testament, but it's silent of literal references – rather strange since abortion is likely as old as birthing.

 

Yet with Bible in hand, this past Sunday, Christians on both sides marched with parading placards as local preachers proclaimed the certitude that comes from reducing life's most difficult times into formulas and platitudes.

 

In my sermon, I asked my parishioners that they pause before they join the march for or against abortion to remind themselves that "Life is complicated."

 

I suggested that everyone put down the placards and let me guide them through a mental picture of the hospital where I once worked as the chaplain for women and children.

 

This is where black and white views often wilt under the glaring light of reality. They are the gray areas often distilled by life's complications.

 

For instance, prolife folks might want to test their convictions as I revisit the hospital chapel where I sat with a couple who agonized over the choice to abort her Trisomy 18 baby. Doctors told the woman that her child would certainly die in his first weeks, if not minutes, of life.

 

Or if you're prochoice, then turn your attention to that child's weeping father as he begged his wife to carry that baby full-term. 

 

But the story was different with another couple. Follow me downstairs to the delivery room to meet Sue and Mike Reed  as they welcomed Gigi, their Trisomy 18 baby. The parents made the monumentally difficult decision to allow her entry into this world for 80 minutes just so they could say goodbye. 

 

When I wrote their story ten years ago, some readers thought Sue's decision undeniably selfish, and others saw it as enormously heroic. But I never make that call because life is complicated.

 

Certainty fails us when we meet a mother who made a different decision. Her baby had a malformation of the heart, spine and brain – all complications that presented a real danger to the life of both mother and baby.

 

"Chaplain," she told me in a later email, "The clinic made me sign a paper declaring that I didn't want the baby."

 

Her tears bled from her writing as she explained, "I wanted this girl more than anything. We wanted her to be OK. But she wasn't.

 

"But most of all, we wanted her not to suffer no matter how much that meant that we suffered with the burden of making this choice."

 

Her faith was clear as she declared her belief that "God gave women the joy, responsibility and the burden of childbirth. God knew that, as mothers, we would make any sacrifice for our children."

 

She confessed she would "suffer the trauma of an abortion the rest of my life," but would do it again if it meant that her baby would not suffer a single day. "We hope abortion is a choice that parents never have to make. But it was our responsibility to make."

 

Now distanced from the procedure, she warned those on both sides who want to preach there is only one story of abortion.

 

"I am mad at the liberals who think this procedure would be liberating. I am mad at conservatives who might assume I wasn't responsible."

 

My sermon last Sunday ended without a defining conclusion because chaplaincy constantly prompts me to see that life is rarely black and white. The healthcare community reminds me that we don't have all the answers and I need to listen more before I impose my beliefs on others.

 

I suppose that's why a grieving mother made this concluding request, "What we need from your readers now is simply to listen to our truth and pain."

 

I told her how I wish there was better direction from the Bible on this subject.

 

"Ah, but there is," she said as she quoted Psalm 139:13-14.

 

"'For you created my inmost being;
     you knit me together in my mother's womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made.'"

 

She paused with expectant news.

 

"I'm pregnant again. A baby girl.

 

I expect she will be fearfully and wonderfully made."

 

-------------------------------------

Contact Chaplain Norris at comment@thechaplain.net or 10566 Combie Road, Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail 843-608-9715.

 

 

 

 

Chaplain's Column -- 20-22 Jan 2023

Cross Reaction to Chaplain's Cross

 

This month, I'm exchanging my hospice chaplain badge for a California pulpit at the Community Church of Nevada City.

 

At 65 years old, I don't anticipate ever wearing another chaplain badge, so the occasion has me recalling the first day I wore the badge, 32 years ago. The year was 1991, and I was excited to begin a 12-month, on-the-job chaplain training at UC Davis Medical Center called Clinical Pastoral Education.

 

My supervisor took one look at my badge and curbed my enthusiasm when he said, "I see you've attached a Christian cross to your badge."

 

"Yes," I said proudly. "This is the Protestant cross I wear on my Air Force Reserve uniform."

 

"You'll need to remove it," he said of the half-inch silver accouterment.

 

When I tried to explain that the symbol would better communicate my chaplain identity to patients, he asked, "What if the patient isn't a Christian? What if they are atheist, Wiccan or Rastafarian?"

 

I hadn't thought of that. Nor had I a clue as to what those last two things were.

 

Still, I pushed back. I contended that hospital employees were permitted to attach sentimental pins to their badges. I argued that his order of political correctness came at the expense of my Christian rights.

 

"OK," he said. "Leave it on for now and we'll see how it goes."

 

It didn't take long to "see."

 

A few weeks later, I walked into the room of an 80-year-old patient. I had said only my name when he noticed the cross on my badge.

 

"Get out!" he ordered. "I'm an atheist. I don't need a chaplain!"

 

Suddenly, I got the supervisor's drift. I was being dismissed with no opportunity to explain the man behind the cross. No occasion was given to me to be human. The patient had judged me solely on the basis of my shiny cross.

 

I stood my ground while unclipping my badge and slipping it into my shirt pocket.

The man's face wrinkled with suspicion followed by a thin smile. In the briefest of words, I asked him for a do-over.

 

"What if we get rid of the chaplain?" I asked. "I'll just be Norris."

 

He paused, just long enough for me to interject, "I see you're hurting today. Can I stay a few minutes to hear what's going on with you?"

 

The man glanced at the pocket where I'd disposed of my parochial identify and offered a softening face to me.

 

"Sure, OK," he said tentatively. He pointed to the guest chair where I would sit visiting with him for the next half hour.

 

What was it that won the man over?

 

I hope it was my willingness to see from his point of view and remove the obstacles between us. The sentiment is best expressed in the paraphrased words of the Apostle Paul in "The Message" version of the Bible:

 

"Even though I am free of the demands and expectations of everyone, I have voluntarily become a servant to any and all in order to reach a wide range of people: religious, nonreligious, meticulous moralists, loose-living immoralists, the defeated, the demoralized — whoever."

 

Yet, Paul adds, "I didn't take on their way of life. I kept my bearings in Christ — but I entered their world and tried to experience things from their point of view" (1 Corinthians 9:19).

 

If the Apostle Paul were living today, I can't say he'd have worn a badge like mine. But I do suspect that, like me, he'd be willing to strip down to his boxers for an opportunity to share faith, forgiveness and comfort with hurting people.

 

The patient invited me back for two more visits — without me having to strip to boxers.

 

Too bad. That would have made a really good column.

 

No worries, though. I'm sure I'll find some good column material in the local church. My parishioners seem excited to have me, although a bit concerned about the boxer reference.

 

________________________

 

Send comments to comment@thechaplain.net or 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or via voicemail (843) 608-9715. Visit his website wwwthechaplain.net to read past columns, order his books or schedule him for speaking venues.

 

 

Chaplain's Column -- MLK 2023

Chaplain Unscathed in Faux Robbery

 

Last month, I treated my daughter Brittney to lunch at Shawarma Planet, a popular Syrian restaurant in a South Sacramento's urban storefront.

 

From behind the counter, the owner took our order for a lamb gyro, then went back to prepare our food. The dining room was empty, so we dawdled a moment to ogle the amazing baklava display case.

 

Just then the door opened, and a man quietly slipped in behind us.

 

"Don't move," the stranger told Brittney. "And don't panic," he whispered.

 

"How could I not panic?" I thought.

 

We were alone with a "whispering mugger."

 

I cautiously turned my head so I could describe him for the police sketch artist later: "Light complected African-American Male, 5'6", average build, wearing athletic sweatpants and a jogging jacket."

 

For a moment, I asked myself if I was assuming him to be robber because he was black? 

 

No, I decided. I don't see color. I'm not prejudice. That's not me. I follow Martin Luther King who said people should "not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."

 

Dana Brownlee, Senior Contributor at Forbes highlights a problem with quoting the "I Have a Dream" speech to prove you "don't see color." She says "it's like right-handed people saying they don't notice the trouble that left-handed people have with can openers, zippers, and car cup holders.

 

Brownlee says people of color hear three things when whites say "I don't see color":

 

1. "Thank goodness I don't have to think about race."
2. "Please give me credit for not being racist." 
3. "I plan to do absolutely nothing to combat racism because I don't see it."

 

Suddenly, in this 70% non-white neighborhood, I was definitely seeing color. With a local crime rate 167% above the national average, I was taking notes about color. I felt sure I'd be the one -- the 1 in 13 people who become crime victims in South Sacramento.

 

Expecting the man to demand my money or my life, I began to imagine how my newspapers might headline my story.

 

"Brave Columnist is Wounded Saving Daughter from Armed Bandit."

 

Or perhaps reported with deft alliteration,

 

"Clever Clergy Converts Culprit to Christ."

 

It was just then that the man interrupted my racially motivated Walter Mitty moment, to say, "It's OK, I've got this. Just don't move."

 

I was now hearing what I'd missed. His command wasn't threatening, it was calmly reassuring.

 

"Ma'am," he told Brittney. "There's a wasp settled into your coat hood and I'm going to try to remove it."

 

With that, he took a piece of cardboard and somehow managed to coax the little creature onto it.

 

With the threat removed, my daughter and I gushed with gratitude.

 

Yet the man still wasn't done amazing us.

 

He slow-walked the little stinger toward the door, but the now flightless Hymenoptera fell off short of the exit, likely approaching his 22-day average on this earth. 

 

If I had been the rescuer – and I assure you, it would not have been me -- I'd have neutralized the threat by stepping on it.

 

But not this man.

 

With uncommon gentleness toward a living thing, he scooped it back up and set it safely outside the door.

 

Now, instead of a heroic headline, my editors are probably considering, "Cowardly Chaplain Cowers while Stranger Removes Threat."

 

But fortunately, I'm writing this story.

 

So I'll emphasize how I paid the man's pick-up order for him and his wife, and conclude with, "Grateful Chaplain Covers Meal Cost of Good Samaritan."

 

Just so you know, sometimes our assumptions can really cost us – 4 meals, tip and tax: $85.52.

 

 

If you enjoy Norris's column, his books are available for purchase on his website, www.thechaplain.net Send comments to comment@thechaplain.net or 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or via voicemail (843) 608-9715.

 

 

 

Chaplain's Column -- First weekend weekend 2023

Resolve to Do a Little Bit More

 

If you've already busted your top three New Year's Resolutions – which likely involved the overextension of your waistline, credit line or simply too much wine -- I have a suggestion to bring your goals back on track.

 

To achieve those goals, you may need to forget about them.

 

OK, don't entirely forget, but instead, consider refocusing your efforts on making a small step forward.

 

The strategy is what I call the power of "Little Bit More," LBM for short. LBM is making small regular improvements to achieve big changes over an extended period of time.

 

It's a principle I learned from Toby, or "T-Dog," as I liked to call him. Our pup was 26 pounds of mixed Lhasa Apso and Jack Russell sporting a Benji-dog haircut when he came up with the idea. 

 

During his short life, he taught me the power of LBM.

 

Toby was always pushing me to do a little more. Starting with a sniffing exploration of our cul-de-sac, he pulled me farther into a nearby park and eventually onto the jogging trail.

 

As Toby grew, my 37-inch waist shrank. Four months later, I earned my first superior score on my Air Force fitness test.

 

At four miles, Toby was at his running limit. So I'd often circle back home, drop him off with a fresh bowl of water and press on for a few more miles.

 

Eventually, I stretched my routine into a weekly six-mile run, shaving yet another inch off my waist.

 

One day, I returned home to announce I'd be registering for a half-marathon.

 

Toby just stared up at me from beside his empty food dish and allowed my wife to speak for him.

 

"Are you crazy?"

 

"I don't know." But I quickly added, "I know only that last week I ran six miles and this week I'm doing a 'little bit more.'"

 

As the days passed, six miles turned into seven miles and then … ten.

 

Months later, I crossed the finish line of the 13-mile race, resolving right then and there, to never do that again. I was totally spent.

 

Still, Toby had me wondering what might be possible if a person was willing to do just a little bit more than the previous day. And a little bit more after that. Maybe "impossible" was just an arbitrary concept.

 

For a fitness routine, could we walk just one more block, hike one more trail, or even eat one less donut?

 

Toward a resolution to be a better person, might we add one more minute to daily meditation? Or another day of volunteering? Or just another hour to write an encouraging note.

 

What would it be like if we learned the name of one more neighbor? Got acquainted with one more co-worker or one more churchgoer? Then after that, another.

 

Or what might happen if we added another five dollars to our monthly charitable contributions and then another five dollars each month after that?

 

You see where I'm going here? There's power in Toby's little-bit-more formula.

 

If ever I've seen the power of giving a little more, it's been with Chispa Project. The charity was started by my daughter, Sara, to establish libraries in Honduran elementary schools. She began in 2016 by delivering books on a motorcycle. Now, seven years later, she's done a little bit more to give Chispa six employees with 76 libraries established.

 

If you are among those who have given to Chispa these past years, I thank you from my heart. But with the impact of global inflation on Honduras's shaky economy, I ask you to consider a little more. A 10% increase in monthly donations would help Chispa achieve a slight edge on inflation.

 

I also thank those of you who generously make occasional gifts. This might be the time to consider converting that "occasional" into a regular, modest monthly donation. These steady contributions allow better planning for the coming year.

 

By the way, I admit that I broke that last resolution to quit running. I kept it up until I finished two full marathons.

 

Some resolutions are worth breaking.

 

 

 

Chispa donations can be made at www.chispaproject.org or with checks written to "Chispa Project" and mailed to: 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602.  Read past columns at www.thechaplain.net Send comments to comment@thechaplain.net or via voicemail (843) 608-9715.