Sept 30 spirituality column

Are You a People-person or Task-oriented?

 

I've met a lot of folks who assume that it's easy to work with the clergy. But I know of one person who would beg to differ. She was the chapel office manager when I was stationed at a small California Air Force base in the mid-1990s.

 

As the Non-Commissioned Officer in Charge (NCOIC), she ran our chapel business at a mile-a-minute, coordinating chaplain appointments, keeping our books and arranging our chapel for worship. She was a law-and-order manager, good with regulations and policies.

 

However, in the high-touch world of ministry, the chaplains found her sometimes too surly. She didn't always demonstrate the compassionate qualities required of someone dealing with the troubled airmen who sometimes wandered into our chaplain offices.

 

While we tried hard to keep our conflicts private, regrettably, our commander got wind of the stormy atmosphere amongst the staff and he ordered something called a "climate assessment survey."

 

Yes, that's a bad thing.

 

The survey began with a visit from the base psychologist who interviewed each staff member involved.

 

He asked each of us to make a choice.

 

"Which do you think most important," he said. "to get the job done correctly, or to get along with the people you are working with?"

 

You can guess which one Sgt. By-the-Book chose. She saw her job as top priority. And if you've been reading my heart-so-tender columns, you'll know that I often make the get-along choice.

 

Opposite that, there are folks who believe peace is achieved through regulations and boundaries. They subscribe to the saying, "Good fences make good neighbors."

 

OK, let's stay with the fence analogy for a moment.

 

Imagine you are rebuilding a storm-damaged fence, but as you begin your repairs, a chatty new neighbor interrupts you for a visit.

 

That's me.

 

I'm hoping you'll invite me in for a diet Pepsi. After a while, I might even suggest a better way to design the fence and will help you rebuild it. Maybe we even put the project off until next week.

 

Like some of you, I think this is the best approach to fence building. That's because I believe our primary task must always be people. Folks like me believe our job is best accomplished through the good relationships we maintain with our colleagues, neighbors and coworkers. 

 

There are others, like my staff sergeant, who can't find time for people until their job is thoroughly finished. They won't have time for the sociable neighbor until their fence is stained and the brushes cleaned.

 

After all, if they don't get their fence fixed, their dog will run off, burglars will have a nonstop path to their back door and the homeowners association will cite them. They will, one day, welcome me and others like me, but only by invitation.

 

Now let's return to my old chaplain's office for a minute. Who do you think was right: me, the people-person, or the task-oriented sergeant?

 

Drop me an email, voicemail or letter and tell me what you think.

 

In the end, the only thing I know for sure is that if a job needs doing, we all are the ones who must do it – together.

 

 

This column excerpted from my upcoming book, "Tell It to the Chaplain." You can sign up for my weekly column at www.thechaplain.net/newsletter. Send comments to comment@thechaplain.net. Leave recorded comments at (843) 608-9715 or write 10556 Combie Rd Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602.

 

PS. Please consider donating to the Honduran girls' school mentioned last week at www.chispaproject.org/girls or sending a check to the address above made to "Chispa Project."

 

 

 

 

 

Sept 22/23 spirituality column

 

Living with Chispa Chutzpah

 

I sent an email to readers a few days ago with this plea:

 

"A historic girls school has asked Chispa Project to help them establish a library at  José Cecilio del Valle located in Tegucigalpa, Honduras. 

We need your help to raise the needed $5,000."

 

A few minutes later I received a reply asking if Chispa Project was "Christ-centered."

 

I have to assume the question to be sincere, but my Southern Baptist roots hear judgment.

 

If you've been reading this column for a few years, you know that my daughter Sara started Chispa Project to create small libraries in underserved Honduran schools. And most of you know that Chispa is not about evangelizing those schools.

 

It feels like my inquisitor wants me to say, "You bet it is! We stock our libraries with boatloads of Bibles, Jesus stories and salvation pamphlets."

 

And if that answer will bring a large donation, I might.

 

Not really.

 

Still, I strive to formulate a reply for my examiner.

 

My mind drifts to one of the first schools the project helped. Prior to Chispa's arrival, the school library consisted of a dozen books from their teachers' personal collections. Few were in Spanish and most books weren't suitable to the children's reading levels.

 

The school principal escorted Sara and I into each classroom. Most rooms bulged with 42 students squeezed three-to-a-seat at desks intended for only two students.

 

Despite the bleak design, the school's walls sprouted spirit posters boasting of the school's dedication to reading. The principal led a student-cheer with snapping fingers that emphasized the English translation of the word "Chispa" – spark. During the cheer, the principal told the children that Chispa Project books would spark their education.

 

Later in the morning, children poured onto the playground. They had no sports equipment, nevertheless, their imagination sparked their made-up games. Kids climbed and dangled from the small soccer goal posts on each side of the playground. They paused occasionally to stare down at the tall, white chaplain watching them from a bench.

 

Returning to the question, "Is Chispa Project Christ-centered?"

 

An educational organization doesn't become "Christ-centered" just because it incorporates theology into its written mission statement. After all, reading is still reading whether you're reading the Bible or a science textbook. Math is always just math. Add 2+2 and you get the same result whether summed by a Christian, Jew or atheist.

 

The Christian part, or the "Christ-centeredness," comes not from the organization, but from the heart of the one serving. A nonprofit needn't be parochial to be "Christ-centered." Jesus taught that whenever we help "…someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me."

 

In the six years I've been going to Honduras, I can testify that the mission of Chispa Project beats with the heart of Jesus who said, "Let the little children come to me … for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these."

 

"Is that what you told him, Dad?" Sara asked.

 

"I told him that and one more thing."

 

Sara was quiet, sensing what was coming.

 

"I asked him how much he'd be sending," I added.

 

Sara shook her head. "I've always admired your chutzpah."

 

I smiled. "It's what I like to call "Chispa chutzpah." 

 

Her groan at the dad joke remains memorable.

 

 

Please consider donating online at www.chispaproject.org/girls or sending a check made to "Chispa Project" to 10556 Combie Rd Suite 6643 Auburn CA 95602.

 

This column excerpted from the Chispa chapter in my upcoming book, "Tell it to the Chaplain."

 

If you didn't get my email, be sure and sign up for my weekly column by email at thechaplain.net/newsletter. Send comments to comment@thechaplain.net. Leave recorded comments at (843) 608-9715.

 

Sept 5/16 spirituality column

PKs Beget PKs

 

PK is an old-time church abbreviation for "preacher's kid."

 

My wife and I are both California PKs. Her dad pastored a single church for 49 years and my father pastored multiple churches, moving us every 3-4 years to a new congregation.

 

We were PKs and proud of it. But my siblings and I also knew that our title was sometimes applied in a pejorative sense to describe the bratty kids that ran unabated through the sanctuary before and after service.

 

As in when the choir director stage-whispered to the choir, "Wouldn't you know it? It's those PKs running through here like hooligans!"

 

My mom used to advise me that if I was ever asked why PKs don't behave, I should tell my detractor that PKs are bratty because they spend too much time around the DKs – deacons' kids.

 

I suppose it was inevitable that Becky and I would have a gaggle of PKs of our own. After I graduated from seminary, we welcomed our firstborn the way most people do. But over the next five years we moved through the process of adopting a full sibling group of three.

 

So, I'll often tell people we have one "homemade" child and three store-bought children. My humor here means no disrespect to the adoption choice – in fact, quite the opposite.

 

I use the expression to convey a sense of purposeful decision. We didn't just want more children – we wanted these particular children.

 

But I must tell you that prayer was the only way we could raise four children.

 

And Mrs. Chaplain was a PW. No, not Pastor Wife.

 

She has a reputation as a PW, prayer warrior. I use that term warrior because her prayers sometimes result in people getting hurt.

 

Some years ago, she prayed that our college-age daughter, Sara, would find a way to get more rest. Sara was a world traveler, an avid lacrosse player, and she was majoring in three subjects.

 

Prayer outcome: A week later, Sara broke her thumb, and it wasn't just an ordinary break. It required surgery and rehab. I guess the prayer worked. Sara dropped her extracurricular activities and lived a slower-paced life.

 

Simultaneously, my wife prayed to find more quality time with our then 12-year-old daughter, Nicole. With Sara successfully out from thumb surgery, Nicole broke her foot. The doctor prescribed no walking, and Nicole spent many hours with Becky during the next two months. Prayer request granted.

 

Then, about the same time, she started praying for me. Like my oldest daughter, I too had been keeping a hectic schedule.

 

Becky prayed I'd reduce my writing deadlines to spend quality time with family. Her prayer established a "target lock" on me sometime Saturday afternoon as I finished one writing project and was assembling my entry for a contest, all the while multitasking on a sermon in the midst of making travel arrangements for another cross-country speaking tour.

 

I grabbed my chest. Breathing hurt and the pain stretched from my navel to my throat. I was thinking: heartburn, I'll be OK. But as a hospital chaplain, I'd heard too many people sing the heartburn tune of denial that later turned out to be their funeral dirge.

 

With the calm demeanor of a drowning rat, I asked my PW to drive me to the emergency room. Within a few minutes of arrival, I took my first nitroglycerin tablet and the pain subsided.

 

The short version of this story is I spent 23 hours in the hospital cardiac ward under observation. Diagnosis: heartburn from hell.

 

The prayer hit its mark with accurate precision, but fortunately it was only a warning shot over the bow intended to just wing me. My busy schedule slowed significantly, and my wife cut another notch in her prayer belt.

 

At this point, I should say to my readers that if you've read all of this, and you'd still like me to pass on your prayer request to the PW, be forewarned. I'll be asking you to sign a release form.

 

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Column excerpted from Norris's upcoming book, "Tell it to the Chaplain."

Send comments to comment@thechaplain.net. Leave recorded comments at (843) 608-9715. Visit my website at www.thechaplain.net

 

Sept 8/9 spirituality column

 

The Game of the Woulda-Coulda-Shoulda

 

If you saw the 1983 movie "WarGames," you'll remember the moment the young hacker David Lightman cracks a Pentagon computer called The War Operation Plan Response (WOPR).

 

The electronic-voiced computer asks Lightman, "Shall we play a game?"

 

But the computer doesn't mean Pac-Man. If engaged, this game won't give you extra lives or bonus points. This game can start a real-life nuclear war.

 

Self-destruct scenarios aren't limited to the movies. For instance, consider the consequences of engaging in what I call the shoulda-woulda-coulda game.

 

If you're human, you'll recognize this game.

 

In the new book I'm writing called, "Tell It To the Chaplain," I share the moments in which patients, airmen and parishioners have come into my office moaning about their poor decisions.

 

They usually begin by slapping their forehead and exclaiming, "I shoulda-woulda-coulda done this or that." It's often expressed like, "I shoulda married someone else" or "I coulda been a contender." Or maybe they think about how rich they woulda been if they'd bought stock in Apple when it went public.

 

Hey, I'm not immune to playing a few rounds myself.

 

I look back to 2015 for one of my biggest regrets. That's the year we sold our California McMansion to experiment with international travel. 

 

We spent three years traveling the Western states in a motorhome and then flying to Canada, Honduras, Panama, Costa Rico, Belgium and England.

 

We had a life-changing time. (See www.burkesbums.com) No regrets.

 

OK, maybe a few. When it came time to buy a home again, we didn't make nearly enough to match the dizzying rise of California home prices.

 

Given that discrepancy in funds, I found myself saying, "We shoulda leased our home instead of selling." I whined how we "coulda bought a much nicer home if we woulda waited to sell."  

 

Oh, my. Poor, sad Norris. How do I get myself out of this shoulda-woulda-coulda tailspin of self-pity?

 

Becky and I hit the time-out button to do three things: pause, pray and promise.

 

We paused to ask ourselves some questions: Do we really need a lakeside home with two cars and a golf cart? Could we buy a modest home and still find meaningful social connections in churches and service organizations? Or would we allow a fashionable home to dictate our self-image?

 

Honestly, how much does one need to possess before one can claim, "I'm good enough" or "I've made it"? Must we collect more and more to feel that we are worthy?

 

After some reflection on these questions, we positioned ourselves on a bench beside the lake to pray. Our prayers brought to mind how spiritually full our lives are now. Our blessings overflow, not just in terms of housing, but in health, family and faith.

 

Finally, we made a promise to one another. We pledged to call each other out when one of us starts playing the shoulda-woulda-coulda game. When I say we shoulda leased our house, Becky stops me and grasps my face in her hands. No, not going there.

 

When she says we coulda traveled some more, I touch her hand and shake my head. Not going there. The shoulda-woulda-coulda game has to stop here.

 

Most of you likely know that we finally did manage to purchase a house five years ago. I once again have a favorite chair, a study and some artwork hanging.

 

But more important than furniture and mementos, we've managed to keep a sense of ourselves. We've kept our adventurous spirit, our consciousness of togetherness and an understanding of what is essential in life.

 

These are the same essentials identified in the sacred writing of Proverbs 24:3-4: "By wisdom a house is built, and by understanding it is established; by knowledge the rooms are filled with all precious and pleasant riches."

 

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Send comments to comment@thechaplain.net. Leave recorded comments at (843) 608-9715. Visit my website at www.thechaplain.net where I hope you can soon download a free chapter from my new book, "Tell It To the Chaplain."